The material offered to readers consists of excerpts from diaries, letters and memoirs of German soldiers, officers and generals who first encountered the Russian people during the Patriotic War of 1941-1945. Essentially, we have before us evidence of mass meetings between people and people, between Russia and the West, which do not lose their relevance today.

Germans about Russian character

It is unlikely that the Germans will emerge victorious from this struggle against Russian soil and against Russian nature. How many children, how many women, and they all give birth, and they all bear fruit, despite the war and looting, despite the destruction and death! Here we are fighting not against people, but against nature. At the same time, I am again forced to admit to myself that this country is becoming more and more dear to me every day.

Lieutenant K. F. Brand

They think differently than us. And don’t bother - you’ll never understand Russian anyway!

Officer Malapar

I know how risky it is to describe the sensational “Russian man”, this vague vision of philosophizing and politicking writers, which is very suitable for being hung, like a clothes hanger, with all the doubts that arise in a person from the West, the further he moves to the East . Still, this “Russian man” is not only a literary invention, although here, as everywhere else, people are different and irreducible to a common denominator. Only with this reservation will we talk about the Russian person.

Pastor G. Gollwitzer

They are so versatile that almost each of them describes the full circle of human qualities. Among them you can find everyone from a cruel brute to St. Francis of Assisi. That's why they can't be described in a few words. To describe Russians, one must use all existing epithets. I can say about them that I like them, I don’t like them, I bow to them, I hate them, they touch me, they scare me, I admire them, they disgust me!

Such a character infuriates a less thoughtful person and makes him exclaim: Unfinished, chaotic, incomprehensible people!

Major K. Kuehner

Germans about Russia

Russia lies between East and West - this is an old thought, but I cannot say anything new about this country. The twilight of the East and the clarity of the West created this dual light, this crystal clarity of mind and mysterious depth of soul. They are between the spirit of Europe, strong in form and weak in deep contemplation, and the spirit of Asia, which is devoid of form and clear outlines. I think their souls are drawn more to Asia, but fate and history - and even this war - bring them closer to Europe. And since here, in Russia, there are many incalculable forces everywhere, even in politics and economics, there can be no consensus either about its people or about their life... Russians measure everything by distance. They must always take him into account. Here, relatives often live far from each other, soldiers from Ukraine serve in Moscow, students from Odessa study in Kyiv. You can drive here for hours without arriving anywhere. They live in space, like stars in the night sky, like sailors on the sea; and just as space is boundless, man is also boundless - everything is in his hands, and he has nothing. The breadth and vastness of nature determine the fate of this country and these people. In large spaces, history moves more slowly.

Major K. Kuehner

This opinion is confirmed in other sources. A German staff soldier, comparing Germany and Russia, draws attention to the incommensurability of these two quantities. The German attack on Russia seemed to him to be a contact between the limited and the unlimited.

Stalin is the lord of Asian boundlessness - this is an enemy that forces advancing from limited, dismembered spaces cannot cope with...

Soldier K. Mattis

We entered into battle with an enemy that we, being captive of European concepts of life, did not understand at all. This is the fate of our strategy; strictly speaking, it is completely random, like an adventure on Mars.

Soldier K. Mattis

The Germans about the mercy of the Russians

The inexplicability of Russian character and behavior often baffled the Germans. Russians show hospitality not only in their homes, they come out with milk and bread. In December 1941, during the retreat from Borisov, in a village abandoned by the troops, an old woman brought out bread and a jug of milk. “War, war,” she repeated in tears. The Russians treated both the victorious and the defeated Germans with equal good nature. Russian peasants are peace-loving and good-natured... When we get thirsty during the marches, we go into their huts, and they give us milk, like pilgrims. For them, every person is in need. How often have I seen Russian peasant women crying out over wounded German soldiers as if they were their own sons...

Major K. Kuehner

It seems strange that a Russian woman has no hostility towards the soldiers of the army with which her sons are fighting: Old Alexandra uses strong threads... to knit socks for me. Besides, the good-natured old woman cooks potatoes for me. Today I even found a piece of salted meat in the lid of my pot. She probably has supplies hidden somewhere. Otherwise, it’s impossible to understand how these people live here. There is a goat in Alexandra's barn. Many people don't have cows. And with all this, these poor people share their last good with us. Do they do this out of fear or do these people really have an innate sense of self-sacrifice? Or do they do it out of good nature or even out of love? Alexandra, she is 77 years old, as she told me, is illiterate. She cannot read or write. After the death of her husband, she lives alone. Three children died, the other three left for Moscow. It is clear that both of her sons are in the army. She knows that we are fighting against them, and yet she knits socks for me. The feeling of enmity is probably unfamiliar to her.

Orderly Michels

In the first months of the war, village women ... hurried with food for prisoners of war. “Oh, poor things!” - they said. They also brought food for the German guards sitting in the center of small squares on benches around the white statues of Lenin and Stalin, thrown into the mud...

Officer Malaparte

Hatred for a long time ... is not in the Russian character. This is especially clear in the example of how quickly the psychosis of hatred among ordinary Soviet people towards the Germans disappeared during the Second World War. In this case, the sympathy and maternal feeling of the Russian rural woman, as well as young girls, towards the prisoners played a role. A Western European woman who met the Red Army in Hungary wonders: “Isn’t it strange - most of them do not feel any hatred even for the Germans: where do they get this unshakable faith in human goodness, this inexhaustible patience, this selflessness and meek humility...

Germans about Russian sacrifice

Sacrifice has been noted more than once by the Germans in the Russian people. From a people that does not officially recognize spiritual values, it is as if one cannot expect either nobility, Russian character, or sacrifice. However, a German officer is amazed during the interrogation of a captured partisan:

Is it really possible to demand from a person brought up in materialism so much sacrifice for the sake of ideals!

Major K. Kuehner

Probably, this exclamation can be applied to the entire Russian people, who apparently have retained these traits in themselves, despite the breakdown of the internal Orthodox foundations of life, and, apparently, sacrifice, responsiveness and similar qualities are characteristic of Russians to a high degree. They are partly emphasized by the attitude of the Russians themselves towards the Western peoples.

As soon as Russians come into contact with Westerners, they briefly define them with the words “dry people” or “heartless people.” All the egoism and materialism of the West lies in the definition of "dry people"

Endurance, mental strength and at the same time humility also attract the attention of foreigners.

The Russian people, especially the large expanses, steppes, fields and villages, are one of the healthiest, joyful and wisest on earth. He is able to resist the power of fear with his back bent. There is so much faith and antiquity in it that the most just order in the world could probably come from it.”

Soldier Matisse

An example of the duality of the Russian soul, which combines pity and cruelty at the same time:

When the prisoners were already given soup and bread in the camp, one Russian gave a piece of his portion. Many others did the same, so that there was so much bread in front of us that we could not eat it... We just shook our heads. Who can understand them, these Russians? They shoot some and may even laugh contemptuously at this; they give others plenty of soup and even share with them their own daily portion of bread.

German M. Gertner

Taking a closer look at the Russians, the German will again note their sharp extremes and the impossibility of fully comprehending them:

Russian soul! It moves from the most tender, soft sounds to wild fortissimo, it is difficult to predict this music and especially the moments of its transition... The words of one old consul remain symbolic: “I don’t know the Russians enough - I’ve lived among them for only thirty years.

General Schweppenburg

Germans about the shortcomings of Russians

From the Germans themselves we hear an explanation for the fact that Russians are often reproached for their tendency to steal.

Those who survived the post-war years in Germany, like us in the camps, became convinced that need destroys a strong sense of property even among people to whom theft was alien since childhood. Improving living conditions would quickly correct this deficiency for the majority, and the same would happen in Russia, as it did before the Bolsheviks. It is not shaky concepts and insufficient respect for other people's property that appeared under the influence of socialism that makes people steal, but need.

POW Gollwitzer

Most often you ask yourself helplessly: why is the truth not being told here? ... This could be explained by the fact that it is extremely difficult for Russians to say "no". Their “no”, however, has become famous all over the world, but this seems to be more a Soviet than a Russian feature. The Russian does his best to avoid the necessity of refusing any request. In any case, when his sympathy begins to stir, and this often happens to him. It seems unfair to him to disappoint a needy person; to avoid this, he is ready for any lie. And where there is no sympathy, lying is at least a convenient means of ridding oneself of annoying requests.

In Eastern Europe, mother vodka has performed great service for centuries. It warms people when they are cold, dries their tears when they are sad, deceives their stomachs when they are hungry, and gives that drop of happiness that everyone needs in life and which is difficult to obtain in semi-civilized countries. In Eastern Europe, vodka is theatre, cinema, concert and circus; it replaces books for the illiterate, makes heroes out of cowardly cowards and is the consolation that makes you forget all your worries. Where in the world to find another such iota of happiness, and such a cheap one?

The people... oh yes, the illustrious Russian people!.. For several years I distributed wages in one work camp and came into contact with Russians of all strata. There are wonderful people among them, but here it is almost impossible to remain an impeccably honest person. I was constantly amazed that under such pressure this people retained so much humanity in all respects and so much naturalness. Among women this is noticeably even greater than among men, among old people, of course, more than among young people, among peasants more than among workers, but there is no layer in which this is completely absent. They are a wonderful people and deserve to be loved.

POW Gollwitzer

On the way home from Russian captivity, the impressions of the last years in Russian captivity emerge in the memory of the German soldier-priest.

Military priest Franz

Germans about Russian women

A separate chapter can be written about the high morality and ethics of a Russian woman. Foreign authors left a valuable monument to her in their memoirs about Russia. To a German doctor Eurich The unexpected results of the examination made a deep impression: 99 percent of girls aged 18 to 35 were virgins... He thinks that in Orel it would be impossible to find girls for a brothel.

The voices of women, especially girls, are actually non-melodious, but pleasant. There is some kind of strength and joy hidden in them. It seems that you hear some deep string of life ringing. It seems that constructive schematic changes in the world pass by these forces of nature without touching them...

Writer Junger

By the way, staff doctor von Grewenitz told me that during a medical examination the vast majority of girls turned out to be virgins. This can also be seen in the faces, but it is difficult to say whether one can read it from the forehead or from the eyes - this is the shine of purity that surrounds the face. Its light does not have the flickering of active virtue, but rather resembles the reflection of moonlight. However, this is precisely why you feel the great power of this light…

Writer Junger

About feminine Russian women (if I can put it that way) I got the impression that they, with their special inner strength, keep under the moral control of those Russians who can be considered barbarians.

Military priest Franz

The words of another German soldier sound like a conclusion to the topic of the morality and dignity of a Russian woman:

What did propaganda tell us about the Russian woman? And how did we find it? I think that there is hardly a German soldier who has been in Russia who has not learned to appreciate and respect a Russian woman.

Soldier Michels

Describing a ninety-year-old woman who never once left her village during her life and therefore did not know the world outside the village, the German officer says:

I even think that she is much happier than we are: she is full of the happiness of life, flowing in close proximity to nature; she is happy with the inexhaustible power of her simplicity.

Major K. Kuehner

We find about simple, integral feelings among Russians in the memoirs of another German.

“I’m talking to Anna, my eldest daughter,” he writes. - She is not married yet. Why doesn't she leave this poor land? - I ask her and show her photographs from Germany. The girl points to her mother and sisters and explains that she is best among her relatives. It seems to me that these people have only one desire: to love each other and live for their fellow men.

Germans about Russian simplicity, intelligence and talent

German officers sometimes do not know how to answer the simple questions of ordinary Russian people.

The general with his retinue passes by a Russian prisoner grazing sheep destined for German cuisine. “That’s stupid,” the prisoner began to express his thoughts, “but peaceful, and people, sir? Why are people so unpeaceful? Why are they killing each other?!”… We couldn't answer his last question. His words came from the depths of the soul of a simple Russian person.

General Schweppenburg

The spontaneity and simplicity of the Russians make the German exclaim:

Russians don't grow up. They remain children... If you look at the Russian masses from this point of view, you will understand them and forgive them a lot.

By proximity to a harmonious, pure, but also harsh nature, foreign eyewitnesses are trying to explain the courage, endurance, and undemandingness of Russians.

The courage of Russians is based on their undemanding to life, on their organic connection with nature. And this nature tells them about deprivation, struggle and death to which a person is subject.

Major K. Kuehner

The Germans often noted the exceptional efficiency of the Russians, their ability to improvise, sharpness, adaptability, curiosity about everything, and especially about knowledge.

The purely physical performance of Soviet workers and Russian women is beyond any doubt.

General Schweppenburg

The art of improvisation among Soviet people should be especially emphasized, no matter what it concerns.

General Fretter-Picot

About the intelligence and interest shown by Russians in everything:

Most of them show an interest in everything much greater than our workers or peasants; They are all distinguished by their quickness of perception and practical intelligence.

Non-commissioned officer Gogoff

Overestimation of the knowledge acquired at school is often an obstacle for a European in his understanding of the “uneducated” Russian... What was amazing and beneficial for me, as a teacher, was the discovery that a person without any school education can understand the deepest problems of life in a truly philosophical way and at the same time possesses such knowledge that some academician of European fame might envy him... Russians, first of all, lack this typically European fatigue in the face of the problems of life, which we often only overcome with difficulty. Their curiosity knows no bounds... The education of the real Russian intelligentsia reminds me of the ideal types of people of the Renaissance, whose destiny was the universality of knowledge, which has nothing in common, “a little bit of everything.”

Swiss Jucker, who lived in Russia for 16 years

Another German from the people is surprised by the young Russian’s acquaintance with domestic and foreign literature:

From a conversation with a 22-year-old Russian who only graduated from public school, I learned that she knew Goethe and Schiller, not to mention that she was well versed in Russian literature. When I expressed my surprise at this to Dr. Heinrich W., who knew the Russian language and understood the Russians better, he rightly remarked: “The difference between the German and Russian people is that we keep our classics in luxurious bindings in bookcases.” and we don’t read them, while the Russians print their classics on newsprint and publish them in editions, but they take them to the people and read them.

Military priest Franz

The lengthy description by a German soldier of a concert organized in Pskov on July 25, 1942 testifies to talents that can manifest themselves even in unfavorable conditions.

I sat down at the back among the village girls in colorful cotton dresses... The compere came out, read a long program, and made an even longer explanation for it. Then two men, one on each side, parted the curtain, and a very poor set for Korsakov's opera appeared before the audience. One piano replaced the orchestra... Mainly two singers sang... But something happened that would have been beyond the capabilities of any European opera. Both singers, plump and self-confident, even in tragic moments sang and played with great and clear simplicity... movements and voices merged together. They supported and complemented each other: by the end, even their faces were singing, not to mention their eyes. Poor furnishings, a lonely piano, and yet there was a complete impression. No shiny props, no hundred instruments could have contributed to a better impression. After this, the singer appeared in gray striped trousers, a velvet jacket and an old-fashioned stand-up collar. When, so dressed up, he walked out into the middle of the stage with some touching helplessness and bowed three times, laughter was heard in the hall among the officers and soldiers. He began a Ukrainian folk song, and as soon as his melodic and powerful voice was heard, the hall froze. A few simple gestures accompanied the song, and the singer's eyes made it visible. During the second song, the lights suddenly went out in the entire hall. Only his voice dominated him. He sang in the dark for about an hour. At the end of one song, the Russian village girls sitting behind me, in front of me and next to me, jumped up and began to applaud and stomp their feet. A turmoil of long-lasting applause began, as if the dark stage was flooded with the light of fantastic, unimaginable landscapes. I didn't understand a word, but I saw everything.

Soldier Mattis

Folk songs, reflecting the character and history of the people, most attract the attention of eyewitnesses.

In a real Russian folk song, and not in sentimental romances, the entire Russian “broad” nature is reflected with its tenderness, wildness, depth, sincerity, closeness to nature, cheerful humor, endless search, sadness and radiant joy, as well as with their undying longing for beautiful and kind.

German songs are filled with mood, Russian songs are filled with story. Russia has great power in its songs and choirs.

Major K. Kuehner

Germans about Russian faith

A striking example of such a state is provided to us by a rural teacher, whom the German officer knew well and who, apparently, maintained constant contact with the nearest partisan detachment.

Iya talked to me about Russian icons. The names of the great icon painters are unknown here. They devoted their art to a pious cause and remained in obscurity. Everything personal must yield to the demand of the saint. The figures on the icons are shapeless. They give the impression of the unknown. But they don't have to have beautiful bodies either. Next to the holy, the bodily has no meaning. In this art it would be unthinkable for a beautiful woman to be the model of the Madonna, as was the case with the great Italians. Here it would be blasphemy, since this is a human body. Nothing can be known, everything must be believed. This is the secret of the icon. “Do you believe in the icon?” Iya didn't answer. “Why are you decorating it then?” She could, of course, answer: “I don’t know. Sometimes I do this. I get scared when I don't do this. And sometimes I just want to do it.” How divided and restless you must be, Iya. Gravity towards God and indignation against Him in the same heart. “What do you believe in?” “Nothing.” She said this with such heaviness and depth that I was left with the impression that these people accept their unbelief as much as their faith. A fallen person continues to carry within himself the old legacy of humility and faith.

Major K. Kuehner

Russians are difficult to compare with other peoples. Mysticism in Russian man continues to pose a question to the vague concept of God and the remnants of Christian religious feeling.

General Schweppenburg

We also find other evidence of young people searching for the meaning of life, not satisfied with schematic and dead materialism. Probably, the path of the Komsomol member, who ended up in a concentration camp for spreading the Gospel, became the path of some of the Russian youth. In the very poor material published by eyewitnesses in the West, we find three confirmations that the Orthodox faith was to some extent transmitted to older generations of youth and that the few and undoubtedly lonely young people who have acquired the faith are sometimes ready to courageously defend it, without fear of imprisonment or hard labor. Here is a rather detailed testimony of one German woman who returned home from the camp in Vorkuta:

I was very struck by the integrity of these believers. These were peasant girls, intellectuals of different ages, although young people predominated. They preferred the Gospel of John. They knew him by heart. The students lived with them in great friendship and promised them that in the future Russia there would be complete freedom in religious terms. The fact that many of the Russian youth who believed in God faced arrest and concentration camps is confirmed by the Germans who returned from Russia after World War II. They met believers in concentration camps and describe them this way: We envied the believers. We considered them happy. The believers were supported by their deep faith, which also helped them to easily endure all the hardships of camp life. For example, no one could force them to go to work on Sunday. In the dining room before dinner, they always pray... They pray all their free time... You can’t help but admire such faith, you can’t help but envy it... Every person, be it a Pole, a German, a Christian or a Jew, when he turned to a believer for help, always received it . The believer shared the last piece of bread...

Probably, in some cases, believers won respect and sympathy not only from prisoners, but also from the camp authorities:

There were several women in their team who, being deeply religious, refused to work on major church holidays. The authorities and security put up with this and did not hand them over.

The following impression of a German officer who accidentally entered a burnt-out church can serve as a symbol of wartime Russia:

We enter like tourists for a few minutes into the church through the open door. Burnt beams and broken stones lie on the floor. Plaster fell off the walls due to shocks or fire. Paints, plastered frescoes depicting saints, and ornaments appeared on the walls. And in the middle of the ruins, on the charred beams, two peasant women stand and pray.

Major K. Kuehner

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Preparing the text - V. Drobyshev. Based on materials from the magazine " Slav»

We fought on the Eastern Front

War through the eyes of Wehrmacht soldiers

Vitaly Baranov

© Vitaly Baranov, 2017

ISBN 978-5-4485-0647-5

Created in the intellectual publishing system Ridero

Preface

The book is based on the diaries of soldiers, non-commissioned officers and officers of the German army who took part in the Soviet-German front during the Great Patriotic War. Almost all the diary authors completed their life’s journey during the conquest of “living space” on our land.

The diaries were found by Red Army soldiers in various sectors of the Soviet-German front and handed over to intelligence agencies for translation and study of their contents.

The diaries describe combat operations and the life of German troops by representatives of various branches of the military: infantry, tank troops and aviation. The exploits of unknown soldiers and commanders of the Red Army are described, as well as some negative aspects of the civilian population and military personnel.

From the diary of a corporal of the 402nd Velobat, killed on October 10, 1941 in the area north of New. Storm

Translation from German.

June 25, 1941. In the evening entry into Varvay. We guard in front of the city day and night. Those who lagged behind their units (Russians) entered into battle with our guard. Tobias Bartlan and Ostarman are seriously wounded.

June 26, 1941. Rest in the morning. After noon, at 14.00, we begin the task in Vaca. We set a good pace. The second company has losses. Retreat into the forest. Tough duel. Artillery bombarded for an hour and a half. The enemy artillery that fired at us was destroyed by a direct hit from our artillery.

June 27, 1941. From noon, further offensive to Siauliai. Another 25 km further. We protect for up to 4 hours.

June 28, 1941. In security. At 0.30 we were included in the shock group (Forausabteylung). 1 AK (1 division). We reached Riga by a roundabout way (140 km). In Brauska Unterzicher (4th group) in reconnaissance (80 people were captured and shot). Batter. Air attack on tanks. After lunch we guard the advancing division (again captured Russians who have lagged behind their units). Fight in houses.

June 29, 1941. At 6 o'clock we attack again. 80 km to Riga. In front of the city of Unterzicher. Noon, attack on the city, which was repulsed. Heavy losses of the 3rd platoon. 1st Platoon patrols in the afternoon, looking for civilians. At 21.00 the platoon guards the bridge. Fight with civilians. Bridge explosion.

30.6.1941. After being guarded, they entered the city. Infantry attacks the Russian regiment. Heavy attack from Riga on us. Bombardment of our positions for 2 hours. At 2 o'clock we were replaced by infantry. Unterzicher. At night there was heavy artillery fire on our positions.

1.7.1941. Fall of Riga. Further offensive. South of Riga we cross the Dvina on ferries and “sturmboats” (pontoon boats). Our battalion is guarding. Reconnaissance was sent to Yugala to guard both bridges. The company that has not suffered losses strengthens us. We are guarding this area until the division passes through it.

2.7.1941. Security of both bridges...

From the diary of the murdered German non-commissioned officer Oskar Kimert

On July 13, 1941, at 3.30 from the start, Methane flew out in B 4-AC vehicles with the task of attacking the airfield in the town of Gruhe. In 4-BO-5, In 4-AS they fly up to the airfield, but in this place we are surrounded by fighters, there are 2 fighters in front of me, but we keep them away from us, at this time the third fighter flew at us from the right, and then showered from the left us with heavy machine-gun fire. Our plane gets holes in the control mechanism and the right window, as a result of which I received a strong blow to the head and fall back. From the blow I see nothing, but I feel that my whole head is covered with blood and its warm streams flow down my face. The damaged engines of my aircraft fail to work and we land on one of the forest glades.

At the moment of landing, the car overturned and caught fire when it hit the ground. I was the last one to get out of the car, and the Russians still continued to fire at us. As soon as we managed to get out of the car, we ran into the forest and hid behind the trees, where the plane pilot bandaged me in a sheltered place. Being in an unfamiliar area and not having a map, we cannot orient ourselves about our location, so we decided to move west and after about an hour of our movement, we find a canal with water, where, exhausted, I wet my scarf in the water and cooled my head.

The wounded observer was also exhausted, but we continued to move through the forest and at 10 o’clock in the morning we decided to go to one of the settlements to get water. Following in search of a settlement, we noticed several houses near the quarry, but before approaching them, we decided to watch them, but this did not last long, since a painful thirst for drink forced us to leave the forest and go to the houses, although there was nothing special We did not observe them near them. I, completely exhausted and tired, noticed a Red Cross flag on one of the houses, as a result of which the thought appeared that we were saved, but when we came to it, it turned out that the Red Cross was not ours, but Russian. Among the service personnel there, some spoke a little German and our request was granted by giving us water to drink. While at the Red Cross, we noticed how Russian armed soldiers were approaching it, as a result of which we were in danger of being detained, but later it turned out that they did not recognize us that we were Germans, and we took advantage of the opportunity to escape and hide in forest. During the escape, the observer was exhausted and could no longer run, but we helped him with this and together with him we ran 200-300 meters, rushed into the bushes, where, camouflaged, we decided to rest, but the mosquitoes did not give us rest. The Russians obviously later realized that we were Germans, but they were obviously afraid to pursue us in the forest. After a short rest, we continued moving further and on the way we met a farm, the owner of which, a poor Estonian woman, gave us bread and water. Having received bread and water, we continue to move southwest, with the goal of reaching the sea.

On July 14, 1941, at 5.30, on our route we meet an Estonian peasant who, in a conversation with us, does not advise us to move further to the south and west, since, according to him, there are supposedly Russian fortifications and their front. The place where we are is called Arva, not far from the town of Kurtna, there is a lake not far from it. The peasant we met gave us bread and bacon and we didn’t eat much and are ready to continue moving further, but we don’t know where, since we don’t have any information about the whereabouts of our people. The peasant advised us to wait until the next day on the spot, and by this time he would find out and give us information about the location of the Russian troops and the location of ours.

Taking the peasant's advice, we spent the whole day in the bushes by the lake, and at night we slept in a pile of hay. During the day, squadrons of Russian fighters fly over us all the time. On July 15, 1941, a peasant we already knew came to us, brought us bread, bacon and milk and reported that the Russians were retreating to the north. We are worried about the lack of a map, without which we cannot navigate, but the peasant explained to us that 3 km from us to the west there is a field road, which about ten kilometers goes out onto the main road running from the northeast to the south / from Narva to Tartu /. We continue to move through forests and fields and reach the main road, around noon, where it is indicated that it is 135 km to Tartu, 60 km to Narva, we are near Pagari. There is a farm near the road, we approach it, the owners of which, a young man and his mother, Estonians, received us. In a conversation with them, they told us that Tartu is occupied by the Germans, we ourselves observe how trucks and cars with cargo are driving along the road, most of which are armed with machine guns, as you can see, the Russians behave very cheerfully. Russian cars pass by us, and we are already lying 10 meters from the road in a barn and watching all the movement, hoping that soon our troops will advance along the road to the north.

There is no radio anywhere, as a result of which we do not know any news about the position of our troops, so we decided to stay with the peasant Reinhold Mamon on July 16-18, waiting for our troops. Observer Kinurd is sick from injury and has a high temperature, but despite this we continue to move towards Lake Peipsi, from where we want to leave by boat. Upon leaving the farm where we were, its owner gave us a map and on July 19 we continue to move towards Ilaka, where we have the goal of crossing the river to Vask-Narva and then turning west. In Ilaka, some men aged 20-30 tell us that they recognized us, that we are Germans. On July 19, 1941, we tore off all our insignia and buttons so that at least from afar they could not recognize us as German soldiers, and we put our equipment under our jackets. In Ilaka, one of the Estonian reserve officers gave us something to eat and drink.

My name is Wolfgang Morel. It's a Huguenot surname because my ancestors came from France in the 17th century. I was born in 1922. Until the age of ten he studied at a public school, and then for almost nine years at a gymnasium in the city of Breslau, present-day Wroclaw. From there, on July 5, 1941, I was drafted into the army. I just turned 19 years old.

I avoided labor service (before serving in the army, young Germans had to work for six months for the Imperial Labor Service) and I was left to myself for six months. It was like a breath of fresh air before the army, before captivity.

Before coming to Russia, what did you know about the USSR?

Russia was a closed country for us. The Soviet Union didn't want to keep in touch with the West, but the West didn't want contacts with Russia either - both sides were afraid. However, back in 1938, as a 16-year-old boy, I listened to a German radio station that broadcast regularly from Moscow. I must say the programs were not interesting - sheer propaganda. Production, visits of leaders and so on - this was of no interest to anyone in Germany. There was also information about political repressions in the Soviet Union. In 1939, when there was a turn in foreign policy, when Germany and the USSR signed a non-aggression pact, we saw Soviet troops, soldiers, officers, tanks - it was very interesting. After the signing of the treaty, interest in the Soviet Union increased greatly. Some of my school friends began to study Russian. They said this: "In the future we will have close economic relations and we must speak Russian."

When did the image of the USSR as an enemy begin to take shape?

Only after the start of the war. At the beginning of 1941 it was felt that relations were deteriorating. There were rumors that the USSR was going to stop exporting grain to Germany. wanted to export their grain.

How was the start of the war with the Soviet Union perceived?

The feelings were very different. Some believed that in a week all enemies in the East would be destroyed, as happened in Poland and in the West. But the older generation viewed this war with skepticism. My father, who fought in Russia during the First World War, was convinced that we would not bring this war to a happy end.

At the end of June I received a letter in which I was ordered to be at the barracks of a military unit at such and such an hour on such and such a date. The barracks was located in my hometown, so it wasn’t far to travel. I was trained to be a radio operator for two months. However, at first I played more tennis. The fact is that my father was a famous tennis player and I myself started playing at the age of five. Our tennis club was located not far from the barracks. Once in a conversation I told the company commander about this. He really wanted to learn how to play and immediately took me with him to practice. So I left the barracks much earlier than others. Instead of drill training, I played tennis. The company commander was not interested in my drill skills; he wanted me to play with him. When training in the specialty began, the games ended. We were taught how to transmit and receive using a key, and how to eavesdrop on enemy conversations in English and Russian. I had to learn Russian Morse code signs. Each character of the Latin alphabet is encoded with four Morse characters, and the Cyrillic alphabet with five. It was not easy to master this. Soon the training ended, the next batch of cadets arrived and they left me as an instructor, although I didn’t want to. I wanted to go to the front because it was believed that the war was about to end. We defeated France, Poland, Norway - Russia will not last long, and after the war it is better to be an active participant - more benefits. In December, soldiers from rear units were collected throughout Germany to be sent to the Eastern Front. I submitted a report and was transferred to a team to be sent to war.

We traveled to Orsha by rail, and from Orsha to Rzhev we were transferred by transport Yu-52. Apparently, replenishment was very urgently needed. I must say that when we arrived in Rzhev I was struck by the lack of order. The army's morale was at zero.

I ended up in the seventh tank division. The famous division commanded by General Rommel. By the time we arrived at the division there were no tanks - they were abandoned due to lack of fuel and shells.

Have you been given winter clothing?

No, but we received several summer sets. We were given three shirts. In addition, I received an additional overcoat. But in January there were frosts of forty degrees! Our government slept through the onset of winter. For example, the order to collect skis from the population for the army came out only in March 1942!

When you arrived in Russia, what struck you most?

Space. We had little contact with the local population. Sometimes they stayed in huts. The local population helped us.

From our group, skiers began to be selected for operations behind enemy lines - it was necessary to connect to enemy communication lines and listen to them. I did not get into this group, and on January 10 we were already on the front line as a simple infantryman. We cleared the roads of snow and fought.

What did they feed you at the front?

There was always hot food. They gave us chocolate and cola, sometimes liquor - not every day and in limited quantities.

Already on January 22nd I was captured. I was alone in a combat guard when I saw a group of about fifteen Russian soldiers in winter clothes on skis. It was useless to shoot, but I had no intention of surrendering. When they came closer, I saw that they were Mongols. They were considered to be especially cruel. There were rumors that mutilated corpses of German prisoners with their eyes gouged out were found. I was not ready to accept such a death. In addition, I was very afraid that I would be tortured during interrogation at Russian headquarters: I had nothing to say - I was a simple soldier. Fear of captivity and painful death under torture led me to the decision to commit suicide. I took my Mauser 98k by the barrel, and when they approached about ten meters I put it in my mouth and pressed the trigger with my foot. The Russian winter and the quality of German weapons saved my life: if it had not been so cold, and if the parts of the weapon had not been so well fitted that they froze, then we would not be talking to you. I was surrounded. Someone said “Hyunda hoh.” I raised my hands up, but in one hand I was holding a rifle. One of them approached me, took the rifle and said something. It seems to me that he said: “Be glad that the war is over for you.” I realized that they were quite friendly. Apparently I was the first German they saw. I was searched. Although I was not a heavy smoker, there was a pack of 250 R-6 cigarettes in my backpack. All smokers received a cigarette, and the rest was returned to me. I later exchanged these cigarettes for food. In addition, the soldiers found a toothbrush. Apparently they encountered her for the first time - they looked at her carefully and laughed. One elderly soldier with a beard patted my overcoat and said dismissively: “Hitler,” then pointed to his fur coat and hat and respectfully said: “Stalin!” They wanted to interrogate me right away, but no one spoke German. They had a small dictionary in which there was a chapter on “interrogation of a prisoner”: “Wie heissen Sie? What's your last name?" - I gave my name. - “Which part” - “I don’t understand.” I decided to hold out until the last moment during the interrogation and not reveal my unit number. After struggling with me a little, they stopped the interrogation. An elderly soldier who praised his uniform was ordered to accompany me to the headquarters, which was located six kilometers away in a village we had left two or three days ago. He was skiing, and I was walking in one and a half meters of snow. As soon as he took a couple of steps, I remained many meters behind him. Then he pointed to my shoulders and the ends of the skis. I could have punched him in the temple, taken my skis and run away, but I didn’t have the will to resist. After 9 hours in 30-40 degree frost, I simply didn’t have the strength to decide to do such an act.

The first interrogation at headquarters was conducted by the commissioner. But before I was called in for questioning, I was sitting in the hallway of the house. I decided to take a moment and shake out the snow that had accumulated in my boots. I only managed to take off one boot when a heroic-looking officer dressed in an astrakhan cape addressed me. In French, which he spoke better than me, he said: “It’s lucky that you were captured, you will definitely return home.” He distracted me from shaking the snow out of my boots, which later cost me dearly. We were interrupted by a translator who shouted from behind the door: “Come in!” My empty stomach immediately accepted the offer to have a light snack. When they handed me black bread, lard and a glass of water, my hesitant glance caught the eye of the commissar. He motioned for the translator to try the food. “As you can see, we are not going to poison you!” I was very thirsty, but instead of water there was vodka in the glass! Then the interrogation began. I was again asked to give my last name, first name, and date of birth. Then came the main question: “Which military unit?” I refused to answer this question. . The sound of the pistol hitting the table forced me to come up with an answer: “1st Division, 5th Regiment.” Complete fantasy. Not surprisingly, the commissioner immediately exploded: “You’re lying!” - I repeated. - “Lies!” He took a small book, in which the divisions and the regiments included in them were apparently written down: “Listen, you serve in the 7th Panzer Division, 7th Infantry Regiment, 6th Company.” It turned out that the day before, two comrades from my company were captured and told me in which unit they served. At this point the interrogation was over. During the interrogation, the snow in my boot, which I did not have time to remove, melted. They took me outside and took me to a neighboring village. During the trek, the water in my boot froze and I stopped feeling my toes. In this village I joined a group of three prisoners of war. For almost ten days we walked from village to village. One of my comrades died in my arms from loss of strength. We often felt the hatred of the local population, whose houses during the retreat were destroyed to the ground as part of the scorched earth tactics. To angry shouts: “Fin, fin!” we answered: “German!” and in most cases the locals left us alone. I had frostbite on my right foot, my right boot was torn, and I used my second shirt as a bandage. In such a pitiful state, we met the film crew of the News of the Week film magazine, past whom we had to walk several times in deep snow. They told me to go through and go through again. We tried to keep the image of the German army from being so bad. Our “provisions” on this “campaign” consisted mainly of empty bread and ice-cold well water, which gave me pneumonia. Only at the Shakhovskaya station, restored after the bombing, did the three of us board a freight car, where an orderly was already waiting for us. During the two or three days that the train traveled to Moscow, he provided us with the necessary medicines and food, which he cooked on a cast iron stove. For us it was a feast while we still had an appetite. The hardships we experienced took a toll on our health. I was tormented by dysentery and pneumonia. About two weeks after our capture, we arrived at one of the freight stations in Moscow and found refuge on the bare floor of the wagon coupler. Two days later, we couldn't believe our eyes. The guard put us in a white, six-seater ZIS limousine, on which a red cross and a red crescent were painted. On the way to the hospital, it seemed to us that the driver was deliberately taking a roundabout route to show us the city. He proudly commented on the places we passed by: Red Square with the Lenin Mausoleum, the Kremlin. We crossed the Moscow River twice. The military hospital was hopelessly overcrowded with wounded. But here we took a bath that had a beneficial effect on us. My frostbitten leg was bandaged and suspended over the bathtub using lifting blocks. We never saw our uniform again, as we had to wear Russian clothes. We were sent to the boiler room. There were already ten completely exhausted comrades there. There was water on the floor, steam escaping from leaky pipes in the air, and drops of condensation crawling down the walls. The beds were stretchers raised on bricks. They gave us rubber boots so we could go to the toilet. Even the orderlies who appeared from time to time were wearing rubber boots. We spent several days in this terrible dungeon. Fever dreams caused by illness drag on the memories of this time... Five, maybe ten days later we were transferred to Vladimir. We were placed directly in a military hospital, located in the building of the theological seminary. At that time, there was no prisoner of war camp in Vladimir in whose infirmary we could be accommodated. There were already 17 of us and we occupied a separate room. The beds were made with sheets. How did they decide to place us together with the Russian wounded? A clear violation of the no contact order. One of my Russian friends, who by the nature of his work was engaged in studying the fate of German prisoners of war in Vladimir, admitted to me that he had never seen anything like this. In the archives of the Soviet Army in St. Petersburg, he came across a card from a filing cabinet documenting our existence. For us, such a decision was a great happiness, and for some even salvation. There we felt treated as one of our own in terms of medical care and living conditions. Our food was not inferior to that of the Red Army soldiers. There was no security, but despite this, no one even thought about escaping. Medical examinations took place twice a day, most of them were carried out by female doctors, less often by the chief doctor himself. Most of us have suffered from frostbite.

I've already gotten there. My appetite disappeared and I began to put the bread they gave us under my pillow. My neighbor said that I was a fool and should distribute it among the others, since I am not a tenant anyway. This rudeness saved me! I realized that if I wanted to return home, I had to force myself to eat. Gradually I began to improve. My pneumonia subsided after two months of treatment, including cupping. Dysentery was taken by the horns by intramuscularly administering potassium permanganate and taking 55 percent ethyl alcohol, which caused the indescribable envy of others. We were truly treated like patients. Even those slightly wounded and slowly recovering were exempted from any work. It was performed by sisters and nannies. The Kazakh cook often brought a full portion of soup or porridge to the brim. The only German word he knew was: “Noodles!” And when he said it, he always smiled broadly. When we noticed that the Russians’ attitude towards us was normal, our hostile attitude diminished. This was also helped by a charming female doctor, who treated us with sympathy with her sensitive, reserved attitude. We called her "Snow White".

Less pleasant were the regular visits from the political commissar, who arrogantly and in great detail told us about the new successes of the Russian winter offensive. A comrade from Upper Silesia - his jaw was crushed - tried to transfer his knowledge of the Polish language into Russian and translated as best he could. Judging by the fact that he himself understood no more than half, he was not at all ready to translate everything and instead scolded the political commissar and Soviet propaganda. The same one, not noticing the game of our “translator,” encouraged him to translate further. Often we could hardly contain our laughter. Completely different news reached us in the summer. Two hairdressers said in great confidence that the Germans were near Cairo and the Japanese occupied Singapore. And then the question immediately arose: what awaits us in the event of a passionately desired victory? The commissar hung a poster over our beds: “Death to the fascist invaders!” Outwardly, we were no different from the Russian wounded: white underwear, a blue dressing gown and house slippers. During private meetings in the hallway and in the toilet, of course. they immediately recognized the Germans. And only a few of our neighbors, whom we already knew and avoided, such meetings aroused indignation. In most cases the reaction was different. About half were neutral towards us, and about a third showed varying degrees of interest. The highest degree of trust was a pinch of shag, and sometimes even a rolled cigarette, lightly lit and handed over to us. Suffering from the fact that shag was not part of our diet, passionate smokers, as soon as they regained the ability to move around, set up tobacco collection duty in the corridor. The guard, who changed every half an hour, went out into the corridor, stood in front of our door and drew attention to himself with a typical movement of the smokers' hand, "shooting" chinarik or a pinch of shag. So the problem with tobacco was somehow solved.

What conversations took place between the prisoners?

Conversations between soldiers at home were only on the topic of women, but in captivity, topic No. 1 was food. I remember one conversation well. One comrade said that after dinner he could eat three more times, then his neighbor grabbed his wooden crutch and wanted to beat him, because in his opinion it would be possible to eat not three, but ten times.

Were there officers among you or only soldiers?

There were no officers.

In mid-summer, almost everyone was healthy again, their wounds were healed, and no one died. And even those who recovered earlier still remained in the infirmary. At the end of August, an order came to be transferred to a labor camp, first in Moscow, and from there to the Ufa region in the Urals. After an almost heavenly time in the infirmary, I realized that I was completely unaccustomed to physical work. But the parting became even more difficult because they treated me here with friendliness and mercy. In 1949, after spending almost eight years in captivity, I returned home.
Interview and literary processing: A. Drabkin

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Russian military campaign. Experience of the Second World War. 1941–1945

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Chapter 3 EASTERN FRONT

EASTERN FRONT

Like any uninvited guest on Russian soil, it took me some time to understand that, like representatives of other nations, Russians could not be lumped with the same brush. According to my first impression, all of them were evil beggars and looked more like animals than people. In battle they knew no pity, like a herd of hungry wolves.

However, somehow an incident occurred that I will not be able to forget for the rest of my life. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before or since. And I still remember it like a nightmare. There may be skeptics who will not believe me, but as a witness, I am ready to swear on anything that this really happened. If it is true that those who have been on the verge of death are not capable of lying, then this fully applies to me: after all, I have experienced this feeling several times, therefore, I have long lost all taste for embellishing what happened with by me actually.

I found myself on the Eastern Front immediately after the war with Russia began. And in my opinion, we were opposed by an enemy who belonged to some other, terrible breed of people. Fierce fighting began literally from the very first days of our offensive. The blood of invaders and defenders flowed like a river onto the blood-thirsty land of “Mother Russia”: she drank our blood, and we disfigured her face with machine gun and artillery fire. The wounded screamed a terrible cry, demanding help from the orderlies, the rest continued to move forward. "Further! Even further!" - that's what we were ordered to do. And we had no time to look back. Our officers drove us eastward like evil demons. Each of them, apparently, decided for himself that it was his company or his platoon that would win all conceivable and inconceivable awards.

A big tank battle near Ternopil, and after it - another, near Dubno, where we did not have to rest for three days and three nights. Replenishment of ammunition and fuel supplies here was carried out not as part of units, as usual. Separate tanks were withdrawn one after another to the nearby rear, which hastily returned back to throw themselves into the heat of battle again. I happened to disable one Russian tank in the battle near Ternopil and four more near Dubno. The area around the fighting turned into a chaotic hell. Our infantry soon ceased to understand where the enemy was and where our own were. But the enemy was in an even more difficult situation. And when the fighting here ended, many Russians had to either remain dead on the battlefield or continue their journey in endless columns of prisoners of war.

The prisoners had to be content with watery stew and several tens of grams of bread a day. I personally had to witness this when I was wounded near Zhitomir and received an appointment during the recovery period to a warehouse of spare parts for armored vehicles, in order to provide me with what was believed to be a more “gentle” treatment. There I once had to visit a prisoner of war camp to select twenty prisoners for a work team.

The prisoners were housed in the school building. While the non-commissioned officer - an Austrian - was selecting workers for me, I examined the camp area. What were they doing here, I asked myself, how bad or good were the conditions of their detention?

So I thought in those days, not suspecting that not much time would pass and I myself would have to fight for survival in exactly the same circumstances, not paying attention to all the obvious signs of human degradation. For several years, all my vitality and aspirations were spent on such a struggle. I often thought with a grin about how radically my beliefs had changed after that day in the camp near Dubno. How easy it is to judge others, how insignificant their misfortunes seem, and how nobly, in our own opinion, we would behave if we found ourselves in their desperate situation! Come on, I teased myself later, why aren’t you dying of shame now, when not a single self-respecting pig would agree to change places with you and live in the filth in which you live?

And so, when I stood at the threshold of the camp barracks, thinking about what strange creatures these “Mongols” must be, this happened. A wild cry came from the far corner of the room. A lump of bodies burst through the darkness like a whirlwind, growling, fiercely grappling, seemingly ready to tear each other apart. One of the human figures was pressed against the bunk, and I realized that one person had been attacked. The opponents gouged out his eyes, twisted his arms, and tried to scratch pieces of flesh from his body with their nails. The man was unconscious, he was practically torn to pieces.

Stunned by such a sight, I shouted to them to stop, but to no avail. Not daring to enter the room, I froze in horror at what was happening. The killers were already stuffing pieces of torn flesh down their throats. I was able to make out the bare skull and protruding ribs of a man on a bunk, and at that time, in the other corner of the room, two people fought for his hand, each pulling it towards himself with a crunch, as if in a tug-of-war competition.

Security! - I shouted.

But no one came. I ran to the guard commander and excitedly told him what had happened. But it didn't make any impression on him.

This is nothing new to me,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. - This happens every day. We stopped paying attention to this a long time ago.

I felt completely empty and exhausted, as if after a serious illness. Loading my batch of workers into the back of a truck, I hurried away from this terrible place. After driving about a kilometer, I sharply increased speed, realizing that the heavy feeling gradually began to let go. If only I could erase memories from my memory as easily!

The selected prisoners turned out to be closer to us Europeans. One of them spoke good German, and I had the opportunity to communicate with him while working. He was a native of Kyiv, and, like many Russians, his name was Ivan. Later I had to meet him again under very different circumstances. And then he satisfied my curiosity about the "Mongols" - Central Asians. It seems that these people used some kind of password word. As soon as it was uttered, they all rushed together to attack the one who was destined to replenish their meat ration. The poor fellow was immediately killed, and the other inhabitants of the barracks saved themselves from hunger, which could not be satisfied by the meager camp ration.

The locals' clothing was made from simple, undyed fabric, mostly homespun linen. In the village, their shoes were something like slippers made of straw or wood shavings. Such shoes were only suitable for dry weather, but not everyone could afford to buy rough leather boots that were worn in bad weather. Homespun socks were also worn on the feet, or they were simply wrapped from feet to knees with pieces of coarse fabric, which was secured with thick twine.

In such shoes, local residents, men and women, walked many kilometers through the fields to the market with a bag over their shoulders and a thick stick on their shoulders, on which two containers of milk were hung. This was a heavy burden even for the peasants, despite the fact that for them it was an integral part of their harsh life. However, men were in a more privileged position: if they had wives, then they did not have to endure heavy burdens so often. In most cases, Russian men preferred vodka to work, and going to the market became a purely female duty. They went there under the weight of their simple goods intended for sale. The woman’s first duty was to sell the products of rural labor, and the second was to buy alcohol for the male part of the population. And woe was that woman who dared to return home from the market without the coveted vodka! I heard that under the Soviet system the procedure for marriage and divorce was greatly simplified and, probably, this was often used.

Most people worked on collective farms and state farms. The first were collective farms that united one or more villages. The second were state-owned enterprises. But in both cases, the earnings were barely enough to make ends meet. There was no concept of a “middle class”; only poor workers and their wealthy leaders lived here. I got the impression that the entire local population was not living, but was hopelessly floundering in an eternal swamp of the most miserable poverty. The most suitable definition for them was “slaves”. I never understood why they were fighting.

A few of the major roads were well maintained, but the rest were simply terrible. On the rutted, uneven surface there was up to half a meter of dust in dry weather and, accordingly, the same amount of sticky mud during the rainy season. The most common type of transport on such roads were short Russian horses. Like their owners, they demonstrated miracles of unpretentiousness and endurance. Without complaint, these horses covered distances of twenty to thirty kilometers in any weather, and at the end of the journey they were left in the open air, without any hint of a roof over their heads, despite the wind, rain or snow. This is who you could take survival lessons from!

Music brightened up a hard life. The national instrument, the famous three-string balalaika, was probably in every home. Some, as an exception, preferred the accordion. Compared to ours, Russian harmonicas have a lower tone. This is probably what causes the effect of sadness that is invariably heard in their sound. In general, every single Russian song I heard was extremely sad, which, in my opinion, is not at all surprising. But the audience, as it turned out, liked to sit motionless, surrendering to the aura of sounds, which personally caused unbearable sadness for me. At the same time, national dances required each dancer to be able to move quickly and perform complex jumps. So only a person with innate grace and plasticity could reproduce them.

Suddenly I had to interrupt these private studies of life in a foreign country: I was ordered to return to the front. I left the tank spare parts warehouse and found myself one of those moving through Zhitomir to Kyiv. In the evening on the third day of the journey, I rejoined my comrades. Among them I saw many new faces. Gradually, the pace of our advance became lower and lower, and our losses became higher. During my absence, it seemed that half of the unit’s personnel managed to go to the hospital or to the grave.

Soon I myself had to witness the intensity of the fighting. We were sent into battle the same evening I returned to my unit. In close combat in the forest, the crew of my tank acted with such skill that we managed to knock out six Russian T-34s. A real hell raged among the pines, but we did not receive a scratch. I was already silently thanking God for this miracle, when suddenly the right roller of our Pzkpfw IV was destroyed by a direct hit from an enemy shell, and we stopped.

We did not have time to ponder this misfortune for a long time: under the fire of enemy infantry, only lightning swiftness could save us. I gave the order for evacuation, and I, as the captain of the ship, was the last to leave my tank. Saying goodbye to an old tank comrade, I disabled the cannon by firing a double charge, as well as the tracks, which I blew up with Teller mines. It was all I could do to damage the car as much as possible.

By that time my crew was already safe and I had more than enough time to join my comrades. They were waiting for me in a relatively safe shelter, hidden in a ditch. I quickly crawled towards them, and everyone greeted me with joyful exclamations. We were all pleased with the result. The score was six - one in our favor; however, none of the crew members received a scratch.

My next duty was to write a report to the platoon commander. We have not forgotten the deep-rooted sense of discipline in each of us, although those brutal battles turned even platoon commanders into our best comrades. This is how it should be at the front, where the common threat of death hovering over everyone neutralizes ranks and positions. Therefore, I could write a report in a simple form, without much formality:

“Six enemy tanks were destroyed, my commander. Our tank lost speed and was blown up by us. The crew returned safely to their positions."

I handed the commander this sparse description of that battle. He stopped me, smiled broadly, shook my hand and let me go.

Good job, my young friend,” the commander praised me. - Now you can go and get some sleep. You deserve a rest, and even before the start of tomorrow it may turn out that it was not in vain.

He was right about the second part of the sentence. It was not yet dawn when the alarm sounded. Everyone ran to their tanks to be ready at any moment to go wherever they were ordered. Everyone, but not me and my crew: our tank remained in no-man’s land. But we could not allow our comrades to go into battle without us, and I persuaded the commander to allocate one of the reserve vehicles for us. He gave his consent.

Unfortunately, we did not have time to draw the number of our victories on the barrel of the cannon. This tradition of indicating the number of destroyed enemy vehicles with rings on the cannon meant a lot to the crew. Without this distinction, which was ours by right, we felt somewhat out of place. In addition, the new tank, even though it was the same model as the previous one, was unfamiliar to us due to its small details. And on top of everything else, we were all still experiencing the consequences of last night's battle.

But all these inconveniences, worries and worries were instantly forgotten as soon as shots were heard again. Our attack continued without a break for four and a half hours, and during this time I managed to set fire to two enemy tanks. Only later, when we began to turn around to go “home,” suddenly there was a heart-grabbing clap, followed by a blow. Thus, the morning's bad premonitions were justified. This time it wasn't just the loss of the skating rink. Our tank received a direct hit in the rear on the right. The car was engulfed in flames, and I lay inside, half-conscious.

What brought me out of this state was the terrible understanding that we were burning. I looked around to try to assess the damage and the chances of rescue, and discovered that a Russian shell had killed two of my subordinates. Bloodied, they huddled in the corner. And we, the survivors, quickly jumped out, and then dragged the bodies of our comrades through the hatch so that they would not burn.

Ignoring the heavy fire of the enemy infantry, we dragged our dead colleagues away from the burning tank so that if the battlefield remained behind us, we could bury them with dignity. The ammunition inside the burning tank could explode at any moment. We ducked for cover and waited for the ground to shake from a powerful explosion that would send pieces of hot metal into the air and notify us that our tank was no longer there.

But there was no explosion, and after waiting a little longer, we took advantage of the temporary lull in enemy fire and hurried back to our own. This time everyone walked with their heads hanging, the mood was bad. Two of the five crew members were dead, and the tank, for unknown reasons, did not explode. This meant that the ammunition and, possibly, the gun would fall undamaged into the hands of the enemy. Dejected, we walked the three or four kilometers back to the location, smoking one cigarette after another to calm our nerves. After the explosion of an enemy shell, we were all splashed with blood. I had shrapnel stuck in my face and hands, and my ID badge miraculously protected me from a deep shrapnel wound to my chest. I still have a small dent where that token, about the thickness of a large coin, entered my sternum. The fact that this small token helped keep me alive once again strengthened my confidence that I was destined to survive this war.

The platoon's location had already reported the remaining losses. Two tank crews were completely killed, and the platoon commander himself was seriously wounded. But he was still there, and I managed to bitterly report to him about our misadventures on that unfortunate day for us, until an ambulance arrived and he was taken to the hospital.

Later that day I was called to division headquarters, where I and two surviving comrades from my crew received Iron Crosses 1st class. And a few days later I was given the medal promised for the first successful battle for the destruction of enemy tanks. After another three weeks I received a badge for participating in close combat, which, when I found myself in the hands of Russian soldiers, caused me to receive further wounds. (Obviously, this was the “General Assault” badge (Allgemeines Sturmabzeichen), established on January 1, 1940, in particular, it was awarded to military personnel who destroyed at least eight units of enemy armored vehicles. - Ed.)

Victory honors after the battle! I was proud, but not particularly cheerful. Glory grows brighter as time goes by, and the biggest battles have long since taken place.

Order to go to the Eastern Front However, a surprise awaited me in Berlin. Instead of the expected transfer to Copenhagen, I received orders to go to the Eastern Front. First I had to report to the front-line personnel department in Krakow. The departure was so urgent that