1941/Juni/25/en: Unterschied zwischen den Versionen
| Zeile 1: | Zeile 1: | ||
{{Kalendernavigation}} | {{Kalendernavigation}} | ||
| − | + | Three days later we begin our march and cross the San at Radymno. The bridge had been captured by surprise and is completely undamaged. Soon we march past the first shot-up Soviet tank... | |
| − | + | The heat is broiling. Under a blazing sun we march 25 to 30 kilometres eastwards every day. Thankfully our baggage is light because we only have the essentials with us. Recently we spent the night in a barn. I lay on the naked floor, my head "resting" on my bread bag. Next to me lay Major Haarhaus, but this arrogant (or somewhat uptight?) officer didn't say a single word to me. | |
| + | I see the first Soviet prisoners of war: around 100 men, mostly Mongolians. They sit or lie in the grass, silent and apathetic. Their flat, expressionless faces don't betray any emotion, but their black slit-eyes move left and right, furtive and suspicious. One suspects the restrained ferocity of this cruel race. Mongols in Galicia. The hordes from the Asian steppe once again stand at the gates of Europe! Now I realise the objective of my war: saving European culture from cultureless steppe, saving Western Christianity from godless Bolshevism. | ||
| + | We're approaching Lemberg. Traces of fierce fighting are becoming ever clearer. Before us in the bright sunshine is the road to Lemberg. The scenes are typical of those of all routes of advance: the asphalt surface has been partially ripped up by shells or bombs. Trees have been stripped; they extend their few naked branches sadly into the sky. The masts of the telephone lines lie bent by the roadside, the wires hang down in loose bundles. In the ditch there are shot-up tanks, crashed vehicles and an anti-tank gun crushed by tanks. Every now and then we pass bloated horse carcasses, which quickly decompose in heat of summer and spread a sweetish stench. Here the brash humour of my private, Willi Neuhauß, who drives a beer cart in Berlin, makes the men laugh with his long-drawn-out cry "Kadaaaaaver!" | ||
''(Translation: R. Hargreaves)'' | ''(Translation: R. Hargreaves)'' | ||
| − | {{Kalendernaechste|1941/Juni/ | + | {{Kalendernaechste|1941/Juni/29}} |
[[Kategorie:Tagebuchfragmente]] | [[Kategorie:Tagebuchfragmente]] | ||
Version vom 6. Januar 2020, 17:05 Uhr
Three days later we begin our march and cross the San at Radymno. The bridge had been captured by surprise and is completely undamaged. Soon we march past the first shot-up Soviet tank...
The heat is broiling. Under a blazing sun we march 25 to 30 kilometres eastwards every day. Thankfully our baggage is light because we only have the essentials with us. Recently we spent the night in a barn. I lay on the naked floor, my head "resting" on my bread bag. Next to me lay Major Haarhaus, but this arrogant (or somewhat uptight?) officer didn't say a single word to me. I see the first Soviet prisoners of war: around 100 men, mostly Mongolians. They sit or lie in the grass, silent and apathetic. Their flat, expressionless faces don't betray any emotion, but their black slit-eyes move left and right, furtive and suspicious. One suspects the restrained ferocity of this cruel race. Mongols in Galicia. The hordes from the Asian steppe once again stand at the gates of Europe! Now I realise the objective of my war: saving European culture from cultureless steppe, saving Western Christianity from godless Bolshevism. We're approaching Lemberg. Traces of fierce fighting are becoming ever clearer. Before us in the bright sunshine is the road to Lemberg. The scenes are typical of those of all routes of advance: the asphalt surface has been partially ripped up by shells or bombs. Trees have been stripped; they extend their few naked branches sadly into the sky. The masts of the telephone lines lie bent by the roadside, the wires hang down in loose bundles. In the ditch there are shot-up tanks, crashed vehicles and an anti-tank gun crushed by tanks. Every now and then we pass bloated horse carcasses, which quickly decompose in heat of summer and spread a sweetish stench. Here the brash humour of my private, Willi Neuhauß, who drives a beer cart in Berlin, makes the men laugh with his long-drawn-out cry "Kadaaaaaver!"
(Translation: R. Hargreaves)
|
Editorial 1938 1939 1940 1941 1942 1943 1944 1945 1946 1947 1948 1949 Epilog Anhang |
|
January February March April May June July August September October November December Eine Art Bilanz Gedankensplitter und Betrachtungen Personen Orte Abkürzungen Stichwort-Index Organigramme Literatur Galerie:Fotos,Karten,Dokumente |
|
1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. Erfahrungen i.d.Gefangenschaft Bemerkungen z.russ.Mentalität Träume i.d.Gefangenschaft Personen-Index Namen,Anschriften Personal I.R.477 1940–44 Übersichtskarte (Orte,Wege) Orts-Index Vormarsch-Weg Codenamen der Operationen im Sommer 1942 Mil.Rangordnung 257.Inf.Div. MG-Komp.eines Inf.Batl. Kgf.-Lagerorganisation Kriegstagebücher Allgemeines Zu einzelnen Zeitabschnitten Linkliste Rotkreuzkarte Originalmanuskript Briefe von Kompanie-Angehörigen |