20. November 1941
After a visit to Sasse, I set off on my way back. I have just reached the first houses when a grenade howls towards me and goes off nearby. I had taken cover at lightning speed and was now running forward to get out of this dangerous part of town. A new salvo rushes in. I have no more time to jump and smack myself on the ground next to a pile of dung. Brrrux-tsang - the blaring beat of the bursting grenade sings in my ears, and the air pressure tears at my clothes. Black powder smoke swirls across the yard, and hard-frozen chunks of earth pelt my back. Up and on. So I run and jump through half the village. The impacts always run with me. There it howls again. Feeou-feeou-broox-brux. I squeeze myself into a crack in the wall between the house and the cowshed. Here I feel halfway safe and sit for a while to catch my breath and watch the impacts. That’s when I realise what’s going on: Ivan is systematically scattering the whole village, slowly moving the fire further and further ahead. And I, the idiot, have always diligently run along with this roll of fire! If I had stayed put at the first impact to wait and see, I could have spared myself this field exercise. But afterwards one is always wiser.[1]
A man from Sasse’s machine gun squad is wounded. I set off and reach the position in a good half hour. The soldier is lying on the table in the quarters with a heavy shot in the neck. His comrades have bandaged him up with an emergency bandage. He is a little dazed, still in shock. He is badly wounded and urgently needs a doctor. I hurry back to the village to the battalion doctor. He says the wounded man should be brought down. He is not at all impressed by my objection that a seriously wounded man cannot be brought down over hill and dale for three quarters of an hour in the bitter cold. Besides, Sasse would have to send his whole squad to carry him, and that’s impossible too. But the doctor, the lazy pig, does not move from the warm room, for it is freezing cold outside and a sharp wind is blowing. Sasse has finally found a cart and the next day brings the wounded man to the village on bumpy, hard-frozen roads, drives up to the doctor’s quarters and reports there. The doctor comes out, pulls back the blanket, looks at the wounded man for a moment and says he should be transported to a hospital straight away. Then he turns around and hurriedly goes back to his heated room. Two days later the news comes that the wounded man has died. He was the best soldier in the group and one of the few elite soldiers in our company. He had to die because that rascal of a doctor didn’t do his duty. Sergeant Spremann makes a report about this incident, but we never heard anything about the outcome.
The worst is the path to the high positions above the Donets Valley. I first cross the valley and then climb up the steep slope of the ridge. Here I first visit the mortar emplacements. They are still on the back slope. When I first walked up here, I had already noticed the shallow, plate-sized depressions to the right and left of the path. They are shell impacts. So Ivan shoots here. From here I continue over the bare, broad ridge of the hill range. Up here, the icy east wind sweeps into my face every time and takes my breath away. It penetrates through my coat and uniform as if they were only a veil. Leaning diagonally against the wind, I push forward. There, where the broad, massive mountain ridge begins to slope gradually towards the Donets valley, lie our machine-gun positions. Deep down in the valley flows the Donets. Wide, dark forests fill the kilometre-wide valley. In a clearing diagonally below us lies a village. It seems deserted, for nothing is stirring there. Neither man nor animal can be seen, nor smoking chimneys. It is no-man’s-land, through which only German and Soviet patrols roam from time to time. A thin layer of snow lies over the ground in places, but mostly the chasing wind has swept the dark earth bare. We have a wide view from up here and can clearly see Isjum far to the left. The town is in Russian hands.
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- ↑ On 20.11.1941 "15-17h stronger enemy arty fire on Kamenka at 457" (KTB 257. I.D., NARA T-315 Roll 1804 Frame 000320). In Ssuchaja-Kamenka was the 6./457, in the neighbouring Tichozki, which apparently also received fire, was the 5./477 (Frame 000162) with the author.