29. Januar 1945
The next day[1] I arrive at the battalion. As I take off my steel helmet at the entrance to the dug-out, I realise that I haven’t been able to get it off my head for almost ten days. Sometimes not even while sleeping.
After the meeting with the commander and the adjutant, the latter says to me abruptly: “Didn’t you notice any attack activity yesterday[2] during the great shelling?” To my emphatic “No” he continues with a smile: “The Russians had decided to pick up you and your whole command post! An entire Soviet company led by a captain had lined up to do it! But the leader of the company changed his intention and defected! He then told us the whole plan.” So, so, now everything becomes clear to me. So that’s why he laid that stupid Pak fire on the ruins and my bunker, and that’s why the Red artillery took the terrain behind me under fire, to seal off the ambush site against help from the rear. I should have noticed that. And now I also have the solution to the two puzzling calls from the adjutant: He knew the Russian intention and wanted to hear if I was still there!
I am also told that our commander is trying to get me a decoration. My last counterattack apparently made an impression. Perhaps the prisoner also made important statements.
In the forested section to the right of the road, where I recently repulsed the Russian attack, all hell is breaking loose. Day and night the Reds attack here with stronger and weaker troops. Our people are not getting any more rest. Today the company there reports tank noises for the first time. Late in the afternoon, some monsters actually approach cautiously and gradually in the forest and fire on our positions. By nightfall they retreat again. Leutnant Fischer suffers casualties. I am ordered to go forward with a platoon of my company and support the 2nd Company in case it can no longer hold the position alone. Fischer had been unable to hold my old company command post, which he had taken over, and had moved to another bunker in the forest across the road. So I move there with my men, let them take cover in the undergrowth of the forest and crawl into the shelter. It is narrow and low. Fischer crouches in a corner. In front of him, on a wooden plank, is a candle that lights up the shelter with its dull glow. The rest of the bunker is crowded with wounded lying still or moaning on the floor. Outside, the restless clatter of rifle fire echoes through the forest. Now the tanks are venturing in even at night. From time to time, their low rumbling mingles with the clear rattle of the infantry fire. Three tanks are reported. They are standing in the cover of the dark forest fifty metres from our positions. They have not approached by road (there might be mines) but have made their way through the forest (where normally no tank moves, much less at night). Now their rounds are cracking. The twitching muzzle flash lights up the night-dark forest like lightning. At the same time, the bursting shells cast a flaming glow against the tree trunks. A messenger comes with casualty reports. Fischer asks me to send one of my squads to fill the gaps in the position until he gets reinforcements himself. I send six men forward.
Again they bring a seriously wounded man. We hear his loud wailing from far away. It is a Feldwebel O.A. The shrapnel of a tank shell has shattered his upper arm. Two men lead him into the dug-out. There he sits now, leaning his back against the wall, moaning and writhing in pain. “Ooouuuchh – oooeeehh – my arm, my arm. Now I’m off to the military hospital and tomorrow I should’ve been promoted to Leutnant! What a bloody mess - oouuch – aauukh. The arm had had it. I just saw a flash and felt a terrible blow against the arm. Ouchhhh, bloody mess!”Since he can still walk and the bunker is overcrowded anyway, we’ll send him straight to the rear.
The battle goes on for hours. The tanks shoot from a safe hiding place without advancing a metre. The Red infantry does not dare to approach either. Our men stand in their holes and shoot at everything that moves over there. Or they huddle in their holes when the tanks hurl their satanic fire across. The forest is on fire in some places. The embers of the lambent flames cast twitching red shadows through the forest. We have heavy losses, but the men do not retreat.
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- ↑ in the original „Some days later“, cf. footnote 2 of 28.1.45
- ↑ in the original „the day before yesterday“, cf. footnote 2 of 28.1.45