26. Dezember 1941
Early the next morning, the boss calls me. He wants to inspect my mortar positions with me. I smell a rat: He wants to trick me. I hadn’t visited my positions last night and so I couldn’t show them to him now. The boss knew that, of course. Well, misfortune never comes singly. On the way back, he explains to me that I will now probably be removed from the list of officer candidates. However, his wish is not fulfilled, because after all, everyone makes a mistake now and then, and no one is hanged immediately because of a single mishap. I notice, however, that from now on the battalion adjutant also never misses an opportunity to denounce me. They don’t forget that I made them wait for an hour in the cold, and my boss certainly got a roasting from the battalion commander because of that.
My duty consists of daily visits to the firing positions, checking the construction of the position, determining the field of fire and possibly individual targets, drawing up a plan of fire, etc. Combat activity is low. There is a wide no-man’s land between us and the Russian. If you look from the edge of the village over to the Ivan, your view sweeps over a treeless, snow-covered plain about three kilometres wide, bordered on the other side by the dark fringe of a large forest area. The Donets River flows through these forests, and there, at the edge of the forest, are the Soviet positions. The flat plain is easy to overlook. Only rarely do Russian anti-tank or infantry guns fire a short burst of fire or jamming fire across.
••• S. 58 •••Most of the time, however, the village lies quiet and peaceful in the clear winter sun.[1] The thatched farmhouses lie crouched in the deep snow, and white smoke rises straight as a candle from the chimneys into the motionless air. Only rarely does a human sound or the barking of a dog interrupt the silence, and the pure, ice-cold ether carries the sound brightly and audibly far across the land. Then there is soundless silence again, and the village lies frozen in the chilling frost. When I walk through the village streets, the snow squeaks under my feet with every step. On the village square stands lonely and abandoned the cultural monument, a wooden obelisk, the top of which is crowned by an equally wooden Soviet star. The village church, the only stone building, has been destroyed. It stands on the edge of the village, and in its wall remains is one of our machine gun emplacements.
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- ↑ KTB 257. I.D., NARA T-315 Roll 1804 Frame 000747: today in general quiet