Eastern Inferno: The Journals of a German Panzerjäger on the Eastern Front, 1941-43 (17 page)

“Then, on the third day the trenches are ready, everybody, from baby to oldest senior had to strip naked. The first 250 have to step to the edge of the ditch, the throaty barking of 2 machine guns—the next ones are herded forward, they have to climb into the ditch and position the dead bodies nicely next to each other, no room must be wasted—the larger spaces are nicely fitted with the dead children—forward forward, more than 1500 must fit! Then the machine guns rip the air again, here and there somebody moans, a short re-shooting of the ma chine guns: next! and this continues through the evening. We have so little time, too many Jews inhabit this country!”

First I cannot speak at all. This young man talks about it as if he was on a casual pheasant hunt.

I cannot believe all this and tell him so. He laughs and says I should have a look.

We are riding our bikes to the outskirts of the city, to a steep gorge. I will cut this short; the food in my stomach is curiously loose. What I see there is terrible, this horrible picture I will never forget in my entire life. At the edge of the gorge there are Jews standing, the machine guns are whipping into them, they fall over the edge, 50 meters.

Whatever stays at the edge is “swept” down. When the one thousand quota is filled, the heap of dead bodies is detonated and closed up.

“Well, isn't that a great idea, the detonation?” asks the blond with the smiling boy-face.

My God, my God. Without a word I turn and run more than walk back to the city.

This boy is 19 years old! All this does not only leave traces on the clothes; what will happen when these people return into the homeland, back to their brides and women?

September 27:
The huge fire in the city center continues. New explosions, new fire breakouts, stored ammunition explodes.

September 29:
On the road once more! After a 24-hour forced march we reach Priluki tonight. We drive through the countryside; here and there we encounter a few gunshots by a few nuts in lost positions who will be defeated shortly. The destruction of the 5 surrounded Russian armies is complete, cautious estimates speak of 650,000 prisoners in our hands. Their endless rows pass us; maybe they are the same guys who fought opposite us for weeks. For days now they stood though on a lost position. We encircled them; closer and closer we drew the ring.

Hour-long gunfire destroyed mercilessly those who were trapped, it was insanity not to surrender.

The long line of Soviets passes. What kind of people are they?

In their eyes and in their demeanor is something strange, something dull, completely un-European, even un-human. Bolshevism has destroyed their soul and de-humanized them to an animal level; therefore they fight out of instinct like animals in a herd. It is not the personal braveness of the individual who is called to sacrifice his life for a greater idea but the instinctual defense against danger.

Bolshevism has consciously destroyed everything soulful, everything individual and private that also makes up the character and the value of a human being. What is left is the animal in the Bolshevik, who, however, does not have its finer instincts. Humans in the state of animals are much lower than the actual animal. That is why the animal Bolshevik is so hard and bloodthirsty, cruel and stubborn against the enemy and against himself. This is how to understand the demeanor of the Soviet in this war. What looks like braveness is brutality!

September 30:
We will be staying a few days in Priluki, in order to cleanse the surrounding forests of single Bolsheviks. For Russian conditions my lodgings are pretty passable. While most of the people swarm out I stay behind as important map entries and tactical drawings have to be made.

First I wash myself thoroughly and shave and then I sleep for a few hours. For lunch there is a generous helping from the soup kitchen of which the Russian families devour the most part hungrily as so often is the case.

These poor starved people! It is always the same; a piece of dry bread makes them happy and content for hours. I am sure these people have seen better days many years ago at the time of the czar. Again and again I have to ask myself how it is possible that here in the midst of the richest region of Russia, in the wheat silo of Europe, people are starving and have to lead the life of a dog. Unscrupulously these Bolshevik criminals have sacrificed the life and happiness of their people for an armament which in its scope is without parallel.

If our motto was “first cannons, then butter,” the Soviet Union’s was “No butter, no housing, just the bare necessities in clothing. No culture, only cannons!” The Bolsheviks have succeeded in deceiving the entire world about the extent of their armament. They had imagined that one day, their army of millions, equipped with unimaginable weapons, would start to march westward and trample down all of Europe. Is there a single soldier who doubts that such a march would have led to a world catastrophe of unknown proportions for all peoples? Does anyone doubt that in Germany no stone would have been left unturned? Well, something else has come to pass! And you comrade, and even myself, we have given it our all, given all our blood for this. We all underestimated though, the leadership as well as the smallest soldier—the Russian himself and the huge degree of his armament. The loot of weapons is much larger than we expected the entirety of the arms of the Russian Army to be, not to mention the aircraft, tanks, and automatic weapons. And as for the Red Army soldier himself, he is the toughest enemy, the grimmest fighter that we have encountered up until now.

The six weeks of trench warfare outside of Kiev has demonstrated better than ever his strength, as well as his weakness. The strength of the Red Army soldier lies in the defense. His natural inclinations enable him to masterfully utilize all advantages in the terrain. The most distinguishing trait of the Russian soldier is his stoic holding out until the end, often out of fear of the commissars. The enemy has proven to be nimble at delaying tactics, and well-planned organized retreats, in addition to camouflaging his withdrawals. The mining of the abandoned terrain is always fresh and always updated with new techniques. Most of the time they use timed fuses with an unknown life expectancy. The evacuation of Kiev was a masterpiece in this regard, for among other things we eliminated over these past few days were mines with a life span of 165 days.

The Russian has proven to be a master in the construction of mock installations; their field positions are unsurpassed. Their attacks are predominantly executed in stoic, mass advances; if they do not succeed, they simply repeat them until they do. Almost always, a recurring characteristic of their attack is prepping the field with intensive artillery fire supported by tanks. The time of attack is most often at dusk or during the night. The infantry leads the advance in tight formations, often upright in a strict march. Their digging in after reaching a certain position is fast and skilled.

The Russian favors guerrilla warfare; here he is the champion through his cunning methods of fighting. The partisan war has been well planned, prepared, and executed by the Red leadership.

Let’s not forget to mention the artillery, those God damned Bolshevik batteries which are considerably greater in strength than we ever imagined. Their weapons of all calibers seem infinite; we encounter them even on the smallest of stages. The Russian’s arsenal of weapons includes, besides his own brands, nearly all the brands from other nations, including French, English, American, and even German (Krupp). Single batteries with missiles are occasionally encountered. Ammunition is available in good quantity and quality.

Typical Panje hut in the village of Aksariskaya near the River Don, Russia. (Photograph courtesy of Håkan Henriksson)

A special place is occupied by the fire grenades, which I have encountered in several varieties, like phosphorus grenades and thermite grenades with horribly surprising firepower. Ammunition is always used abundantly. The destructive fire of the Red batteries is often aimed at a single point for days on end. (We encountered that all too often at Terempki.) In times of light combat activity, even the smallest target, like a single rider or messenger, is attacked with a disproportionate amount of ammunition.

Radio and wireless operations: here lies their huge investment. The Russian works here with a bunch of cunning methods as well, but this is not the decisive factor, for he conducts deceptive radio traffic; upon retreat, long after the departure of the commands, radio transmitters are left at the old location. But so what! Between the Red Army general staff and the divisions there exists usually only a single radio wire; between the divisions and the regiments and battalions, there are only messengers. The failure of the Russian radio service came home to them bitterly, and the defeat of the Red leadership can be primarily attributed to it.

4 October:
Much faster than expected, we leave Priluki on the morning of the first. By way of a 24-hour forced march, we are supposed to reach the heavily threatened part of the front near Olchana. In Romny, during a crazy mix up in the pitch-black night, I become separated from our troops. Together with brave Sepp, we wander on the badly destroyed terrain between the fronts for days without finding the division. At the Putiwi bridgehead we stumble upon Guderian’s panzer units.

This morning we finally rediscover our troops 112 kilometers to the south. The experiences of this adventurous journey alone could fill all the pages of this diary.

5 October:
Once again we receive an important yet risky order. Until the arrival of the division in four or five days, the location of Olchana is to be defended by the mobile panzer division against overwhelming enemy fire.

Before leaving this morning, a few combat vehicles of the 9th Panzer Division threw the enemy back a few kilometers to give us time to dig in. In haste, only those positions of bare necessity are dug up. Boy oh boy, there’s something in the air! “You’ve been abandoned, small troop!”

We are the very front line, and the second and sixth wave all together, no infantry, no artillery—nothing, absolutely nothing! What a mess!

Just like during the Terempki days, swarms of Red fighters and bombers are glued to us. Hut after hut is destroyed by fire. In the evening, the Red
schweine
attack with a loud “hurrah” our position, running right into our machine gun fire. It is obvious that these are poorly trained troops. During the night there is crazy activity over there. A spy unit brings the reconnaissance; the Reds send out another set of troops.

6 October:
In the light of early dawn, the Reds attack again. However, this time these are not the amateurs who storm us, but experienced rabbits who force the sweat from our pores despite the coolness of the morning. In a careful counterattack—we cannot take risks with the few men that we have—we succeed in throwing back the Reds; we even take a few prisoners. Since tonight we have encountered the famous “Moscow Proletarian Guard,” and Asians, lots of Asians, who, as demonstrated by the attack, fight with utmost determination and devilish cunning. We unfortunately suffer losses, among whom are two of our best: Lieutenants Forester and Kohl. It’s a shame, such a shame; such wonderful men!

For the first time, we are visited this afternoon by American bombers, who incinerate the last of the huts with their on-board cannons. A little later, those dogs attack again; we have to evacuate the position and retreat toward the hills in the northeast, all while fighting. Only by giving it our all are we able to keep the fanatical howling horde at bay. These are no longer human beings! Damn! Have we stumbled into a cowboys and Indians war like in Karl May novels?! Like agile cats, they climb into the trees; shots whip over us from impossible angles. Just like the niggers during our time in La Berlières [France], they grip their long knives between their teeth. What a treacherous Asian mob. Damn! Gentlemen, it looks like we’ll be burying corpses!

Just when our despair is at its greatest, the “Olchana miracle” occurs! Reinforcements arrive! All of a sudden, there they are, our brave comrades from the infantry; nobody saw them coming during the heat of the battle. More and more of them arrive, and group after group files into our defensive position.

That same evening, the Bolsheviks are thrown far back by our counterattack. Unfortunately, we lose sight of the enemy in the darkness. We retake our old village position; the infantry provides strong protective fire, allowing us to get some sleep. This is the frontline brotherhood! Soon, we are all snoring deeply and dreamlessly in our dirty holes.

7 October:
The weather is changing; an icy northern wind whips over the vast plains. Slowly but surely the cold is seeping through the thin cloth of our shabby coats. Our hands are numb and stiff. Olchana lies in shambles, there is not a single room to be found far and wide that could offer us some warmth. And slowly, a premonition comes over me: it is gradually becoming clear to even the most incorrigible optimist that the hardest part is still before us; the second merciless enemy is advancing—the Russian winter.