[Stackpole] Knights Cross Panzers The German 35th Tank Regiment in World War II

Table of Contents The Stackpole Military History Series Title Page Copyright Page Introduction CHAPTER 1 - The Campaign against Poland Overview of the Campaign Knocked Out in Warsaw CHAPTER 2 - The Campaign in the West From the Meuse to the Isère Gembloux The Offensive on the Somme CHAPTER 3 - The Campaign in the East, 1941: Panzer-Regiment 35 between the … From the Bug to the Dnjepr Major von Lauchert, the First One at the Stalin Line That Was Stary Bychow—the Stary Bychow of Abteilung Lauchert! Wonders Never Cease Breakthrough through the Stalin Line Coup de Main on the Bridges over the Dnjepr at Stary Bychow The Advance Continues Propoisk-Kritschew A Black Day for the Rifle Brigade The Fighting for the Propoisk-Kritschew Road In the “Ghost Woods” 10 Kilometers outside of Kritschew My First Encounter with a T-34

The Thrust to the South—The Envelopment of Kiev A Tank Raid An Armored Car Patrol The Ring Is Closed around the Russian Southern Army Alone against All There Has to Be Time for Fun, Too Dash to Orel The Raid on Orel The II 01 outside of Orel The Capture of Orel from the Soviet Perspective A Swabian Story The Fighting around Mzensk The Capture of Mzensk on 10 October 1941 The Defense of Mzensk The 5. Panzer-Brigade Opens the Way to Tula Towed by a T-34 Tangling with the Big Guys Uslowaja—An Episode from the Fall of 1941 The Fighting for Tula CHAPTER 4 - Retreat and Defense during the First Russian Winter The Major Setback Christmas at Kromy The Winter Fighting between Brjansk and Orel Tankers without Tanks after the Retreat of the 4. Panzer-Division, December … Fighting for Chatkowo Panje-Regiment 35 Home Leave CHAPTER 5 - Russia, 1942-43

The Second Winter in Russia The Longest Night The Fighting for Kursk Counterattack from Nowgorod Ssewersk as Far as Ssewsk The Fighting along the Dessna—as Seen by the Russians Division Order-of-the-Day (28 March 1943) Not Everybody Had a New Panzer IV Long Partisans Diary from the “Kotowskij” Partisan Detachment Operation “Zitadelle” Teploje In a Trap The Nutcracker Detlev von Cossel Goroditschy A Tank Mechanic in Need Bernhard Himmelskamp, Our Obergefreiter with the Knight’s Cross The “Buffalo Migration” Operation “Chernobyl” Korowatitschi Operation “Nikolaus” Recovery Platoon to the Front! CHAPTER 6 - With the 11. Panzer Division The II./Panzer-Regiment 35 as the III./Panzer-Regiment 15 of the 11. … Night Attack March into the Great Bend of the Don and into the Kalmuck Steppes Combat Missions Personal Experience: The White Hell Procuring Fuel in the Winter Fighting of 1942/1943 En Route as the Fire Brigade

We Are a Regiment Once Again CHAPTER 7 - Russia, 1944 The Fighting for Kowel The Ring of Steel Is Blown Apart Panzer marsch! That Happened at Kowel as Well General von Saucken Leaves the 4. Panzer-Division The Breakthrough of the Russians in the Central Sector Defensive Fighting in the Timkowitschi Bridgehead “Swimming Islands” of Resistance The Breakthrough of Goldhammer’s Company The Tank Fighting East of Warsaw Radzymin—A Suburb of Warsaw Grodzisk Dirt CHAPTER 8 - The Fighting in Kurland Reports of Panzer-Regiment 35 Rest? Feldwebel Christ Knocks Out Seven Tanks on His Way to the Maintenance Facility The Fighting at Libau Defensive Fighting around Preekuln Considerations and Doubts Fall 1944: Kurland Front—From Front to Rear! After-Action Report of the Company for the Period 28-30 October 1944 The Russian Winter Offensive The Jump across the Baltic to Danzig CHAPTER 9 - The Fighting for West Prussia

Convoy to Danzig Defensive Fighting for Tuchel Diary Entries Heading Out with a Panzerfaust! Make Out Your Testaments, Comrades! Hunting Tanks in the Flood Plains of the Vistula The Situation in the Danzig Area The Beginning of the End Last Summons Prayer The Fighting for Danzig Diary Entries Hitchhiking from Danzig to Austria Wassil—The Story on an Unusual Friendship CHAPTER 10 - The Last Days of Panzer-Regiment 35 Gruppe Küspert The Sinking of the Goya My Last Letter Home Diary Entries Tankers with the Infantry Knocked Out at the Very End And That Was the End APPENDIX A - Rank Comparisons APPENDIX B APPENDIX C - Details of Some of the Contributors APPENDIX D - The Establishment of Panzer-Regiment 35 in Bamberg APPENDIX E - Listing of Reserve Officers and Reserve Officer Candidates of the Regiment APPENDIX F - Register of Commanders of the 5. Panzer-Brigade and …

APPENDIX G - Reorganization of Panzer-Regiment 35 (Effective 1 May 1942) APPENDIX H - Battles, Engagements, and Operations of Panzer-Regiment 35 APPENDIX I - Battles, Engagements, and Operations of the II./Panzer-Regiment 35 …

The Stackpole Military History Series THE AMERICAN CIVIL WAR Cavalry Raids of the Civil War Ghost, Thunderbolt, and Wizard Pickett’s Charge Witness to Gettysburg WORLD WAR I Doughboy War WORLD WAR II After D-Day Armor Battles of the Waffen-SS, 1943-45 Armoured Guardsmen Army of the West Australian Commandos The B-24 in China Backwater War The Battle of Sicily Battle of the Bulge, Vol. 1 Battle of the Bulge, Vol. 2 Beyond the Beachhead Beyond Stalingrad The Brandenburger Commandos The Brigade Bringing the Thunder The Canadian Army and the Normandy Campaign Coast Watching in World War II Colossal Cracks A Dangerous Assignment

D-Day Bombers D-Day Deception D-Day to Berlin Destination Normandy Dive Bomber! A Drop Too Many Eagles of the Third Reich Eastern Front Combat Exit Rommel Fist from the Sky Flying American Combat Aircraft of World War II For Europe Forging the Thunderbolt For the Homeland Fortress France The German Defeat in the East, 1944-45 German Order of Battle, Vol. 1 German Order of Battle, Vol. 2 German Order of Battle, Vol. 3 The Germans in Normandy Germany’s Panzer Arm in World War II GI Ingenuity Goodwood The Great Ships Grenadiers Hitler’s Nemesis Infantry Aces In the Fire of the Eastern Front Iron Arm Iron Knights Kampfgruppe Peiper at the Battle of the Bulge The Key to the Bulge

Knight’s Cross Panzers Kursk Luftwaffe Aces Luftwaffe Fighter Ace Massacre at Tobruk Mechanized Juggernaut or Military Anachronism? Messerschmitts over Sicily Michael Wittmann, Vol. 1 Michael Wittmann, Vol. 2 Mountain Warriors The Nazi Rocketeers No Holding Back On the Canal Operation Mercury Packs On! Panzer Aces Panzer Aces II Panzer Commanders of the Western Front Panzer Gunner The Panzer Legions Panzers in Normandy Panzers in Winter The Path to Blitzkrieg Penalty Strike Red Road from Stalingrad Red Star under the Baltic Retreat to the Reich Rommel’s Desert Commanders Rommel’s Desert War Rommel’s Lieutenants The Savage Sky Ship-Busters

The Siegfried Line A Soldier in the Cockpit Soviet Blitzkrieg Stalin’s Keys to Victory Surviving Bataan and Beyond T-34 in Action Tank Tactics Tigers in the Mud Triumphant Fox The 12th SS, Vol. 1 The 12th SS, Vol. 2 Twilight of the Gods Typhoon Attack The War against Rommel’s Supply Lines War in the Aegean Wolfpack Warriors Zhukov at the Oder THE COLD WAR / VIETNAM Cyclops in the Jungle Expendable Warriors Flying American Combat Aircraft: The Cold War Here There Are Tigers Land with No Sun Phantom Reflections Street without Joy Through the Valley WARS OF THE MIDDLE EAST Never-Ending Conflict

GENERAL MILITARY HISTORY Carriers in Combat Cavalry from Hoof to Track Desert Battles Guerrilla Warfare Ranger Dawn Sieges



English translation © 2010 by Battle Born Books and Consulting

Published by STACKPOLE BOOKS 5067 Ritter Road Mechanicsburg, PA 17055 www.stackpolebooks.com

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Schäufler, Hans, 1912- [So lebten und so starben sie. English] Knight’s Cross panzers : the German 35th Tank Regiment in World War II / Hans Schäufler. p. cm.—(Stackpole military history series) Includes index. ISBN 978-0-8117-0592-9 (pbk.) 1. Germany. Heer. Panzer-Regiment 35. 2. World War, 1939-1945—Regimen- tal histories—Germany. 3. World War, 1939-1945—Personal narratives, German. 4. Germany. Heer. Panzer-Regiment 35—Biography. 5. Schäufler, Hans, 1912- 6. Soldiers—Germany—Biography. 7. World War, 1939-1945—Tank warfare. 8. World War, 1939-1945—Campaigns—Eastern Front. I. Title. D757.5735th .S33 2010 940.54’1343—dc22 2009053645

Introduction

Panzer-Regiment 35 in Five Years of War General der Panzertruppen a.D. Heinrich Eberbach1 There is no end to the number of unforgettable images conjured up by anyone who was ever a member of this troop.2 The tankers can still be proud of their regiment to this day; it performed great deeds in battle from the start of the war to the bitter end. Exemplary comradeship, proper behavior towards the enemy and a proper attitude, even in unfortunate times, were the marks of this formation. Our regiment was not formed until November 1938 as part of the rapid expansion of the German Armed Forces. Insufficiently trained and only equipped with a few Panzer III’s and IV’s, the men marched off to war in Poland less than 10 months after first being activated. But by the eighth day of the campaign, we were outside the gates of Warsaw— far in advance of all of the rest—and we attacked the fortified city without hesitation. We participated in the first large-scale armored engagement of the war in France, took Armentières in a night attack and advanced through the Weygand Line as far as Isére. I remember the unbelievable chain of victories of our regiment in the first year of the campaign in Russia. At the time, we were part of the 2. Panzer-Armee, which was commanded by Generaloberst Guderian, the creator of the German armored forces and its guiding spirit. He was called “fast Heinz” by the common foot soldier. He often liked to appear in the middle of the fighting at the regiment’s location. It is with gratitude that I also recall the first few battalion commanders of the regiment —Stenglein, Hochbaum and Lauchert. The reassignment of our 2nd Battalion to Panzer-Regiment 15 was hard.3 The battalion performed so well there, that it was difficult to incorporate the Panther battalion back into the fold of the regiment. The 1st Battalion, whether under the command of Cossel, who was killed, the battalion physician, Knight’s Cross recipient Doctor Schulz-Merkel or, above all, Schultz, maintained its fame at Kursk and Orel, in the Pripet Marshes and at Kovel. What the regiment accomplished in Kurland and at Danzig can be well praised by its last commander, my friend, Hans Christern. I am grateful to all of you that you were filled with the same professional attitude at the very end that you were when you initially moved out in 1939. What was it then that enabled our newly formed regiment to accomplish such unusual success despite minimal prospects? It was a love of homeland and the spirit of the tanker. It pushed us forward, allowed us to engage in the cunning of war and gave us endurance, even when times were bad, and a toughness towards ourselves and a heartfelt comradeship with others. It was pure German military ethos that had the tankers of the regiment storm forward, surprise the enemy again and again, hit hard, enjoy victory and suffer death. The rear-area services were imbued with the same spirit. Without them, our successes would not have been possible. A firm bond of trust had joined everyone in the regiment,

from the commander down to the last truck driver in the supply column. We do not desire to glorify the deeds of our men. Modesty is a virtue of a good soldier. But this book will also demonstrate how it is a German trait to rise to the full measure when it’s a question of giving one’s life for one’s homeland. But wasn’t it all in vain? I believe that the love of country, the preparedness to sacrifice, the concept of chivalry and courage have all been retained by us as core values that make us proper Germans. The high regard of our former opponents4, our respect and our well-being are all due in large part to your military achievements. The graves of our comrades line the battle path of our regiment. The memorial outside our former garrison should always remind us of them. But it is the intent of this book to portray them to us again as they were during times of war. The intent is for this book to conjure up valuable experiences from the past to that they can be made useable for the present and the future. It is our obligation to serve once again in the true “tanker” spirit and in loyalty to the fatherland for our dead, who gave their lives.

A Greeting to Panzer-Regiment 35 General der Panzertruppen a.D. Dietrich von Saucken, Former Commander of the 4. Panzer-Division5 According to Klaus Mehnert, in the periodical Deutscher Standpunkt (“German Viewpoint”), “If veterans of the First World War can talk about those times, for an entire evening long, without growing weary, it is not because they took joy in killing, seeing others die, freezing or construction of earthworks. On the contrary, it is because they felt as though they grew above and beyond themselves during those years, because they believed they knew exactly back then why and for whom they were there in executing a higher duty bravely and passing the test of that unimaginable adventure.” For veterans of the Second World War, that is also applicable.6 The war was a communal experience of elementary power. That’s why this book came about—a “swan song” of comradeship and bravery. May these accounts be accepted from the hands of the fathers into those of their children and grandchildren.

“Our General” Oberst a.D. Hans Christern on the 70th Birthday of Heinrich Eberbach7 Some of you met “our general” when he was an Oberstleutnant in Bamberg in 1938. I had the good fortune of meeting him when he was still a Hauptmann. For all of us, even those who encountered him later, he became OUR GENERAL. That is especially true for the men of Panzer-Regiment 35 and the 4. Panzer-Division. For that reason, I am collecting our thoughts about him on the occasion of his 70th birthday. Here are the military data concerning his life: Entrance as a Fahnenjunker8 in Infanterie-Regiment 180 in Württemberg on 1 July 1914, that is, one month before the outbreak of the First World War. By October 1914, he received the Iron Cross, Second Class, as a Gefreiter. Nine months after entering service, he was promoted to Leutnant and was awarded the Iron Cross, First Class. In October 1915, he became a French prisoner of war, badly wounded. In 1917, he was part of a prisoner exchange with Germany (across the border into Switzerland). He was considered to be incapable of continued service at the front. Just six months later, he volunteered for the front again. By the end of the war, he was participating in the fighting in Palestine. When the Turkish Front collapsed, he became an English prisoner of war, suffering also from malaria. On 18 October 1918, he was promoted to Oberleutnant. In January 1920, he was accepted into the Württemberg police constabulary. From 1933 to 1935, he served as a police major in the Reich Ministry of the Interior. He was given the mission of incorporating the constabulary into the German Armed Forces. On 15 October 1935, he was accepted into the German Armed Forces. He became the commander of Panzerabwehr-Abteilung 12 in Schwerin. In 1938, he was summoned to Bamberg as the commander of Panzer-Regiment 35. What “our general” experienced then is something that most of us have also experienced. What happened there is written in this book. In September 1939, he fought in the campaign in Poland (Mokra- Warsaw-Bzura). From May to June 1940, he fought in the campaign in France (Dyle Position-Weygand Line-Romilly-Dijon). On 4 July 1940, he was awarded the Knight’s Cross. That was followed on 14 August 1940 with a promotion to Oberst ahead of his peers. On 22 June 1941, he joined the campaign in the Soviet Union. On 2 July 1941, he assumed command of the 5. Panzer-Brigade. He advanced with it as far as Kaschira, some 60 kilometers south of Moscow. On 8 December 1941, he was added to the Honor Roll of the German Army and, on 1 January 1942, he was awarded the Oak Leaves to the Knight’s Cross.

On 6 January 1942, he assumed command of the 4. Panzer-Division. On 28 November, he was given acting command of the XXXXVIII. Panzer-Korps. Wounded at that time, he was summoned to Germany by Generaloberst Guderian to become the Inspector General for Armored Forces of the Home Army. Following promotion to General der Panzertruppen, he was given acting command of Armeegruppe Nikopol. Effective 6 June 1944, he was a Commander-in-Chief on the French invasion front, initially of Panzergruppe West, the 7. Armee. On 31 August 1944, he was captured by the English south of Amiens. That was the war that we experienced together and survived with “our general.” We are proud that he is an honorary member of the U.S. 4th Armored Division and is honored in a comradely way by his opponents, the 12th Cuirassiers, from the first major armored engagement of 1940. After his war-related kidney problems had healed, he devoted himself tirelessly to the care of refugees from 1948 to 1963.9 He was also a leading participant for soldier-related work at the Protestant Academy at Bad Boll.

CHAPTER 1

The Campaign against Poland

Overview of the Campaign An Account by the Regimental Commander, Oberstleutnant Eberbach Starting in the middle of August 1939, we knew something was up. A war against Poland was on the horizon. We all had the feeling we would do what needed to be done, but there was none of the enthusiasm of 1914. On the morning of 26 August 1939, we were on the Polish frontier, east of Rosenberg (Silesia), and prepared to attack. But the order did not come. We returned to our quarters that evening. All of us had the quiet hope that the war could somehow be avoided after all. The regiment consisted of six companies. Most of them only had machine-gun tanks (Panzer I’s). In addition, we had a few Panzer II’s with the 2-centimeter automatic cannon and a few Panzer III’s with the 3.7-centimeter main gun. In the 4th and 8th Companies, there were also 4 Panzer IV’s with the short 7.5-centimeter main gun. The authorized strength in officers and noncommissioned officers—despite the addition of reservists— was by no means close to being reached.

1 SEPTEMBER—THE FIRST DAY OF WAR At first light, we were on the border again. Our artillery started firing at 0445 hours. A couple of houses burned. Our rifle regiment advanced. At 0630 hours, our regiment also received its attack orders. Moving through Opatow- Wilkowiecko-Mokra III, we were supported to advance on Ostrowy-Kocin. That was some 40 kilometers. The XVI. Armee-Korps—with the 1. Panzer-Division, our 4. Panzer-Division and the 14. Infanterie-Division and the 31. Infanterie-Division—was intended to form the battering ram in the middle of Armee Reichenau.10

THE REGIMENT’S BAPTISM OF FIRE The advance proceeded slowly. The roads were jammed; the bridge over the Liswarta had been blown up. We had to ford. We took our motorcyclists on the rear decks of the tanks. No vehicle got stuck. We advanced on Opatow via Krzepice, receiving machine-gun and artillery fire, which was responded to by our tanks, and reached Wilkowiecko. In front of us were the Mokra villages—named I, II and III—and behind them were old-growth woods. The 2nd Battalion attacked and eliminated a Polish battery; it fought its way through the villages and got to within 400 meters of the wood line. There it was greeted by artillery, antitank-gun and machine-gun fire from the woods. Nothing could be seen of the enemy. The ammunition used by the Polish antitank rifles penetrated the light armor we had. Hauptmann Buz and Leutnant Lohr were killed; Oberleutnant Snahovich was wounded. When the regimental commander11 ordered the commitment of the 1st Battalion by having it move around to the right and comb through the woods, the battalion commander, Oberstleutnant Stenglein, was badly wounded. Hauptmann von Lauchert assumed acting command of the battalion. The edge of the woods was reached and slowly cleared. Our artillery gave support. Panzer-Regiment 36, to the left of us, had also suffered losses in its attack. Oberst Breith moved his regiment to Wilkowiecko to reorganize it. The riflemen were slowly advancing on Mokra. No orders arrived from the division, because there had been a panic in the rear. Our division commander and his headquarters staff had to force panicked drivers of combat vehicles and the train elements back toward the front. That meant our regiment was all by itself on the edge of the woods. Should it risk venturing into the woods? Late in the afternoon, the platoon leader of the Light Platoon of the 2nd Battalion, Feldwebel Gabriel, who had been sent on patrol, returned and reported: “The woods and the village on the far side are clear of the enemy.” The 2nd Battalion and the regimental headquarters immediately pressed into and through the woods. They set up security on a rise and set up an all-round defense. For the time being, the 1st Battalion remained in the area around Mokra. In the end, our regiment turned this first, difficult day of the war into a success for the division by dint of its perseverance, its élan and its aggressiveness. The first defensive frontage of the Poles had been broken through. The commanding general and the division commander praised the performance of the regiment. The price paid for the first day was high: 15 dead, among them 2 officers; 14 wounded, including 3 officers; and 14 tanks. Our enemy was a Polish elite formation: the 1st Volhynian Brigade.

ASSAULT ON WARSAW On 2 September 1939, Schützen-Regiment 12, magnificently supported by our 4th and 8th Companies, advanced in heavy fighting through Kozinka. On 3 September, the will to resist on the part of the Polish formations facing us was broken. Aufklärungs-Abteilung 7 (mot.) took the crossings over the Warthe practically without a fight and advanced as far as 4 kilometers outside of Radomsko. The neighboring friendly forces, the 1. PanzerDivision, took Kamiensk. Our regiment struggled to advance on bad roads on 3 and 4 September. The reconnaissance battalion and Schützen-Regiment 12 crossed the Widawka and were 20 kilometers south of Kamiensk. It was not until 5 September that our regiment was able to move forward again. The objective of the attack was Gomulin, west of Petrikau. But only the 6th Company encountered any enemy—artillery and antitank guns. The company pushed them back into the woods. On 6 September, the regiment took Bedkow and Rudnik; on 7 September, it was once again at the forefront of the division and drove the enemy in wild flight out of Ujazd. By 0900 hours, Lubochnia was reached and, in the evening, the regiment moved through Rawa Mazowiecka into its rest area. The division had advanced 40 kilometers deep into the rear of the enemy on that day. The regiment would have liked to have rolled on, because there was a traffic sign at the outskirts of the village: “Warsaw / 115 kilometers.” For the first time, our forces experienced the magnetic pull that the name of an important city had, whose possession was essential. The division’s order-of-the-day ended with the sentence: “On to Warsaw.” There wasn’t much time left for sleeping. At first light on 8 September, the regiment moved out as the division’s spearhead. After moving 10 kilometers, it encountered Polish infantry supported by artillery. The enemy was rapidly overcome. Continuously firing at pockets of resistance, the regiment reached Radziejowice. The assault continued on to Wolica Sekocin, in order to take the Utrata crossings. The Polish soldiers were surrendering by the thousands. After the river was reached, the regiment advanced on Raszyn. The enemy blew up two bridges right in front of us. But we were able to ford the water. An engineer company repaired the crossings. The commanding general moved forward to the 1st Battalion, where he was briefed by Hauptmann von Lauchert, who was covered in dirt and was stripped down to trousers and shirt.12 The regimental commander recommended to General Höppner and the division commander that the surprise of the enemy be exploited—without waiting for the other elements of the division—and that the advance on Warsaw be continued. The city had been declared an “open city” by the Polish government. Permission was granted. An aircraft brought a few street plans of Warsaw in the nick of time. All of the tankers were burning with the prospect of being the first soldiers of the German Army to enter the

capital of the enemy. It was directed that the 2nd Battalion advance across Pilsudski Square and cross the Vistula in the direction of Praga. The 1st Battalion was to remain in the center of the city. The last thing Höppner said: “Eberbach … if you start dealing with Polish officials remain inflexible!” Our regiment formed up and moved out at 1700 hours and advanced into the unsightly suburbs of Warsaw. A few rounds were fired. The houses stopped temporarily just beyond the Rakowiec Colony. The tanks moved across a road bridge. To the actual outskirts of the city behind that were some 400 meters, partly open and partly filled with some suburban vegetable gardens. The road to the edge of the city was blocked by a barricade consisting of turned-over streetcars and furniture trucks. From beyond—from the four-story apartment buildings, ventilation openings in the rooftops, windows and basement openings—there were fires of all sorts against our tanks. One of the few Panzer IV’s we had received a direct hit. It was recovered. The sun started to go down. The twilight blanketed the road in front of us. The regimental commander saw how the Poles were not keeping their word concerning Warsaw being an “open city” and that the heavily defended metropolis could not be taken in a coup de main. He broke off the attack and pulled his forces back behind the bridge. For the time being, well ahead of the division and all by itself, the regiment had to secure to all sides. The night passed quietly. The vehicles were refueled, machine-gun ammunition belted13 and rations received. In the meantime, the entire division had closed up. The division commander ordered the attack to be repeated on 9 September with all available forces: reinforced Panzer-Regiment 35 from its then current positions; reinforced PanzerRegiment 36 a little farther west. At 0700 hours, our 1st Battalion moved out for a second time to attack Warsaw. With it was a battalion of motorized riflemen and a company of engineers. The artillery fired a preparation on the city’s edge in advance. Once again, our tanks rolled across the road bridge, followed by the mounted riflemen. Together with the engineers, the first obstacle was eliminated. The city was defended with the courage of desperation. Despite that, the second bridge was taken. The riflemen had to take each house and clear it. Burst of machine-gun fire, hand grenades dropped from above and tossed from cellar openings, blocks of stone dropped from the roofs—all of these made it difficult for the men. The tanks attempted to continue by themselves. The acting commandeer of the 1st Company, Leutnant Class, attacked farther along the main road. His vehicle was hit by an excellently camouflaged gun. Despite that, Class’s tank continued to move on. The next hit set the tank afire. Class and his radio operator succeeded in dismounting. Both of them then succumbed to their wounds, however. The vehicle of the regiment’s adjutant was immobilized by the same gun. Oberleutnant Guderian14 dismounted and entered a garden through a courtyard gate. He ran into the tank of Leutnant Diergardt there. Together with that tank and a platoon of riflemen, which he had impressed into his service, they advanced slowly. The other tanks attempted to advance through courtyards and gardens. For instance, Leutnant Esser and two platoons were able to advance as far as the railway line, where

Polish defenses knocked out his radio. Feldwebel Ziegler assumed command of the remaining vehicles and advanced as far as the main train station of Warsaw. All by himself in the middle of the capital, he eventually had to pull back. Leutnant Lange had worked his way forward as far as the enemy artillery and fired at the guns with everything his men had. Brave Poles threw shaped charges against his tracks. One of the roadwheels of his tank was torn off; the turret could no longer be turned. He also had to pull back. Around 0900 hours, the regimental commander brought up the 2nd Battalion, which had initially been held in reserve and was supported by a battalion of motorized riflemen, to an area 1 kilometer north of the road, since the enemy’s defenses seemed less well organized there. The battalion initially made good progress. The old fortifications of Warsaw were overrun. A park was reached. There, the mounted riflemen that were following received machine-gun and rifle fire from the high-rises off to the left. As they deployed, artillery started to impact among them. A few vehicles caught fire. The enemy’s antitank defenses had stopped the attack of our vehicles. The commander of the 8th Company, Oberleutnant Morgenroth, was mortally wounded. Of the two platoons that had advanced into the park, only three tanks came back. The division ordered: “Return to the line of departure!” The number of tanks that initially made their way back there was shockingly small. But in the course of the afternoon, the number grew to 91, of which only 57 were still fully combat operational, including a single Panzer IV. Crews, whose vehicles had been shot out from under them, also returned. That included Leutnant Reibig, who had to fight his way back though Polish lines. Despite all of that, the morale of the tankers remained unshaken. Everyone had the feeling of having accomplished something great. After all, the division had covered 400 kilometers in eight days, had defeated the enemy wherever he put up a fight and had been the first into the Polish capital, far to the rear of the main Polish field forces. It was not until much later that we discovered that Warsaw had been defended by 100,000 Polish soldiers. The demoralizing effect on the enemy of the advance of our regiment at the head of the 4. Panzer-Division cannot be overestimated. During the night, a large number of knocked-out tanks of the regiment, including some that had run over mines, were recovered by their crews, in some cases from out of the Polish lines. The main Polish forces, fleeing from the western portion of Poland, attempted to reach Warsaw south of the Vistula. Our division—reinforced by the Leibstandarte15, InfanterieRegiment 3316, other artillery and engineers—received orders to hold its positions at Warsaw. The intent was to block the retreating forces. Only the 1. Panzer-Division was east of us. Together with it, we were all by ourselves, some 100 kilometers deep in enemy territory. It had been intended for the regiment to take a well-deserved break on 9 September

after the constant fighting and heavy losses so as to rest and repair and maintain vehicles. But the enemy situation did not allow that. By the evening of 10 September, the regiment was once again fighting, this time southwest of Warsaw, in order to screen a line running Osiedle- Gorce-Blizne against attacking Polish forces. Success was intermingled with casualties. The 11th of September passed relatively quietly. On 12 September, Hauptmann Schnell and the combat trains knocked out seven Polish armored vehicles. On 13 September, the regiment moved out from its positions towards the industrial works at Strzykuly, where it was to continue the attack with the Leibstandarte. At 1430 hours, our regiment moved out to attack west in the direction of Blonie. The two battalions moved abreast, with one battalion each from the Leibstandarte following behind on vehicles. Kaputy was captured and hundreds of prisoners taken. Antitank gun and artillery positions were overrun with masses of ammunition. The attack objective was reached in the dark; a considerable success. The battalions took up quarters for the night in Leszno and Bialutki industrial area. On 14 September, the 31. Infanterie-Division, which had arrived in sector in the meantime, assumed the positions of the regiment, which was then moved to the Krunice area to work on the tanks. On the afternoon of 15 September, the regiment received orders to attack across the Bzura on 16 September, together with the Leibstandarte and Schützen-Regiment 12, to fall on the rear of the strong enemy forces encircled around Kutno. At the same time, the rest of the division would screen north along the Bzura. The regiment moved out at 0500 hours on 16 September. The engineers were in the process of building a bridge. The tanks moved down the steep slopes, forded through the Bzura and staged for the attack. It had been intended to start the attack at 0700 hours, but a lot of time was needed until all of the elements employed for this advance had crossed the river. At 1100 hours, the battalions finally moved out. It was raining. It was intended for the 1st Battalion to move through Bibijampol and reach the Mlodzieszyn-Ruszki road. The 2nd Battalion attacked from the southern portion of Zujkowska with the same objective. The enemy suffered heavy casualties at Bibijampol at the hands of the 1st Battalion. The battalion captured two artillery pieces and reached the road by 1230 hours, where it engaged fleeing enemy columns. The 2nd Battalion encountered heavy enemy forces at Adamowa and inflicted heavy casualties on them. But the 6th Company was practically wiped out by Polish antitank guns that were positioned invisibly in small patches of woods. Leutnant Diebisch was killed; Leutnant von Cossel was badly wounded. Despite all that, the 2nd Battalion reached the attack objective at 1400 hours. The elements of the 1. Panzer-Division that were supposed to link up with our regiment at Ruszki did not arrive. The Poles rained down an unimaginable heavy artillery fire on the regiment from three sides. Our tanks were on a serving platter there, but they could not leave the infantry that had come forward in the lurch, since the Poles were attacking in wave after wave. Radio communications with the division had been lost. Off in the

distance, machine guns and mortars could be heard firing. After taking losses, the 1st Battalion had to be pulled back out of Ruszki. The tanks had little ammunition left. The artillery support that had been requested did not come. Masses of the enemy continued to advance on Ruszki, despite the extremely heavy casualties caused by our fire. It was misting. Around 1700 hours, one of the radios received an order to withdraw. The infantry disengaged from the enemy, covered by our tanks. Then we also moved back slowly. Polish infantry fired on us at Juljopol. They could not be identified in the pitch-dark night. It was a witches’ cauldron. When we stopped for maintenance, the men fell into a deep sleep wherever they were and whatever they were doing—they were that tired. The 2nd Battalion had to fend off attacks by Polish infantry the entire night. The 1st Battalion and the regimental headquarters were finally able to pull back to the line of departure. On 17 September, the 2nd and 4th Companies successfully fought with the Leibstandarte at Mistrewice and Juljopol. The 4th Company captured a Polish battery, a heavy antiaircraft gun, two light antiaircraft guns and a few mortars. In the evening, the regiment marched into the area around the Teresin palace. The combat strength was down to 60 tanks. Once again, it was said the regiment was supposed to rest and be afforded the opportunity to maintain vehicles. Contrary to expectation, it actually remained quiet on 18 September.

THE BATTLE OF ANNIHILATION ON THE BZURA The regiment was alerted at midnight. It was supposed to reach the industrial area at Wolka Alekssandrowsk by 0400 hours. At 0200 hours, the tanks rolled out into the pitchblack night. Despite that, the regiment arrived there punctually. Train elements reported that things were hot up front. The commander went to the division command post at the Tutowice industrial area. There, he discovered the following from the Division Commander: After the heavy fighting at Ruszki, the enemy had staged his forces in the area bounded by the Bzura and the Vistula for a breakout attempt in the direction of Warsaw. On 18 September, the main body of the division succeeded in moving along the east bank of the Bzura as far as the Vistula. The terrain in that area was covered with small patches of woods and vegetation. Before the elements of the 4. Panzer-Division could swing around to form a defensive position, the Poles launched their offensive across the Bzura. All of the employed elements of the division became involved in the heaviest sort of defensive fighting on all sides. Our sister regiment, the 36th, shared the same fate and found itself defending desperately in terrain that offered no fields of fire. One of the battalion commanders of Panzer-Regiment 36 was killed. Ammunition was in short supply. There was no unified command and control. Every section found itself engaged in close combat. Casualties were high. Enemy and friendly forces were so entangled that the artillery could no longer provide direct support. They engaged the enemy that appeared in front of the guns over open sights. All through the night, the enemy continued his desperate attacks without any regard for casualties in an effort to force a breakthrough. Even the division command post was constantly attacked, and Generalleutnant Reinhardt held a rifle in his hands, its barrel hot from firing. Elements of the antitank battalion were overrun by the enemy and wiped out. The regiment received orders to attack with two attached battalions from the Leibstandarte and relieve the encircled elements. General Reinhardt shook the hand of the regimental commander and literally said: “Eberbach, the fate of the 4. Panzer-Division depends on your regiment.” And who wouldn’t give his all to help comrades in a desperate situation! At 0800 hours, our shrunken regiment moved out to attack, the battalions abreast. As early as Hilarow, our tanks encountered heavy enemy forces with all sorts of weaponry, including antitank guns. The enemy was eliminated in a bitter struggle. By 0900 hours, our combat vehicles had fought their way through to our sister regiment, whose tanks were practically without fuel and ammunition. The tankers and the riflemen there greeted us jubilantly and seemed as though they had been freed from a nightmare. Then our regiment advanced on to the Vistula, still encountering heavy resistance. It eliminated an enemy battery and then the 1st Battalion swung west to the Bzura as far as Wyszogrod. The 2nd Battalion continued to advance a bit along the Vistula as far as Sladow, where it screened to the east. That broke the enemy’s resistance. The 1st Company of Leutnant Lange took some 3,000 prisoners. Ethnic Germans, who had been

forcibly repatriated, and German prisoners were liberated. Some of them had been badly abused. Along the Bzura, there was complete chaos among Poles: weapons, vehicles of all types, dead horses and articles of equipment of all sorts. All the results of the employment of our artillery and the Luftwaffe. The trains of several divisions were all heaped in piles, destroyed. During the afternoon, 4,000 prisoners and a few wagons full of wounded were taken to the prisoner collection point, escorted by a few tanks. The division order-of-the-day recorded the following: The battle along the Bzura is over. It was a decisive victory over very strong forces of the Polish field army. In this battle, the 4. Panzer-Division fought at critical areas. We had to close the ring around the enemy and hold back the final assault of the enemy. Our division accomplished its difficult mission. It can conclude the victory by taking in more than 20,000 prisoners and bountiful spoils of war. The 4. Panzer-Division could look back proudly on its accomplishments. That concluded the campaign in Poland for our regiment. The losses sustained by Panzer-Regiment 35: 64 dead 58 wounded 45 tanks (Complete losses)

Knocked Out in Warsaw From My Diary (Hans Schäufler) I had been the signals officer for the tank brigade for five days after Oberleutnant Ritzmann was wounded at Mokra II. We prepared for the second assault on Warsaw along the road that led from Rawa to the capital, in the suburb of Ochota. Tank behind tank, tightly closed together. Behind us, the riflemen and the engineers waited for the orders to attack. It was unaccustomedly quiet. Not a rifle round was fired; no machine guns were rattling. The artillery was silent on both sides. The only thing that stirred was an occasional reconnaissance aircraft in the clear skies. I was sitting in the armored command and control vehicle next to General von Hartlieb. The brigade adjutant, Hauptmann von Harling, spread the situation map out over my drawn-up knees; there wasn’t much room in there. Both of the radio operators were sitting at their stations. One of them was listening out into the ether for the codeword to attack; the other one had his hand on the switch so as to disseminate the order immediately. The engine was idling; the driver’s foot was already playing with the pedal. Then, suddenly, there was a howling in the air. Impact followed impact outside—first to the right, then to the left and then behind us. Salvo after salvo hissed and buzzed through the air. Rocks and shrapnel whizzed through the air; in between, the cries of the first wounded of the day could be heard. The Polish artillery was sending us some iron greetings. Then the codeword to move out arrived. It was passed on as fast as lightning. The large engines of the tanks started roaring to life. The big fight for the Polish capital on the ninth day of war was about to begin. We reached the first houses of Warsaw. While machine guns were barking outside, hand grenades were exploding with a dull thud and artillery rounds were slinging rocks against our armor, one radio message after the other was passing through the command vehicle. “Straight ahead … blocked road!” Panzer-Regiment 35 reported. “Five tanks knocked out, antitank mine obstacle in front of us.” “Order the regiment to turn south!” the general roared. Yes, you had to roar here in order to make yourself understood in the midst of the noise. “Message sent!” I roared back. “Message to division: Edge of Warsaw reached … mine and road obstacles … we’re turning off to the south!” the adjutant dictated. “Obstacle taken,” the regiment reported. All of that happened in the space of a few minutes.

Then, suddenly, the cobblestones in front of us flew into the air. There was an impact to the right—and then to the left. I was kicked in the back: “Enemy battery 300 meters in front of us!” the general cried out. He was sitting in the turret and observing. “Turn off to the right!” The tracks clattered on the cobblestones; we headed out across an open area. “Faster, move faster,” the general yelled, since the aim of the Poles was not bad at all. “Attack stalled,” Panzer-Regiment 36 reported. The general replied: “Ask the regiment where it wants artillery.” Rocks and shrapnel rapped against the steel walls of the tank. The impacting artillery was quite close. Then—an impact that made our skulls smash into the equipment. The vehicle was raised up in the front and tossed to the side. A yellow stream of fire shot through the hatches. Gas masks, rucksacks, eating utensils all flew about. Hit by artillery! A few seconds of anxious waiting passed, then a short glance from face to face and a swift running of the hands over the body. Everything was in one piece. The driver put it in third gear. We looked at each other tensely. The tank moved. Although there was a suspicious banging on the left side of the running gear, it appeared that things had turned out well this time. Outside, it was as though all hell were breaking loose—there was a racket to both the left and the right. The rounds impacted into the armor with a dull thud. Hand grenades and bottles of fuel were being tossed from basement windows. We were facing a hundredfold in superior numbers. We could feel it. Turned-over streetcars, wire obstacles, railway track rammed into the ground and antitank guns blocked our way. We had to keep turning off farther and farther to the south —just don’t break down now! That would have meant certain death. The rattling and rasping sound coming from the running gear grew ever louder and suspicious. At the last minute, we discovered a fruit orchard. We snuck up under a tree. Although elements of [Panzer-Regiment 35] had reached the main train station, we were getting other reports over and over again: “Attack stalling!” —“Numerically superior enemy!”—“Tanks lost dues to mines and antitank guns!”—“Artillery needed urgently!” Once again, it started howling through the air. Artillery shell after artillery shell impacted around us. The Poles had discovered us. We could not go forward or backward. We had to try to repair the damage first, but we did not have any time for that, since the regiments were under extreme duress. The general dictated order after order, message after message. Finally, there was a break in the action. We had barely opened the hatches, however, when rifle rounds began smacking against the armor. Somewhere nearby the bastards were waiting for us. You couldn’t see a thing. We stood between berry branches and tried to make ourselves small. The armor plate up front had been bent in; the shock absorber torn to pieces; all of the sheet metal torn away; the running gear and the track damaged. We tore off what remained of the sheet metal and the shock absorber, freeing up the track. We inserted two new track pins. If we were lucky, that would hold out for a few kilometers. We disappeared back into

the tank. We found out from the division that we could not get air support. Our artillery was too weak to pin down the powerful enemy. Therefore, the division issued orders: “Return to the line of departure!” In a deliberate fashion, formation after formation disengaged from the enemy and was pulled out of battle. It wasn’t so simple everywhere. In one place, it was necessary to assume covering fires for the withdrawal; in another, it was to place artillery fire. There was a lot of work for us in the command vehicle at that point, so much that we nearly forgot that we were in a jam ourselves. It was not until the last outposts were withdrawn that our mission was accomplished. At that point, we attempted to move back. We had to go through that hell one more time, which we had only escaped through good fortune previously. We took the same route; we already knew it! It was noticeably quiet at the time—suspiciously quiet. The quiet got on your nerves after all of the noise. We felt it—the enemy was still there—he was just waiting for a good opportunity. We passed the point where we had been hit by the artillery earlier. Just another turn to the left and we would have the long, straight road ahead of us. There was still a road obstacle there; we needed to pay attention. Then we hit the straightaway. We were secretly rubbing our hands together in glee. Then there was a smack against the rear armor. Once again, followed by another four. One after the other. That was from antitank guns. The engine continued to perform well, however. Then—a higher-pitched bang, an ear-deafening clash—the tank made a sharp turn to the left—and stopped. Knocked out at the last minute! Now the operative principle was to get out of the vehicle. The next round would certainly be a direct hit. But there was hell to pay outside. Grabbing the submachine gun and dropping to the ground seemed to be one motion. What was going on then? Thick smoke was coming out of the rear deck. We thought the engine was on fire. But a hissing made us suspicious. A round from an antitank gun had set the smoke grenades alight. A slight breeze moved the cloud over towards the roadblock. That meant we did not have too much to worry about at the moment, since the smoke was concealing us and keeping us out of the enemy’s sight. He most certainly thought he had totally wiped us out anyway. “Message to the division,” the general started. But the transmitter no longer functioned. The antenna had been shot off. The running gear was destroyed. The track lay curled up like a giant metal wristwatch band behind us. Direct hits had deformed the rear deck. With a heavy heart, we decided to leave the tank. There was no way it could be repaired there. We dismounted the machine gun and the radio equipment and grabbed the secret documents. Every once in a while, we had to make ourselves small, because an artillery round landed too close. We could not bring it upon ourselves, however, to destroy the tank. We camouflaged it with tree limbs. Perhaps we would have an opportunity later to recover it. We gave each other covering fire as we moved back from house to house and from garden to garden. All of us made it back in one piece. We went to sleep with limbs as heavy as lead and minds that kept recounting the events of the day. Over and over again, we jumped up from our sleep and only gradually came to the realization that our B 01 had been shot to pieces and was parked in front of the Polish

roadblock with tripped-open hatches. It must have presented a pitiable picture. When I finally open my eyes wide and stare out into the light September night, my driver tapped me and asked with a rough voice: “Are you coming along?” I didn’t need to ask him where. I knew what he meant. “I’ve already got a recovery vehicle,” he said, as he stood up. We were able to get it that night, our B 01. By the time the Poles started firing, it was too late. It was already attached to the towing tank and got protection from behind it. We were even able to tow the track behind us with a tow cable. Although its steel body was shot to pieces, we would not allow the enemy to feast on it in its helplessness. On 6 October, there was a military parade in conquered Warsaw. They forgot to invite the 4. Panzer-Division. But the shot-up and, in some cases, burnt-out 30 tanks of our regiment, which stretched from the outskirts to the main train station, reminded the participants in the parade who it had been who had first entered the enemy capital in bloody fighting on 8 and 9 September. In the middle of October, the division moved back to its peacetime garrisons. All of Bamberg greeted us with jubilation when our tanks moved through the city to the garrison. On 28 November, the division was quartered in the area around Lüdenscheid. The fact that our tankers were received in a heartfelt fashion there accounts for the fact that a large number of them lived in the region after the war. During the nights from 25 to 28 January 1940, the division was taken by surprise and moved into the Düren-Bergheim area. Effective 6 February, the division had to be prepared to move on 6 hours’ notice. Leaves were cancelled and then allowed again. Our respected division commander, Generalleutnant Reinhardt, who had received the Knight’s Cross for the dashing employment of his forces, left us. He was given command of a motorized corps. The 5. Panzer-Brigade, which had been commanded by Generalleutnant von Hartlieb in the campaign in Poland, was taken over by Oberst Breith, the former commander of our sister regiment. At the beginning of March, the 3rd Company was reassigned to become part of a tank battalion being formed for employment in Norway. The regiment formed a new 3rd Company. At that point, there were still 80 Panzer I’s in the regiment, as well as 50 Panzer II’s, 22 Panzer III’s, 16 Panzer IV’s and 4 armored command and control tanks. Only the 38 Panzer III’s and IV’s were equal to their French and English counterparts. The enemy we would be facing would be considerably superior to us in both numbers and quality, as opposed to the situation faced in Poland. That forced us to take matters into consideration, but it did not shake us. Spring came. Easter passed. On Pentecost, a blind eye was turned and a little bit more

than the designated 10 percent of personnel were allowed to take leave. Everyone had a wife or a “bride” at home.

The Polish Campaign, September 1939.

General der Panzertruppen Heinrich Eberbach, the first commander of the regiment from 1938 until August 1941. He was the 42nd recipient of the Oak Leaves to the Knight’s Cross to the Iron Cross on 31 December 1941. He received the Knight’s Cross on 4 July 1940. He would go on to command a field army by the end of the war. He was one of the last German general officers of the war to die, living almost to the age of 100 (24 November 1895 to 13 July 1992).

Major Han Detloff von Cossel, the commander of the I./ PR 35 from 1 October 1942 until 22 July 1943, when he was killed at Kromy. He was the 285th recipient of the Oak Leaves to the Knight’s Cross to the Iron Cross on 22 July 1943. He received the Knight’s Cross on 30 September 1941.

Major Fritz-Rudolf Schulz, who was known to his men as “Bubi.” He was the commander of the both battalions of the regiment from August 1943 until January 1945. He was the 636th recipient of the Oak Leaves to the Knight’s Cross to the Iron Cross on 28 October 1944. He received the Knight’s Cross on 21 April 1944. He passed away on 2 March 2002.

Feldwebel Erdmann Gabriel of the headquarters of the II./PR 35, was the first noncommissioned officer of the regiment to receive the Knight’s Cross (30 August 1941). He passed away on 28 January 1996.

Oberleutnant Einhart Mahlguth was the adjutant of the II./PR 35. He was killed in action on 15 June 1940 and awarded the Knight’s Cross posthumously on 11 May 1942.

Major Meinrad von Lauchert was the battalion commander of the I./PR 35 and received the Knight’s Cross on 8 September 1941. He later went on to become the 396th recipient of the Oak Leaves to the Knight’s Cross as the commander of Panzer-Regiment 15 (12 February 1944). He passed away on 4 December 1987.

Oberleutnant Artur Wollschlaeger was the commander of the 6./ PR 35 and awarded the Knight’s Cross on 12 January 1942. He passed away on 1 June 1987.

Oberfeldwebel Karl Ketterer was a tank commander and platoon leader in the 6./ PR 35. He was awarded the Knight’s Cross while serving as a platoon leader in the 7./Panzerregiment 15 on 24 March 1943. He died on 13 April 1945.

Stabsarzt Dr. Hans-Joachim Schulz-Merkel, the battalion surgeon of the I./PR 35, was affectionately known was the Panzerdoktor. He assumed acting command of the battalion on several occasions in both 1943 and 1944, receiving the Knight’s Cross on 23 December 1943. He passed away on 2 September 2000.

Oberfeldwebel Josef “Jupp” Beginin was a platoon leader in the 4./PR 35. He received the Knight’s Cross on 23 February 1944. He died at sea when the boat he was on, the Wilhelm Gustloff, was sunk on 30 January 1945.

Obergefreiter Bernhard Himmelskamp was a gunner in the 4./PR 35. He succumbed to wounds sustained on 29 August 1943 and was awarded the Knight’s Cross posthumously on 13 September 1943.

Leutnant d.R. Karl-Heinrich Gsell, the acting commander of the 2./PR 35, was awarded the Knight’s Cross on 23 February 1944. On 25 February 1945, he succumbed to wounds suffered in the Danzig area.

Oberleutnant Reinhard Peters, the acting commander of the 4./ PR 35, was awarded the Knight’s Cross on 29 February 1944. He passed away on 14 April 1992.

Oberfeldwebel Karl Kunzmann, a platoon leader on the 8./PR 35, was awarded the Knight’s Cross on 21 September 1944. He died in an accident on 5 August 1944.

Hauptmann Karl Küspert, the commander of the 1./ PR 35, received the Knight’s Cross on 16 October 1944. He was killed when the hospital ship he was on, the Goya, was torpedoed by a Soviet submarine on 16/17 April 1945.

Hauptmann Walter Grohe, the acting commander of the I./PR 35, was awarded the Knight’s Cross on 22 October 1944. He died three days later in a military hospital in Freiburg i.Br. from wounds he had suffered in Königsberg.

Oberfeldwebel Walter Wolf, platoon leader in the 4./ PR 35, received the Knight’s Cross posthumously on 16 October 1944 after having been killed in Latvia on 18 September.

Hauptmann Gerhard Lange, the acting commander of the II./PR 35, was awarded the Knight’s Cross on 28 March 1945. He passed away on 10 April 1996.

Oberfeldwebel Hermann Bix, platoon leader in the 3./PR 35, was awarded the Knight’s Cross on 22 March 1945. He passed away on 31 July 1986.

Oberleutnant Karl Gerlach, company commander of the 4.(8.)/PR 35, was awarded the Knight’s Cross on 17 April 1945. He passed away on 19 March 1991.

Heereshauptwerkmeister* Anton Sextel, the maintenance officer for the I./PR 35, was awarded the Knight’s Cross of the War Service Cross with Swords on 13 September 1943. This extremely rare award was presented only to those whose efforts behind the lines had contributed significantly to the war effort. * Translator’s Note: Title and rank for a senior uniformed civilian official who served with the forces in the field in a non-combatant role.

12 July 1941: Major Hochbaum, the commander of the II./PR 35 from 1938 to September 1941, in conversation with the war correspondent Karl Lutz at Butramsjewka.

Oberst Hans Christern, the last regimental commander. He served in that capacity from July 1944 to April 1945. He was awarded the Knight’s Cross on 31 January 1941 while serving as the commander of the II./Panzer-Regiment 31. He passed away on 17 June 1966.

Oberst d.R. Freiherr von Jungenfeld, affectionately called Pampas, was the acting commander of the II./PR 35 on several occasions in 1940 and 1941.

Hauptmann Friedrich Schmitt was the commander of the III./Panzer-Regiment 15 (II./PR 35) from August 1942 until the end of February 1943.

1 November 1938: The regiment assembles for a parade on the Maxplatz in Bamberg.

1 September 1939: A knocked-out Panzer II at Mokra.

Oberstleutnant Stenglein, the commander of the I./ PR 35 from 1 November 1938 until 1 September 1939, when he was badly wounded. As with most of the battalion commanders and above at that stage of the war, he had seen extensive service in the Great War.

3 September 1939: Preparing for the attack on Ujazd.

9 September 1939: On the move towards Warsaw, near the Rakowiec Colony.

A knocked-out Russian-built Polish BT 7, armed with a 3.7-centimeter main gun.

18 September 1939: The division commander, Generalleutnant Reinhard, with his liaison officer at the Tutowiwice industrial park. The armored car is a command version of the Sd.Kfz. 232 8-Rad (eight-wheeled).

CHAPTER 2

The Campaign in the West

From the Meuse to the Isère An Account by the Regimental Commander, Oberstleutnant Eberbach

ALERT Although it had long been expected, the alert came to us as a surprise around 1700 hours on 9 May 1940. So long Pentecost leave! A number of officers and soldiers were gone. Without having received orders, they immediately turned back and hurried to the regiment when they heard the news. It went without saying that they did not intend to remain on leave. The newly formed 3rd Company was still inexperienced. There were no enlisted personnel replacements for it. Correspondingly, there was a shortage of personnel. But the alert went off like clockwork. At the designated time we were positioned outside of Aachen, despite it being night and having moved without lights. Unfortunately, Oberleutnant Deparade was badly injured during the movement by another element. At 0600 hours, the division crossed the frontier in three columns. Our regiment was in the left-hand column. The objective was Maastricht. It was imperative to do everything possible to capture the bridges over the Meuse there intact and relieve our comrades, who had landed in gliders on the Albert Canal, from out of a difficult situation.

THE CROSSING OF THE MEUSE Machine-gun fire greeted us from the bunker at Mamelis. The Dutch were putting up a defense. Three rounds through the embrasures from a Panzer IV of the 8th Company were enough to get the crew to come out at a run with raised hands. We immediately continued on. Obstacle after obstacle; sometimes there was firing. We wound our way through and fired against them. Along the Geul, there were stronger enemy forces with both antitank guns and mines. The advance was held up for half an hour. The 1st Battalion then moved out and around to the left, and we advanced across Gulpen Mountain towards Margraten. The regimental headquarters moved up to the Tête. Everyone moved at whatever speed the engines could give them. We worked our way towards Maastricht form the south. Eben-Emael was silent—news that helped settle nerves. But then we heard three dull detonations—the Dutch had blown up the bridges over the Meuse. So we didn’t hold them after all. At 0830 hours we were the first ones of the main body of the division to stand at the destroyed bridges. Getting there ahead of us was Fessmann’s patrol from AufklärungsAbteilung 7 (mot.) and Abteilung z.b.V. Fleck from the Brandenburg Regiment.17 But they had been unable to prevent the demolitions either. We immediately gave them covering fire so they could cross with rafts. By noon, contact was established with the “lost ones” along the Albert Canal. The bridges there were intact. During the night, the engineers constructed a pontoon bridge, and we crossed over it in the morning. At the Vroenhoven Bridge on the Albert Canal, we were greeted by artillery and bombs. We moved through it and staged as part of the brigade for an attack. Leutnant von Gerdtell was wounded. Good-shooting Flak shot down two aircraft in flames. A pair of courageous motorcyclists took a company of Belgians prisoner. The riflemen had also closed up in good order in the meantime. The tank brigade moved out to attack at 1015 hours. The regiment advanced as far as Overrepen, 3 kilometers northwest of Tongres. The 2nd Battalion took Looz, halfway to St. Trond, and could only be held back with difficulty in advancing all the way there. Several hundred prisoners were taken. Enemy antitank guns did not fire at all. At 1600 hours, the regiment moved out in the direction of Ramkin, 10 kilometers southwest of Tongres, and took that important transportation nodal point, thus blocking the retreat route for the enemy out of Lüttich18 to the northwest. In the process, the 8th Company was engaged in heavy fighting in Oreye. The Panzer IV of the company commander was set alight by a French armored car; however, the crew was unharmed. Many prisoners were taken, including, among others, a complete Dutch company. The next day, the regiment was already moving out at 0530 hours along the road through Waremme-Hollogne in the direction of Lens-St. Remy. Belgian soldiers came out of buildings, stupefied that the Germans were already there. At 0700 hours, Lens-St. Remy was reached. The lead elements ran into enemy columns, which were attempting to

flee back from Lüttich. Civilians and soldiers-all mixed together. Wherever there was resistance, we fired back. Hundreds were captured and sent to the rear without guards. It was like a scene straight out of Poland, only we had not considered such a thing possible in the west.

TANK ENGAGEMENT AT HANNUT The 2nd Battalion was sent to Hannut to take the important transportation nodal point there. In Villers-le-Peuplier, the battalion eliminated an enemy column approaching from the south and took a lot of prisoners. While advancing on Avennes, Leutnant Rauschenbach was wounded on its southwest outskirts when his tank was hit by an antitank gun. Among the prisoners taken in were the first French. A picture was gradually taking shape of strong enemy forces south of Hannut. The 2nd Battalion encountered approximately 15 enemy tanks north and northwest of Hannut. Eleven of them were knocked out. In the process, Oberleutnant Malguth distinguished himself. But our tanks were also hit five times. Five men were killed, eleven wounded. The French tanks proved to be heavily armored. Enemy artillery fired the entire day on Hannut and Lens-St. Remy. But the day still was not over. In the evening, Vorausabteilung Eberbach19 was formed, consisting of the regiment’s 1st Battalion, riflemen, artillery and engineers. It was directed to attack in the direction of Perwez. It had no sooner reached Thisnes, when it encountered strong enemy forces. The village was barricaded and defended by tanks, antitank guns, machine guns and a lot of artillery. The 4th Company advanced slowly; in the end, the 1st Battalion outflanked the enemy on the right. The village was full of dead Belgians. Three French tanks were abandoned, on fire. The vehicle of Oberleutnant Becker was hit; only the driver escaped with his life. Becker and his radio operator were killed. The western outskirts of Thisnes were reached, but strong defensive fires were already coming from Wansin, the next village. The enemy artillery fire did not let up in intensity. The onset of darkness made further advance impossible. Riflemen were brought forward to relieve the tanks; in the process, the commander’s tank received a direct hit from an enemy tank. Oberleutnant Rachfall was wounded. The enemy tanks disappeared to the north, followed by our fires. Once there, they encountered our 3rd Company, which did not notice for a while that they were enemy tanks. One was knocked out with a main gun, another with a hand grenade. The third one escaped. Relieved by the riflemen, the tanks returned to their lines of departure. On 13 May, the attack was repeated with the entire tank brigade. We did not move out until 1245 hours. We received fires from Merdorp. Through binoculars we could see that they were French tanks. A lively firefight ensued. No effect could be seen. When we simply bypassed Merdorp, the enemy tanks advanced out of the village and attacked the infantry following us. The 1st Battalion thereupon hit them in the flank and knocked out eight tanks. But then enemy tanks started firing at us from the hill with the water tower south of Jandrain. When we reached that hill in spite of the fire, we started receiving fires from the high ground across from us, from Jandrenouille and Jandrain. It was truly a witches’ cauldron. On top of all that, our ammunition started to become depleted. The light platoon was sent back to the rear to fetch more ammunition. There were dead and wounded. The situation was not exactly rosy. The enemy was practically invisible. We did not give in. A fire front was established in the west with all of the heavy vehicles. The 3rd

Company was employed in clearing Jandrain. The fires from the south abated as Panzer-Regiment 36 advanced. A French Somua had gotten stuck in a wooded defile; the crew surrendered. Together with the scout platoons, the wonderful 3rd Company cleared Jandrain, took 400 prisoners and captured four antitank guns and five tanks. Finally, more ammunition arrived. We continued on in the direction of Ramillies-Offus. The eight shot-up French tanks that we discovered on the way there told us that we had not been shooting too badly.

THE DYLE POSITION During the night, we established local security. The sleep was not for long, however. Early the next morning, we were ready to break through the tank obstacle at Perwez and then move out against the Dyle Position. We advanced rapidly as far as the tank obstacle. It consisted of kilometers of long, heavy iron bars.20 Not a shot was fired. Our engineers cleared lanes. We moved through. On the other side was one trench line after the other. The defenders had fled. For the most part, they left their weapons behind. But then, off to the left, in the woods on some high ground, enemy tanks blocked any further advance with their fires. Panzer-Regiment 36 had an especially hard time of it. In the end, the I./Panzer-Regiment 35 succeeded in sweeping out to the right and advancing on Malprouvé. In the meantime, the engineer platoon had encountered enemy tanks. Oberleutnant Krause brought a captured antitank gun into position and had bundled charges prepared. When the tanks approached, four were knocked out by the antitank gun. Oberleutnant Krause knocked out a fifth by tossing a bundled charge into the running gear. All of that happened before noon. As a result, the decision was made to break through the Dyle Position north of Gembloux. Bypassing Baudecet and Ratentout, we headed for the enemy positions. But without friendly artillery support, the attack could not advance against a veritable firestorm of French artillery and antitank elements. The brigade therefore ordered the regiments to assemble on both sides of Baudecet and be prepared for further operations from there. Even there, however, the French artillery made our stay uncomfortable. A number of vehicles were hit; several tankers were wounded. It was directed that we attack again in the evening. Because the staging could not be completed until 2100 hours, however, the attack was pushed back to the following morning. Over the course of the previous three days, the regiment had destroyed or captured 53 French tanks. The tank-versus-tank fight is a knightly war. The French were defeated because they employed their vehicles individually or in small groups and because their vehicles could not react fast enough. French armor was much better than ours. Prisoner statements revealed that our enemy was the Moroccan 1st Division, together with elements of a motorized cavalry corps. On 15 May, we again attacked the enemy positions after a short artillery and Stuka preparation. Our riflemen, about whom nothing but good can be said, advanced bravely. We were supposed to break into the enemy positions with them. But the designated signal was given too early. The enemy was vastly superior to us in numbers of artillery. He put down a barrage of fire that was not surpassed even by those of the First World War. The tanks moved ahead. The commander’s vehicle received a direct hit and was disabled. The 1st Battalion continued to move, crossed the broad road and reached the embankment. It then got stuck there, unable to proceed. The embankment formed a considerable obstacle. There were mines at the crossing points and there was a deep defile running across the axis of attack. Antitank fires were placed on the 1st Battalion from the front and the flanks. The 4th Company suffered the most. All of the Panzer IV’s received direct hits.

Leutnant Hagen was killed. Almost all of the brigade’s light platoon was lost. The brigade commander, who was up front as always, was wounded. Likewise, the regimental adjutant. When the orders arrived to pull back, it occurred calmly and in an orderly fashion. The shot-up vehicles were towed along or recovered in the evening. The regiment assembled in its old positions. The regiment suffered 6 dead and 18 wounded. The attack was to be repeated in the afternoon. Because we refused to execute the order, it was cancelled. We had only 65 operational tanks. The next day passed quietly. In the afternoon, we received orders: The French had evacuated the Dyle Position; we will pursue. But only an advance guard was employed in the evening, to which Panzer-Regiment 36 attached a battalion. It was not until the next day that the main body of the regiment followed, moving through the Dyle Position and past everything that a defeated army leaves behind. We proceeded to Frasnes-lezGosselies, moving past disabled French combat vehicles. Oberleutnant Behrens, the commander of the 4th Company, was killed in an accident there. The regiment remained in Frasnes the next day.

IN THE MORMAL WOODS The advance did not continue until the afternoon of 19 May. The XVI. Armee-Korps (mot.) was directed southwest to the armored assault group. We marched the entire night. After a march of 80 kilometers, we reached Dompierre, in the vicinity of Charleroi and Avesnes, on the morning of 20 May. The regiment was told to be ready for operations at 0800 hours. But the day was quiet. In the evening, we moved through Landrecies to Bousies, where we were to cover the right flank of the forces moving on Cambrai. We were to orient in the direction of the Mormal Woods. We were alerted on the morning of 21 May. The enemy attacked from the woods to the south and the west and attempted to break through. The 2nd Battalion moved out to the northwest with the mission of reaching the Vendegies-Solesmes road (moving through Beaudignies) and clearing that area of the enemy. In the area around Capello, it received artillery and antitank-gun fire. One Panzer III was badly damaged, but the enemy battery was captured and the antitank guns eliminated. At 0930 hours, the rest of the regiment moved out to attack, but it no longer encountered any enemy. Unteroffizier Schulz and two officer candidates of the regiment succeeded in capturing 150 Moroccans. Unteroffizier Tödter of the regimental headquarters ran into 50 black Frenchmen on his motorcycle. He called out to them to surrender—and they did! The regiment assembled at Poix du Nord and initially remained there. There was an alert in the middle of the night. At 0400 hours, we departed and moved through Solesmes-Cambrai- Warquion and initially on to Villers, then to Doignies. From there, we moved on the next day to Bienvillers, south of Arras. The regiment took up quarters there at midnight. The next evening, we marched on to Tinques, 10 kilometers east of St. Pol. The regiment rested in the area to the north on 25 and 26 May. The number of operational tanks had increased to 110. All praise to the maintenance company!

ON THE LA BASSÉE CANAL On 27 May, the regiment advanced to Bethune. The riflemen had established a small bridgehead there on the far side of the canal and were holding it, while taking heavy losses, against enemy artillery and English soldiers in good positions. The terrain was certainly poor for the use of armor—full of ditches and hedges. The bridgehead was also way too narrow for the employment of the tank brigade. Towards noon, the regiment received the mission of crossing the canal on the pontoon bridge and prepared to attack Neuvechappelle from a staging area in Essars. Since the bridge was damaged in the meantime, the 2nd Battalion was not ready to attack until 1700 hours. At the same time, the 1st Battalion was still crossing. Although the 5th Company was detached from the battalion, it made good progress. Obstacles were overrun. Two antitank guns set the tank of Oberleutnant Wollschlaeger alight. The entire crew was wounded, as was Hauptfeldwebel Jarausch. Feldwebel Bohn then eliminated the two antitank guns by direct hits, before they were able to fire again. Soon thereafter, he also set two English tanks alight. Moving out of Festubert, an enemy column ran right into the middle of the light platoon of the regiment. It was eliminated. But when the platoon continued on in the direction of Festubert, he started receiving antitank-gun fire from there and got into a difficult situation. The regimental adjutant, who raced there with elements of the 2nd Company, received a direct hit. Together with his driver, he was wounded. Unteroffizier Sachs, who entered the village with his tanks from the flank, destroyed the enemy tank there and turned the tide of battle in favor of the Germans. In the meantime, the 2nd Battalion had reached the La Bassée-Estraires main road. It had to leave behind a number of vehicles in the marshy ditches it had crossed. Its situation was far from simple when enemy tanks and columns approached it from La Bassée. They shot to pieces anything that could not escape. The 5th Company was returned to the battalion. The 1st Battalion, which had been employed in support of the riflemen, assembled.

NIGHT ATTACK ON ARMENTIÈRES Based on a recommendation from the regiment, the entire regiment, together with the attached divisional reconnaissance battalion, moved out at 2130 hours as a pursuit detachment. Heading out into the night, it had the mission of reaching the LilleArmentières road and thereby closing the door on the enemy forces to the southwest of it. As early as Aubers, enemy antitank guns and an English tank fired at us. They were eliminated. The march continued. We received heavy fires from Fromelles. In the evening twilight, a French tank could be made out at the entrance to the village. It was dispatched. A second one behind it suffered the same fate. An antitank gun off the road to the right was also made a believer of German shooting skills. But there seemed to be all sorts of things tucked away in the village. Our artillery then placed fire on the village after a request from its forward observer. The rounds could not have landed any better. The enemy resistance collapsed, and we rolled through the burning village. An armored car remained behind, abandoned, as well as the third French Somua at the crossroads. Behind it were burning trucks and staff cars. By then it had been pitch black for some time. We continued to roll on. French vehicles infiltrated into our columns, not knowing who they were with. We let them move along and did not snatch them up until the next halt. They were amazed. There were abandoned vehicles, gun limbers and artillery pieces to the right and left of the road. It was midnight when we moved through Boutillerie. In Touquet, we encountered an enemy column with artillery, which was attempting to break through to the north. Fighting erupted. The enemy defended and fired his guns over open sights. Houser caught on fire. Pyrotechnics were shot into the air to the right of us, to the left and behind us—French pyrotechnics. We were deep in enemy territory. On the road crossing in front of us, there appeared to be considerable enemy elements that wanted to pull back. Our ammunition was becoming depleted. For that reason, a decision was made: continue the attack at first light; request artillery be brought forward; fetch ammunition vehicles. The ammunition arrived. The artillery was not approved. The division stated it could not move out to attack until the next day. Despite all that, we attacked the following morning in a pouring rain. At 0645 hours, the Lille-Armentières was reached. Enemy truck columns approached from Armentières, packed with Frenchmen. They took us for the English and were happy that we were finally there. We then proceeded to help them. When we took their weapons away, they thought that was going a bit too far. We then told them who we were, and they were disappointed. Then they marched by the hundreds into captivity. It must have been about 2,000 of them. Around 1200 hours, the main body of the division arrived. Oberleutnant Berger received the Iron Cross, First Class, from the hand of General Hoeppner. During the afternoon of 29 May, we were moved to localities 5 kilometers farther to the rear. It was intended for us to have a few days of rest. The number of operational tanks climbed back to 130, thanks to the incomparable work

of the maintenance company and the maintenance sections. The losses of the regiment totaled 25 dead and 77 wounded. That meant that in just three weeks, a quarter of the combat elements have been lost.

ON THE SOMME The regiment received four days’ rest to get its vehicles back into shape and allow its brave soldiers to catch up on their sleep. Then the regiment moved out in a long march through Douai and Cambrai to the south. It goes without saying that it was another night march, with all the attendant friction at the provisionally constructed bridges. It was not until the afternoon of the following day that we reached our new billeting area north of Péronne. There we had another two days of quiet. On 5 June, we went into our staging area in the darkness. From there, we moved through Péronne around 0700 hours and then moved out to attack from Assevillers at 1050 hours. The infantry division that was attacking with us had preceded us by a few kilometers on the left. The French put up brave resistance. All of the built-up areas had been transformed into strongpoints. The enemy wanted to allow the tanks to roll through and then cut them off from their rearward lines of communications. Right after forming up, we received machine-gun and antitank-gun fire from Belloy and Berny, as well as Estrées. We fired back, but we did not allow ourselves to be held up. Instead, we snaked our way through the built-up areas. French artillery covered the sector of our attack. When we reached Ablaincourt, the antitank fire from a patch of woods became very intense. The 1st Battalion, which was in the lead, was involved in heavy fighting. Six tanks were badly damaged; several received some sort of battle damage. Four tanks were blazing like torches. It was not a sight that lifted one’s spirits. Oberleutnant Ziegler was killed in a bravely conducted attack. Oberleutnant Pfister and Oberleutnant Wagner had to bail out from their stricken vehicles. Assistenzarzt Dr.21 Schulz-Merkel, who was recovering the wounded, was engaged by antitank guns and wounded in the head. Despite that, he continued his work until all of the wounded were administered to. But our tanks would not give in. Together with elements of the 2nd Battalion, they finally knocked out five antitank guns and captured a battery. Numerous prisoners were also taken. In the meantime, the main body of the regiment had left the village and had advanced to the north of Omiécourt, together with Panzer-Regiment 36. Once there, antitank-gun fire once again hit our flanks from a patch of woods. A few vehicles were severely damaged; one burned. The requested artillery did not come, because the distance was already too great. It was not possible to change positions to the front, since the French still held those villages. Finally, it was possible to put fire on the patch of woods with one battery. The brigade ordered us not to advance for the time being, since it did not appear to be worthwhile to do so against such a strong opponent without artillery support. The light platoon of the 1st Battalion, which was sent out to sweep around the enemy, encountered antitank guns and artillery, which fired over open sights, at the southern edge of Omiécourt.

The 2nd Battalion, which was still receiving fire from the area around Ablaincourt, turned around with some of its elements and attacked. It captured another battery and an antitank gun and took 100 prisoners. It was hot, very hot. All of us were thirsty. The 1st Battalion had only a few rounds of ammunition left. While the infantry and the artillery did not get forward due to the enemy’s fires, our ammunition vehicles, mess trucks and engineer platoons did make it forward. Their achievement boosted our morale. Leutnant Kästner was sent to the west with a platoon to establish contact with the 3. Panzer-Division. On the way there, he was wounded badly in both legs by an antitank-gun round. Despite that, he continued his mission and reported that the 3. Panzer-Division, suffering considerable casualties, had reached Fransart with its lead elements. In the meantime, the enemy artillery fire had grown stronger. Firing from off to the right and the left were 7.5-centimeter batteries and antitank guns. The 2nd Battalion was in an especially uncomfortable position. On top of that, French aircraft started to strafe and bomb. At 1900 hours, the brigade commander ordered the attack to be continued. It was a very difficult decision to make. But that was really the only way we were going to get out of the heavy artillery fire. As if to reinforce the point, antitank guns and artillery started firing into our flanks from Omiécourt. When engaged by the vehicles of the 2nd Battalion, it fell silent. When Dr. Baldauf reached the area of the village—he was moving at the end of the regiment in his armored medical vehicle22—he received a hit from an antitank gun and had to be brought back with a severe head wound. As we later found out, there were 1,200 French in Ablaincourt; in Omiécourt, there were an entire artillery battalion, numerous antitank guns and 1,000 personnel. They surrendered the next day without any resistance. In a long, thin column, the tank brigade snaked its way south between the villages. The enemy fired from every locality, until we set it alight through fires and drove the enemy out of his positions. We finally reached the area around Etalon at 2200 hours. Panzer-Regiment 36 took up the screening mission there. For Panzer-Regiment 35, the mission was still to take Fonches and Fonchettes on the major road from Péronne to Roye. The 2nd Battalion, which was in the lead, received fire from all of the villages. Three vehicles were hit; a few men were wounded. But the Panzer IV restored quiet for the time being. A few farmsteads burned. The 2nd Company cleared Fonches on foot that night, moving on the ground with submachine guns and hand grenades, even though the men had been without rest for 24 hours. Thanks to aggressive action on the part of Feldwebel Walowsky, 50 French soldiers were taken prisoner when they were hauled out of a house, outside of which the battalion commander had been standing and issuing orders for some time! That evening Oberst Hermann Breith, our brigade commander, received the Knight’s Cross. All of us were happy for him. He was always with us in the front lines. We felt the

award was recognition for the performance of the entire brigade. The morning started out with firing seeming to come from all of the buildings in Fonches. An attack by the 2nd Company, supported by the 1st Company of SchützenRegiment 12 and a battery of Flak, was necessary to break the resistance—house by house. The enemy, who was part of the 25th Alpine Infantry Regiment, defended bravely. They fired from the basements and the trees. Although asked to surrender several times, they refused. In the meantime, the 2nd Battalion had attacked Liancourt in accordance with its orders. It attacked the locality from the flank and had advanced into its middle. The enemy did not start firing from every house until that happened. The built-up area was like a fortress. There were also antitank guns firing. Leutnant Reese was mortally wounded when he observed from out of his turret. Despite all that, the village would have been taken, had it not been for the fact that at that point, 14 Somua tanks attacked the 8th Company from the rear. The few heavy tanks of the company were unable to hold the village in the face of that unequal struggle. The 2nd Battalion thereupon pulled back and disengaged 300 meters from Liancourt, all the while suffering relatively few casualties. The 8.8-centimeter Flak battery that arrived later was able to knock out four of the enemy tanks. Krause’s engineer platoon was able to knock out two other tanks in the village with its captured antitank gun. By then, the motorized riflemen had arrived. They received the mission of taking Liancourt after a heavy artillery preparation. The tank brigade would not move out again until Liancourt was firmly in German hands. The riflemen were unable to take the village until 1800 hours. The 6th Tank Company helped them in the process. When the regiment moved out at 1830 hours, its attack advanced well and rapidly as far as Roiglise. It was not until that village was reached that it received fire from antitank guns and artillery. The village proper was full of obstacles, which were defended from houses. Covered by the 1st Battalion, the armored engineers advanced and eliminated the obstacles. Infantry turned off on the village and cleared the buildings. Fleeing [enemy] columns were engaged by artillery. The 5th Company, which went around the village, eliminated an artillery piece. But then it took until 2030 hours to reach Verpiliers. The 1st Battalion and the regimental headquarters remained there; the 2nd Battalion continued its advance as far as the major road from Roye to Laucourt. It encountered enemy there and took prisoners. Once again, it was midnight before the regiment finally rested. The 7th of June was supposed to be a rest day. At 1400 hours, however, the rifle brigade moved out to attack and the tanks were directed to follow up when the riflemen reached the high ground 6 kilometers to the front. Up to that point, the terrain was unsuitable for tanks. The enemy turned out to be very strong, however. His batteries were hammering everywhere. French aircraft joined the fighting by bombing our forces. The riflemen called for the tanks. At 1815 hours, the regiment was prepared to attack. At 1845 hours, there was a counterorder: Do not attack for the time being! In the meantime, Leutnant von Gerdtell went as far forward as the leading positions of the riflemen in a captured French armored car. He identified large numbers of antitank guns that were well positioned and received several hits on his vehicle. He was able to bail out with his crew. The enemy fire was so strong, however, that he was unable to return to

the battalion until the night offered protective concealment. That night, the crews slept in dugouts, which they had hurriedly dug. The tanks then rolled over them. By doing that, any artillery barrage in the morning could not hurt them. At 0700 hours on 8 June, orders arrived for an attack. It was directed that the tank brigade, with Panzer-Regiment 35 in the lead, break into the enemy positions, along with the riflemen. No one harbored any illusions that the attack would be easy. But orders were orders! Everything was done to prepare for the attack so that it would succeed. When the regimental commander went to the division to coordinate with the division artillery commander, an order arrived from the field army: No attack … pull the tank brigade back. It was anticipated that the division would be pulled out of the line and employed elsewhere. The regiment correspondingly pulled back a few kilometers. To everyone’s happy surprise, a march serial arrived there with 70 replacements. That night, another one of those well-liked road marches took place as far as the area south of St. Quentin. The regiment was allowed to rest there for 36 hours.

COUP DE MAIN AGAINST THE BRIDGES OVER THE SEINE AT ROMILLY The next day, we advanced through La Fère to the Marne at Mont St. Père. The march went through an infantry division. We moved forward at a walking pace. It was raining in buckets. The base at the far end of the bridge was transformed into a morass of knee-deep mud, through which every vehicle had to be pulled by either a tank or a prime mover. The brigade wanted to move the regiment forward. But that was impossible with the road traffic. It was not until the morning hours of 13 June that the regiment finally crossed the river and moved out at first light towards the south. The fuel vehicles were held up to the rear, but Knoth’s capable columns helped out. We moved through Montmirail to Maclaunay. Our sister regiment had been brought forward there in the meantime. At 1200 hours, the regiment moved out by itself to attack. It was followed by the riflemen. The attack objective was initially Sézanne. Initially, we moved rapidly, but then artillery shells and antitank-gun rounds began impacting off to the right. Artillery was placed on the enemy by the liaison officer. The first prisoners with hands raised high filed past us on their way to the rear. The 2nd Battalion, moving behind as the second wave, took out five enemy antitank guns. Enemy tanks engaged us at Les Essarts. They were providing cover for a column pulling back. Two of the enemy tanks were immobilized and left behind; five fled. The enemy infantry was either wiped out or took to flight. A short halt was necessary to reorganize the formations. Laukat’s artillery battalion and a battery of Flak arrived. At 1800 hours, we continued on in the direction of Sézanne. The enemy did not stir. While the 2nd Battalion went around the city, the regimental headquarters advanced directly into it. There were three enemy tanks at the southern outskirts next to the train station. Nothing could be employed against them except our 2centimeter main guns, which did not penetrate their armor. Despite that, they fled. The 2nd Battalion fired into the fleeing columns and took prisoners. Six intact aircraft were captured at the airfield. The train station was occupied, a departing train halted and the fire in several locomotives extinguished. Panzer-Regiment 36 relieved us and we continued moving south. In front of us, off to the right and the left, enemy columns were pulling back. We engaged them and took hundreds of prisoners. Just in St. Troy alone, the light platoon of the regiment fetched 500 prisoners. But the French also continued to defend. There wasn’t a single village from which we did not initially receive fire. Bardonne was taken. It was 1830 hours by then. Then orders arrived: “The regiment advances to the Seine, takes the bridge at Marcilly and forms a bridgehead around Romilly.” At that point, we no longer worried much about the enemy columns. They were engaged as we passed them. There was only one objective in front of our eyes: the Seine! The way was still long and it was already evening. Outside of Marcilly, infantry skirmishers were committed against us. When we returned fire, they threw their weapons away and continued marching in the direction they had started.

When we entered Marcilly at 2200 hours, things were different. There was firing at us from the houses, the rooftops and the basements. You could hear the slow staccato rhythm of the French machine guns. Our 7.5-centimeter main guns helped restore some calm. But the fires picked up again and again. The 2nd Battalion slowly fought its way to the bridge. There were obstacles in front of it and on it. It was only possible to advance at a snail’s pace. Antitank guns and a solitary artillery piece were firing at us from the far side of the river. The situation was nothing to be happy about. It was impossible to form a picture of the overall situation. To that end, the battalion adjutant, Oberleutnant Malguth, went forward on foot. The regimental adjutant, Oberleutnant Guderian, did the same. We succeeded in bringing a number of vehicles into position to provide covering fire. Our engineers and the scout platoons were brought forward. They set up in the houses and engaged the enemy on the far side of the bridge. Three of our engineers, together with Leutnant Stoff, then defied death and stormed across the bridge. They discovered that everything had been prepared for demolition except that the detonation cord had not been laid. Oberleutnant Malguth and Oberleutnant Guderian followed the engineers in their assault across the bridge. Guderian immediately jumped into a trench that was full of French soldiers. The situation was critical for him, but a hand grenade gave him some breathing room. After a short, bitter fight, the surviving French at the bridge gave up. Oberleutnant Malguth was already crossing the bridge with his tanks; others followed. Without worrying about the substantial enemy resistance, Lekschat’s tank company, with the battalion adjutant in the lead, continued on Romilly. The rest of the 2nd Battalion followed and, in the process, engaged the woodline from which heavy fire was coming. At the same time, Leutnant Kahle and a few men cleared the far side of the bridge with pistols and hand grenades. The 1st Battalion then cleared the entire area and held the village until it was relieved. In the meantime, the 2nd Battalion had advanced through the marshy terrain as far as Romilly. A brand-new bridging column fell into its hands. A 28-centimeter gun was the next spoil of war. The woods were full of the enemy; they received some grazing fires as the tanks passed by. At a crossroads, the battalion ran into the middle of an enemy column. It was quickly put out of action. The city was reached. Two bridges at the city’s outskirts were captured intact. Completely surprised French soldiers were caught taking walks. If they had any weapons, they put up resistance from out of the houses. The battalion reached the marketplace. The regimental and battalion headquarters remained there. Elements of the 2nd Battalion and the regiment’s light platoon cleaned up in Romilly as the number of prisoners collected at the marketplace continued to grow. The dashing 5th Company, accompanied by Oberleutnant Malguth, stormed through the city and on to the next built-up area, destroying another French column it encountered along the way. It was not until after midnight that the entire regiment had assembled in Romilly. The bridgehead on the Seine had been formed. Although the regiment had been on the go for

36 hours, most of the tankers had to pull guard to secure the success. At the airfield, 33 aircraft—including 7 heavy bombers—were secured. Trains that wanted to depart from the train station were detained. Prisoners were continuously being brought in. Trains full of French soldiers on leave pulled in. The passengers were received by us with a smile. In the morning, other elements of the division arrived and provided relief. On 14 June, the 2nd Company also took the bridge over the Seine at Sauvage, taking numerous prisoners. The 2nd Battalion advanced towards Maizières and Chartres. There was heavy fighting around Maizières. The light platoon was employed there to support the 8th Company. Prisoners streamed into the collection point by the hundreds. By noon, all of the operations—most of which had been undertaken on our own initiative—were completed. With a single blow, the enemy’s resistance had essentially collapsed there. The afternoon passed quietly. Both of the battalions established quarters in the villages east of Romilly. Everyone was looking forward to a peaceful night of rest after going without sleep for two nights. But a false report by two fearful engineers forced the light platoon to be employed and the 2nd Company to go on alert. There was no trace of the enemy, with the exception of the 80 French who had felt compelled to surrender. It was directed that we move out to the south again at 1500 hours on 15 June. But before that could occur, the 2nd Battalion had to fend off a desperate breakout attempt at La Belle Etoile. The engineers who had been employed there had pulled back. The immediate counterattack succeeded, but the battalion suffered one dead and two wounded as the result of antitank-gun hits. The regiment constantly encountered columns of Frenchmen as it was advancing. On their own, they had thrown away their weapons and only asked which way they should march to go into captivity. Some of them looked at us apathetically; others greeted us in a friendly manner. Many of them were drunk. Army vehicles of all types, artillery pieces and articles of uniforms lined the way. The situation was such that the leaders of the units could move ahead of their forces in a Kübelwagen23 without any worries. The civilian populace was quiet; occasionally, they even smiled at us. We moved until we had no more fuel. We reached the area around Chables. We were supposed to refuel at a crossroads. Suddenly, we received fire from the woods. Leutnant Gerdtell, Feldwebel Janneck and Feldwebel Drews from the regimental headquarters went into the woods and demanded the French surrender. They disarmed 40 men. Then a French machine gun began to fire and the prisoners fled. The two noncommissioned officers were wounded and remained where they were. Gerdtell returned to get tanks and evacuate the wounded. It was already 2200 hours. Making a snap decision, Oberleutnant Malguth moved forward in his Panzer II. A Panzer I accompanied his tank. A few comrades attempted to hold him back, but he only laughed, waved at them and took off. In the woods, he took care of the machine gun and called out to the French to give up to avoid further bloodshed. Then he was shot in the head from the rear. Oberleutnant Königstein, who had gone along, caught him. Malguth died in his arms. It was like a nightmare for us that one of the best officers of the regiment had to be killed on such a day and under such circumstances. We took his remains with us and buried him the next day in

the park at Braux. Our advance continued far into the night until just outside of Nevers. The enemy barely appeared anymore. A number of prisoners were collected out of shot-up trucks. At the entrance to the city, a machine gun was destroyed. We were in the city at 0300 hours. We spent the rest of the night in our vehicles, shivering. After we had refueled, we moved out again at 0800 hours. It was pretty country that we moved through. But while every bit of soil was used in Germany, there were large stretches of fallow land and there were houses that were falling apart in every village. The enemy did not offer any resistance. Whenever we encountered French soldiers, they gave up without a fight. Some of the completely surprised populace thought we were English, because they could not otherwise explain the presence of German forces so deep in their country. Moving at high speed, Leutnant von Gerdtell, who was moving ahead of his battalion, ran into two French tanks. By dint of a bit of theater, he succeeded in confiscating them, even though the village was full of French soldiers. In addition, he took a French colonel and his adjutant prisoner. The next village was swarming with French soldiers as well. Certainly, things would not transpire the way they had been in the city of Sémur? Leutnant von Gerdtell moved ahead in a civilian-type staff car, followed closely by motorcyclists and the first tanks. He ran right into the middle of an enemy column consisting of armored machine-gun carriers and vehicles of all different types. Unfortunately, there were also refugees with their vehicles among them. A short, sharp fight ensued. But the enemy was so surprised that he was unable to offer organized resistance. Machine guns that were quickly brought into position were taken out by our tanks. Then tanks under the command of Hauptmann von Jungenfeld and Oberleutnant Guderian moved along the column to the north, engaging the enemy who continued to fire out from behind hedges. They took prisoner the large mass of Frenchmen who were lying in the roadside ditches and playing dead. “A bas les armes! Levez les mains! Marchez par là!” Those were the few scraps of French that were necessary on such occasions and which every Landser24 soon committed to memory. Between the fighting, the refugee children were taken out of the vehicles and placed in the arms of crying mothers. There might have been about 1,000 prisoners and 100 captured vehicles that hour. No one counted them anymore. The prisoners took off for the rear without guards. If a few of them took off, that really didn’t matter. Just don’t stop anywhere for long! And the movement continued through the pretty, ancient fortress of Sémur. At the eastern outskirts, there was a column of horses. The soldiers looked at us, astounded. No one paid any attention to them. We were no longer interested in a few horse-drawn wagons. Undisturbed, they continued to feed their animals. Up front, there was firing again. A French machine gun was also in the mix. The road was barricaded with obstacles at Massène. The enemies in the houses were quickly

silenced. Tanks went around the built-up area to the left. We thrust on to a crossroads south of Massène and ran into another long enemy column. The soldiers only fired sporadically. Then, once more, a few men had to dismount to prod the many French who were playing possum in the ditches and bring them back to life. We marched onward and another 200 prisoners marched rearward. There was no peace to be had in the Kübelwagen. There was firing again from the next woodline. There were abandoned French vehicles everywhere. There were barricades of the most primitive sort in every village and skirmishes of the sort already described repeated themselves. We did not waste much time on them. We were tired, very tired. The few tanks we had were in need of maintenance. We reached our objective of the day— Braux—and then took up quarters with the entire regiment from 1600 to 1700 hours. We were allowed to rest until the next morning at 0700 hours. The tank strength of the regiment lay between 40 and 60 vehicles after these daily road marches of 100 and more kilometers. But we all knew it was imperative to cut off the enemy in the Maginot Line. That meant: onward, always onward, even if it meant the regiment would only consist of trucks in the end. The next day, it could be seen that the enemy lines had been broken through. The enemy was no longer capable of putting up any noteworthy resistance. The motorized riflemen moved out ahead; the tank brigade followed. From that point forward, it was a joyride through beautiful France. The Landser had their own way of putting it: “With the Krupp sportster25 through Burgundy to the Mediterranean.” We did well by the rations also. All of the places we had only known about from bottles of wine were now seen firsthand: Pommard, Beaujolais, Mâcon and all of the rest. The cherries and the peaches were ripe. Chocolate was handed out every day with the rations. We heard on the radio about the feat-of-arms performed by Oberleutnant Malguth on the Seine. The captured 39 aircraft were also reported. We heard the announcement of Marshal Pétain that the French Army was on the verge of collapse. We marched through beautiful mountain country and through resplendent valleys. Everything was pressing to move forward. There were the usual frictions of war and traffic stoppages. Late in the evening, we reached Dijon. We took a look at the pretty city on 18 June. In the afternoon, we were moved to the area east of the city. We had a day of rest on 19 June. It did us and the tanks good.

IN THE RHÔNE VALLEY On 20 June, the march continued south through beautiful Burgundy on terrific roads and without any stoppages. We paralleled the mountains as far as Chalon. It was a magnificent, fertile piece of earth. The road was flanked by vineyards. Our view extended far over the broad valley of the Saône. The area reminded us of the Main Valley. Only the many poplars and the different architecture told us that we were not in Germany. On 21 and 22 June, we conducted major road marches downstream along the Saône through Tournus and Mâcon. Then we passed through the large city of Lyon, crossed the bridge over the Rhône and took up quarters just south of the city. From a scenery perspective, the city was wonderfully situated. The houses had southern architecture and were covered black in soot. The civilians also seemed more foreign the farther south we went. On the one side, the green ridgelines of the Cevennes arose from the Rhône Valley; on the other side, the snow-covered peaks and glaciers of the High Alps greeted us from the distance. The armistice negotiations started. But it was still imperative to exert some pressure and remove the hope the enemy might entertain of offering resistance in the Alps. It was also necessary to make the difficult advance through the high mountain country and into the rear of the French alpine field army easier for the Italians. Because the mountainous terrain did not allow for the employment of tanks, we were not out front for once. On 23 June, we moved out at 1700 hours. We moved through Vienne 60 kilometers to the south as far as St. Vallier. The regiment took up quarters there early on 25 June and remained until 26 June.

ARMISTICE The ceasefire started at 0135 hours on 25 June. Up to that point, French artillery and infantry had occasionally fired. Nobody felt the need in those final hours of the campaign to die a hero’s death. A road sign pointed south: Marseilles, 196 kilometers. Despite the rainy weather of the time, the deeply broken up Rhône Valley with its seemingly unending forest of vineyards, its wide river, its picturesque villages and towns left an impression of scenic splendor. The local populace was outspokenly friendly and, after the ceasefire, even more so. It seemed to us a great burden had been lifted from their shoulders. The campaign was over. Would the war continue? When and where? At the time, we did not know. The regiment turned around. We moved back north, as if in peacetime. The regiment lost 59 dead and 109 wounded during the campaign in the West.

Gembloux Firsthand Account by Hermann Hoss, Leutnant and Signals Officer of the Tank Brigade It was the 15th of May. The gray of early morning appeared. The attack on the fortified Dyle Position was directed for today. The previous evening, the powerful fortress artillery had shot us out of the small bird’s nest of Beaudecet in a sudden barrage. It had almost got the brigade commander. We spent the night in a defile north of the village. Radio communications had been replaced in the meantime by landline. The crews were sleeping; they had to be fresh and ready to go in the morning. They slept in quickly dug holes in the ground along the defile or under the armored vehicles. The artillery fire did not disturb them. Moreover, we were lucky—no artillery shells hit the defile. Behind us, on the road, however, round after round impacted. The dirt tossed skyward came over as far as us. Stone and earth fell from the skies. The order to attack arrived. The assembly area was under enemy fire. Tanks moved out, attached to units. The hatch slammed shut; the radio madness began. The division went in the direction and objective of the attack. The regiments reported moving out. The light platoon was directed by radio. The regiments immediately made enemy contact. Message after message, report after report—ceaselessly. Rolling along with us were the artillery observers, the armored vehicles of the riflemen, armored engineers26 and antitank elements. The riflemen dismounted; their vehicles took up concealed positions. The fighting started. The commander sat on the “throne” in the command and control tank. He was in his element. In his right hand, a cigar; in his left, a map, message forms, reports and radio traffic receipts. We had advanced as far as Gembloux and were approaching the gasworks. The locality was taken under fire by our elements. But there was no enemy to be seen. From above, the French machine guns hacked away and forced our riflemen to ground. We systematically took each house under fire. No effects could be seen. The defender was being stubborn. He hammered without a break into our attack. Finally, we closed with the enemy. The most important thing was that we could then see him. The French were 20 meters ahead of us, masterfully camouflaged in the hedges and the vegetation on the edge of the village. Our machine gun sent burst after burst over towards the enemy. It became quiet in the hedges. But we had to keep going, keep going over to the right. The light platoon had lost visual contact with us. We fetched it back per radio. We moved along the outskirts of the village. A street suddenly opened up to us by surprise. It was under extremely heavy artillery fire: haze and smoke, dust and dirt took our observation from us. Despite that, we moved into it so as not to offer the antitank guns any target. We moved ahead slowly between the impacts of the artillery shells. Shrapnel rained against the armored walls of the vehicle; it boomed. A heavy shell impacted right in front of us. It lifted us up for a second, then let us fall with a crash back on our tracks. The intercom system went out. We tore the burdensome headsets and throat mikes from our bodies. Only the radio operator

remained at his station, since the radio had survived the blow. A poke in the ribs was once again the best way to communicate. Around us were houses being burst asunder, collapsing walls. Beams and remnants of stonewalls were tossed in front of our tracks. It seemed to take forever to make it along that village street, but it was only a few minutes. Under the cover afforded by a house, we halted. We oriented ourselves and determined that we had reached the far end of Gembloux. In the backdrop we could see the sun shining on Ernage. According to a radio message from the division, that was our objective. A railway line cut through the land. It was the actual main line of resistance for the enemy, who had all of the terrain advantages on his side. The tanks were still in front of the road and were unable to find a crossing point. We looked out over the terrain in the distance and made a mental picture of it. We saw the railway line, which came out of a deep cut that then transformed into a high gravel embankment. We saw the green fields gently rising, which were covered by haze. We saw a rise in the ground 200 meters behind the embankment, where a cross of stone held a lonely vigil. Where could the enemy antitank guns be? We moved up to the embankment without any problems and took up concealment in a depression. A few tanks followed us. Then the others arrived as well. The commander sent Feldwebel Kapitschke in his tank back to the riflemen so that they could help us engage the antitank guns. The antiarmor weapons of the enemy were no more than 100 meters away from us in a fold in the ground and prevented any crossing of the embankment. Over there—the brown flecks in the green fields—those had to be infantry. We reported our situation to the division. Feldwebel Kapitschke brought the first riflemen forward on foot. Oberst Breith briefed the Leutnant with the riflemen on the situation and his mission. The riflemen were then employed against the pockets of resistance by going through the railway cut. Our tanks provided covering fires. The riflemen gave the enemy a hard time of it, and our men then came close to the holes in the ground. A hand extended and held a white handkerchief high. Then the French appeared—some 20 or 30—then more. There were Moroccans among them. It was then time to eliminate the enemy antitank guns. Feldwebel Kapitschke assaulted ahead of the riflemen, who were giving it their best to force a breakthrough. An infantry gun that had arrived in the meantime and the tanks fired over at the enemy. The commander then saw an opportunity to advance farther. The Panzer II of Feldwebel Barkow of the light platoon accompanied his tank. They approached the embankment and climbed up the embankment. The tracks ground over the gravel, rattled on the rails and pounded on the ties. Not a round was fired. Then we headed for the stone cross. Would we succeed? Our nerves were stretched to the breaking point. Suddenly, there was a hard, smashing bang against the left side of the vehicle. We were thrown together. We looked at each other. The round had not penetrated. Then there was another murderous hit at the same spot. Enemy antitank gun at pointblank range! The rounds appeared to have ricocheted off. The antitank gun—invisible and all powerful because of it—would finish us off if we didn’t roll back. We moved back to the embankment slowly, still rattled by the inhuman crash on the tank walls. We tipped over the rail line and down the gravel slope. The commander then called out loudly—no, he yelled: “Mines!” The familiar objects at

the base of the embankment. We could go up any minute. But nothing happened. No explosion, no ripped-apart track. No hole in the belly of the vehicle. Nothing. We looked at each other, relieved. We couldn’t believe our luck. It was not until later that the riflemen told us the mines had not been armed. The enemy antitank guns were still not eliminated. Feldwebel Kapitschke was killed. The riflemen broke off the attack. The armor in the turret was pockmarked, centimeters deep. So, we had been lucky one more time! The Oberst went with us to Gembloux. He wanted to go to the tank of the regimental adjutant, Oberleutnant Guderian, which was said to have received a direct hit. There was furious artillery fire all around us once again. We moved off to the side, in the direction of Ernage. The furious machine-gun fire to the left reminded me that we were barely 200 meters from the front. Before we were able to turn around, a blue bundle of flame shot through the vehicle. It was followed by a thunderous blow. The driver called out. Antitank hit! There was a racket in the transmission; the vehicle stopped with a hard jolt. Hit in the transmission!27 Bail out! I grabbed the driver out of his seat and towards the hatch. I unwound Unteroffizier Rohrwild from the tangle of cables. He was in the process of radioing the division. We all spilled out of the hatch farthest from the enemy. Then the next antitank round crashed into the immobilized vehicle. The crew, with the exception of the Oberst, cowered on the ground next to the tank’s armor. A vehicle from the light platoon approached us to help. That’s what we hoped, but he was knocked out 30 meters from us. The vehicle started to burn immediately. When the fire let up, we counted 12 hits on our dependable B 01. The enemy apparently thought we were done at that point. The driver, Obergefreiter Petry, had been wounded. He had received shrapnel in the shins. Everyone else was intact. Hauptmann Collin issued orders: Away from the vehicle; look for the Oberst! Yes, exactly, where was the Oberst? But the classified signals documents had to be fished out of the tank first. At an opportune moment, I jumped in among the haze and the stink. The equipment was still intact; the transmitter was still functioning, in fact. In the space of a few seconds, I grabbed the most important portfolios, packets and papers with Rohrwild. The last thing I grabbed was my camera. But we needed to get out in a hurry! Right then, it was strangely quiet around us. Hauptmann Collin set off the smoke grenades. They sprayed to life and placed a wall of smoke in front of us. We ran as fast as our legs would carry us. The first 20 meters were fine, but then we were out of the concealment of the smoke. The dance started anew. One machine gun after the other chimed in. We were the only target for the enemy at the time. It whizzed around our ears; the farmland shot up to the left and right of us. Drop—get up—run as fast as you can! In front of us was our salvation, the road. All of us were carrying equipment and documents from the tank. There was no cover far and wide. There, off to the left, a shell crater! Head for it—just get out of this firestorm! I felt a dull blow to my knee. Nearby, something crashed into the ground. My knee hurt. There were only a few more steps to the crater. I groaned from the pain from my torn-up knee. I fell and was unable to get on my feet again. Crawling, I reached the edge of the crater and fell in. Hauptmann Collin and

Rohrwild jumped and fell into the crater after me. I straightened my leg and pulled up the leg of my trousers to survey the damage. A grazing wound to the kneecap. It had been shattered into three pieces and was hanging loosely in my skin. While we recovered from our efforts and gasped for breath, the rounds whistled over and dirt and dust covered us. We placed an emergency dressing around my knee. Being rescued was out of the question for the time being. Only the night could free us from that situation. But it would still be a long time before it turned dark. It was just 1200 hours. It was an unusual lunch break, that’s for sure, but we were fortunate to have escaped the hail of fire from the enemy. At least we had done that. Oberst Breith and Unteroffizier Gräf made it through along with Petry, the wounded driver. That night, around 2300 hours, the riflemen fetched us from our hole. At midnight, I arrived at the location of the signals company. They had thought I had been killed. I was on a stretcher, all right, but I was in a good mood.

The Offensive on the Somme Heinz Günther Klose, Unteroffizier in the 4./Panzer-Regiment 35 5 June 1940—In the early-morning hours, the German offensive commenced along a front of 190 kilometers from the mouth of the Somme to the Aisne-Oise Canal. We had already started marching from Gouzeaucourt at 0330 hours and reached the locality of Driencourt around 0600 hours after moving through Saulcourt. We temporarily staged off to the left of the road in thick woods on the high ground. From up there we had a good view of the terrain to our front. The town of Péronne was located in a picturesque fashion between depressions and patches of woods in the Somme Valley. From the high ground on this side of the Somme, our artillery sent its salvoes over to the French positions. Between and through the trees, we saw the uninterrupted muzzle flashes of guns of all calibers at a great distance. A light mist hovered over everything. We only heard a dull, sinister booming from the intense cannonade. There, ahead of us, was the front! We had scarcely positioned our vehicles in the patch of woods when a motorcyclist brought orders to move out. We headed back down the road to Péronne, on which the other companies of the regiment were already approaching. We integrated ourselves into the march column. We went through Péronne to Flaucourt, where the companies staged in another patch of woods. Above us, the squadrons of bombers headed for the enemy; once again, they had terrific flying weather. Behind us, the German batteries were in position. They were silent at that point, because the infantry had started to attack. The French offered bitter resistance. All of the built-up areas had been transformed into strongpoints. The enemy wanted to let the tanks roll through and then cut off their rearward lines of communication. Finally, around 1030 hours, the lead elements started to move out. We moved through the infantry’s positions, whereupon we started to receive machine-gun and antitank-gun fires from Belloy and Berny on the left and Estrees on the right. The tanks deployed for combat on a broad front, as calmly as if during maneuvers. The only unsettling aspect was that you could not hear the firing of the enemy due to the droning of the tank’s engine. You could only see the effect whenever one of our tanks was hit. Panzeroberschütze Degen was killed, for instance, when he stuck his head out of the hatch for a moment to observe. We kept our eyes peeled like hawks. Eyes on gun optics; hands on the cranks for the gun mechanisms and triggers. We searched the terrain attentively. Every bush, every house was looked at through the sights. Of course, you had to open a hatch occasionally in order to orient yourself and maintain contact with the company. The entire crew of the tank was on high alert—their lives were at stake and it was imperative to break through the enemy position. Whoever sees the enemy first and fires first has the advantage. Wherever we saw the enemy, we fired with our 7.5-centimeter main gun or with our fast machine guns. They were always effective. The villages were bypassed, because it was imperative to advance as rapidly and as deeply as possible. But the enemy was defending with everything he had. When we approached Ablaincourt, French artillery fired at us over open sights. The shells slammed

into the ground uncomfortably close to the right and left of us. Where was the enemy? There was a thick patch of woods in front of the village. It appeared the firing was coming from there. So we let loose into it with high-explosive and smoke rounds. Despite that, there were casualties. Six of our own tanks were badly hit; four tanks were burning brightly. The sight was not exactly one for raising morale, especially since we had lost another dear comrade. Feldwebel Rohrdantz received a direct hit from artillery in his vehicle, and he was badly wounded. Even before the driver, Gefreiter Deppe, and the radio operator, Gefreiter Müller, could get out of the tank, a second shell landed right in the turret, mortally wounding the radio operator. Miraculously, Deppe did not get wounded and was able to get out of the tank in one piece. He quickly summoned help. Just as Medic Bauer was attempting to lift Müller out of the turret, a third shell slammed into the turret, immediately killing Bauer. The battalion surgeon, Dr. Schulz-Merkel, was wounded by shrapnel. God knows, the French weren’t bad shots! A sharp engagement ensued. Together with Unteroffizier Klepzig, Oberleutnant Pfister placed smoke on the woodline and then attacked the woods under the concealment the smoke afforded. Seven guns were silenced. On the way back to the main body of the regiment, Unteroffizier Klepzig’s Panzer IV received an antitank-gun hit in the engine compartment. Immediately afterwards, Oberleutnant Pfister and his crew had to bail out as well. His driver, Unterfeldwebel Fischer, was badly wounded in the leg by an antitankgun round. When Gefreiter Pfister, Unteroffizier Klepzig’s driver, climbed back into his tank to put out the fire that had been caused by the hit, he was wounded by a rifle round. In practically the same spot, Unteroffizier Ziegler was mortally wounded. Unteroffizier Schieke received the mission of taking the company commander up front in his Panzer II. It worked, and [the company commander] climbed into one of our Panzer IV’s and continued to lead the company. In the meantime, the main body of the regiment had departed Ablaincourt and had advanced as far as north of Omiécourt with Panzer-Regiment 36. There, renewed antitankgun fire was received from a patch of woods off on our flank. Once again, a few tanks were hit; one burned. The artillery fire requested by the brigade did not come, because the distance was too great. The artillery was unable to change positions, because the French still held the villages. Finally, one battery was able to take the patch of woods under fire. It was oppressively hot in the tanks. Everyone suffered from thirst. We cursed, because the attack could not proceed. In addition, all of the 1st Battalion was short on ammunition as a consequence of the hard fighting. Due to the heavy defensive fires of the French, it was not possible for the friendly infantry and artillery to move forward. In a bold move, the ammunition vehicles and the engineer platoons of the regiment took a chance—and actually made it through to us in one piece. That enormous achievement raised our morale considerably. Once again, enough ammunition was on hand; there was nothing that could shake us anymore. In the meantime, the enemy artillery fire had intensified. From off to the right and the oblique left, 7.5-centimeter batteries and antitank guns were firing at us; from the right flank and from a greater distance, heavy artillery was also placing rounds on us. Despite that, the vehicles needed to be topped off and ammunition had to be loaded. In the end,

even the mess came forward. Why not get something to eat and drink? Every time, whenever a shell impacted close by, everyone dove under the tank, along with their mess kits. Very good for digestion. Pretty soon, you didn’t know which way to turn under the tank, since there was firing from all sides. On top of everything else, all of a sudden French aircraft attacked, bombing and strafing. To be safe, we all crawled rapidly under our tanks. The aerial attack went without success, however, especially since out antiaircraft defenses were able to send up a few sparks of their own. Despite the loud sounds of fighting, Gefreiter Wicht fell asleep under his tank. Unfortunately, he was run over by a Panzer I, losing several toes in the process. By then, it was 1900 hours. The brigade commander, Oberst Breith, decided to continue the attack south. By doing so, we actually got out from under the heavy fires of the French artillery. In its place, we started to receive antitank and artillery fires from the flank. It finally started to get to us and we fired over in that direction, with the result that half of the village stood in a cloud of smoke and the French batteries were silenced. But when Dr. Baldauf brought up the rear of the regiment with his armored ambulance, which was carrying a large flag with a Red Cross on it that was visible from quite a distance, and got to the village, he received a hit from an antitank gun. He had to be evacuated with a severe head wound. As was later determined, there were some 1,200 French soldiers in Ablaincourt; in Omiécourt, there were an entire artillery battalion, many antitank guns and more than 1,000 men. They surrendered the next day without resistance to the infantry that was following. The tank brigade snaked its way south between the villages. As a consequence of our many disabled and lost vehicles, we were in the second wave. The enemy fired at us from every village. At 2200 hours, the high ground at Etalon was reached. We moved down to some bottomland to screen and had just dismounted when there were muzzle flashes from the edge of the village on the far side. They gurgled overhead. Enemy tanks! We quickly mounted, traversed our turrets and answered the fire. Unfortunately, it was already too dark; we could only aim at the enemy muzzle flashes. Rounds whistled closely past us several times. It was probably also whistling over there pretty good as well. Then we received the order: “Cease fire!” There was no more point to firing.

AFTER THE CAMPAIGN IN FRANCE On 5 July, our division left southern France. It took up quarters in the Auzerre area. Ten percent of the personnel were allowed to take leave. Small groups were allowed to visit Paris and the beaches at Biarritz. Relationships with the civilians were good. Some preparations were made for a landing in England, but the Landser had a hard time believing that option would come to pass. When the men were medically examined for fitness in tropical climates, some of them already imagined themselves in Africa. Rumors also made the rounds about Gibraltar and Portugal. Generalmajor Freiherr28 von Langermann assumed command of the division on 8 September.29 In December, the division was moved to the Krefeld-Solingen area. The regiment was welcomed wholeheartedly by the populace of Solingen and quartered well. Twenty-five percent of the regiment was allowed to go on leave at any one time. Panzer-Regiment 36 was reassigned to the 14. Panzer-Division .30 The 4th and 8th Companies of the regiment were reconstituted. All of the Panzer I’s and the Panzer III’s with the short 3.7-centimeter main gun were turned in. In their place, the regiment received a number of Panzer IV’s and Panzer III’s with the longer 5-centimeter main gun of 42 calibers.31 In addition, some of the tanks received additional armor plating, especially to the front. In the middle of February 1941, the division was transported to the Bordeaux area of France on 74 trains.

The Campaign in the West, May-June 1940

13 May 1940: A knocked-out French S-35 Somua at Merdorp. Heavily armored and mounting an excellent 4.7-cm gun, the Somua was superior to all German tanks of the period.

14 May 1940: A tank obstacle at Perwez.

16 May 1940: The entrance to Gembloux.

17 May 1940: A knocked-out Panzer IV in front of the Dyle Position.

13 June 1940: The bridge at Romilly.

CHAPTER 3

The Campaign in the East, 1941: Panzer-Regiment 35 between the Vistula and the Don

From the Bug to the Dnjepr From My Diaries (Hans Schäufler)

IN THE WARTHE TRAINING AREA A small trip around the world was behind us. On 6 April 1941, we loaded our vehicles on trains along the sun-kissed coast of France near Bordeaux. We took the train to the Swiss border, then to Straßburg, across the Rhine there all across Germany to Fulda. We then road-marched through Czechoslovakia and into Burgenland.32 We drank a lot of wine in Rust for 10 days and enjoyed exemplary hosting. We took off under cover of darkness, accompanied by the good wishes of our hosts. We rolled back though Bohemia and then landed at the Warthe Training Area. Training exercises, maintenance of vehicles, sports and shooting events and, once again, exercises filled our days.

20 JUNE 1941—ALONG THE BUG IN THE VICINITY OF THE RUSSIAN BORDER We have been in a staging area since yesterday, a few hundred meters away from the Bug. War with Russia—was that indeed possible? We excavated shrapnel-proof dugouts and camouflaged our vehicles until they were unrecognizable. Everything was quiet. No light, no sound, no aircraft, no soldier could be seen. The world around us was as if paralyzed. Every movement was frozen in place. An anxious quiet surrounded us; an oppressive disquiet in all of us. We all had an inkling that we were separated from an inferno by only a few hours. What would the near future bring us? What price would it demand of us? We didn’t talk about it. An unfamiliar tightness, a frosty cold, wrapped itself around our chests.

22 JUNE—50 KILOMETERS ON THE FAR SIDE OF THE BUG We had been at war with Russia for two days. Early in the morning of 22 June, at 0315 hours, our artillery starting firing from every barrel it had. Shell after shell rocketed past us overhead. With first light, the silver bodies of the aircraft sang high in the skies above and they formed up into large formations heading east. Clouds of smoke and fountains of earth shot skyward on the far bank. The first assault detachments crossed in assault boats and rafts. At 0400 hours, we moved to a staging area in a patch of woods right on the river. The resistance across the way was slight. At 1200 hours, we crossed the river on pontoon ferries with our radio vehicles. The tanks still had to wait, because the crews manning the bunkers at the bridges were still firing. Our vehicles wormed their way through the knee-deep sand of the Bug lowlands. The civilians, former Poles, were very friendly. They cooked eggs and milk for us.

23 JUNE—0300 HOURS We continued to move forward. Sand, sand, nothing but sand. That was all that we saw. Forward, forward—that was the watchword of the hour, since the main body of the enemy had not yet stopped to put up a fight. Individual tanks and artillery were sent out against us, but all of them were quickly dispatched. Oberst Eberbach moved ahead with his Panzer-Regiment 35. He shook off everything, marched and fought—until the fuel ran out. Then the great Ju 52’s arrived and dropped off fuel canisters. The supply elements had not come to terms with the miserable roads yet. Then they took off again, the dust-encrusted tanks with the large white “G”33 on their hulls. 26 June: On its own initiative, Panzer-Regiment 35 attacked north in the direction of Baranowitschi, after a German battle group fighting there had run into trouble and requested our assistance. The regiment made good forward progress and relieved the Kampfgruppe,34 at which point it was temporarily halted by the division. Early on the morning of 27 June, Baranowitschi was finally assaulted and the German flag was raised on the radio tower.

28 JUNE—COMMAND POST IN TALMINOWIEZE Fuel vehicles, which had been set alight by Russian aircraft, were burning on the road ahead of us. Our command post was attacked again and again by Russian aircraft, but our fighters were also on their toes. They had just shot down a bomber above us. Two men jumped out of the burning machine. Only one parachute deployed. The pilot bored into the sand right next to the communications center; a few meters next to him, the vertically descending aircraft smashed into the ground. While he was still in the air, we saw his fearcontorted face, his mouth opened in a terrible scream. The other parachute glided slowly towards us. The aviator attempted to steer the chute in another direction by swaying and pedaling, but it was in vain; the air was completely still. We rushed over to help him. He landed without injury, quickly jettisoned his chute and attempted to flee. We followed him and encircled him. He drew his pistol and fired at us. We then took aim at him. He surrendered, his face contorted with rage. We quickly took his weapon away, since he looked like he might try to shoot himself. We immediately took him to the brigade commander, Oberst von Saucken, who spoke good Russian. But the cold-blooded Russian would not reveal where he had started from or what unit he belonged to. He was amazed, however, that we still treated him well despite all that. We helped him bury his dead comrade. Our fighters flew along the axis of advance the entire day in order to protect the advancing forces from surprise bombing attacks. Jagdgeschwader Mölders35 was with us. Our bombers and Stukas flew their course above us. Thick clouds of smoke announced where they had dropped their loads. Aerial reconnaissance aircraft dropped reports to tell us where the main bodies of the enemy forces were located. The thick-bodied Ju 52’s huffed and puffed their way good naturedly to the front lines to provide us with ammunition and fuel. Our constant companion, a Fieseler Storch,36 roamed just above the treetops to keep unpleasant surprises at bay. There was a wide band of dust and dirt that rose above the avenue of advance. Supply vehicles hopped forward through the shallow bomb craters; medical vehicles attempted to get to the rear as gently as possible. While the tank spearheads advanced tumultuously forward to the east, the riflemen had the mission of securing the road, since the Russians were attempting with all means at their disposal to cut the lifeblood of supply for our forces. Occasionally, there were engagements and skirmishes. The Russians disrupted movement along the roads with artillery and antitank guns.

29 JUNE—ADVANCE TO SLUSK The night was spent in a Russian military storehouse. We were attacked again and again by scattered Russian units emerging from the marshy areas. We got used to it quickly. Millions of gnats paid us a visit. It took a lot longer to get used to them. We had bumps as big as walnuts—despite mosquito veils. We were barely able to look out of our eyes. Russian artillery pieces, antitank guns and modern tanks lined the avenue of advance— one after the other and all driven neatly into the roadside ditches. They had intended for them to be employed at the front; instead, they were overrun by the armored spearheads. I counted 176 Soviet armored vehicles. Not a single one had fired a round. At 0900 hours, we headed out in the direction of Slusk. The route led through forests and marshes. Guns—guns of all calibers—were in the ditches, next to dead horses. A sweet smell hung in the air—decay, smoke, fuel. Again and again we had to take detours, explore routes and clear mines, because many of the bridges had been blown up. There were stoppages along the roads—eagerly sought targets for Russian bombers.

30 JUNE—64 KILOMETERS FROM THE BERESINA Slusk was behind us. There was no more Slusk; it was wall-to-wall heaps of rubble. Only the frames of chimneys informed the forces that followed that there had been houses there once. Civilians walked up and down the streets with their meager personal goods, without a goal, without a plan.

1100 HOURS—IN PASTOWITSCHI A short halt on the way to Bobruisk. We were waiting for the word. It came. Hofmann’s battalion reported: “Bridge taken.”

2 JULY—ENTRANCE TO SWISLOTSCH ON THE BERESINA The Russians had blown the bridges over the Beresina at Bobruisk. The tanks had arrived too late. In extremely tough fighting against an oppressively superior foe, the I./SchützenRegiment 12, reinforced by a company from Panzer-Regiment 35 and a battalion from Artillerie-Regiment 103 (mot.), took the road and railway bridges by surprise in the village of Swislotsch on the Beresina. They held them until against the desperate attacks of the Russians until reinforcements arrived. In the process of the fight, the 500 brave men also had to engage an armored train, which was outfitted with extremely modern guns and ranging devices, and three transport trains with several thousand soldiers on board. In the end, they were destroyed and 3,000 prisoners taken. They were subjected to one aerial attack after the other. Jagdgeschwader Mölders, which fought with us that day, shot down no less than 90 enemy aircraft that day over Swislotsch. It rained as only the heavens can. The routes became bottomless. All of the roads were packed with stuck vehicles. We had to get to Swislotsch, no matter what it cost so as to help relieve our hard-fighting comrades. We churned up forest paths through Nowoselki and Osow through the knee-deep muck. Things were going too slowly for Oberst von Saucken. He tried his luck on his own. He went with the radio SPW, which we had christened the “storm goat.” I was supposed to follow with the communications centers. How—that was another question. But he pressed and pressed on the radio, and we were sitting in water up to our axles. Damn! The river road along the Beresina had to be here somewhere! Push—get winched out of the bottomless muck in a pitch-black night—hobble along a few hundred meters—wade through the soup again—relieve each other in sequence. And the same message on the radio over and over again: “Where’s the comm section?”—“Fastest movement necessary!” It was enough to drive you crazy. The night was raven black. We had long since lost our motorcyclists. Fortunately, we were not able to lose our march orientation. That was because there was a powerful red glow over our march objective of Swislotsch, which even the thick rain clouds could not cover. We heard the dull thuds of the artillery impacting and the rattling of machine guns. Then finally, finally, it was there—the riverbank road. But what was its status? It was also a river of muck. The poor fools that we were had expected to find an improved road. I know the situation backwards and forwards. I had eavesdropped on all of the radio traffic. There, right across the river, were the Russians, barely 80 meters from us. The road could be seen and was within the range of all of his weapons. Thank God it was pitch black. The rounds fired by the Russians were inexact. We were all alone on this flooded, plowed field and were moving along at large intervals and without light. To the left of us, in the woods, Russian patrols were scurrying through the underbrush. We had to get out of there, get out of there as soon as possible before it started to turn light. And so we crept through the porridge to the north, towards the red glow. The first white pyrotechnics shot up high into the rain-clouded sky in front of us, and we still were not anywhere close to our objective. I also had my flare gun in my grime-encrusted, clammy

fingers so that we would not be knocked out by our own comrades. Finally straw huts, field positions. Swislotsch had been reached. It was 0230 hours.37 Besides the commander, no one was at the command post. Everyone had gotten lost. Right next to the command post was the destroyed armored train. Ammunition was constantly going up. Carbonized bodies were scattered about. A second armored train was firing from the other bank. There was firing into the village from all sides. We had dead and wounded. There were 25 Russian divisions encircled farther to the west behind us. They were fighting desperately to force a breakthrough. The only option for still getting across the Beresina was the bridges at Swislotsch, which we were holding. For that reason, the Russians continued to charge the small bridgehead with all of the forces he had available. A few divisions were facing us from across the river. Patrols were constantly being sent out to determine where the enemy was and his strength. A span of the road bridge collapsed when a tank attempted to cross it. The engineers then worked feverishly in Russian artillery fire to create an approach to the railway span. The riflemen were holding on to the tiny bridgehead desperately and were hoping by the hour that the tanks would soon come.

4 JULY—ON THE FAR SIDE OF THE BERESINA It was not possible to make the bridges over the Beresina at Swislotsch negotiable. In the meantime, it was possible to erect a military bridge over the Beresina at Bobruisk by consolidating a number of engineer elements. Consequently, we marched back at night along the Beresina road to Bobruisk. The tanks had already gone ahead. We waited for hours before we finally got across the bridge. The Russians bombed the bridge site and the traffic jammed up around it again and again. It was as if someone had simply whisked our fighters away. It was said they were needed at Mogilew, since a battle of encirclement of major proportions was brewing there. We then waited for what seemed an eternity at the Drut, where all of the bridges had also been blown up. The remaining tanks were brought forward. It was directed that they attempt to wade through the river.

Major von Lauchert, the First One at the Stalin Line Original Article from the Potsdam Newspaper (1941) 4 July 1941—Panzer-Regiment 35 is far ahead of the division. It is at Tschetschewitschi on the west bank of the Drut. The bridge has been blown up. The 1st Company forded the river to the east bank late the previous evening. The general sent a liaison officer forward to the tanks, who took the mission to the regiment: “Stray Bychow and the Dnjepr bridges are to be taken by surprise.” That is a mission tailor-made for Major Lauchert and his battalion. Right from the start, difficulties cross his path that he masters with the rapid decision-making ability of an armor commander. The fording of the marshy Drut takes a lot of time, way too much time. Only a rapid advance can guarantee success. Correspondingly, von Lauchert goes without his last company and decides to attack with only two weak companies. The 1st Company, which was already across the river the previous evening, is led by Oberleutnant von Cossel. He surprises the enemy, penetrates through his fires and enters the city. The lead elements are already crossing the bridge. Five tanks have already crossed, when Russian artillery destroys the bridge. The tanks were knocked out from pointblank range by enemy antitank guns, antiaircraft guns and artillery. (After 48 hours, Oberleutnant von Cossel and his men, who had already been given up for dead, swam through the Dnjepr and made their way back to the regiment.) After penetrating into the city, all radio contact has been lost with the 1st Company. Worried about them and wanting to accomplish the mission, the commander committed his other company. The enemy has been warned. He places protective fires in front of his obstacles. Artillery, antitank guns and antiaircraft guns have gone into position. There is an entire regiment in the defensive system, which had been established for some time. He intends to hold up the attacking tanks with two tank ditches, one after the other. For the time being, the company wants to attempt to soften up the enemy and allow the remaining missing tanks to close up. But that will take too long for the battalion commander. Making a snap decision, he goes to the front of his forces in his command vehicle. He assaults the enemy lines, moves under the artillery fire, overruns the antitank positions and flattens the enemy’s infantry positions. Disregarding the dangers, he assaults along the road into the city, which is under heavy fire. His example rallies the company. In an unforgettable assault, the tanks break through the Russian lines and follow the commander’s vehicle. The commander does not stay on the streets very long—his objective is the Dnjepr and the bridge. The commander also wants to know what has happened to his 1st Company. The bridge has been blown up; the leading elements of the company, which had been on the bridge, have been destroyed; the company commander is missing. The few tanks of the battalion are involved in hard individual engagements in the city. A devilish situation! Once again, it is the commander who organized his formation by personal intervention and now positions his few vehicles in such a fashion that they can

hold the city. There’s firing on all sides. The Russians have holed up in the houses and are defending desperately. Despite that, von Lauchert moves outside of his vehicle with an admirable cold-bloodedness. After all, the Russians are also attacking from the south as well. They are placing heavy artillery fire on the city again; they are reducing it to rubble. It is only through the employment of a small reserve that the commander can turn back the attack. He holds the city; he holds this important point for the division in front of the initial positions of the Stalin Line. By doing so, he has created the prerequisites for the breakthrough of the Stalin Line. A few days later, the 4. Panzer-Division is the first division to break through this line of resistance, which the Russians had established with extraordinary cleverness.

That Was Stary Bychow—the Stary Bychow of Abteilung Lauchert! After-Action Report of Panzer-Regiment 35—Sent to the 4. Panzer-Division on 4 July 1941 After a march of 100 kilometers and the crossing of the military bridge at Bobruisk, the regiment is positioned along the Drut at Tschetschewitschi, along with the attached 3./Panzer-Pionier-Bataillon 79. The 1st Company succeeded on the evening of 3 July in fording the Drut. It took and occupied the crossroads 9 kilometers northeast of Tschetschewitschi. Since it could be assumed that the fording would take a long time, the 1st Company was sent forward with an appropriate mission. The 1st Company reported: “Train station reached at 0830 hours.”—“0845 hours: Fighting in the city.”—“0910 hours: crossing bridge; bridge intact.” There were no more reports from the 1st Company after that. At 000 hours, the tanks combed through the city; there were a lot of enemy in the houses, who fired continuously throughout the day until the city burned down as a consequence of enemy artillery fire. The enemy artillery had created a 15-meter-wide gap in the bridge, with the result that it was no longer trafficable. The tanks had to pull back in the face of strong artillery and antitank-gun fire. It was also impossible to cross the bridge on foot. Swimming was also out of the question in the face of the effectiveness of the enemy’s fires. As a result, the Russians were also able to blow up the middle section of the bridge, approximately 25 meters, immediately after the 1st Battalion went back into the city. The battalion then occupied the entire city. Out of the 1st Company, five vehicles made it across the bridge. The Russians allowed them to approach their field positions, which were very well camouflaged. Then they fired at them with large numbers of antitank guns, antiaircraft guns and artillery firing over open sights. Only one vehicle escaped. At 1830 hours, there was an attack by half a regiment from the south. The attack was turned back by the regiment’s outposts. Own losses: 3 tanks. Losses: Oberleutnant von Cossel—dead Leutnant König—wounded and missing Leutnant Kämpe—badly wounded 17 noncommissioned officers and enlisted personnel—dead 9 noncommissioned officers and enlisted personnel—wounded 5 noncommissioned officers and enlisted personnel—missing Those are the heaviest losses the regiment has suffered since the war began.

Especially distinguishing themselves: Oberleutnant von Cossel (killed in action); the commander of the 1st Battalion, Major von Lauchert.

Wonders Never Cease Letter from Oberst Eberbach to His Wife, Dated 6 July 1941 (Excerpt) … but just imagine, this morning, at 0430 hours, someone opened the door to the vehicle in which I was sleeping. Pale, thin and dripping wet, Cossel and four of his men were standing in front of me. Also there was Fahnenjunker von Rosen. I was beside myself, I was so happy. And I almost cried as well. It didn’t seem possible. But when I tried to put my arm around Cossel, he said: Ow! He had taken a bullet through the upper arm and still had a round lodged in his shoulder. I poured everything into him that I could. They got hot tea, chicken soup, chocolate and sugar tablets. We put our dry shirts on them and everything else that they could possibly have needed. It was so nice, and they were so happy. They had jumped out of their burning, shot-to-pieces tank. Leutnant König set off the smoke grenades. As a result, Cossel and nine of his men were able to hide in a Soviet dugout. A civilian betrayed them. When the Red Army men approached, they agreed to take out the first few and then kill themselves. But the two recruits, who were at the entrance to the dugout, raised their hands when the Russians came. They took the two of them with them. Perhaps that was the salvation of the other seven, because the Red soldiers did not toss any hand grenades into the bunker nor did they go inside. They then sat there and were going to wait until we came. Cossel was in great pain. The area was very small, and the air inside terrible. They sat in the most unimaginable positions possible so that their company commander could lay comfortably. He kept asking them whether he was a burden on them; they replied no, they were quite comfortable. There was a Soviet guard outside the bunker. Among them, they had only two pistols and a total of 10 rounds. No one dared cough; no one dared snore. That’s how they spent 36 hours. During the second night, they widened a firing port enough that they could crawl out. When they had crawled about 290 meters, the guard started firing after them. When they then ran to the river, a machine gun joined in. Cossel and four of the men ran into each other at the riverbank. Nothing is known of the others. Would they get through?—And Leutnant König? They did not know whether there were Germans on the other side of the Dnjepr or Soviets. Consequently, Cossel swam ahead of the rest. The river is 150 meters wide at that location. The Red soldiers fired like crazy behind them. In the meantime, the four others found a small boat and they rowed through the hail of bullets. Just before the far side of the river, they found Cossel, who was completely exhausted and was holding on to a bridge pillar with his healthy arm. It was like a miracle they all made it through. And then they come over to us. The four men are back at the 1st Company; Cossel is on his way to the hospital, laughing, as always …

Breakthrough through the Stalin Line From My Diaries (Hans Schäufler) The tanks reached the Dnjepr along a frontage of 10 kilometers. Now was the time for the engineers, riflemen and artillery to be tested. They had to force a bridgehead through cooperation and coordination, so that a crossing for the tanks could be created. Across the river, however, was the best defensive system—deeply echeloned and well camouflaged—we had ever faced—the Stalin Line—upon which the Russians were placing all their bets.

9 JULY—STAGING ON THE DNJEPR We were in a patch of woods 8 kilometers north of Stary Bychow and waited until the neighboring divisions had also reached the Dnjepr. The offensive against the Stalin Line had already been called off twice. The heavy weapons, heavy howitzers and long-range cannon had to be brought forward first. The Russians conducted immediate counterattacks across the river over and over again and feverishly worked on his positions. Around 1500 hours, it was announced that the attack across the Dnjepr would finally be started tomorrow.

10 JULY—0500 HOURS The artillery was firing with everything it had. A unique hissing emerged from the woods behind us. We threw ourselves flat on the ground. A howling—growing first stronger and then receding—went on for several minutes and deafened out all of the other sounds of war. Bundled tails of flame and smoke headed across the river. For the first time, we experienced the employment of a new weapon, the Nebelwerfer,38 which was also referred to as the Do gun. The rockets detonated on the far side among the enemy positions with a dull crash. Black mushroom clouds climbed skyward from the earth, One wave of bombers after the other headed eastward. The Russian antiaircraft guns bellowed in response. Bands of Stukas split apart above our heads and tipped over individually. They worked over the enemy field positions and the enemy batteries. The engineers ran at double time down to the riverbanks and threw their assault boats and pontoons into the tepid waters of the Dnjepr. It was probably about 100 meters wide in this area. The motors were turned on; the rudders heaved into position. Up to that point, not a rifle round had been fired. Our armored engineers brought forward pontoon after pontoon, anchored them in the river and placed boards over them. Everything had already been prepared in the assembly areas. Barely an hour passed before a footbridge had been built, over which the first riflemen can feel their way across. Another engineer platoon built ferries out of large pontoons, which carried antitank guns and infantry guns across the river. The Russians started to register artillery on the crossing point. The first assault detachments had already reached the woods. On the far side was a wide band of marshland. The heavy infantry weapons would go no farther. The engineer ferries took over light prime movers. But they also sank up to their axles. We had a radio site set up directly along the river. Oberst von Saucken directed the attack on the Stalin Line and the crossing maneuvers from there. Gradually, he became restive, because contact had been lost with the forwardmost elements on the far side that were fighting in the woods. Machine-gun fire was coming at an angle towards us from the tip of the woods. The situation was not clear. Our brigade commander wanted to know what was going on. He jumped on a small ferry with his battle staff and crossed the river. We could not take along the radio sets, unfortunately. We worked our way across the open marsh ground to the woods. Suddenly, we were between the Russians. Oberleutnant Liebe and I fired with our pistols, but we were so covered with submachine-gun fire that we could only save our hides by crawling back to a tiny depression in the sand and then letting ourselves fall back into a defile. The commander stood motionless in the shadow of a tree. We were dressed down in a look that said everything. “You don’t fire when you’re facing such superior numbers!”—At least that’s what the look said to me. It almost seemed as though there was a slight Schadenfreude-filled smile on his face. With a lot of luck and the combat experience of our commander, we were able to hide ourselves in the woods and attempt to re-establish the torn contact with the forward elements. We felt the Russians wanted to let us come, since there were enemy forces everywhere behind us.

Finally, we had our own forces in front of us. The commander then gave me the mission of attempting to sneak back through the enemy-occupied woods to the crossing point, report our observations and fetch a portable radio. I felt my way back, tree to tree. I heard Russians whispering everywhere. Suddenly, I was fired upon from three sides. I lay behind a thick oak in a small depression for a long time, until I had memorized the position. I jumped into a freshly dug trench. But there were already Russians there. Bad luck! Like a rabbit at a hunt, I hopped through the thick vegetation. The rounds whipped past me from all sides. Machine-gun salvoes whistled past my ears and smacked into tree trunks. With panting lungs, I dropped down into a slightly depressed defile and caught my breath. The Russians soon discovered me there, as well. In front of me, there were some trees lying across the path. I imagined I could get some cover and concealment there. I quickly sought concealment in that vegetation and crawled into it. The sweat was poring out of me. There—a thin, shimmering wire in front of my nose. Involuntarily, I almost swept it away with my hand. But I quickly looked to where it was coming from. I saw that it ended in a black box. All at once, my blood seemed to freeze in my veins. Mines! I stayed there motionless for a moment and painted myself a picture of my miserable situation. Mortar rounds started impacting near me. They were damned close. If one of those things landed in that damned road obstacle—the one I was in the middle of—then I would never have to worry about another toothache in my life. I carefully tried to crawl backwards. I couldn’t go forward; the wires were there. But who knew if there were any behind me? My nerves were at the breaking point. I slid back, centimeter by centimeter. It seemed to take an eternity before I was out of the branches— or did I just think that? For the moment, there was no firing. Stukas were in the air, looking for their targets. I intended to exploit the situation. As fast as I could, I ran over to the marshland and jumped into the reeds. Just in the nick of time, since the firing started up again from out of the woods. Three Stukas then flipped and dove on the edge of the woods. I breathed a sigh of relief. I didn’t realize until it was too late that I was only a few hundred meters in front of the woods. When a gigantic suitcase39 landed not too far from me in the morass and literally covered me with muck, but did not explode, I realized I had made it through one more time. I used the time in which the Russians were preoccupied with the Stukas and hopped from one bushel of grass to the next. And my comrades in the air came to my rescue by aiming into the woods. Completely exhausted, I was passed into the German lines by a machine-gun crew. The fellows gave me something to drink. I dictated my report and one of the men took me to the crossing point, since I was unable to take one more step. In addition, I had a grazing wound on the upper right hip.

1500 HOURS—IN THE DNJEPR BRIDGEHEAD The engineers constructed a corduroy road through the marshy area. Our radio center was towed through there with a prime mover. The heavy infantry weapons could be brought forward. Contact had been established with the Dnjepr bridges at Stary Bychow. In accordance with their missions, the lead companies had broken through to there without wasting time. But there were still Russians all over the place in the dense woods. We tried to establish contact with the neighboring regiment. 1900 hours—Oberst von Saucken went in the radio SPW through the Russian-occupied woods to the neighboring regiment so as to personally lead the attack from the east to form a bridgehead. The rounds pelted the sides of the SPW from all directions. This could be a fine night! The woods were full of Russians. The attack was a complete success. We heard the exalted cries of Hurra when our riflemen reached the Dnjepr. In the meantime, it had turned into a pitch-black night by the time we moved back through the “Russian” woods at full speed. Once again, everything turned out alright.

11 JULY—0200 HOURS IN THE WOODS ON THE FAR SIDE OF THE DNJEPR We dug foxholes. We took turns sleeping there, with a submachine gun cradled in our arms. Suddenly, things were happening. The Russians were assaulting from all sides: “Urää! Urää!” A Ratsch-Bumm40 took us under fire over open sights, mortars peppered us and the Russian machine guns hacked at us from all sides. Don’t fire, the commander ordered. They won’t know where we are then. Our antitank gun, offset to the side somewhat, received the attacking Russians with high-explosive rounds, and we disengaged noiselessly from the threatened encirclement. The Russians fired at each other for hours without noticing it. Standing upright behind a tree, our Oberst personally led the defensive efforts against all of the enemy attacks. He was a model of discipline and control. Morning came none too soon and, at first light, the Oberst personally led a combat patrol, bringing back 10 prisoners, 5 machine guns and 2 mortars. He then sent a prisoner back into the woods. He brought back an additional seven Russians. In the meantime, we took eight prisoners ourselves. Unfortunately, we suffered two wounded during the night fighting.

Coup de Main on the Bridges over the Dnjepr at Stary Bychow Ulrich Sachse, Leutnant and Platoon Leader in Kradschützen-Bataillon 34 For the fifth time since yesterday—when Detlev von Cossel’s spearheading tanks were lost—the morning fog lifted up the steep riverbanks and spread across the ruins of Stray Bychow. The nighttime patrols returned from their activities from the unoccupied breadth of the riverbank area and occupied their positions back at the observation and firing ports, which had been bored into the walls of the east side of the huts overlooking the Dnjepr. It was intended for the rifle regiments to force a crossing over the river with assault boats north of the city—and they did it. But it was out of the question to bring the heavy vehicles of the division through the bottomless marshland there. What was to be done? The road had been interdicted by the blowing up of the bridge and also rammed shut by the sheer impregnable defensive system beyond. Impregnable?—Oberleutnant Rode, the company commander of the 2./ KradschützenBataillon 34, took matters rapidly into his own hands. While he stormed down to the bridge at the head of a platoon, we took the firing ports of the field fortifications to the right and left of the bridge—which we had sighted on for days—under well-aimed carbine fire. There were no signs of defense as the commander and his men started their bold climbing over the ruins of the bridge. We followed, leaving the covering fire to our neighbors. In the blink of an eye, it was swarming with Landser on the ruins of the bridge, who helped each other passing equipment along and got others across gaping holes. A small boat assisted in the process. Were the Russian obstacle guards gone or just asleep? They woke up, but it was already too late. The first bunker-like positions had been eliminated with hand grenades. The bewilderment of the enemy in the face of the unexpected coup de main had apparently paralyzed them for the moment. Just sporadic defensive fires from the overrun Russians flared up. They barely disturbed the company advancing along the riverbanks. The first group of prisoners, marching towards the ruins of the bridge, completed the confusion of the enemy. For a few moments, the Russians may have thought they were an immediate counterattack by their comrades. But those few moments sufficed for Feldwebel Fritz Lützow to roll up in the dead space of the dangerous bunker north of the bridge. Lützow won the hand-grenade duel and, when the grenades blew up that he tossed back to the enemy, they succeeded in breaking into the position. The open terrain was crossed without casualties and even the second defensive line of the enemy was overrun. The assault on the third line was broken off when the enemy was encouraged to launch an immediate counterattack. What happened along the road then demanded the full commitment of all the men at that location. Oberleutnant Rode headed straight as an arrow to the east with only one objective in his eyes: taking the long wooden bridge over the marshland and capturing the arm of the Dnjepr, before the enemy could destroy it. Completely exhausted, he got there in just the nick of time to rip out the burning

detonation cord before it could reach the demolitions. At that point, it was imperative to reorganize the company in order to turn back the Russians’ immediate counterattack. Just at that moment, our riflemen, the ones who had crossed the Dnjepr farther to the north early that morning, also started to arrive from the east. The bridges and the embankment were securely in our hands at that point. The tanks once again had an open road.

The Advance Continues Hans Schäufler On 12 July, the tank regiment crossed the bridge over the Dnjepr, which had been repaired. The attack objective was Propoisk. But the 1st Battalion, which was the spearhead, was already encountering enemy forces as early as Ryshkowka. It had to be left there as a flank guard. The 2nd Battalion was then employed against Butramsjewka. Starting at 0830 hours on 13 July, the Russians ceaselessly attacked the 1st Battalion at Ryshkowka. The enemy entered the village. In the end, it was possible to eject them. The battalion captured 28 guns, 26 antitank guns, 3 armored cars, 10 armored prime movers and 30 trucks. The severity of the fighting can be seen by the fact that the battalion only had 24 operational tanks left that evening. The commander of the 2nd Company, Oberleutnant Rachfall, ran over a mine in his tank in the middle of the enemy. Oberfunkmeister41 Kraut was badly wounded when that happened. Rachfall sent the remaining men of his crew back. He remained behind with the badly wounded Kraut, whereupon both were beaten to death by the Russians. On 14 July, the fighting continued, although the enemy’s efforts at Ryshkowka no longer had the intensity of the previous day. The 2nd Battalion advanced into a withdrawing Russian division with great success. But that did not occur without casualties, either. The regiment then received orders to take Propoisk and the bridges over the Pronja that day with its two completely exhausted battalions. The regiment was assembled at 1600 hours, but it was unable to move out until 1900 hours due to a destroyed bridge. When it turned into a moonless night, the regimental commander had his forces halt so as to allow his exhausted men to rest and advance into the enemy at first light. Then radio traffic arrived from the division: “Panzer-Aufklärungs-Abteilung 7 has taken the Pronja bridges. In a desperate situation. Panzer-Regiment 35, attack!” It was a difficult decision to have exhausted men attack in pitch-black night. But you don’t leave comrades out to hang. The regiment moved out at 2330 hours.

Propoisk-Kritschew Rudolf Volker, Oberfeldwebel in the Headquarters of Panzer-Regiment 35 The most important objective for the 4. Panzer-Division was the bridges over the Pronja at Propoisk. There were four bridges with a combined length of 500 meters. The first two bridges went across the marshes of the river lowlands, the third one over the actual river and the fourth one over a tributary of the river. There were embankments between the bridges, connecting them. Advancing south of the main road, cleverly moving along secondary routes and sending out numerous patrols, Abteilung-Abteilung 7 had worked its way forward to the edge of the woods 5 kilometers north of Propoisk without being noticed by the enemy. Propoisk was identified as being occupied by the enemy. Traffic crossing the bridges proceeded as if there were no war going on. Even though it was known that the Russians had occupied both Propoisk and the bridges with strong forces, the commander of the reconnaissance battalion decided not to await the arrival of the tank regiment. Instead, he planned to attack the Russians after his forces had staged and take the bridges in a coup de main. The reconnaissance battalion moved out at 2025 hours. The first objective was the northern part of Propoisk. At that point, the Russians woke up. They attempted to stop the attack with massed artillery fires. They probably should have blown up the bridges as well, but the traffic continued to roll across. The motorcycles of the battalion ran under the enemy fires, while the armored cars screened the avenue of advance. At 2100 hours, the division radioed: “Keep the enemy occupied. Do not become decisively engaged. Panzer-Regiment 35 approaching.” By that time, the reconnaissance battalion was engaged in heavy fighting and was requesting artillery fire on the northeast bank of the river. Because of the great distance, artillery support was not available. Shortly after 2100 hours, the battalion entered the city. Without worrying about the enemy in the city, the motorcyclists advanced to the bridges and took the first two in the first rush. Enemy truck columns were surprised on the bridges. Confusion reigned among the enemy there; exploiting it, a few squads advanced as far as the fourth bridge. There was enemy fire on the fourth bridge and a great danger arose that it could go up in flames. Even in that situation, the men of the reconnaissance battalion maintained their composure; they doused glimmering beams and boards. Then, once the fourth bridge was in German hands, the order was to hold what had been taken. That was no easy task, since the Russians, who had since recovered from their first shock, were attempting to take back the bridges. That effort failed in the face of the obstinacy of the motorcycle infantry. Much more serious, however, were the efforts of the Russians to take back the city. The enemy advanced into the battalion’s flank from the north. If they succeeded in taking back

the city, then the men at the bridge would be cut off and their fate most likely sealed. One crisis followed another, but the commander maintained his composure and mastered all of the problems with his inadequate means. Panzer-Regiment 35, on the march, left its attached elements 5 kilometers from Propoisk and then marched into the city in the pitch-black night. The regiment had to be very careful as it moved forward, since it was very difficult to tell the difference between friend and foe at night. At 0030 hours, the lead elements entered Propoisk. The reconnaissance battalion breathed a sigh of relief. Oberst Eberbach had the I./PanzerRegiment 35 remain behind in Propoisk to secure there, while the II./Panzer-Regiment 35 advanced across the bridges to the east bank. That was not so simple, because there were 19 Russian trucks on the bridge, some of them shot to pieces. They had to be pushed out of the way. The Soviets did not stand idly by. They fired with everything they had from the east bank. When the lead tank elements bogged down, the commander of the 2nd Battalion, Oberstleutnant Hochbaum, radioed: “If we stay where we are and do not roll forward, they’ll blow us to pieces.” That had its effect, and things moved forward after a short spell. Without allowing themselves any rest, the tanks rolled forward to the Lobtschanka bridge, which the Russians had already blown up. With the taking of the Pronja bridges, the way to Kritschew was open. If the other elements of the division had been available, the taking of Kritschew would only have been a matter of hours. But the Kampfgruppe that had been employed to the north had only advanced a little bit the previous evening. That is not surprising, since the enemy force that appeared there was estimated at several divisions. Because of that, the attack of Schützen-Regiment 33 was supposed to be continued at first light on 15 July in the direction of Wilkowitschi-Kutnja. Unfortunately, the bridge at Lobtschanka could not be ready before early on 16 July, because bridging equipment was needed to improve it. The division attempted several times during the day to get the northern group back, but the corps did not release it until around 1600 hours. Disengagement from the enemy was very difficult; the commander of the rifle brigade, Oberst von Saucken was wounded and his adjutant was killed. Ever since 15 July, the situation had to be considered as quite tense. The Russians, coming from the area around Mogilew, had succeeded in gaining a deep penetration into the sector of the 10. Infanterie-Division (mot.). The 3. Panzer-Division had encountered strong enemy forces at Grabowitschi. In that regard, the corps provided the following information on 16 July: The Russians were advancing in the direction of Bobruisk at Rogatschew, Slobin and south of the Dnjepr. The III. Armee-Korps was directed to defeat those enemy forces. The 1. Kavallerie-Division, in the area around Stary Bychow, was attacked by the Russians from the south. That information told us that things were quite interesting to the division’s rear. The corps had the mission of advancing on Roslawl through Kritschew. In the meantime, aerial reconnaissance, as well as patrols from Abteilung-Abteilung 7 had determined that the Russians were pulling back in the direction of Kritschew in several motorized and ground columns. They were moving on secondary roads north of the line Tscherikow-Kritschew. Large concentrations were identified in Kritschew.

It was imperative to prevent larger Russian formations from pulling back through Kritschew. Since it was possible to master the crises in the sector of the 10. InfanterieDivision (mot.) in the afternoon and the 3. Panzer-Division was able to overcome the resistance of the Soviets, the corps ordered the continuation of the attack on Kritschew. On 16 July, Kampfgruppe Eberbach42 moved out to attack Kritschew at 1830 hours. It was directed to first take the crossing over the Udoga north-northeast of Tscherikow and then advance without delay on Kritschew to take the important Ssosh crossings, preferably intact. Reconnaissance in company strength initiated in the morning in the direction of Tscherikow was not able to press through in the face of heavy enemy resistance. That meant the upcoming mission would not be easy. Right behind the Lobtschanka, the Kampfgruppe had to leave the main road because the woods, through which the road went, had been made impassable for several hundred meters by means of an abatis. In bypassing that obstacle, there was a short engagement with enemy infantry. At 2115 hours, Panzer-Regiment 35 succeeded in taking the Udoga bridge intact. It was actually quiet in Tscherikow. Not a civilian was to be seen. Russian soldiers gathered up at the outskirts of the village stated that their units had pulled back in the direction of Kritschew. Oberst Eberbach had the Kampfgruppe hold up behind Tscherikow so that it could reorganize. The division had sent the Kampfgruppe, the I./Schützen-Regiment 33 and Artillerie-Abteilung 740 (15-centimeter cannon). Oberst Eberbach had his forces move out at 0215 hours on 17 July to take Kritschew. In addition, the following forces were also attached to him: Oberst Schneider with the headquarters of Artillerie-Regiment 103, the III./Artillerie-Regiment 103, the 3./schwere Mörser-Abteilung 604, the 6./Artillerie-Regiment 69 and Panzer-Beobachtungs-Batterie 324.43 Those forces were closing up to the Kampfgruppe. The Kampfgruppe was able to move forward until 0415 hours without impediment. Then, at Point 156, approximately halfway between Tscherikow and Kritschew, enemy resistance became noticeable. There was an obstacle there that was covered by antitank guns and artillery. Oberst Eberbach quickly had the artillery brought up and into position so as to break the enemy’s resistance. It was imperative to get to Kritschew. Just outside of Kritschew, the formation stopped shortly to reorganize. All of the artillery went into position, and Panzer-Regiment 35, together with the 1./ KradschützenBataillon 34 and the 1./Schützen-Regiment 12, entered Kritschew. Russian resistance was weak. The lead tank elements reached the train station and the bridges over the Ssosh, but the Russians had already blown them up. After all of the Kampfgruppe had entered Kritschew, the Russians placed massed artillery fires on the city. Our artillery, which was prepared to respond in kind, did not wait long to answer, but it was difficult to effectively engage the Russians at the moment. While Kampfgruppe Eberbach was still marching in the direction of Kritschew, the Russians around Propoisk became active again. They fired from the far bank on the Pronja bridges with heavy artillery. A Flak prime mover received a direct hit, which cost nine lives. Beobachtungs-Batterie 1, which had just arrived at the bridge, was coupled together

with schwere Mörser-Abteilung 604, and employed against the enemy batteries, succeeding in putting a stop to the shelling of the bridges. Propoisk was developing into a problem child. The Russians continuously attempted to break through there. As a precautionary measure, the division had left the I./Panzer-Regiment 35 there in order to combat all eventualities. There were also engagements in Tscherikow, with the Russians attacking the supply columns there. In the end, the I./Schützen-Regiment 12 (minus the 1st Company) had to be employed to clear the village, in order to allow the supply columns to pass through. The tank situation was catastrophic that evening. The II./Panzer-Regiment 35, which had been employed at Kritschew, had eight Panzer III’s and five Panzer II’s operational. The battalion had entered the fray on 22 June 1941 with 90 tanks. It no longer had the strength of a full-strength company. While it was still being considered to attack in the direction of Roslawl on 17 July, the overall situation changed in such a manner on 18 July that a continuation of the attack could not come under consideration for the time being. In the course of the day, the corps ordered the division to hold open the possibility of an attack out of the bridgehead, but it also demanded at the same time that the division secure the road along the Pronja bridges-Propoisk (exclusive)- Kritschew (inclusive). To that end, the division was directed to organize its forces in groups. This wide-ranging order demanded from the division that it not only secure the Kritschew bridgehead, but that it also cover a stretch of some 50 kilometers of road. In the meantime, the Russians had become more lively to the south. The bridges at Tscherikow and Propoisk were constantly under artillery fire. The bridge at Tscherikow received two direct hits and was unusable for a while. On 19 July, a patrol succeeded in capturing a Russian attack order dated 0100 hours on 19 July. From the order, it could be seen that the Soviets intended to attack our bridgehead at Tschernez as far as “Easter” river in the course of the day. To that end, they would employ the IV Corps, with the 7th and 8th Airborne Brigades, the 160th Rifle Division (with three artillery battalions), and the 6th Rifle Division, as well as elements of the 55th Rifle Division. The Russians intended to reduce the bridgehead through their attacks. Although all of the forces of the division that were capable of being employed had already been allocated, the leadership did not intend to give up the bridgehead. The bridgehead was not the only worry of the division. Ever since 1330 hours, the Russians had been attacking the bridges at Propoisk from the northeast. Because of the bad reports that were constantly arriving from there, the division decided to employ Oberst Eberbach to clear up the situation. At his disposal were the I./Panzer-Regiment 35, two companies from Schützen-Regiment 12 and two batteries from the I./ArtillerieRegiment 103. Before the I./ Panzer-Regiment 35 could move out, news arrived from the bridgehead that the Russians were attacking. Although there was bitter fighting in the bridgehead, the division could not help out at the moment, because the following radio traffic from the corps reached it at 2042 hours: Enemy breakthrough with tanks to the north between the 1. Kavallerie-Division and the 10. Infanterie-Division (mot.). Bitter fighting in Propoisk; bridge destroyed. Entire armor division, irrespective of previous orders, to march to the 10. InfanterieDivision (mot.) immediately.

The I./Panzer-Regiment 35 succeeded in establishing contact with the motorized infantry division by 2200 hours, thus putting an end to the greatest danger. It should also be mentioned that the Propoisk bridges had not been destroyed. Around the same time, the attacks on the bridgehead at Kritschew abated. According to estimates by Oberst Eberbach, there were some 10,000 to 12,000 Russians with considerable materiel in the woods north of the main route. Those Russians were attempting to break out to the south with all the means at their disposal. As a result, we occasionally had possession of the route and they had it other times. At 0400 hours on 20 July, the situation became completely unclear once again. Although contact had been established with the 10. Infanterie-Division (mot.), it was only with the I./PanzerRegiment 35. Contact had been lost behind the tank battalion. It was imperative to keep and maintain the Pronja, Lobtschanka and Udoga bridges intact. Strongpoints were established around them. In order to restore the situation, Oberst Eberbach was charged with clearing the woods around Propoisk. To that end, he had the following forces attached: II./Panzer-Regiment 35 (15 operational tanks) I./Panzer-Regiment 35 (30 operational tanks) II./Schützen-Regiment 12 Artillerie-Regiment 103 I./Schützen-Regiment 394 (3. Panzer-Division) II. /Artillerie-Regiment 75 (3. Panzer-Division) The Kampfgruppe succeeded in inflicting considerable casualties on the Russians, but it was unable to control the main supply route. Not even the division headquarters was spared from the breakout attempts of the Russians. The Russians appeared at the division command post at 1700 hours, in an effort to break through across the main supply route from the north to the south. All forces immediately available to the headquarters— including the signals battalion, the Flak battalion and an advance party from the reconnaissance elements that had just arrived—were consolidated in order to fend off the attack. After a long fire fight, the Russians brought two 12.2-centimeter artillery pieces forward along the wood’s trails. A patrol from the signals battalion managed to render one of the guns inoperable. But the other one went into position right next to the road and began to blow the vehicles of the division headquarters and the empty vehicles of employed forces to bits from a distance of 100 meters. In the confusion, several hundred Russians succeeded in breaking out to the south. The gun that was causing mayhem was finally rendered inoperable by light Flak and a tank that just happened to be moving along the road. The fighting in the woods caused a lot of casualties. The heaviest casualties were sustained by the I./Schützen-Regiment 395, which had been attached from the 3. PanzerDivision. During the fighting, the Russians had inserted themselves between the II./Schützen-Regiment 12 and the I./Schützen-Regiment 394 on the main supply route at Alexandrowka.

The tanks then had to be employed along the road to restore the situation. In the process, the Soviets succeeded in totally destroying six tanks by means of Molotov cocktails in the broken wooded terrain. The Molotov cocktails were a mixture of phosphorus, oil and gasoline poured into an empty vodka bottle. When it was introduced to oxygen, it developed a horrific flame. In view of the total tank situation, the loss of an additional six tanks was a heavy blow. The armor situation of the division could only be described as catastrophic. A report dated 1615 hours on 21 July provided the following picture:

The combat power of an armor division is predominantly dependent upon its number of operational tanks. The listing speaks for itself. After four weeks of operations, the regiment had completely lost 42 tanks, most of which were Panzer III’s. Of the 143 tanks on hand, 40 of them—including five of the valuable Panzer IV’s—would not be available for the time being. Shortage of parts! Above all, there was a lack of engines and transmissions for swapping. In order to overcome the shortages, the regiment finally sent Major von Jungenfeld to Germany with the division’s permission, so as to “procure” replacement parts from the organizations responsible. Nothing could be gotten using normal supply channels. That was not due to a lack of transportation. It was due solely to the fact that the parts were being hoarded at the depots and at the behest of the senior leadership. At the moment, the tank regiment had the combat power of half of a battalion of tanks. In the case of the vehicles that had to be completely written off, they were mostly due to combat losses. But had the other catastrophic losses occurred? Seven-hundred-fifty kilometers of marching on bad roads, especially the terrible unimproved trails, had a lasting effect. In addition, there was the fact that the maintenance services did not have the time, due to constant movement, to repair the damages that had occurred.

A Black Day for the Rifle Brigade From My Diaries (Hans Schäufler) 15 July—To the south of us, there was hard fighting for the bridges at Propoisk. We had moved north to screen. Our command post was at Grjasiwetz. To get there, we had had to fight and take Krassnitza. It was damned windy there. With the naked eye, we could see one enemy column after the other moving from the northwest out of Mogilew. Things would not be rosy too much longer. Although our artillery fired occasionally, it had more important targets. The Russians continued to march, unimpeded. The enemy started to take the fruit orchard in which the radio center was located under artillery fire. The shells were impacting only 30 to 50 meters from us. Bad news was coming from all of the formations. We had encountered a vastly superior enemy force, which was fighting bitterly. Suddenly, there was a dull pounding—and the artillery observer flew in a high arc from the roof of the barn. The dark cloud of smoke from a ranging round was 50 meters in front of us. Oberst von Saucken had summoned his commanders. He continued to issue orders, unperturbed. There—a short, light singing, more vaguely perceived than actually noticed—I tried to throw myself on the ground, but I didn’t get that far. I was swept away by a powerful concussion. A horrific crack practically tore my eardrums. I was tossed behind my Kübelwagen with my driver. I felt some momentary pain above my eye and on my chin. With a reflex motion, I felt my face. Everything was still there, but my hand was bloody. “Medic!” was being screamed by several voices near me, so intensely that it penetrated to the marrow. My driver, Hemrich, had taken a bad hit. His arm hung limp and battered from his ripped-open tunic. That was the first thing I registered. I grabbed him and dragged him to the aid station, which was only 100 meters away. Behind me, I heard the call go out again, penetrating: “Medic … medic!” I looked back and saw that a large pile of human bodies were jumbled together. I immediately returned with two doctors. A direct hit by a large-caliber artillery piece had landed in the midst of the brigade headquarters and among the assembled commanders. Obergefreiter Lisicki, Obergefreiter Hendel and Oberschütze Reichel were dead. The brigade adjutant, Oberleutnant Liebe, was badly wounded. A leg had been torn off; a large piece of shrapnel was lodged in his back. The brigade signals officer, Oberleutnant Bälz, had a deep wound in his upper thigh. He was applying pressure to his own artery. Oberst von Saucken was sitting on the ground. He had shrapnel in his knee. Without apparent emotion, he had his boot cut away from his foot and the badly bleeding wound dressed. In between, he issued his orders in a calm voice and dictated a report to the division. He took leave of his brigade adjutant as if he were his own son; all of us could see that he would not survive his severe wounds. Oberleutnant Liebe asked him to send his wishes to his parents for the last time; he was already having difficulty speaking. He gazed at each of us with a strange look in his eyes, then he became unconscious. He must have suffered horribly, but he did not utter a sound of complaint; no moaning came from

his mouth. He was an exemplary, brave officer to the very last moment. The wounded were given first aid and taken to the main dressing station in Krassnitz. Oberleutnant Liebe died there. Oberleutnant Bälz had to have his leg removed. The three men who had been killed were buried near the trail on the high ground along the edge of the village. Oberst von Saucken remained with the brigade, despite his wounds. He designated the acting commanders for those who had been wounded. We moved the command post out of the village. The commander had a telephone line laid to his vehicle, so that he could direct his forces from there. With a heavy heart, he turned over command of the brigade to Oberst Grolig a few hours later. We moved at night across the bridges at Propoisk. They were under heavy artillery fire. Once at Tscherikow, the brigade headquarters was relieved of its duties. We reported back to the division command post in the woods at Kritschew on 16 July. There was hell to pay there, as well. We were immediately employed in securing the main supply route.

The Fighting for the Propoisk-Kritschew Road As Seen from the Command and Control Tank—Personal Account by Oberst Eberbach 20 July—It really was a crazy war. The flanks were haunted the entire day. We just couldn’t get through the woods and the marshland with our tanks. The riflemen also preferred to run around areas where we had already cleaned up a bit. As a result, entire Russian battalions remained in the woods and, because the closest division was advancing 10 or even 20 kilometers to the north of us, there were complete enemy divisions in between. On the southern flank, there were no German forces as far as Kiev; in their place was an entire Russian field army. You really couldn’t expect them to stand idly by and observe from the far bank of the Ssosh how our supply columns were moving along the road a few kilometers away. Especially since they themselves were hungry. As a result, there was a crisis, but not one that was too great. One of our maintenance platoons was badly torn up, which was a tragedy for the regiment. The Russians had attacked at Propoisk with artillery and aircraft. Then, in the afternoon, he attacked successively on both sides and occupied the east end of the bridge. To the north of us, it was swarming with Russians; likewise to the south. The bridgehead maintained by Schützen-Regiment 33 at Kritschew was attacked twice that night. Of course, everything was massively exaggerated. At 1800 hours, there was radio traffic: “Bridge at Propoisk partially blown up by the enemy, partially occupied.” The entire division was directed to pull back. But we couldn’t pull back; otherwise, we would have had to blow up all of our non-operational tanks. We immediately got ready for operations. I issued orders down to the battalions. Another urgent message from the division: “When will the 1st Battalion be ready?” As a cautious man, I said an hour. It was directed to move as fast as possible—as always—to break through to Schützen-Regiment 12 and, together with it, take back the bridges at Propoisk. That meant for the second time, only this time from the opposite direction! I recommended that the 1st Battalion move there immediately and restore order; I offered to go along. That was disapproved. After half an hour, Meini44 took off to the bridge in a good mood with 33 tanks. He had to cover 55 kilometers. After a couple of hours, he had taken the bridge, completely intact. He then cleared the entire area, together with the riflemen. What was going to happen next—whether the entire division was to pull back—was still not out of the question. I thought it necessary to first head north to clear the area and then form a sack with the Kiev group and eliminate the Russians to the south of us. Unfortunately, the infantry needed a long time in order to catch up to us and assume our mission. 21 July—The fighting raged back and forth the entire day. Our front stretched 50

kilometers. The Russians were many-fold our superior. They only would have had to hit us on both sides at once, and they would have had us. Instead, we were the ones always attacking. That’s what saved us. But that also caused us considerable casualties. We couldn’t be everywhere. Wherever we weren’t, they were—and butchered individuals. In addition, they were attempting to get out of the bag. One hundred twenty kilometers behind us, Russian tanks clobbered our maintenance platoon. Fortunately, none of the personnel were wounded. Once again, Lauchert fought bravely with his battalion. Georgi45 took out a complete battalion of artillery and a number of antiaircraft guns. Just in Tscherikow alone there were 250 wounded of the division, and there were a lot of crosses along the road. We had to leave the wounded there as long as we were cut off. 22 July—Yesterday was a hard day. The total casualties for the regiment after a month in Russia were 54 dead and 87 wounded. That was more than in both Poland and France. And the war was not over by a long shot. During the night of 20/21 July, I was alerted: Mission—Guard part of the main supply route with a non-divisional rifle regiment. I requested the attached commanders show up at a designated place. Before I took off, I asked the commander of the rifle battalion in the area whether everything was secure on the road. I then took off in my staff car, followed by my command tank. There were a number of vehicles at the meeting point. I sent Herre there to determine what was going on. He came back and said it was hot here. Accordingly, I mounted my command tank. You could see abandoned infantry guns and mortars around the scattered vehicles. Then— suddenly a blow—an antitank-gun round into the command vehicle. I called out to my driver, Mehling: Step on it! Forward! The second round hammered home. I then realized that it was coming from up front. We backed up—into a road ditch! We then received the third hit. We then backed up into some woods. Before we could get there, a fourth round found us. The track started making funny noises. We turned very carefully. Once again, there was a flash. But we weren’t hit. Finally, we were in a wheat field, somewhat in a state of shock. The drive sprocket and the track had been penetrated. It was impossible to repair it there. We bumped along slowly to another section of the road. The riflemen wanted to ride along. I dismounted and told them why we had to go back. While my crew repaired the vehicle, I ferreted out the commanders of the riflemen and the artillery. They were asleep. You could say that I woke them up! They were completely exhausted and thought they had been quite safe there. Then a battalion commander appeared—white as a ghost—and reported that his battalion had been overrun by the Russians after they had set alight two of the regiment’s tanks. The remaining men were pulling back to this location. I immediately had the artillery and all of the heavy weapons fire into the advancing Russians and had the riflemen, who were pulling back, gathered up. The Russians, who had tank support, were thrown back in an immediate counterattack. But they were soon attacking again. The situation became quite critical. The enemy approached through the woods to within hand-grenade range and attacked with his Urää battle cry. By employing 10 tanks, I was just barely able to save everything. However, it continued to remain very tense for the next few hours. I raced back and forth, between the tank spearhead and the riflemen, reserves and division headquarters, past shot-up vehicles, past burning vehicles, past 25 riflemen who had been bayoneted by the Russians, past many dead Russians and

dead horses, past one of my dead tankers. Unteroffizier Weiß of the regimental staff had been killed in the fighting. The steel plate up front had been torn away on Herre’s tank. All of us looked like we had been quite “perforated.” The Russians attacked continuously at other places as well. They had no fear of death and calmly climbed over the corpses of their fallen comrades. The officers drove them forward with threats, but they were personally also very brave. Despite that, we held. Finally, it became quieter. The day before yesterday, we had lost five tanks; yesterday, it had been three. We pulled back to two “bridgeheads.” That sounds simple, but it was not the case with defective tanks, wounded, dead and train elements. Nevertheless, we succeeded in doing it. The entire tank regiment had only 44 operational tanks. Fuel, ammunition, rations— especially bread—were all in short supply.

In the “Ghost Woods” 10 Kilometers outside of Kritschew From My Diaries (Hans Schäufler) It appeared to me that we had jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. After being wounded, I returned to my company. I spent the time in the medical tent of the company physician, because the main dressing station in Tscherikow was under Russian artillery fire. I preferred to stay with the forces in the field in a slightly wounded status. Only the small piece of shrapnel in my eye bothered me somewhat. The fat had been in the fire for a number of days at the division headquarters. We had just spent a bad night. The Russians attacked the command post ceaselessly. They brought two heavy guns across the way along the road into position and fired them over open sights from a distance of 150 meters into the collected vehicles. Antitank guns, antiaircraft guns and machine guns all barked and rattled in our direction. The earth-brown masses assaulted us with their penetrating Urää. In the first melee, approximately 200 Russians succeeded in overrunning us and breaking through to the south. We could not employ much against them, since there were no heavy weapons in the headquarters. The armored radio vehicles took up close-in security and more or less held the Russians at bay with their light machine guns. In close-in combat, a patrol from the signals battalion eliminated a heavy gun, which had been positioned in a cut in the woods, taking aim and calmly setting vehicle after vehicle alight. In the process, Oberleutnant Lönning, Obergefreiter Schwing and Obergefreiter Stark were killed. They were plundered by the Russians all the way down to their shirts. The badly wounded from last night were in the medical tent. The slightly wounded were employed as close-in security. That was actually better than sitting around inactive in a hole. The medical tent was punctured with a lot of shrapnel and hits from weapons. An earthen wall had been erected around it, after a few of the wounded were killed in the tent. The second Russian gun also fell silent. A tank that had come down the road by chance took it out, together with a Flak. Oberst Eberbach estimated that between 10,000 and 12,000 Russians were in the woods across from us, all hoping to break out to the south. Those were certainly rosy prospects for the next few nights. We had to really be on guard so that we were not surprised and overrun by the Russians. In fighting in the woods they were true masters, far superior to us city slickers. During the day, they did not fight unless you first stepped on their head. These “children of nature” had nerves like steel cable. In addition, they also understood the art of camouflaging themselves fabulously. For hours at a time, you could lay on the ground next to them only five meters away and never even know they were there. They were very brave and didn’t have an ounce of fear in their bodies. They hunched down in their holes and fought until their limbs had been shot off of them. At the time, we did not receive any support from the Luftwaffe. 27 July—Finally, our infantry arrived from the north. We prepared to attack Roslawl. All of us breathed a sigh of relief, because fighting in the woods was no thing for an

armored division.

29 JULY—ALONG THE SSOSH We were in Dorliwoje, 9 kilometers in front of the Ssosh. In front of us, covered in a bell of smoke and haze, was the bridgehead that had been defended so stubbornly for the last 10 days by our riflemen. We were waiting for the order to attack. Heavy artillery fire rained down on our riflemen. One Russian bombing raid was succeeded by another. Not a single German aircraft could be seen in the clear skies.

1 AUGUST—IN THE SSOSH BRIDGEHEAD The division conducted a large-scale offensive in the direction of Roslawl and towards the south. The advance proceeded apace. Stukas helped us. The division command post took fire from Russian light artillery—called the Ratsch-Bumm, because you didn’t hear the report of the firing until after the round impacted.

2 AUGUST—20 KILOMETERS OUTSIDE OF ROSLAWL The enemy defended along every river. Marshy creek beds caused considerable difficulties. Mines, antitank guns and antiaircraft weapons inflicted casualties. Enemy tanks had to be fended off. Friendly fighters and destroyer aircraft helped us. 1140 hours—A daredevil low-level attack by armored aircraft against the division command post. Our four-barreled Flak fired back in a truly self-sacrificing fashion. Their hits seemed to have no effect, since the aircraft were armored. They fired their rockets at us from the side. It was our first experience with this type of aircraft.46 The Russians achieved complete surprise. We had to bury 5 dead and transport 14 wounded to the aid station.

3 AUGUST—ROSLAWL Since the Russians had at least two battalions and four batteries astride the road, PanzerRegiment 35 had to go around Roslawl from the south. It moved out at 0630 hours. When Ploskowa was reached, the tanks received heavy antitank-gun, antiaircraft-gun and artillery fire from positions on the flank. Oberstleutnant Hochbaum’s vehicle was set alight. A Russian battery and several antiaircraft guns were eliminated in hard fighting. At 1005 hours, the city center of Roslawl was reached. A portion of the bridges in the city were captured intact thanks to the boldness of von Gaupp’s company. The large bridge over the Easter River was destroyed. The tank regiment suffered 10 dead in the attack on Roslawl, but 17 artillery pieces, 28 antitank guns and antiaircraft guns and 9 tanks had been captured. Generaloberst Guderian radioed the 4. Panzer-Division on the capture of the important city: “Thanks and praise to the 4. Panzer-Division.” The rumor circulated that we were going to be pulled out of the line to be committed farther south. After the tragic loss of the headquarters of the 4. Schützen-Brigade, the division formed the 5. Panzer-Brigade under Oberst Eberbach. Deeply moved, he took leave of his old regiment, which he had commanded since the start of the war and had personally formed: Dear Comrades! The order for me to take command of the 5. Panzer-Brigade forces me to take leave of our regiment and, correspondingly, of all of you. Three years have been granted to me to command our Panzer-Regiment 35. This time counts as among the best of my life. I do not need to tell you of its glorious fighting in Poland, in the West and now in Russia. All of you have experienced it with me. When I think back on all that, I am filled with a feeling of deepest thanks to all of you and especially to our dead and wounded, whom we will always have in our hearts. I thank each and every one of you for your comradeship, your decency and your service. Even though I am fortunate to remain as brigade commander in our 4. PanzerDivision, you have to know that it is difficult for me to depart our regiment. Every one of you is and will remain my comrade. We are joined together through experiences that only few units have had. In my thoughts, I wish to shake each of you by the hand and wish you continued good luck. Yours, Eberbach It was intended to give the regiment seven days of rest so that it could finally perform maintenance on its vehicles. But since the Russians attacked again far to our rear at Kritschew and even Propoisk, the corps ordered us to be prepared to move on 6 August. That was it for the maintenance. Only 84 tanks were operational. Aufklärungs-Abteilung 7 determined that there were no appreciable enemy forces as far

as Brjansk. Generaloberst Guderian wanted to exploit that opportunity and advance on Moscow. Instead of that, he was forced to encircle the Russian field armies around Kiev, by advancing south with his two armor corps.

My First Encounter with a T-34 Karl Volleth, Gefreiter in the 3./Panzer-Regiment 35 When the German forces moved out on 22 June 1941 to attack, the Pripjet Marshes were the first major obstacle that had to be negotiated. They restricted our tanks to the roads. For that reason, the Soviets probably did not commit any heavy tanks there. We only saw small, delicate things pop up in front of our tube. In the case of our fighting vehicle, it was a 3.7-centimeter short-barreled main gun. The tank generally suffered from just being old: It hissed, sputtered, popped and fired interchangeably on its cylinders, sometimes this one, sometimes that one. One day, there was a bang, as if from a 15-centimeter howitzer: The cylinders had become one; they went on strike together. Our Edith 2, as we had christened our tank, went into the maintenance facility and received a death certificate after a short inspection. That sealed the fate of the last 3.7-centimeter Panzer III of the 1st Battalion. It had fulfilled its duties, loyally and faithfully. It had stood its ground at Stary Bychow in a hail of fire. Later, during two especially hot days, it had also stood its ground, like its big brother, the 5-centimer tank. I had experienced my baptism of fire in it. It had whispered to me: “Stay calm! You can rely on me, I’m an old hand at this.” It had been with me in Poland, and when I received the Tank Assault Badge47 from my commander along with several of my comrades, it seemed to me as though my old vehicle also stood there proudly, as if it wanted to say: “You see … I’ve still got a lot in me!” But the spell was over in a minute. The men of the maintenance facility approached with block and tackle and tanker bars and began to cannibalize our dear, old Edith 2. At that point, the dream of many a sleepless night was to be satisfied. I boarded a 5centimeter vehicle; on top of everything else, it had supplemental armor. No knight could have been more proud of his steed and brand-new equipment than I was of my tank. That vehicle—it was the best life insurance policy. Until, well … It was 13 August 1941. We took off at first light. Our platoon was the lead platoon; our tank was the lead tank. We took a sixth man on board, a translator. He made himself comfortable behind me on the U-joint cover. The weather was lousy and the visibility was poor. I engaged some individual groups of Soviet rearguards with my bow machine gun. There was no stronger resistance showing itself. A larger village came into sight that extended along the road. After a short observation halt, we moved into the village. In the middle of the village, we told the rest of the platoon to follow slowly. You could already hear engine noise behind us. Our tank commander turned around—he almost lost his breath. Two heavy Soviet tanks48—T-34’s—were cruising behind us as if they were part of our unit. We immediately turned around, moved up to them and then stopped—front slope to front slope—five meters apart. The Russian fired first, but he had not yet traversed his main gun on us. We then fired with a Panzergranate 40:49 Hit on the gun mantlet! The sparks flew. But the T-34 continued to calmly traverse its turret. It fired for the second time, but it also went wide. But then I could see it perfectly through my optics: Its turret

was at exactly 12 o’clock. The next round undoubtedly had to be a direct hit, if we didn’t beat him to the punch. But there was to be no thought of that. Our loader tried in vain to extract the shell casing from the breech. Bad luck rarely occurs in isolation. The round was completely jammed in the breech! Our tank commander jumped out of the vehicle and attempted to get to the colossus with a hand grenade. The translator asked me for the 10th time what was going on. With a touch of gallows humor, I responded: “You’ll find out soon enough!” I then tipped the machine gun skyward , drew my legs up and rolled into a tight little ball, like a hedgehog. Then—an almost deafening clang. The entire vehicle appeared to be engulfed in flames; the radio sets were at my feet. I yelled: “Get out! The vehicle’s on fire!” Our translator had also picked up on what was happening in the meantime. He made a true tiger’s leap out into the open through the loader’s hatch and on the ground without ever touching the side guards. I followed him. My pistol, which I had placed behind the radio sets on account of the oppressive heat—a break from normal practice—had to be left behind. Goodbye, big main gun! I also lost my cap when I jumped out. We carried our driver, who appeared to be pretty badly wounded, to some concealment behind a barn. He had also been able to jump out of the vehicle himself. I snuck along the houses towards the rear to find the medical tank. I found it quickly. Our battalion physician, Dr. Schulz-Merkel, ran along the way back on foot with me, since his vehicle had track damage. When we arrived, both of the T-34’s had been knocked out and were burning in a side street. I climbed back into our tank and attempted to move it somewhat to the side. That didn’t work, since the round had hit directly in the middle of the gears. The sound of the fighting slowly faded. Our forces continued moving. We stayed with our tank. Even though it was immobilized, it was still capable of firing. We waited for the recovery platoon. We would receive one more shock to the system before it was over, however. I was standing on the tank when—bang, a powerful blow. Shrapnel flew around my ears. It started roaring again, and then again. I jumped down from the vehicle in a flash and crawled under the hull, where I saw my likewise speechless and clueless comrades. Aircraft? Impossible! Stalin organs? New weapons? No, it was actually something quite harmless. We had allowed ourselves to be buffaloed for no reason. The ammunition on the burning T-34’s was exploding. That was the crazy fireworks.

The Thrust to the South—The Envelopment of Kiev From 9 August to 26 September 1941 (Hans Schäufler) The 4. Panzer-Division, as part of a large-scale operation, received the mission of advancing south deep in the rear of the enemy and cutting off and encircling the field armies along the Dnjepr. For the immediate future, however, it was directed that the enemy south of Kritschew be destroyed, so that the supply routes would be secured. That effort was only partially successful in the time between 9 and 16 August. On the evening of 15 August, the city of Kostjukowitschi was reached after constant heavy fighting, including some against heavy Russian tanks. The city was taken in a night attack supported by riflemen, Nebelwerfer and artillery. It was held against a Russian tank attack that was also supported by an armored train. Captured were 19 tanks, including 3 heavy ones, 21 guns and 52 aircraft. We also took in 520 prisoners. But the regiment lost half of its tanks during those days, because there was a lack of fuel. On 18 August, the division was pulled out of the line for an advance south. On 19 August, it reached the packed roads at Mglin. On 20 August, the regiment reached and secured Unetscha. Through 24 August, the area around Unetscha was cleared. Some 600 prisoners were taken and 60 trucks and 8 guns captured. On 25 August, the regiment moved out behind the 3. Panzer-Division in the direction of Starodub, which was reached at 0830 hours on 26 August. To screen the southeastern flank of the corps, the division attacked Kister, which was strongly occupied, that same day. On 27 August, after difficult house-to-house fighting, the city was taken. On 28 and 29 August, the regiment continued to advance south, reaching Nowgorod Sewersk. It remained there until 31 August because it did not have any fuel. It was directed that Panzer-Regiment 35 move out against Konotop on 1 September. The woodline south of Ssobytsch, where the Russians were putting up a tough defense, was assaulted, and the woods around Klischki were cleared in hard fighting. At Rudnja, the regiment was forced to rest, since the engineers first had to make all of the bridges trafficable for the tanks. On 3 September, the regiment had to attack to the west. Eleven guns were destroyed at Zarewka and 450 prisoners taken. A tank company, which had cleared the woods at Shernowka together with a motorized rifle company, ran into the middle of a Russian column in the village. In the ensuing engagement, 800 prisoners were taken. On 4 September, the regiment advanced west in the direction of Korop to relieve the 10. Infanterie-Division (mot.). The enemy defended outside the city with tanks, antitank guns and antiaircraft guns. We knocked out seven tanks and silenced the guns. The riflemen took the city in heavy local fighting. The 5th of September was marked by Russian

attacks. They were turned back, with seven enemy tanks knocked out. On 6 September, it was directed that the bridges over the Ssejm north of Baturin be taken in a coup de main. Our regiment could only move out to attack at 2015 hours, however, because the 10. Infanterie-Division (mot.), which had been directed to take two localities first, was only advancing slowly. The I./Artillerie-regiment (mot.), which was attached to the tank regiment, could not be released from supporting the infantry division any earlier. And so, once again, Panzer-Regiment 35 conducted one of its famous night attacks. We advanced right into the middle of the enemy’s rest and assembly areas. Guns, tanks and armored cars were eliminated. At 0245 hours, our tanks were 800 meters from the bridges over the Ssejm. Twenty Russian tanks were covering the withdrawal of numerous enemy columns, which were piling up in front of the bridge. Four tanks and two armored cars were knocked out by us. Russian trucks with antitank guns and infantry rode along in the columns of our motorcycle infantry. When they noticed their mistake, they attempted to bring their guns into position. In the ensuing close combat with hand grenades and submachine guns, they were quickly brought to reason. Our artillery took up a firefight over open sights with enemy artillery that had move forward. In order to reestablish contact with the individually fighting troop elements and clear up the situation, our 2nd Battalion turned around and rolled up the bitterly fighting enemy from the rear. The fighting lasted until first light. As it turned light, the Russians fired once again from out of the wood lines on both sides of the road with all the weapons they still had. We didn’t need an invitation to reply. The regiment established a hedgehog position along the road. Among the spoils of war were 27 guns, 13 antitank guns and 6 tanks. After the morning fog lifted on 7 September, heavy artillery fire commenced from the south bank of the Ssejm. The enemy forces on the far bank had set up to defend along the dominating high ground. Advancing without a strong artillery preparation did not promise success. In addition, the enemy had destroyed the bridge. There was no ford there. According to aerial reconnaissance reports, the enemy was continuously bringing up new forces to Baturin. The strong enemy artillery fire lasted the entire day. On 8 September, Schützen-Regiment 33 succeeded in establishing a bridgehead to the east of Baturin. The engineers constructed an 8-ton bridge. It was directed that our regiment cross the Ssejm at Melnja on an engineer bridge constructed by the 3. PanzerDivision. At 1730 hours, the river was behind us. We then moved cross-country to the Konotop-Krasnoje road. Our 2nd Battalion, which was in the lead, encountered a long enemy column composed of antitank and infantry guns. It took 400 prisoners. It was then employed until late in the night in support of Schützen-Regiment 12, which had hit the enemy in the flank at Mitschenky. On 9 September, the regiment was unable to do much due to a lack of fuel. Our motorcycle infantry took Baturin from the south without us. Schützen-Regiment 12, together with the 1st battalion, took Goroditsche and captured several guns and a few tanks.

A Tank Raid Arthur Wollschlaeger, Oberleutnant and Company Commander of the 6./ PanzerRegiment 35 Hard fighting and nerve-wracking marches were behind us. During the early-morning hours of 1 September, we moved out to pursue the withdrawing enemy. The day’s objective was called Rudnia. It was our mission to get the bridges there, preferably intact. That meant relentlessly advancing without consideration for the forces following, punching through the hastily erected positions established by the Russians and holding important points deep in the enemy’s rear that were important for the advance until the other forces arrived. Just the type of mission tankers like. We were positioned in open terrain behind some high ground. The tanks were camouflaged with sheaves of grain, and they could hardly be differentiated from the surrounding haystacks. The black-clad tankers sat in the shadows of those artificial bales of grain and waited for the order to move out. At the same time, the motorcycle infantry and the motorized riflemen worked their way up to the enemy-occupied woodline. The sound of fighting grew louder; the Russians were defending stubbornly. Based on the sounds of the firing, it appeared that the fighting had bogged down. It was true—the terrific riflemen were no longer advancing. A broad, open plain was still separating them from the woods. The Russian machine guns held the upper hand, and it would have been senseless to charge them. From here and there, you could here the clacking sound of mortars firing. The machine guns were doing the talking on both sides. The riflemen dug in. It was time for the tanks to get involved. The regiment moved out. The tank engines howled; the tracks threw up clouds of dirt and dust as high as a house. The riflemen were nestled close to the ground, waiting for us, covered in dirt and drenched with sweat. A sigh of relief went from man to man: “The tanks are coming!” They pointed out the Russian positions with hand signals and pyrotechnics. We attacked on a wide front. All of a sudden, the Russian infantry fell silent. The woods were in front of us, dark and threatening. The tank commanders looked out of their cupolas carefully and observed the terrain with their field glasses. At that point, they could not make out any enemy movement. Where were the Russian antitank defenses? The dance could start any moment. We strained our eyes until they were popping out of our heads so as not to miss the muzzle flash, since our lives depended on it. The Russians continued to remain silent; it was only a few hundred meters to the edge of the woods. There was a crash on the road in the area of the 5th Company—mines. We sped up and reached the edge of the woods without encountering antitank guns. Was the enemy so weak that he did not have any armordefeating weapons? There was not a whole lot of time to consider such matters, since antitank-gun fire started slamming between the vehicles from off to the left. Hiding in a patch of woods that jutted out, he wanted to surprise us in the flank. Our attack stopped.

One, then another tank received hits. There were continuous bright flashes from over there. Continuously changing positions, we sprayed the woods where the antitank guns were positioned. It became unbearably hot in the tank. The blue gunpowder smoke was drawn through the open turret hatch. We just couldn’t take out the enemy. Then, by surprise, we received support. Impacting artillery shells lit up the wood line. The next salvo couldn’t have landed better. A third one followed, then a fourth. Then it was silent over there. We then moved along a narrow path into a close-by village. The enemy had abandoned it head over heels. Here and there were weapons and items of equipment. Individual Russians were fleeing into the woods. An open meadow spread out before us. It was crossed by a marshy creek that ran perpendicular to our direction of attack, spanned by a wooden bridge. A tank could just make it widthwise. But would the little bridge hold the weight? The Russians started to come back to life. They were attempting to bring guns into position to hold up our assault. At that point, there was no more time for considerations! Forward and to the bridge! We felt our way carefully across the groaning wood and then gave it gas on the other side. The Russians over there did not get a chance to fire; we were quicker. The horses of the limber team grazed indifferently in a nearby fruit orchard. We didn’t have time for a long halt. The objective was still too far away. Perhaps the enemy was over there on the edge of the woods, perhaps behind where the path bent out of sight. Exploiting every shadow, every fold in the earth, we snuck forward carefully. A broad, worn-out dirt road led into a large village. Through the field glasses, we could determine there was a bridge in front of the locality. Were there mines there? Had the bridge been prepared for demolition?-We avoided the road and snuck across the fields. There was no movement to be seen anywhere. That was usually suspicious. Suddenly, something stirred at the outskirts to the village. Dirt was churned up. We got ready to engage. A gray column rolled out of the village, covered in a large dust cloud. Distance: approximately 400 meters. All weapons prepare to engage! What was that? A herd of hundreds of sheep trotted along across the bridge, followed by the peaceful gait of the shepherd. We could only smile. Thank you, thank you! The bridge was not prepared for demolition, and the road certainly was not mined. Without further ado, we moved into the village. An almost ceremonious quiet reigned over the houses. But hadn’t enemy forces been reported there? Where were the Russians then? A few curious children approached us. They stood next to our tanks, not showing any fear, and gazed at us in amazement. Women and men gathered around. We were frightfully thirsty. “Milk!” we said. They soon brought us what we wanted in clean containers. They drank a little bit of it first to show us that it had not been poisoned. You could almost forget the war. The clean Ukrainian villages reminded us a lot of the homeland. The entire formation slowly closed up. It started to turn twilight. How do we get to

Rudnia? Even if it were starting to turn dark, we had to get to our objective. There’s no end-of-the-day in wartime. Our 6th Company took the lead again. I tried to determine the direction with map and compass. Then Jakob, a former Russian soldier, who was performing duties for us as a translator, brought an old Russian: “Cherr Oberleitnant, this man wants to show us the way.”50 “Good, my friend, but it better be right!” He assured us a thousand times that he only meant the best for us. And so we placed the two of them on the back deck of the tank and rolled off into the pitch-black night. Only the silhouettes of ridgelines and individual groups of trees rose from out of the night skies. Otherwise, everything was black around us. Our eyes grew tired from the strain. Where are we headed? The Russian pointed to the front. But there were ditches and marshland there. We frequently had to stop and proceed on foot to test the ground with our hands. It gradually started to turn lighter. It appeared that the moon would soon rise. That made it easier. The company—the regiment, the entire division—was following the lead tank. The night was full of tension and secrets. Straw-thatched huts nestled close to the road, ghostly. Who or what might be in them? We reached some woods. Low-hanging branches hit me in the face. Damn—right in the eye! My cap was gone. Never mind … we needed to get to the bridges. We had to be at the objective soon. Would they still be intact? Would they be defended? We got through the woods. There—shadows were moving on the horizon. Panje carts51 and soldiers could be made out in the light nighttime sky. A short halt; the company closed up. I issued orders: “Don’t fire; we’ll snatch them up.” We moved out in a half circle. I slowly nosed my tank towards the Russians. Something had to happen soon, since the first three Russians in full war paint were standing in front of me, only a few meters away. Then I had a thought: “Jakob, come with me!” I quickly told him my plan and then we approached the closest Red Army man. “Who are you?” Jakob asked in Russian. “The trains of the artillery regiment” was the answer. “Then give us your rifles; we are German tanks!” The helmet of the Russian soldier cast a shadow over his bearded face. We could not see his eyes, but his entire stance indicated unbelievable fear. He wanted to bring his rifle up to fire. No, my friend, that was not what we meant. I pressed the barrel of my pistol into his ribs. “Come along, now. Have some cigarettes and tell your comrades you have been surrounded. Do you see the dark shadows over there? Those are from German tanks.” The light from the match lit up his face. It was like that of a bear. Broad, brutal and, yet, somehow, childlike. He really liked the cigarette and decided to do what we told him. And the Russians actually turned over their rifles without much ado, asking for cigarettes. Smoking and chatting, they stood around us. Jakob was the man of the hour. I did not understand him, but the Russians nodded their heads in agreement and that helped settle my nerves. We had to go on: Where were the bridges? The Russians pointed into the woods: Over there! A narrow embankment led in that direction. Russian horsedrawn wagons were parked next to one another in two columns. It didn’t appear that things were moving forward. We had to create a little breathing room for our tanks. Through Jakob, I told the

Russians to turn around. They obeyed. Slowly, each carriage disengaged from the clump. They opened up the road for us and moved to the rear. They could keep their weapons; they would have a reception committee once they got out of the woods. The situation was eerie. Unimaginably oppressive silence. On the embankment, you could only hear the creaking of the wagon wheels, the snorting of the horses, the slight rattle of the weapons and an occasional Russian curse word. From the distance, you could hear the rumbling of the tank engines and the grinding of the tracks in the night. Not a single round was fired. Haste was nowhere to be found, not a shred of impatience. Nonetheless, there was a palpable tension over the entire affair. My heart was practically beating out through my throat. Would the trick work? The first tank was in front of the bridge. A Russian truck had turned over. It took up half the bridge. It would be a risk trying a heavy tank. We tried first with a light one. That was also a risk, because the Russians had stated there were supposed to be a number of artillery pieces on the other side. Leutnant Willier brought his tank forward. The bridge held; he was across. It was midnight by then. The moon eerily illuminated a unique scene. We passed marching Russians. They took no notice of us. Drunk with sleep, they dozed on their panje carts. Occasionally, Jakob would call over in a friendly manner. We started to almost turn giddy. We moved though kilometer after kilometer of enemy columns. Nobody recognized us. It truly was a bold move! We kept going through woods. But where were the guns? Suddenly, a village appeared in front of us. We reached the middle of it after crossing a long wooden bridge. We stopped. According to the map, we had to be in Dobrotowo. A Russian outpost was dozing in the village square; his rifle slung across his shoulders. I positioned my tank under the shadow of a tree and strolled over to him along with Jakob and Leutnant Willier. We wished him a good evening and offered him a cigarette, which he greedily reached for. After a quick glance around, we determined that there were panje carts all around the village. One soldier after the other stepped out of the darkness. There were the 3 of us surrounded by 30 to 40 armed Russian soldiers who rested on their rifles. They didn’t want to go with us; they had to ask their commissars first. We tried to convince the Russians it was senseless to resist. Some of them started going to their horses to move back with us. Then suddenly, a Russian stood before us and snapped at us in fluent German: “What are you looking for here?” The matter had turned critical, that much we felt. Despite that, we answered cheekily: “We want to fetch you.” But he would have none of it. He grabbed for his rifle: “What a load of crap. 40 armed Red Army are standing in front of you and there’s just the 3 of you! We’ll blow you to pieces.” I grasped my 0852 in my pocket and deliberated whom I should shoot first and how far it was back to the tank. But I didn’t let on. I boldly looked the guy in the face and forced myself to remain calm. I offered him a cigarette, but he turned it down. A few of the Russians took off, whispering. They certainly weren’t up to any good. Come with me to the tank. We have a lot more cigarettes there, I proposed. Those 40

steps seemed like a country mile. Would we get in a skirmish? The whole throng followed me. Would they fire on us from behind or not? Be calm, I ordered myself, even though I had a cold shudder going down my spine. But even those 40 steps came to an end, and I started to feel better. I was sitting on my tank again and passing out cigarettes. “Watch out for hand grenades!” one of the Russians warned the translator. Without drawing attention to myself, I placed a submachine gun on my knees. I just wanted nothing but to get out of there! I broke off the unproductive discussions, telling them I was going to take the tank over to the commissars and then come back. With a jerk, the tank started up. A weight fell from our shoulders when we rounded the next corner and disappeared into the night. Man, that was close! But everything turned out well in the end. We picked up the individual vehicles along the way. Vehicle after vehicle was stopped and sent back to Rudnia and the bridge. A long column started to form. They were more than a little surprised in Rudnia. We brought along the entire train of an artillery regiment: 110 vehicles, 280 horses and 300 men. Everything from the regimental band to the ammunition vehicles was there. And, in the process, we had not fired a single shot.

An Armored Car Patrol Leutnant Fessmann, Platoon Leader in Panzeraufklärungs-Abteilung 7 The 4. Panzer-Division was attacking in the direction of Bachmatsch. The Russians had blown up the bridges over the Ssejm at Baturin. The attack came to a standstill. As a result, the enemy won time to bring up reinforcements along the railway line 20 kilometers to the south of us. Correspondingly, the division ordered the interdiction of the railway line in the enemy’s rear by Aufklärungs-Abteilung 7. The division commander personally gave us our mission at the crossing point east of Baturin: “Blow up the dual railway line in the vicinity of Bachmatsch; if possible, blow up the rail crossing to its south.” Feldwebel Limmer was directed to blow up the tracks on the southeastern edge of Bachmatsch; I was allocated the tracks on the western side. We crossed the river on rafts so as to scout out a suitable approach route, since we intended to penetrate the Russian lines the next morning at twilight. We joined a patrol being conducted by the motorized infantry. We determined there was only one trafficable route through that marshland—and it led directly into enemy-occupied Mitschenki. When we returned from the reconnaissance, the 6 armored cars had already crossed the river. We briefed the men on the mission and its planned execution. Thanks to the security provided by the riflemen, we were able to sleep for a few hours. At 0345 hours, we took off on the route to Mitschenki we had scouted, initially with both of the patrols moving together. At 0400 hours, we were at the edge of the village. We halted and listened. The most you could see was about 20 meters. It was still dark. Around 0415, we carefully moved into the village. By then, you could already start seeing 60 to 80 meters. We got to the east-west artery through the village. Up to that point, nothing had stirred; it was as if the village had died. We then crossed the road, tossed out the original plan and moved through the southern part of the village to get to the southwest. Suddenly, I recognized Russian trucks off to the right on the side of the road. A guard was standing on the road. My driver immediately took his foot off the gas pedal, but got going again when I didn’t do anything. The other five vehicles followed us. Unscathed, we reached the edge of the village. After going 2 kilometers, we saw a herd of cattle on a field with civilians next to it. I called out to them and pointed out my direction of march. I heard the name Bachmatsch within an incomprehensible torrent of speech. We were going the right way. Good for us. About 5 kilometers southwest of Mitschenki we saw some panje wagons. We were unable to ascertain whether it was soldiers or civilians accompanying the horse-drawn carts. When we finally saw that it was soldiers after all, it was too late to turn around. I stopped next to them and called out: “Rucki Wjerch!”53 I pointed out the armored cars behind me and was understood. The Russians did not put up any resistance. Limmer disarmed them and sent them packing cross-country. My cannon vehicle had moved on to the next panje wagon in the meantime. The Russians scrambled. My Feldwebel, who had orders not to fire under any circumstance, let them run. Only a single Russian fired. That was bad luck, since it meant we had been recognized. We got

out of there. Limmer turned east and I turned west, cross-country. Off to the left was a long row of trees. When we got nearer, we could see that there was a village hidden behind it, which was not marked on my map. Individual men on horseback approached but rode on by without recognizing us. It was good that it was light by then, since it was only by exercising extreme caution that we were able avoid getting stuck in ditches, pools of water and marshy stretches. When we moved past the village, I saw a suspicious shape that was well camouflaged under the trees. I assumed it was a Russian tank. I hoped that they didn’t notice me! In front of us was the major road between Bachmatsch and Baturin. Vehicles were moving uninterruptedly in both directions. I stopped, observed and reported by radio to the battalion. I also saw vehicles coming out of the village behind us. We couldn’t do anything at this location. We pulled back a bit. I was then able to unmistakably identify the tank in the village; thank God, he did not see us! We disappeared into a high cornfield. From there, I was able to observe the Bachmatsch-Baturin road well. I gave continuous reports to the battalion. It did not appear that we would be able to cross the road given the heavy traffic. We observed a Russian battery go into position on the edge of Goroditsche. It opened fire with everything it head towards the north. Panje wagons, tanks and trucks were all rolling along the road we had to cross if we wanted to reach our objective. There had to be a gap at some point; we had to get across that goddamned road. Suddenly, my radio operator called out in complete distress: “Herr Leutnant, Herr Leutnant. Limmer has set the charges!” That meant no more delay for us. There was only one thing left: Get over there at any price! We let a few more trucks go by, before we snuck up to the road. Damn, and double damn! There was a ditch along the road as well. We moved along until we found a tiny footbridge. The wood broke when the radio vehicle crossed it. The wheels dug in, and the vehicle was stuck. Two trucks with Russian soldiers were coming from the north. We jumped out; the cannon vehicle rushed forward and tossed us a tow cable. We hooked up—a jerk and we were free again. We quickly moved back into the field a bit, took our helmets and caps off and demonstrably smoked cigarettes. Although the Russians looked at us with suspicion, they moved on. Even the tank at the edge of the village did not want us. But we became more careful. We moved parallel to the road until we got to a crossroads. We brazenly crossed over; the Russians let us pass. German aircraft were bombing Bachmatsch. That was good for us, since it diverted the attention of the Russians from us. To the west of us, we started to see the railway line. At 0845 hours, we approached the western edge of Bachmatsch. We discovered a crossing-guard shack 2 kilometers in front of us. I decided to conduct the demolition between Bachmatsch and the crossing-guard shack. A freight train approached and stopped outside of the town. Trucks moved along the road in the direction of the train. I had the radio and machine-gun vehicles move behind some haystacks and had them camouflage themselves. I continued on with the cannon vehicle. Unteroffizier Schweikl, an engineer who had been attached to me, and I sat on the outside then we took off. Damn, again—500 meters in front of us we saw a machine-gun nest, the rail guards for the Russians. What was to be

done? We had to take a chance. If the news of Limmer’s demolition made the rounds, then we would never get to the tracks. The Russians were already observing us. A ditch and a patch of marshland prevented further vehicular movement. We got off and continued on foot. The vehicular traffic along the road continued to roll. The railway guards observed us suspiciously. Schweikl and I were hauling 3 kilograms of demolitions, ignition cord and a blasting device cross-country. We weren’t wearing any headgear or our Panzer jackets. Our armament consisted of a single pistol. Feigning boredom, we traipsed through the turnip and cabbage patches. Couldn’t anything better have occurred to those five Russian soldiers to have then approached the cannon vehicle? What should we do? Everything was dependant upon what my good Engelhard in the armored car did. What actions would he take? I had no answers. If he fired, we would be betrayed and lost there, 150 meters from the embankment, so close to the objective. And if he didn’t shoot? What could he do then? We were sweating blood, but Feldwebel Engelhard held his composure, like a man with too many beers in his system. He moved back slowly and left the curious Russians standing there. A weight was lifted from my shoulders, but I could not explain to myself why the Russians did not recognize the armored car. The 5 Red Army soldiers slowly went back in the direction of Bachmatsch. We had reached the vegetation along the railway line in the meantime. A civilian passed by without taking notice of us. A long column of Russian infantry marched along the other side of the embankment, They were coming from the transport train, which apparently had unloaded at the crossing-guard shack due to danger from the air. Schweikl stayed back in the vegetation so as to observe the Russians; I crawled forward to the embankment. The tracks were 10 meters in front of me. On the other side of the tracks was another thin strip of vegetation; that meant that we were somewhat concealed. Schweikl came up with the demolitions. Off to the right, we suddenly saw three Red Army men approaching us. That, on top of everything else—we needed to set the charges immediately! A self-propelled rail car started to rattle. The Russians continued towards us. We took complete cover. Nothing happened. I was handed the two demolition charges, then I heard voices off to the right. The Russians were within 10 meters of us and still approaching; apparently, they still had not seen us. I hesitated for a second. Everything was at risk. Schweikl did the only proper thing. He crawled up to the flat embankment; I slid behind him. We had just squeezed between the tracks, when the Russians got to the exact spot where our demolition charges were located. We tried to make ourselves as small as possible and pressed our heads between the ties and our noses into the sharp-pointed gravel. Behind us, we heard dull thuds and pounding and surprised shouts. They had probably discovered our demolition charges and were hitting them with rifle butts or their boots. Our hearts seemed to stop and the blood froze in our veins. I don’t know what they were thinking. Apparently not a whole lot about German demolitions that were intended to set the tracks sky high in five minutes, since they went on and their voices grew fainter. It was only from the other side of the tracks that we continued to hear the loud talking of the marching infantry.

We crawled down and fetched our “packages,” stopping to quickly look around again. We placed our charges on the hold-down plates for the rails. Each of us took two rails. We pulled the charges and ran as fast as our legs would carry us. When we got 200 meters out into the potato field, they went off: Rums-rums—rums-rums! Bits of iron flew through the air. We first thought it might be artillery fire, but they were bits of rail from our demolition. Rifle fire commenced immediately all around us. We ran and ran and gasped for air. We were only able to walk the last 100 meters, even though there was a dreadful racket and whistling all around us. Our comrades pulled us into the vehicle, and we took off at full throttle. The radio and machine-gun vehicles approached, and we raced out of there, cross-country. Our radio message went out: “1000 hours. Demolition succeeded.”

The Ring Is Closed around the Russian Southern Army Hans Schäufler On 10 September, Gruppe von Lauchert attacked in the direction of Bachmatsch, next to Gruppe Grolig, and took the important railway nodal point. On that day, the regiment only had 36 operational tanks at its disposal. Fuel did not come forward due to the softened roads. On 13 September, the regiment could be employed again, at least for 50 kilometers. The mission directed an advance on Jaroschewka through Dmitrowka, with Puluki to be attacked on 14 September. But Dmitrowka could only be taken after heavy fighting. Once again, the bridges had to be reinforced for carrying tanks. Jaroschewka was conquered on 14 September. The enemy fled in a panic. A bridge had to be erected, before the attack could continue. Then Gruppe von Lauchert was halted by the division after it reached the next bit of high ground. It was not until the afternoon of 15 September that orders arrived to continue on to Strebnoje, which was reached and secured at 1630 hours. Reconnaissance revealed that the enemy had pulled back to the south and southwest. On 16 September, the regiment’s 1st Battalion allowed Schützen-Regiment 12 to take heavily defended Ssekirenzy. The battalion entered the southern part of the locality and took considerable spoils of war. On 17 September, the 2nd Battalion advanced to the Udaj River at Shurawka. The enemy in the village there was completely surprised. Artillery pieces that he attempted to bring into position were overrun. The demolitions on the bridge were removed under the covering fires provided by the tanks. At 1330 hours, the village was firmly in our hands. In the meantime, the 1st Battalion had become decisively engaged in heavy fighting at Bogdany. But it was able to persevere; it captured a large number of enemy vehicles and took several hundred prisoners. The bridge over the Udaj at Makejewka flew into the air prior to the arrival of the tanks, however. The ring around the Soviet field armies in and around Kiev had been closed. On 22 September, orders were issued sending Panzer-Regiment 35 to Korop for maintenance. It was thanks to the bold advances of our tanks that the cost in blood for both friend and foe alike was relatively small in comparison to the importance of these large-scale operations. Along the path of fighting, there were innumerable quantities of the enemy’s destroyed weapons. Along the same road were also the reminders provided by the graves of fallen comrades.

Alone against All Hermann Bix, Oberfeldwebel in the 7./Panzer-Regiment 35 It was the beginning of September. We were fighting in the Bachmatsch- Korop area. The 2nd Battalion was advancing rapidly, when it suddenly received heavy antitank-gun fire from a village. A few tanks were knocked out. Two long-time tank commanders were killed when they were hit in their commander cupolas. They were literally torn in two. We were positioned behind a slope, somewhat helpless, and I was in a rage. Lekschat’s company, my company, was on the left wing. I was on the extreme left in my tank. I could easily observe the antitank guns in the village as they peppered the right wing. I suddenly got a thought and I considered whether to take a solo trip, since I had already forgotten about the last ass-chewing for doing the same thing. To the left of me, a road led into the village through a depression. I snaked my way through the depression in my tank, completely unobserved by the Russians and our own tanks. I got as far as the gardens of the houses. I didn’t receive any fire, so I tried to sneak in farther. Then, suddenly, things came to life around me. The first few Russians—flushed out—ran around in a confused mass. The antitank-gun positions were right in front of my nose. The driver and the gunner were yelling targets to me, but there was no longer any more time to fire. Against those numbers, I would have drawn the short straw. At that point, the only thing to do was charge them. A fence line burst apart, whereupon we got hung up on a slope—the tank threatened to turn over. We saw the road in front of us and one Russian vehicle after the other. Our driver kept his nerve and was able to right the vehicle. We then overran antitank guns and machine guns and found ourselves in the middle of the road in the middle of trains vehicles, antitank guns and artillery pieces. We’re not going to get through here, the radio operator shouted. But there was no turning back. We had to seek our escape by advancing; there was no other way to get out. To the right, there were Russians as far as the eye could see; to the left, Russians; behind us, the enemy positions—and then the company commander, who would probably want to tear me a new … well, dress me down something fierce. We raced along the column; the Russians ran into the houses to take cover. That was good for us. The radio operator shouted something to me without turning off the external microphone. That meant, on top of everything else, the company commander could listen to all of our nonsense. At that point, a few Russians had taken heart and fired at us. The storage box with our clothes in it caught fire. The loader tried to extinguish the flames. We fired without aiming into the column as we moved. Fortunately, a few thatched roofs caught fire. A huge cloud of smoke engulfed us and removed us from the Russians’ sight. I then attempted to radio the company and ask for help. It didn’t work. I only heard Lekschat screaming at me through my headphones: “Harpoon, what the hell are you doing?” Finally, the radio operator noticed that he needed to switch to “transmit.” I was then able to submit my situation report: “Located in the middle of the village in an enemy column with guns; request you follow my trail.”

“Damn it, who sent you there!” Lekschat roared menacingly into the microphone. But I didn’t have time to answer; we had our hands full trying to save our skins. The company commander also heard everything, since the transmitter had been switched on again. Then I heard how Lekschat ordered the company to follow me. I also heard how no one knew which way I had gone and where I was. In the meantime, we approached the opposite end of the village. We couldn’t go much farther, since the Russians had placed vehicles across the road in an effort to stop us. My driver did not hesitate long; he overran the horse carts, crushing them beneath his tracks. We only had to pray that none of the mines that had been loaded in the carts went up! The company commander asked me my location, and I fired green-white pyrotechnics into the sky. “What … behind the village … that’s impossible!” He responded in an agitated voice. I fired more recognition signals. The company commander then realized where I was, but he also realized the opportunity it afforded to hit the Russians from the rear. He moved the company through the depression and requested that the motorized riflemen accompany him. I tried to conceal myself in a garden and waited longingly for the company. In which direction should I screen? Where should I fire? The front was everywhere. So I made myself as small and unattractive as possible and only fired when fired at. The waiting seemed an eternity. Finally, the first tanks appeared at my location and, in one of them, Lekschat, my company commander. He just shook his head and said: “I ought to give you a well-earned ass chewing, but I don’t have the time.” Then he laughed, and all of us assaulted the village, where we took 800 prisoners and captured 60 vehicles, 12 antitank guns and 10 heavy guns. That’s not to mention any rifles or mortars. The company commander was able to reconcile himself to a success without casualties. “But I almost shit my pants, Mr. Bix!” he bellowed. Had I heard right? Had he actually said “Mr. Bix”? That meant I had won that round against him.

There Has to Be Time for Fun, Too From My Diaries (Hans Schäufler) Krolewez—26 September: The headquarters of the 4. Schützen-Brigade was reformed. We assembled in some woods on the road to Gluchow. In place of the fallen Oberleutnant Liebe, Leutnant Germann was named adjutant. Leutnant Storck became the Signals officer to replace the badly wounded Leutnant Bälz. All of the surviving members of the brigade headquarters started to trickle in. I was the signals platoon leader again. A radio center from Aufklärungs-Abteilung 7 (mot.), under Feldwebel Schmuck, was added to our ranks. Replacements came directly from Germany to replace the dead and wounded comrades. An extremely spit-and-polish Unteroffizier— at least that’s the way he appeared to us—was attached as a motorcycle messenger. We looked at him in disbelief, since he was wearing a brand-new tunic and a pair of trousers that still had a crease in them. His boots were highly polished. We forgot that we had also looked like that not too long ago. But our uniforms and our manners had suffered accordingly in the meantime. When the new fellow reported in to me, he tapped his heels together—zack—and rattled off his formulaic report in perfect drill-ground proper German. That was embarrassing to me, and the comrades were grinning gleefully. I could see that he thought we were a squalid bunch of reprobates. When he was talking with another Unteroffizier, I heard the word “slackers” and caught a furtively dispatched, dismissive glance. It came as no surprise to me that he kept to himself. Numerically, we were up to strength again. A big question weighed on us all: Who would assume command of the brigade? Then we received a radio message: “Send the commander’s Kübel to the division to pick up the brigade commander.” So we had a clue. It wasn’t an Oberst from the 4. Panzer-Division , because he would have already had his own vehicle. Apparently, it was a complete stranger who had a “sore throat.”54 Our enthusiasm died down noticeably. It did not take too long before the commander’s vehicle turned into our patch of woods, sporting a covered brigade commander’s pennant. We hung around, curious. Initially, we saw a walking stick come feeling its way out of the vehicle. Then a tall frame followed with some effort—a frame that looked damned familiar. Light murmuring passed through the woods. Was it possible? Yes, it was. That was “our” Saucken. To be sure, he was still limping, but the main thing was that he was back! In a flash, morale skyrocketed. The first sergeant, Herzog, wanted to have the men fall in, but the Oberst told him not to. He wanted to greet everyone individually. He went from vehicle to vehicle and found a friendly word for each man. He was somewhat disappointed, however, that he found so many new faces. The war had demanded its tribute in the time since he had been gone. It slowly started to turn twilight. Since we were not on operations, we set up our tents. One of the comrades played a harmonica. Soon, a circle was formed. Old and new songs were quietly sung. The Oberst had me tell him—as one of the few old timers left—what

had happened in the meantime. We walked slowly through the field camp. The new Unteroffizier was in the process of crawling into his tent, located somewhat distant from the rest of the “pigsty,” and attempting to close the buttons on the brand-new shelter halves from the inside, through a small slit. But he wasn’t making much progress. Then he heard our steps. “Hello!” he called out, formally. The Oberst looked at me impishly and answered in the same drill-ground manner: “What does the Herr Unteroffizier order?” “Close the god-damned buttons here!” he ordered from inside the tent. The Oberst placed his walking stick on the ground and fussed around with the buttons. “Order executed, Herr Unteroffizier!” The brigade commander then demonstrably clicked his heels. Apparently, the correct military manner in which all of that had been done did not quite jive with the picture the Unteroffizier had of the “pigsty.” In a genial, but condescending manner, the new guy asked through the shelter halves: “What’s your name, soldier, and what section do you belong to?” “Oberst von Saucken, assigned as the brigade commander!” the reply came. The top of the tent shot skyward with a jerk; the terrain-colored shelter halves hung like a poncho around a frozen stiff but invisible figure. “Excuse me, Herr Oberst!” a noticeably dampened voice emanated from the sack. A completely unmilitary laughter then burst forth from the surrounding night-darkened vegetation, because the Landser had long since figured out that something was going on there.

Dash to Orel From the After-Action Reports of the 5. Panzer-Brigade 30 September 1941: The 4. Panzer-Division crossed the screening line east of Gluchow at 0535 hours with Kampfgruppe Eberbach. At the time, it was known that the enemy had occupied some high ground and the village of Esmanj. During the last few days, he had felt his way forward with heavy tanks. The division had the mission of initially advancing on Sjewsk. The attack made good progress, even though the western outskirts of the extended village of Esmanj were occupied. Russian tanks also appeared on the avenue of advance, but they pulled back into the village after three of them had been knocked out. The weather was hazy. Esmanj was taken around noon and was cleared by the motorcycle infantry following. A few enemy tanks, which appeared on the flanks, were knocked out. Two heavy tanks held out for a long time on the east end of the village. Towards noon, they pulled back to behind the railway line, which was reached by our tanks at 1140 hours. The Russian tanks had cleverly positioned themselves behind the mined underpass and blocked it with their fires. It was difficult to get at them with artillery, because the 5-meter-high embankment blocked observation. The high ground to the east of the railway was also occupied. As a result, the 2nd Battalion of our regiment went around to the east to get into the enemy’s rear and to clear the main avenue of advance for the 1st Battalion. To the north of Sloboda, the 2nd Battalion encountered the withdrawing enemy tanks. The vehicle of the company commander of the 6th Company, Oberleutnant Wollschlaeger, was knocked out and set alight. He jumped into another tank and knocked out two of the attacking enemy tanks. The enemy pulled back; the way was clear for the 1st Battalion. At 1500 hours, the two battalions established contact after the mines had been cleared under the underpass as well as those at a second minefield along the avenue of advance. The continued advance—this time with the 1st Battalion in the lead—was effectively supported by the Luftwaffe. The destroyers received a striking amount of antiaircraft fire from the patches of woods around Kruglaja-Poljana. It started to turn dark. Oberst Eberbach thereupon decided to set up an all-round defense for the night. During the night you could hear how the enemy was vacating the woods, at least with his antiaircraft guns. 1 October—Kampfgruppe Eberbach moved out at 0700 hours along both sides of the axis of attack. The enemy had pulled back with most of his forces. The attack then picked up speed. A tank ditch was quickly breached. There was a short engagement at the bridge south of Sjewsk. At 1105 hours, the lead tank elements entered Sjewsk, exploiting a Stuka attack. All of the bridges were intact. Two aircraft were captured. To exploit the favorable situation, an advance guard under Oberstleutnant Hochbaum moved out at 1200 hours. It had the mission of advancing directly on Dmitrowsk so as to interdict the Kharkov-Brjansk rail line, which crossed the axis of advance. Generaloberst Guderian visited the regiment and the lead tank elements and thanked them for their performance.

The 8th Company, together with the 3rd Company from the division’s engineer battalion, captured 15 heavy howitzers and 60 prime movers on the high ground around Novo-Jamskije. Following that, the advance guard moved out, having been feed and refueled. The advance guard soon caught up with the 5th Company, which had been sent out 30 minutes ahead to take the bridge at Stupina. That bridge was likewise intact. It was striking how the Russians had been unable to blow up any bridges to that point. At 1630 hours, the railway line was reached; there was still traffic on it when we approached. The tracks were blown up. After it had turned dark, the tanks reached the bridges at Uporoi and Chaltschewskije and crossed them. Both were intact. The enemy was hardly putting up any resistance, but the softened roads made it difficult, especially for the motorcycle infantry Dmitrowsk was reached and occupied at 2130 hours, after passing through a particularly bad stretch of marsh and across the two bridges over the Nessa. When the lead company reached the middle of the locality, the battalion that was garrisoned there started to move out. The Russian soldiers were horrified to discover that it was German tanks that were moving onto the town square. On 2 October, after Kampfgruppe Eberbach had arrived in Dmitrowsk, the advance guard received orders to advance on Kromy, as long as the fuel situation allowed. It moved out at 1345 hours. The advance that day moved even more rapidly. The roads that had been softened up from the rain the previous day had dried out somewhat. In Lubianky, 50 cubic meters of fuel were captured. At 1620 hours, the bridge at Tschuwardino was taken. It was on fire, but it was able to be extinguished. The Russians were unable to mount an organized defense anywhere. In their place, however, the Red Air Force appeared. Not only the lead tank elements, but also the following elements, had to allow themselves to be subjected to continuous low- and high-level attacks. Among the forwardmost elements, 37 such attacks were counted. A Russian fuel depot right next to the avenue of advance was saved in time from destruction. As it started to turn dark, the lead tank elements reached the large concrete bridge at Kromy and took it intact. A Russian battalion was surprised in Kromy as it prepared field fortifications. A regularly scheduled public transit bus was stopped, and its passengers forced to get off. A translator within the tank regiment telephoned the postmaster in Orel and assured him that no Germans were to be seen. Security was set up around Kromy, and the forces rested. It was not possible to advance any farther due to a lack of fuel. During the morning of 3 October, a few fuel trucks arrived. Despite that, the fuel situation was still very tense. When the brigade commander issued orders for the attack on Orel, Oberstleutnant Hochbaum had already undertaken preparations on his own initiative in that regard. After the forces had already moved out, the division order arrived that echoed the independently made decision. We could read each other’s minds in the 4th. At 1100 hours, the tanks rolled out. The Russian aerial attacks increased in intensity. They were launched ceaselessly and took place along the entire avenue of advance as far as Dmitrowsk. An air strip southwest of Orel gave away its location by the constant takeoffs and landings of bomber, ground-attack and fighter aircraft. When the first 10-centimeter

cannon battery was brought into position around 1500 hours and took the airfield under fire, the enemy aerial attacks abated somewhat. Aircraft were destroyed on the ground; others were forced to take off or their landing prevented. Towards evening, German fighters arrived. In addition to our Flak, they succeeded in shooting down several aircraft. Two of the lead tanks of Oberleutnant Wollschlaeger succeeded in breaking through a Russian defensive position north of the Prominka Estate and taking the bridge over the Oka, 3 kilometers to the north, just at the moment the Russians had wanted to complete its destruction, which had already started. The tanks that followed encountered strong antitank-gun fire, which caused the loss of three of our tanks in the course of hard fighting. It was only after an hour of fighting that the tanks, artillery and dismounted motorcycle infantry were able to clear the woods to the north of the estate. In the process, four antiaircraft guns were captured and 80 prisoners taken. They then advanced rapidly and got Wollschlaeger out of his difficult situation. As a result of the destruction already rendered to the bridge over the Oka, it was impassable for tanks, but they were able to ford next to it. The motorcycle infantry battalion was able to make it across; the engineers then had to repair it. On the first side, the tanks and motorcycle infantry again encountered strong enemy resistance. Despite that, they were able to take the village and the patch of woods, where another 100 prisoners were taken. But then the attack bogged down in the face of heavy fires coming from the air force base that jutted out like a bastion from the other side of the embankment and from the slope in front of it. The brigade, in consultation with the division commander, who was up front, waited for the artillery to close up and provide firing cover. The motorcycle infantry deployed to the left and right of the road and prepared to attack. They then moved out at 1630 hours after the artillery had fired a preparation. The enemy —two battalions of an air-landed brigade that had been brought forward in aircraft— defended in an extraordinarily brave manner. The advancing tanks were engaged with antitank guns and had Molotov cocktails thrown at them. Two tanks burned out. Almost without exception, the tankers who bailed out were wounded. It was only thanks to the excellent coordination between the tanks and the motorcycle infantry that the advance was able to continue—step-by-step. Oberleutnant Bergius’s 3rd Motorcycle Infantry Company took the slope east of the road; Oberleutnant Rode and his 2nd Motorcycle Infantry Company fought their way through as far as the embankment west of the road. In the woods, Oberleutnant von Gaupp directed the actions of his 1st Motorcycle Infantry Company in bitter close-in fighting. The tanks were everywhere, helping their comrades from Kradschützen-Bataillon 34. The losses on both sides were heavy. Hand-to-hand combat was not uncommon. Hand grenades— including some thrown from tanks—decided engagements. It turned dusk, but the fighting continued until long into the night. Four hundred Russians were taken prisoner; the rest were either dead or took flight under cover of darkness. The losses among the motorcycle infantry were also heavy. Success was gained at the cost of 16 dead and 42 wounded. Leutnant Euler and Leutnant Bürkner in the tank regiment were badly wounded. Several tank commanders were hit in the head. In the meantime, Oberleutnant Wollschlaeger had broken through the enemy positions and advanced on Orel. In the streets of that city, he knocked out 20 antitank guns being

withdrawn. Some of them were taken care of just before they could be brought into position against him. He fought his way through to the train station, preventing the evacuation of valuable materiel, including 15 small armored vehicles and aircraft replacement parts. He then advanced an additional 2 kilometers beyond Orel before turning back and holding the train station and the important bridge over the Oka with his few tanks before additional forces could be brought forward around 1900 hours. The city of Orel and its 120,000 inhabitants—an important road and railway transportation nodal point, the seat of the regional party apparatus and the western headquarters of the NKVD—was in the hands of the 4. Panzer-Division . The 240-kilometer stretch between Gluchow and Orel was covered in four days of fighting without regard to threats to the flanks and while under almost constant aerial attack. The captured stocks of fuel and rations were enough to supply the entire field army for an entire two weeks. On 4 October, the main body of the division closed up around Orel. Towards noon, the Russians attacked the train station with tanks, while the outpost line was still being established. Two 52-ton Russian tanks were knocked out. One of our tanks was lost. Oberleutnant Pfister was killed in the attack.

The Raid on Orel Arthur Wollschlaeger, Oberleutnant and Company Commander of the 6./ PanzerRegiment 35 3 October 1941—During the early-morning hours, the engine sounds of attacking Soviet bombers and fighter-bombers awakened us. That meant the Russians knew what was threatening them. They employed everything they could get their hands on with regard to their airpower. As a result, we deviated from the main avenue of advance, which the Soviets were attempting, with all of the means at their disposal, to block. With my six tanks, I moved far ahead of the main body of Panzer-Regiment 35, which followed, along with the other formations of the 4. Panzer-Division. Low-level Soviet aircraft flew over us without a break. They were looking for their targets in the formations that followed us. Why didn’t they attack us? First, they didn’t think there were German tanks so far forward. Second, I used a simple trick: I waved the white side of my map back and forth. The same game with every group of aircraft; it worked every time. We approached the village of Fominka. It was a small village that extended along the road, located a few hundred meters in front of a wood line. According to my map, there was bridge behind it. We rolled up slowly. If Orel were to be defended at all, then it would be at this bridge. We took up firing positions at the edge of the villages, concealed by the gardens. I ordered Jüppner to give me covering fire, since we had to try to make the jump across the bridge. All of a sudden, all hell broke loose over there. There were eight antitank guns to the left of the road that led to the bridge. Two antitank guns were on the right, with an additional two artillery pieces. Two of our tanks were knocked out. But there was no turning back. Jüppner and I raced towards the antitank-gun positions as fast as our engines would take us. Practically moving under their barrels, we reached the path through the woods, crossed the bridge, moved through another patch of woods, in which there was a Red Army encampment, and then, protected by the woods, found ourselves in the training area for the Orel garrison. Behind it, we could see the airfield and observe the hectic takeoffs and landings. It was very tempting to go for it from there, but my worries needed to be for the bridge, which the Soviets were in the process of dismantling. We were able to drive them away with a few rounds. We then stayed under cover for a few hours, observed and sent reports to the rear. Nothing at all happened on the Soviet side. Only the aircraft, which were palpably close, flew over us constantly. Finally, our battalion closed up. It had broken through the blocking positions with the motorcycle infantry and the artillery. Preparations for the continued attack were discussed. My crews were not especially happy to hear they were going to be the point for the attack again, since we had already lost two tanks and some good comrades had fallen. In addition, we only had a fighting strength of four tanks. The first attack objective was the road that led to the embankment that closed off the city to the west. Following along a small depression in the terrain, we raced towards our

objective in column and quickly reached the road. According to my orders, I was supposed to halt there. But an old rule of thumb for tankers stated: “A stationary tank on the battlefield is a dead tank!” So we moved on. In front of us was an underpass, the entrance to the city. Underpasses were always tricky. I had already found that out several days ago through personal experience. There was only one thing to do: Move out and move through! And it worked! The broad road leading into Orel stretched out in front of us. We raced off. City life was still in full swing. When the citizens of Orel saw us, they fled into the buildings and side streets, white as ghosts. Rattling and swaying, a streetcar tried to exercise its right of way, even ringing its bell. An HE round placed right in front of its engine convinced it to stop. The passengers in the cars, all full, wanted to get out but realized there was no way out of there. Our two tanks, which were followed by the other two at a distance of 300 meters, allowed nothing and no one to stop them. And so we continued on quickly to the large railway bridge. We stopped there quickly and searched the bridge for demolitions: Nothing. We left one tank behind to guard it. We then moved quickly to the main train station to stop the rail traffic. Another tank was left there. I then attempted to get to the large bridge over the Oka with the two remaining tanks. My main mission was to safeguard it. Since I did not have a map of the city, I chanced it and followed the streetcar tracks, which actually led me to the bridge. We thoroughly looked it over and determined that it had not been prepared for demolition. We guarded the important objective until the rest of the battalion and the other formations of the 4. Panzer-Division caught up. Our four tanks were all by themselves for three hours in the big city before the other elements closed up. On 4 October, the Soviets launched a counterattack with heavy tanks. We experienced that fighting as viewers, practically from a viewing platform. During the evening of 3 October, I had moved into the third floor of the railway administrative building with my crews. Our four tanks were positioned close to one another next to the building wall and had been well secured. In the early-morning hours, we were awakened with a mighty bang. The doors popped open and the window panes rattled. Terrified, we ran to the windows. Positioned right next to our tanks was a heavy Soviet tank, which was firing into the city. We could not identify what he was firing at; we could only stand by and watch. But it turned around after firing a few rounds and, without paying attention to our tanks, left “our” city with rattling tracks. So … that was our raid on Orel. In not quite four days of fighting, we had covered 240 kilometers. In the process, we wrested 30 important bridges from the enemy and inflicted considerable damage to him in terms of valuable war materiel. The most important thing: We had taken the railway and road network nodal point of Orel.

The II 01 outside of Orel H. Schöffel, Gefreiter in the II./Panzer-Regiment 35 It was the 3rd of October. We were moving on Orel. I was the loader in the command tank of the 2nd Battalion—II 01—and assigned to the crew of Major von J ungenfeld. The gunner was Leutnant Euler. We took a short halt in a patch of woods. There were 500 meters of open field in front of us, followed by trees again and then, behind them, the first few houses of Orel. In the open area in front of us we saw some strange piles of dirt. The order to move out arrived by radio. We formed up and attacked in an inverted wedge. Suddenly, things came to life behind the piles of earth. There was a roar from all sides. Russians were in foxholes behind the turned-up earth. We fired away with our machine guns and slowly approached the edge of the city. I turned on the ventilator so that the gun smoke could escape. Otherwise, it’d take your breath away in a closed turret. A Russian threw a Molotov cocktail on our vehicle; suddenly, there was fire everywhere. “Everybody out!” von Jungenfeld yelled out. Despite his considerable frame, he forced himself out of the cupola hatch with rapidity. I also flipped open the hatch and jumped. Behind me was the signals officer, Leutnant Bürkner. On the other side, Leutnant Euler and the driver, Unteroffizier Brendel, bailed out. For a tanker, it’s a strange feeling to be hunkered down in the open in the middle of an attack. We crouched behind our burning vehicle. The Russians started firing at us from out of all of the foxholes and from all sides. We defended with our pistols as best we could. A few riflemen, who were nearby, gave us some comradely fire support. Despite that, Leutnant Bürkner, Leutnant Euler and Unteroffizier Brendel were wounded, since the Russian fire was concentrating on us. As I was firing the last round from my sidearm, there was a racket behind us as if the devil were on the loose. Oberfeldwebel Gabriel, who had observed our miserable situation, came racing up with his five tanks and fired with everything he had. We had some breathing room at that point, and I was able to look around a bit. Major von Jungenfeld was sitting next to the track of our tank. He still had his throat mike on, the torn cable dangling in front of his stomach. He pressed the push-to-talk switch in an exasperated manner and repeated a sentence over and over again: “Lekschat, move forward … Lekschat, move forward …” I was already pretty loopy from the fireworks that had just happened, so I brusquely grabbed my commander by the shoulder, held the torn cable in front of his nose and yelled at him in my best Münchberg dialect: “Don’t you see, the cable’s been ripped?” He looked at me uncomprehendingly for a moment, then he ripped off the microphone and threw it to the ground with some foul words. It only took a few minutes before good old Lekschat showed up. Not because he had somehow heard the message that hadn’t been transmitted, but because tankers have a nose for when things are stinking somewhere. Our Pampas climbed into the other tank and continued to lead his battalion—in the direction of Orel. The armored medical vehicle arrived, took care of the wounded and evacuated them. At that point, I looked at our burning II 01. Well, you have to have bad luck occasionally. Actually, it wasn’t as bad as it

looked. The ventilator had sucked the burning material from the vehicle’s interior. I was able to extinguish it. That evening, our II 01 was back in action at the Orel train station.

The Capture of Orel from the Soviet Perspective From the Memoirs of Major General Pjotr Grigorinka55 To a certain extent, the maneuver was the conclusion of a one-and-one-half year study by the front’s56 headquarters concerning the defense of large cities. The study had started in the fall of 1941, shortly after the Germans had taken Orel. When examining the operation, it turned out that the city had basically been taken by 13 German tanks, while there had been 150,000 armed and uniformed soldiers on our side: Forces from the NKVD, the police and special units that reported to differing agencies of the People’s Commissariat for Defense. Since none of those agencies had unified command and were under bad commanders—not to mention that they had no idea of the general situation—they generally scattered in panic when they first saw the Germans.57

A Swabian Story Wolfgang Vogel When the pocket was closed east of Kiev, we had some peace and quiet. Six days in Korop, that was enough time; We and the tanks were ready. It started up again on the last day of September, Eberbach led the tank raid. First Esmanj—Briefing the staff: “The little town is important, we have to have it!”58 Facing us was an enemy tank formation; that’s what the Russian prisoners said. And right they were. Our point had barely approached the village of Esmanj, when our weapons caught the first Russians in their sights. Eight heavy clunkers were left behind. And the next morning, Sjewsk in a hasty trot: “The little town is important, we have to have it!” The sun had barely started to climb that morning, when it illuminated a giant round dance. Destroyers and Stukas plied their routes; the enemy resistance began to fade. We exploited it well, the great opportunity, we were quickly in Sjewsk, early in the day. Dmitrowsk was assaulted with groaning sprockets: “The little town is important, we have to have it!” We were already quite deep in the enemy’s rear; he could hardly send anything to face us any more. Even for our aircraft we were too far or did they not have any time for us? In their place, the Russians covered us with bombs and barely left us a minute in peace. From the Orel airfield came the beastly news: “The airfield is important, we have to have it!”

Did we have enough gas? That was the question, since in the middle of this muck and desolate chase, no trains can follow, even with the best of intent, to fill our thirsty fuel tanks. The motorcycle infantry didn’t stand idly by; they pumped two cans of fuel into every tank. So attack Orel—our Swabian ordered: “The little town is important, we have to have it!” With a childlike belief, we then thought we could rest there, and enjoy the tuna fish the Russians had left lying for us. But 10 kilometers outside of this city, there was a bridge, that had something about it. Rest? What do you think, naïve little one: “The little bridge is important, we have to have it!”

The Fighting around Mzensk From the After-Action Reports of the 5. Panzer-Brigade Our tank regiment was given no rest. It was directed that the 1st Battalion take the bridge at Iwanowskaja on 4 October. They succeeded in getting there, but there were heavy enemy tanks on the far side of the bridge that made a crossing for our tanks impossible. On 5 October, the 2nd Battalion was directed to take Lepeschkino after a Stuka attack and then move on to Iwanowskaja. Initially, everything went well, but when Gruppe von Lauchert attacked Mzensk, it encountered heavy enemy forces consisting of tanks, Stalin organs and infantry. It was only able to advance with difficulty and after taking heavy casualties as far as the high ground east of the bridge. It was unable to advance farther. On 6 October, the tank brigade received orders to advance on Mzensk with five tank companies, the motorcycle infantry battalion, an 8.8-centimeter Flak battery, a Nebelwerfer battalion and two battalions of artillery. The tanks moved out at 0900 hours after a short artillery preparation. The enemy had abandoned his positions. The bridge over the Rokowaja was prepared for demolition and the fords to either side were mined. Despite that, the bridge fell intact into our hands. The tanks then worked their way forward to the high ground on the far side of the river. Four small tanks were dug in there, as well as seven antitank guns. They opened fire. After a short engagement, the enemy tanks were eliminated and the antitank guns overrun. Russian riflemen threw hand grenades at our advancing tanks from out of their foxholes. The motorcycle infantry eliminated the Russian infantry in close combat. When our tanks reached the ridgeline, they received fire from heavy Russian tanks. A friendly tank was knocked out. The crew was able to bail out without taking casualties. An unequal tank engagement was brewing. The rounds from our main guns ricocheted off the heavy armor of the Russians; the Russian rounds penetrated the heavy frontal armor of our tanks with ease. To even the fight somewhat, an 8.8-centimeter Flak was brought into position. It was able to knock out an enemy tank, but then it received a direct hit. The battery commander was wounded; the gun crew was killed or badly wounded. A second Flak also received a direct hit after it had fired three times. Our tanks then pulled back to the ridgeline far enough so that only their main guns were exposed. The Russians came closer. We could do nothing to them. The Russians took the riverbank across the way under direct fire. There were wounded there as well. The adjutant of the 1st Battalion, Oberleutnant Esser, was wounded. Twenty-five heavy Russian tanks were facing us, and we could employ absolutely nothing against them. They always remained at a distance. They could easily knock us out from there, but our little main guns could not penetrate them.59 They figured that out really quickly. A few of our tanks were hit. We pulled back a bit more from the hill. It was inconceivable to carry on the attack at that point. The artillery fired with two batteries in the target area. They were able to take care of one Russian tank with a direct hit. The fact that the Russian tanks were pressing forward started to make the situation critical. The

high ground we were on was not really suitable for defense, since it could be observed from both sides. We slowly came to the realization we might have to abandon the damned bridgehead. In a calm and orderly manner, the wheeled vehicles and the Nebelwerfer battalion were pulled back across the bridge. The motorcycle infantry jumped back in small groups. The only things left on the forward slope at that point were the tanks, a 10-centimeter gun and the 6./Artillerie-Regiment 103 (mot.). Eight Russian tanks started to attack. When they crossed the ridgeline, one of them was knocked out by the 10-centimeter cannon, with the remaining ones forced to turn back. Our fighting vehicles slowly moved back up the hill. A new enemy tank attack started, this time with 25 vehicles. Our companies pulled back to the flanks. Ten of the Russian tanks succeeded in advancing as far as the artillery positions; the remaining 15 provided accurate covering fires. In that extremely critical situation, not a single man lost his nerves. The artillery and tanks fired with everything they had. The Russians moved in and around our positions, but not a single crew abandoned its gun. In some cases, the enemy tanks were only 10 to 20 meters from the firing positions. Three Russians were knocked out by our artillery firing over open sights. Oberleutnant Krause took up an ambush position from behind some vegetation and knocked out two Russian tanks from pointblank range. Leutnant Königsfeld succeeded in taking out a Russian in a similar manner. The engine stalled on one of the Russian tanks. Leutnant Kremer and Feldwebel Allgaier exploited the opportunity. They jumped up on the steel colossus, popped open the engine access panels and destroyed the starter with an ax. The Russians traversed their turret and the two men rode along. They then covered the vision ports with mud. An artilleryman, who had been overrun by the tank and whose foot was caught in the drive sprocket was pulled free. The blind monster was then covered with fuel and set alight. Most of the Russians were knocked out by then; the rest took to flight. The Kampfgruppe then had some breathing room and pulled the tanks still on the far side of the river back across. Defenses were set up along the near side. Oberst Schneider and Major von Laukat personally directed the fires of their guns during that dramatic tank engagement. The vehicle of the brigade commander was hit while it was pulling back. The brigade signals officer, Leutnant Nebel, was badly wounded. In the meantime, it had started to turn dark. The enemy no longer stirred. A snowstorm started. The men of the Kampfgruppe were drenched to the skin. There were no opportunities for shelter. As strong as the enemy was, it could be anticipated that they would attack again at any moment. Because of that, the bridges and the railway crossing were heavily mined. 7 October—The continued advance of the 4. Panzer-Division on Mzensk ran into the massed heavy tanks of a Russian tank brigade in the vicinity of the train station at Otrada. A tank engagement was fought with heavy losses on both sides. A continued frontal assault along the main road was prevented by the cleverly positioned enemy tanks. Some of them were dug in. For the second time, the tank regiment had to pull back in the face of a numerically superior enemy. Morale was lousy. Despite all that, the division commander decided to attack on 9 October with three

Kampfgruppen. It was directed that the tanks not advance on both sides of the OrelMzensk road until Kampfgruppe Grolig and Kampfgruppe von Lüttwitz caught the enemy in a pincers movement around Woin. At 0630 hours, the Kampfgruppen moved out from their attack positions. Rain and snow had softened the road. The motorized riflemen had to leave their vehicles behind. They advanced on foot between the tanks. After a Stuka attack, Kampfgruppe Eberbach was able to cross the bridge 6 kilometers northeast of Nowaja Otrada. Ever since the start of the attack, Russian bombers and ground-attack aircraft hit our columns along the road, despite the presence of friendly fighter air cover. Considerable casualties were taken among the closed-up vehicles. It had not been possible to disperse due to the muddy ground. When the tanks approached Woin, they started to receive heavy defensive fires from Russian tanks, antitank guns and artillery. For the time being, it was not possible to advance there. Only Oberleutnant Wollschlaeger, who had a nose for that kind of thing, was able to reach the bridge northeast of Woin with his 6th Company. He reported that it was intact. He was able to hold out, concealed in a depression. For the first time in the fighting there, Russian rocket launchers joined in the fray. After an artillery preparation lasting several hours, the tank brigade was able to move out again at 1300 hours. It took the high ground on the far side of Woin and worked its way forward to the next set of high ground west of Sucharewo. There, the fires from the heavy Russian tanks were once again so heavy that it was not possible to even consider advancing, despite the support provided by a Stuka attack. One of our tanks received a direct hit and was set on fire. Kampfgruppe Grolig fought against strong enemy forces, supported by tanks, in Scheino. Initially, Kampfgruppe von Lüttwitz made better progress, but then it encountered well-camouflaged Russian tanks at Malaja Dumtschino. An antitank gun being brought forward was knocked out before it could get into position. The enemy tanks withdrew when a group of stout-hearted soldiers attacked them with Molotov cocktails and bundled charges. They then set up in positions where it was not possible to approach them unobserved. Any of our movements was immediately countered with machine-gun and artillery fire. An 8.8-centimeter Flak was identified when it tried to take up a position; it was put out of commission with two rounds. In the meantime, our motorized infantry on the road from Mzensk were observing enemy columns of all sorts. New enemy tanks were rolling south. The Russian infantry was digging in. Artillery and rocket launchers were going into position. When darkness fell, the division commander decided to call off the attack. Along the main road, the heavy Russian tanks pushed so far forward that they were able to observe into Wollschlaeger’s concealed positions. Once again the same picture: The rounds from our 5-centimeter main guns bounced off the thick armor of the Russian tanks,

showing no effect. At the same time, the Russians knocked out two of ours with their first few rounds. Our 10-centimeter cannon and 8.8-centimeter Flak were not yet in a position to assist. The brigade commander therefore decided to pull the 6th Company back behind the high ground. During the withdrawal movements, two more tanks were knocked out, as well as an observer vehicle from the artillery and an SPW of the engineers. The Russians were able to observe every movement. They put down a wall of fire with their rocket launchers on the high ground of Woin. Only the high ground across from the bridge was held by a tank company. All of the remaining elements moved back into positions in and around Woin. Enemy aircraft joined in the fray. When it started to turn dark, it also started to snow. Despite the bypassing on both flanks, the frontal attack of Kampfgruppe Eberbach had sustained heavy personnel casualties and materiel losses. The setback was depressing. The division decided once again to continue the attack the next day, however. It would be conducted with two groups attempting to outflank and with the forces reorganized. It was directed that Kampfgruppe Eberbach, supported by the attached Kampfgruppe Grolig, attack on the right and Kampfgruppe von Saucken, together with the attached Kampfgruppe von Lüttwitz, attack left. To the direct front, the II./Schützen-Regiment 33 was directed to defend along both sides of the road and maintain contact with the enemy during the night. 10 October—It turned winter overnight. Heavy snowfall made the route from Woin to Scheino practically impassable. At 0500 hours, Kampfgruppe Eberbach moved out from Woin, reaching Scheino at 0700 hours with its tracked elements. Reconnaissance elements, which had been sent out in the direction of Mzensk at first light reported the following: Enemy tanks in the Wolkowo-Sseljko area; infantry and antitank-gun positions; bridge over the creek at Sseljko impassable for tanks; the ford next to it presumably mined. Thus it appeared that the attack would be as difficult and lacking in success as the one that preceded it the previous day. During the orders conference, Oberst Grolig recommended that we exploit the snow flurries by deviating from the roads and, thus unseen by the heavy Russian tanks, enter Mzensk by surprise by crossing one of the pontoon bridges that the Russians had built and had been reported by aerial reconnaissance. Whether that bridge off to the southeast, which was not part of the main road network, was passable for tanks was another question. Thus, the final decision was not an easy one. All of the wheeled vehicles would have to remain behind and the heavier weapons, which only had half of a basic load of ammunition left, would scarcely be able to bring along any additional ammunition. There had not been any warm food since Orel. The motorized infantry only had a few hand grenades left and almost no machine-gun ammunition. On top of all of that, the forces were exhausted and drenched to the bone. Despite all of that, the tank brigade moved out from Scheino at 1030 hours. A motorized rifle company mounted up on the tanks; the rest of Mowitz’s battalion followed on foot. The Flak, a 10-centimeter battery and the artillery observers followed the tanks. In the snow flurries, visibility barely reached 200 meters. Oberleutnant Wollschlaeger led with his 6th Company. He did not encounter any enemy. He crossed the ridgeline cross-country and arrived right at the spot where the southeast bridge was located. The Russian bridge guards had taken shelter against the elements under bales of straw. They

were overrun by the tanks; the igniter cords and the demolitions were ripped out. At 1200 hours, the first tanks entered the city of Mzensk, firing with everything they had. Two rocket-launcher batteries and 3 antiaircraft guns were captured. Oberleutnant Wollschlaeger then reached the large bridge to the west from the rear. The enemy was able to recover rapidly from his surprise. On the far side of the west bridge were heavy tanks. The advanced into the city. But this time, it was our tanks which were well concealed behind houses and in gardens, where they took them under fire from pointblank range. Oberleutnant Ehrenberg and Oberleutnant von Gerdtell were able to knock out two Russian tanks that way. Although half a dozen were able to break through, they were engaged by our tanks farther to the rear. One of those tanks was set alight, while another fled, smoking. One of our tanks, which had a jammed round, was hit. On the northern edge of the city, you could hear the engine sounds of numerous enemy tanks. Other tanks were also reported in the vicinity of the west bridge. The situation was made even more critical by the fact that the last German tank to cross the southeast bridge had made it impassable. As a result, the 10-centimeter cannon and the heavy Flak had to be roped across the river. The situation was extremely threatening; it was not possible to pull back. The engineer squad that had accompanied the tanks laid 15 mines on the main road. The 10-centimeter cannon were finally placed into position. At that point, heavy enemy tanks attacked simultaneously from Tula and from the west. One of the enemy tanks ran over a mine; another was knocked out by a 10-centimeter cannon. That gave us some breathing room. The riflemen of the 33rd then started to arrive on foot, the regimental commander and the battalion commanders in the lead. They were immediately employed in the southern portion of the city, where enemy infantry was exerting heavy pressure. In the direction of Tula, there were only a few tanks employed, along with a platoon of riflemen and two Flak. It was there that the Russians attacked with six heavy tanks and infantry at the same time that enemy forces were also reported at the west bridge. The situation once again became critical. The 8.8-centimeter guns succeeded in knocking out three Russian tanks. That also stopped the assaulting enemy infantry. The remaining tanks turned away. Towards evening, the motorcycle infantry were able to cross the southeast bridge on foot. They had been held up by heavy fighting. They then finally succeeded in establishing a small bridgehead on the far side of the west bridge. Towards midnight, contact was established with Kampfgruppe von Saucken on the left. The enemy had holed up in the houses in the northern part of the city. From the high ground, every movement was fired upon by tanks and artillery. The night was cold and uncomfortable. Oberleutnant Krause, the commander of the 3rd Company—the man affectionately known as Pikra—was killed outside of Mzensk. The number of tanks had shrunk so much that it was consolidated into a battalion, which Oberstleutnant Hochbaum commanded. During the night of 12/13 October, the tanks were relieved and pulled out of the line. The motorized riflemen took over the defensive duties for the enormously important bridgehead over the Suscha at Mzensk. Oberst von Saucken assumed command of all of the forces there.

The Capture of Mzensk on 10 October 1941 Heinrich Eberbach, Oberst and Commander of the 5. Panzer-Brigade The attack on Mzensk was ordered for 10 October despite the previous setbacks. This city, which was 40 kilometers northeast of Orel, was a natural defensive bulwark in the loop of the Suscha. It was heavily defended by the Russians. The 5. Panzer-Brigade, under my command, consisted of Panzer-Regiment 35 (minus one company), Schützen-Regiment 33 (minus its 2nd Battalion), Kradschützen-Bataillon 34, the II./Artillerie-regiment 103, an 8.8-centimeter Flak battery and a 10-centimeter cannon battery. It had as its mission the advancing on Mzensk from Scheino (south of the road to Tula) by swinging out to the southeast. On 9 October, Panzer-Regiment 35 had 30 tanks operational; among them were several Panzer IV’s with short main guns. Reconnaissance had discovered enemy positions with antitank guns and heavy tanks on all of the routes leading to Mzensk. An attack appeared just as hopeless as on the previous day. During the orders conference for the attack, Oberst Grolig proposed advancing crosscountry on a ridgeline in order to exploit a snowstorm that was raging at the time. He suggested leading the brigade to a pontoon bridge recently constructed by the enemy on the southeastern outskirts of Mzensk and then entering the city after crossing it. Oberst Grolig was familiar with the terrain from the fighting the previous day. The decision to attack that way was not easy. If the snowstorm stopped, then the Russians could see the Kampfgruppe and catch it with their heavy tanks and artillery. Moreover, it was questionable whether the bridge was even negotiable for our tanks. Schützen-Regiment 33 only had a few hand grenades and practically no machine-gun ammunition. For the time being, there was no counting on resupply. The trucks for the motorized infantry were stuck in the mud. That meant that they could not move along with the tanks; instead, they had to “hurry up” behind the tanks. The artillery only had half of a basic load of ammunition left and was only able to take a portion of it along, since the ammunition trucks were stranded helplessly in the mud. Kradschützen-Bataillon 34 would not be able to join the Kampfgruppe for at least two hours before it could follow the attack. In addition, the forces were exhausted, had suffered setbacks, were wearing wet uniforms and were chilled through and through. In some cases, they had not had warm rations since Orel. In any event, none for the last three days. Finally, fighting in a city against a enemy who had tanks and was numerically superior in all other respects and in the middle of a snowfall was undertaking a great risk. In the end, it was boldness and surprise in this situation that offered the only chance for success. Once again, Oberleutnant Wollschlaeger led the lead company (6./Panzer-Regiment 35). A company of riflemen mounted the tanks and were taken along. The rest of the rifle battalion followed on foot. The 8.8-centimeter Flak battery and the 10-centimeter cannon battery followed the tanks. The II./ Artillerie-Regiment 103 (mot.) initially went into

position to cover the advance of the Kampfgruppe. Their observers accompanied the tanks. And, in fact, the Kampfgruppe was able to approach Mzensk without being observed by the enemy. The guards at the bridge were overrun. Our few tanks moved into the city at 1200 hours, guns blazing. Enemy columns were blown to pieces, Stalin organs and antiaircraft guns were captured and the bridge on the west side reached after a fight. The demolition cords and charges were ripped out. The pontoon bridge did not hold up, however. The only engineer squad that had been able to follow the attack in an SPW worked feverishly to repair it, since the Russians were recovering rapidly from their surprise. In the end, the remaining tanks were able to cross the bridge. The guns had to be pulled across individually with cables. On the far side of the west bridge were eight Russian heavy tanks, which advanced into the city. By then, our tanks had taken up concealed and covered positions behind houses and in gardens and allowed the Soviets to approach to pointblank range. Three Russian tanks were knocked out; the rest pulled back when that happened. Despite that, the situation in the large city, which was still heavily occupied by enemy infantry, remained critical. Not only were heavy Russian tanks reported on the far side of the west bridge, others were seen north of the city. When they then attacked again—from both the west and from the direction of Tula—one of them ran over a mine and another one was dispatched by a 10-centimeter cannon that had just gone into position. After about one and a half hours, the I./Schützen-Regiment 33 arrived on foot and immediately started to clear the southern part of the city of enemy infantry. In the afternoon, when the Russians attacked again from the direction of Tula with six heavy tanks, followed by infantry, an 8.8-centimeter Flak succeeded in knocking out three of them, with the remainder immediately pulling back. In the meantime, the II./Artillerie-Regiment 103 (mot.) had taken up positions in the city and started to take the enemy forces, still numerically superior, under fire. In the evening, the motorcycle infantry arrived on foot. On their way to the city, they had been attacked. At that point, the west bridge could finally be taken and the clearing of the large number of Russian infantry in the northeastern part of the city started. At midnight, the lead elements of the lefthand Kampfgruppe of the division (4. Schützen-Brigade) arrived. We did not succeed in completely clearing the city until the following day and after turning back additional enemy attacks with heavy tanks, whereby another two were knocked out. Until that evening, our ammunition situation was a source of worry. The dominant high ground to the northeast could not be wrested from the enemy. The Russians had two divisions there—6th Guards and 41st Cavalry—as well as seven batteries, including heavy and long-range, and heavy tanks. Their artillery did not seem to lack for ammunition. The balance sheet? In the period from 4 October (movement out of Orel) until 10 October (the taking of Mzensk), the Kampfgruppe sustained the following losses and casualties: Dead: 2 officers, 22 noncommissioned officers and enlisted personnel Wounded: 7

officers, 76 noncommissioned officers and enlisted personnel Total losses: 8 tanks, 2 8.8-centimeter Flak, 1 10-centimeter cannon and 1 10.5centimeter light howitzer Temporary loss of tanks due to battle damage: 10 The enemy sustained the following losses: 366 Prisoners 38 Tanks 18 Guns 7 Stalin organs 45 Trucks and prime movers 6 Mortars 24 Machine guns

The Defense of Mzensk From My Diaries (Hans Schäufler) 13 October—On the one hand, we were thrilled to be leaving the command post in Wolkowo, which had been under extremely heavy Russian artillery fire for days. Fighterbombers and bombers plastered us continuously, so much so that we preferred to just vegetate in the potato pits. Occasionally, we were even happy to be called out to look for breaks in the lines, since that meant some movement and diversion. The landlines were shot up again and again. Whenever we actually had an hour of quiet, then our tanks and the artillery prime movers would tear them up. No, no tears would be shed when we left that command post, but the fact that we were landing in the hell of Mzensk of all places, that was a bit worrisome. The route there could be observed by the enemy in its entirety. The Russians conducted a regular “rabbit hunt” when we were at the crossroads, the railway underpass and, above all, on the bridge. Towards 1600 hours, we departed Wolkowo in individual groups. We seemed to enjoy unusually good luck, since thick banks of fog were drifting into the Suscha Valley. We were unable to make out the high ground on the far side of the river. That meant that the guys over there could not see us either. Widely dispersed, we snuck up to the bridge. We waited for an artillery salvo and then crossed on the provisional bridge without sustaining any casualties. We occupied the prepared command post in the middle of the city. Although there was one Russian artillery piece after the other on the high ground right in front of our noses, the artillery fire at the moment was bearable. But, towards evening, things took off. We were right in the middle of laying landlines. Salvo after salvo raced towards us. We were happy when we got back to the command post. When the fire cascaded to a barrage, we grabbed our blankets and wandered down into the basement into the baking room. Initially, we slept well, but when the window and its frame came flying in, I was suddenly wide awake. The doors were crashing; the mortar was spraying out of the walls. Shell after shell was impacting in the courtyard. Of course, all of the landlines were long since a thing of the past. We got ready to go look for breaks, when Oberst von Saucken ordered us to wait a bit until the worst was over. We then scampered out into the courtyard. What a charming picture! Our vehicles were peppered with shrapnel holes; the tires flattened. Not a single vehicle was operational; most of the radio equipment was shot to pieces. A direct hit had swept away the exchange. All of the landlines had been routed through it. We didn’t have a lot of time to take everything in; we soon had to run, since we started hearing a strange yelping from all corners again. It seemed as though the Russians had fired the contents of an entire ammo dump on us! Those were the Soviets miracle weapons, the Stalin organs! Not bad, mind you! With blackened faces, we sat in front of the switchboard in the basement; it was only rarely that an intact landline existed. We would barely patch one together, when the grandeur of the affair would soon be a thing of the past! Gradually, it got to your nerves. Whenever the Russians saw us in the streets, the fireworks would start up again: Miiiü— ratsch, Miiiü—ratsch! In-between those light shells, a few heavy-duty ones would rush in,

shaking our cubby hole. The Russians took every individual soldier under fire. No wonder, since we were practically dancing in front of their noses on a presentation plate. The repair parties were constantly on the go. They had to scamper from house to house and patch the torn lines while on their bellies. They stumbled down the stairs with bursting lungs, took a breather for a moment, and then headed right out again to repair the next line. There was no radio traffic either, since the radio operators could not stay in the vehicles. Only the equipment in the armored vehicles could still be used. In order to communicate with the division, we dismounted a radio set from a vehicle and relocated it to the basement. But the antenna cable or the antenna itself was shot to pieces again and again. Despite that, the moving of the radio set lifted a big burden from our shoulders. We did not have to go out to effect repairs until after the Russians had thrown their temper tantrum. Gradually, we developed a routine. The regiments and the battalions followed our example. We set up a second receiver for them on a common frequency. 18 October—The Stukas had just gone over to the high ground and dropped their payloads. Their bombs landed in the middle of the artillery positions we so hated. We could see the Russians running with our naked eye. But then the aircraft went away, and we were left with the bill. A hail of fire descended on us, as if the Soviets were trying to say: Don’t get ahead of yourselves! We’re still here. They fired for 10 minutes with everything they had—and they had an amazing amount of tubes. The concussions from the bursting shells blew out the candle lights in the basement. In the darkness, we heard sounds all around us from the wounded and the buried: “Medic … medic!” I was convinced that if those bloodcurdling cries could be heard by the upper echelon of those in politics then wars would be a rarity. We helped wherever we could; evacuating the wounded and burying a number of dead. We spent six days living like cave men in the wet and cold caves. We barricaded the entrance to the courtyard, since heavy Russian tanks continued to enter the city again and again. Teller mines were placed at the entrance to the basement, armed and ready, since they were the only means with which we could combat those heavy monsters. Our antitank guns were powerless against them. We christened them as “Army door knockers.”60 The Russian artillery was being fired so accurately that it was not impossible to arbitrarily dismiss the general feeling that they had to have observers somewhere in the city. We thus received the mission to check out all telephone lines and field cable that didn’t look quite right. Some lines that had been established with foreign landlines were disrupted in the process. One time, we tried to put heat in our basement, since it was so bonechillingly cold. There immediately was the devil to pay. The Russians covered our house with so much artillery fire that that alone put the fire out. We then just left things the way they were during the day, only heating at night with very dry wood that left no smoke that could be seen. As long as it was light, no vehicle could allow itself to be seen in the city. It was only at night that the rations “fetchers” would dare to cross the bridge. We warmed the

contents of the cans with camp stoves. There was nothing to be found in Mzensk that was edible. Gradually, it started to become uncomfortable in our baking room. Rats and mice scurried about in the darkness; crickets chirped day and night; and bugs of all different sorts crawled around on our blankets. Someone “found” a record player with a single record. It squawked monotonously day in and day out from the large tin speaker: “I came from Alabama across the large pond …” We became familiar with every single scratch on the record but, despite that, we continued to play it, since it drowned out the even more terrible howling from the artillery shells and the hacking of the machine guns. Otherwise, you’d just squat there and listen to the outside. In the house next door, where the engineers were, it had started to burn the previous day. It had to be blown up to prevent the fire from spreading. In the process, whatever remaining window panes we had were lost. From that point forward, we did not have a single shimmer of light in our rat palace.61 23 October—For days the rumor went around that we would be pulled out of the line. Eventually, we knew it was just a shithouse rumor. Although we were still vegetating in the basement, there was a lot of activity in and around Mzensk. An attack was being prepared from out of the city. Our heavy artillery was firing from across the Suscha. The shells raced overhead and exploded in front of us on the high ground. We laid landline to the assembly areas at the edge of the city. It poured. That, at least, meant that we weren’t bothered by Russian aircraft. Our aerial observer flew above us; the Russians saved their ammunition, so as not to betray their positions. 24 October—The attack yesterday was unable to move forward. The Russian positions had been improved too much. Thirty German batteries had closed up behind us. The Großdeutschland Regiment was attached to us.62 Nebelwerfer took up firing positions. The Luftwaffe promised generous support for today’s attack. 1000 hours—Start of the attack. The Nebelwerfer sent salvo after salvo on the high ground; Heinkel bombers dropped their payloads on the Russian battery positions and silenced them; the shells of our guns streamed overhead and crashed into the Russian trenches. Again and again, our tanks moved out to break through the Russian positions, but nothing seemed to work. One trench line after the other. The defensive system was 10 kilometers deep. Tank obstacles, belts of mines and pockets of anti-armor defenses made it impossible for our combat vehicles to roll up the enemy positions. I observed this terrible spectacle through my scissors scope on the roof of our command post. 2200 hours—A bloody day came to an end. The tanks of the entire armored corps had been concentrated. I would be lying if I didn’t mention that those consisted of a handful of tired, worn-out crates. But they fought like in the good old days. Although they did not succeed in completely penetrating the Russians’ lines of fortifications—they only advanced 500 meters—but they had eliminated the forward positions of the Russians. The Russian defensive system had been torn open. Starting at 2000 hours, Kampfgruppe Eberbach was fighting in the enemy rear.

The engineers found a Russian radio intercept station. The enemy was hearing all of our long-distance calls and was always well informed. Once again, we found ourselves wandering through minefields and repairing lines. Prisoners told us that a guards division, an air-landed corps, a tank brigade with 90 T-34’s, an antitank regiment and masses of artillery were facing us. 25 October—Our aerial reconnaissance reported: “Enemy columns forming on the Mzensk-Tula road.” We assumed that the enemy had come to the decision to abandon his positions and pull back in the direction of Tula. Patrols discovered that the trenches on the high ground were no longer occupied. To the south of the city, the Russians attacked at first light with tank support. Did they intend to keep us busy there so that they could pull back unimpeded on the road? 1300 hours—The 10-kilometer-deep defensive sector on the road to Tula was broken through. Kampfgruppe Eberbach had reached Tschern; Panzer-Regiment 35, together with a mounted battalion from Großdeutschland, advanced another 122 kilometers beyond Tschern. Kampfgruppe von Saucken was outside of Kamenka. The enemy was pulling back. The terrain was saturated with thousands of mines. In many cases, the Russians had dug in aerial bombs with sensitive pressure fuses. All of the engineer elements were employed in clearing mines. Stukas, Heinkels, fighters and destroyers hurtled towards the enemy and hunted the fleeing Russians at low level. When Oberst Eberbach took up quarters in a house in Tschern, there was a Russian tank colonel there, dead. Pistol in his hand, he had committed suicide. From the papers found, it was discovered that he was the commander of the tank brigade that had provided our tank regiment with so much difficult and desperate fighting. Apparently, he did not want to survive the destruction of his brigade. Oberst Eberbach saluted his brave opponent and had him buried.

The 5. Panzer-Brigade Opens the Way to Tula Hermann Hoß, Oberleutnant and Signals Officer of the 5. Panzer-Brigade The rapid capture of Orel on 4 October 1941 by the 4. Panzer-Division was a nasty surprise for the Russian leadership since, as a result, it pointed to a southeastern envelopment of Moscow. Elite forces were committed in all possible haste in the direction of Orel, including the 4th Tank Brigade of Colonel Katjukow, which then stopped the advance of our division with a jolt at Woin and Mzensk. It was also the first instance of properly committed T-34’s against Guderian’s field army. Starting in the middle of October, the small city of Mzensk and the Suscha River line on both sides proved to be a fortress that could not be taken frontally and which was being constantly improved by the Russians. Broad minefields blocked the road to Tula and the terrain around the city. It was only by exploiting a snowstorm that Kampfgruppe Eberbach (Schützen-Regiment 33 and Panzer-Regiment 35) was able to take the city and two bridges over the Suscha. To continue the advance, Guderian planned for a lefthand envelopment from Mzensk across the Suscha to the Tschern Inn with combined forces. In the sector of the 3. PanzerDivision, which was in the area just before the Suscha emptied into the Oka, a combat element consisting of the division’s tanks, motorized riflemen and engineers, along with tanks from the 18. Panzer-Division with additional artillery and Flak elements, was to cross the Suscha and open up the road to Tula at the Tschern Inn. The command and control for this hitherto unusual concentration of forces was taken from the 4. PanzerDivision. It was Oberst Eberbach and his staff in the 5. Panzer-Brigade in whom Guderian placed his entire trust. And because we didn’t have anything decisive at our disposal against the expected T-34’s, a Stuka group was directed to take out that all-powerful force in dive-bombing attacks from the air. While that was going on, our 4. Panzer-Division had the thankless task of directly attacking the enemy in his improved and mined positions and to fix him until such time that the envelopment started to have its effect. On 21 October, the headquarters of the 5. Panzer-Brigade rolled out in the direction of the 3. Panzer-Division. With it was the brigade signals platoon that had been provided by Panzernachrichten-Abteilung 79. It stopped at Teltsche, since the headquarters of the divisions was in the local schoolhouse. At the entrance to the building was a gigantic stuffed brown bear, which the men from Berlin had brought along from somewhere as a mascot.63 The division pennant was in its left front paw. The 3. Panzer-Division was in the process of seeing off its commander, General Model, who was being reassigned to a higher level of command, and receiving its new commander, Hermann Breith, who had hitherto been the commander of Schützen-Regiment 36. It could not help but be noticed that there was some relief in the departure of Model, since he had been a hard taskmaster. From Teltsche, we moved on to the area of operations at Karandakowka on the Suscha. The river formed extensive loops there and the intent was to erect military bridges across the river there and at Roshenez. The other side was occupied by the enemy, but not too heavily. The worst difficulty was the weather. The mud period had started several weeks ago and the routes to the river were seemingly bottomless. Only tracked vehicles could

take that route and, in the process, needed five times their normal amounts of fuel. But all that was planned for this time. On 22 October, just as it had turned dark, the motorized riflemen went across the river. The fought their way forward to the built-up areas on the far side and created the necessary bridgehead for building the bridges. But the approaches to the riverbank turned out to be the biggest problem. The engineers were lacking in prime movers, with the result that the bridge at Roshenez had to be called off so as to be able to concentrate all the forces for erecting the bridge at Karandakowka. Enemy fires started on the bridgehead site and delayed its progress. Nevertheless, the motorized riflemen reached their objective—“Haystack Hill”—early on 23 October, thus being able to safeguard the bridgehead. Around 1030 hours, the bridge was finished, but the first tank to cross it damaged it to such an extent that one and one half hours of repair were necessary. When it was finished, the new division commander, General Breith, arrived to view the crossing operation. He greeted all of us, since we knew him from the Campaign in the West. Around 1230 hours, all of the III./Panzer-Regiment 6 had crossed the bridge. The brigade headquarters and its vehicles followed, and the attack on the small village of Scheljamowa started. It was reached at 1300 hours. That was followed by hard fighting against infantry, artillery and tanks that we could not see. First losses from invisible T-34’s. Reinforcements were not coming up from the rear, since the bridge had such a small capacity, and that which did cross had to be employed to the left and right to protect the flanks. The night spent in Scheljamowa was pretty uncomfortable. But as it turned light on 24 October, the 2nd Battalion of Panzer-Regiment 6 also reached the village of Scheljamowa with its tanks. The attack could not be started up again right away, however, since the Stukas were not able to sortie before 0900 hours. At 1030 hours, the tank attack rolled up the hill and into the middle of the enemy positions around Malye and Bolye Borenski. To combat the T-34’s, an 8.8-centimeter Flak and a 10centimeter cannon accompanied us in tactics we had developed. They were the only weapons capable of effectively engaging the thick armor of the T-34’s. Whenever we encountered them, the tanks would halt and then pull back a bit. The Russian T-34’s immediately pursued, only to be knocked out by the 8.8-centimeter Flak and the 10centimeter cannon that had gone into position in the meantime. But it took the 8.8 10 minutes to set up; the 10-centimeter even longer. Nevertheless, the T-34’s were so eager to do battle, that they always fell for the trick and suffered losses. All around us were enemy infantry and minefields. The only way to combat that was to follow the tracks of the man ahead of you; the forward vehicle had to be prepared to be sacrificed. The first victim was a small Panzer I; its tracks were ripped off. But the command vehicle of the brigade staff—B 03—also suffered bad luck. Its crew had the good fortune, however, to find an abandoned and operational T-34, which they used to recover their stricken vehicle. Despite it all, we advanced, even though it might only have been in 2nd gear and at a high rate of fuel consumption. Around 1300 hours, we took the terrain around Goborjowa, where we saw the Stukas dive at targets we could not make out. They enjoyed great success, however, as we discovered later. The II./Panzer-Regiment 6 began to get low on

fuel; the II./Panzer-Regiment 6 was just barely able to launch another attack. As had been planned, however, a company from Panzer-Regiment 18 arrived around 1600 hours and was able to refuel us. The company had strapped full drums of fuel across the rear decks of its tanks. There were also low-boys with drums of fuel, which were being towed by prime movers—a valuable innovation in a war conducted during the mud period. Refueling a tank directly from a fuel drum is difficult and leads to the loss of a lot of fuel, but without fuel nothing could be accomplished. It was already starting to get dark when the units were ready for combat again—what was to be done? That was a decision for the brigade commander alone to make; it was a decision that would lead to success or failure of the entire operation. What did the situation look like? At the very least, the Russians had been shaken up, perhaps already pulling back. The T-34’s were unable to exploit the superiority of their main guns whenever it was dark. The decision by Oberst Eberbach: On to the Tschern Inn in the darkness! And the officers and men of Panzer-Regiment 6 agreed implicitly. A Russian peasant was placed on the lead tank to show us the way there. The sound of the fighting had died away; a little bit of the moon appeared. We took off! There was no resistance; the advance moved rapidly. Whenever we halted along the way, we saw the imprints left by the tracks of the T-34’s. They must have already moved that way ahead of us. There were no obstacles. After a while, the dark shadows of the Mzensk-Tschern-Tula rail line came into view. What would happen next? An underpass appeared. It was nerve-wracking. Would it work? It did! We went though the underpass. At some distance, we could see the road from Mzensk towards Tula filled with retreating columns. What happened next was a case of real nighttime fireworks. The brigade commander would have preferred to use his successful nighttime tactics from France—capturing the columns by surprise without firing a shot—but Panzer-Regiment 6 had not been schooled in that. We moved along the field path towards the road. Then a tank main gun fired prematurely. Of course, it also had to hit a fuel truck, which immediately burst into flames and lit up the entire nighttime sky as bright as day. A wild round of firing commenced, but not for long—the Russians took into the darkness from their vehicles, abandoning them. A lot of horse drawn carts were there as well, and we felt sorry for the horses. Our objective had been reached, but we were out of fuel again. Mzensk, which had served as a roadblock, had been bypassed; the road to Tula had been opened for Panzergruppe Guderian! We set up hedgehog positions next to the road. There was nothing to eat, at least nothing warm. The field kitchens were still back along the Suscha and would have to be brought forward through Mzensk. We could expect another cold night in the tanks. A short distance in front of us were a few huts with straw roofs. That was what was entered on the map as the Tschern Inn. We had barely fallen asleep when we were startled awake: Explosions and the bright appearance of fire! That was the commander of the III./Panzer-Regiment 6, Hauptmann Schneider-Kostallsky, an Austrian, who, together with some of his men, had approached what had looked like haystacks in the darkness. But when they got there, they discovered

the “haystacks” to be a group of Russian T-34’s whose crews had also turned in for the night. Those were the enemy forces that had opposed us during the day, at least what was left of them. The Hauptmann reacted as fast as lightning. They quickly fetched the 3kilogram high-explosive charges from their own vehicles. They unlatched the tanker bars attached to the sides of the T-34’s and used them to open up the wire mesh covering the air-intake covers on the rear deck, throwing the charges in there. Then all hell broke loose. A few of the T-34’s went up in the air; the rest woke up, as did we. In the space of a few seconds, the night was illuminated with the firing of tank main guns from over here and from over there and from the tracers of the smaller-caliber weapons and by white pyrotechnics. It was hard to tell friend apart from foe, with the result that one of our own antitank guns was hit from behind, most assuredly from one of our own main guns. The climax of the fighting was yet to come, however. A huge Russian tank pushed its way inexorably towards us, despite a hail of main-gun fire. The rounds from our tanks and antitank guns sprayed away like water from a garden hose. The bastard was coming straight for our command and control vehicle. It was a KV 52.64 Its main gun was elevated skyward; perhaps only the driver was in it. The amount of rounds descending on it was indescribable, but that did not seem to phase it. I fired white pyrotechnics without a break so as to illuminate the area and show the difference between friend and foe. There wasn’t much more a weaponless command tank could do.65 The collision between the 52-ton tank and our 22-ton one was a matter of moments. Then, just before it reached us, it turned away from our front slope, crabbed its way up the road embankment and disappeared into the darkness. The Flak, which was pulling into position, was unable to find it. That driver had some guts! The rest of the night was miserably cold and uncomfortable. A sip from the cognac flask of the brigade commander sent the message that a new day was starting. It started to come back to life on the road again. The Russians train columns came approaching from the direction of Mzensk and were amazed when they were halted by us in a friendly manner and taken prisoner. There was no firing; most of them were exhausted and freezing people, mostly older men in rain-soaked denim coats. During a break, I took a stroll over to the nearby buildings of the Tschern Inn, which almost turned out badly for me. There were a lot of abandoned Russian trucks there. I was just in the process of taking a nice pair of Russian binoculars when the turret of a T-34 behind the closest house started traversing. I was only able to save myself from the subsequent burst of machine-gun fire by taking a flying leap. The crew apparently had also just woken up! The 8.8-centimeter Flak went into position, but the bastard had already taken off for the rear. Later on, it accompanied us parallel to the road from a safe distance. On that morning of 23 October, the battalion from Panzer-Regiment 18 that came forward succeeded in taking the town of Tschern, where it then also had to halt, since it had no more fuel. It was barely able to turn back an immediate counterattack led by the last of the Russian tanks and infantry and hold on to the town. By then, however, it had run completely out of fuel. It was not until around noon that our Panzer-Regiment 35 came racing up the road from Mzensk with full tanks of gas. A battalion from the Großdeutschland Regiment was mounted on the rear decks. That was the signal to move out. The brigade commander assumed command of the newly arriving elements. The

signals instructions were exchanged in the blink of an eye, and the race to Tula was on! The only thing that remains to be mentioned is that the Stukas did good work the previous day. In the patch of woods, where they had dropped their payloads, was an entire battalion of Russian tanks—nothing but T-34’s, KV I’s and KV II’s, a lot of them with hits —all of which had been abandoned by their crews. Would things have turned out so well without the Stukas? On the other side, the competent Colonel Kutjakow was no longer there, either. As the result of his success at Woin and Mzensk, Stalin had called him away to command a field army. His successor did not have the fortunes of war smile on him like they had on Katjukow. He was forced to bear the burden of the destruction of the 4th Tank Brigade between the Suscha and Tschern. We found him in a house in Tschern, dead, a pistol still in his hand. He did not want to live after his brigade had been defeated, which was the first such brigade to receive the honorific of “Guards” from Stalin when it was reconstituted in November 1941.

Towed by a T-34 Walter Peter Neuneier, Signals Platoon in the 5. Panzer-Brigade (Killed in 1942) It was 25 October. We crossed the Suscha with the tanks of the tank brigade, went around the belt of mines north of Mzensk and linked back up with the road to Tschern after describing a large arc—in the enemy’s rear. Suddenly, our tank stopped in no-man’s-land. The fuel pump was leaking. Where would we get replacement parts? Were the maintenance sections able to follow the tracked vehicles? What do you know! There was a motorcycle with a sidecar dashing and sliding through the sucking muck. “Halt! Are you from the maintenance section? Man, we really need a gasket!” The mud-encrusted Unteroffizier reached under the tarp, pulled out a tool box and fished around between wrenches and nuts for one … he had one! “Here … be happy with it … it’s the last one I have!” So … everything had worked out. The driver—one lucky fellow—had gotten the last gasket from the only motorcycle that had forced its way through the morass and, on top of all that, belonged to the maintenance section. That would certainly go down as a red-letter day on the calendar. At that point, he was fiddling around on the rear deck. With a few twists and turns, everything was done. He really had earned his sip of coffee; it helped revive your spirits in the bitter cold and the continuous rain. We rolled out, following the others. We even arrived at the bridge in time and integrated ourselves into the column of steel. You could feel it—the attack was underway. You could also see it on the two armored vehicles that were rolling back to the rear. On one of them, two-thirds of the drive sprocket had been shot off. On the other one, the turret was off to the side. The gunner lay dead on the rear deck. For those two tanks it was all over for the time being; for us, it was just starting. The mud sprayed high above us to the rear. The clumps of loam were thrown up to the turret. The entire column wormed its way up the slope slowly. In this type of ground, even the fastest tank had to move slowly. Next to us was a tank with an obstinate engine. The crew worked feverishly; they did not want to be left behind. “What’s up?” “Oil in the spark plugs … no wonder, considering this route!” After we had passed the lame tank, our driver called out: “This crate’s only firing on 6 cylinders now!” For the time being, it still cooperated. It got up the slope without any effort. We thought we could look at the spark plugs later on. Later on turned out to be a short while later, but not only because of the spark plugs. No, something else was going on. It was hissing and steaming out of the rear deck like the stack on a locomotive. The driver threw open the access panel to the engine compartment and wrapped his hands in rags to keep from burning them. The column rolled past us; we were all alone as far as the eye could see. The tank commander’s brow furrowed. This unscheduled stop did not sit well with him. God knows, the driver was no engine specialist. Back home, he owned a movie theater. But he was a resourceful fellow. By then, he had unscrewed the access panel on the bottom of the hull. His ears had not deceived him; oil was dripping through. We poured more oil in at the top, and it ran out at the bottom. There was no doubt about it—the oil pan had a

fracture. Any thoughts of continuing on were over. But how were we going to get back? We could not do it under our own power, since the engine was running steel on steel. There were no prime movers nearby. The driver and the radio operator went to the next village. An intermediate command post of the brigade had been established there; we had been able to monitor that on the radio. We crawled back into the tank, since a cold wind was blowing outside. Rained whipped against the steel. Through the turret window66 and the vision ports, we could see fountains of earth whenever the enemy artillery sent a few greetings our way. Hopefully, nothing happened to the two on their way to the village! Then we heard a familiar noise. We saw a Russian T-34 approaching us directly. Damn, where did that come from? We breathed a sigh of relief when our radio operator waved to us from out of the turret of the olive-green colossus. That moment of terror had lasted long enough. That meant that our driver had to be below, hands on the laterals, an impish smile on his face. That guy could do anything. He then jumped out, and we ran over to him: “What do you want to do with this crate, Werner?” “The T-34 will have an easy time of it towing us back. It’s still working fine. It fired up right away. Only the turret is jammed, and I still haven’t found the fuel tanks. Come on, get the tow cable over here. It won’t take any time at all.” The curious combination worked its way slowly through the muck of the soupy clay. Two men posted themselves on the mudguards to act as early warning for our Flak, so they wouldn’t engage us. Everything worked like a charm. After four hours, we were back at the river and out of the beaten zone of the artillery fires. The T-34 wasn’t so bad. You only have to say a kind word to it.

Tangling with the Big Guys Hermann Bix, Oberfeldwebel in the 7./Panzer-Regiment 35 21 November 1941—We were outside of Uslowaja. The company was moving out to attack. I was the lead tank. Towards noon, we reached the edge of the city. Ivan did not recognize us. Trucks loaded with infantry moved past me, heading to our rear. The men waved in a friendly fashion. I let them move on, but radioed to Lekschat that he should greet the Russians in a friendly manner. At the marketplace, where the main road forked, I did not know which way to go, since I had not had a map for two days. The company commander advised me to take the right fork. But Ivan turned out to be alert there. A truck filled with infantry came to an abrupt halt. The infantry took cover. A second vehicle came racing up. I had to show my hand at that point. I fired a high-explosive round into the vehicle. It had a horrific effect. I was lucky. It was stuffed to the gills with antitank rifles. I created some breathing space up front for my company, which was closing in. I then heard the first Russian tank. It sounded like a KV I. That didn’t fill me with rosy thoughts, since I could do nothing against that steel colossus with my main gun. On the other hand, it could take me out without any effort at all at 1,000 meters. Böckle radioed me that the KV I was engaging him and gave me its exact location. I ran through a picket fence with my tank. The fat grizzly was 30 meters in front of me. I had a special-purpose round67 loaded and entertained the slim hope that it might penetrate the turret at that distance. Nothing happened at all with the first round … or the second … or the third. The bastard took no notice of me; he remained contentedly preoccupied with Böckle. I radioed him that I was unable to accomplish anything with my main gun. He replied archly: “Then blow off his main gun, otherwise you’re finished!” I didn’t take him seriously. But my gunner, who was listening in, said we might as well try it, since we’re doomed if we didn’t. We loaded a round and aimed at the gun barrel, right next to the mantlet. We fired three rounds. I was unable to see any effect though my binoculars, since everything was filled with smoke. Then the Russian started to take me in his aim. Lord, have mercy on us! His main gun ran into a tree trunk. He then fired another round at Böckle. I saw that smoke was coming out of the hatches. The tank commander wanted to jump out of the turret, but collapsed before he could do it. We moved up and saw three rounds had gone through the gun barrel. The crew was dead, since the last round had exploded in the tube. So, that meant there was a way to render a T-34 or a KV I harmless. You had to blast through his main gun and then wait for him to knock himself out!

WENEFF 24 November—We approached Weneff. We came from behind, where the Russians least expected us. I was in the lead once again. Once I got to the town square, I heard an engine for a heavy tank being turned over in my immediate vicinity. The engine roared; I could hear it approaching me. I positioned my tank behind a house in such a manner that I could still see a bit if I leaned way out over the turret. A KV I was moving at speed towards me. I wanted to drop back into the turret, but I got hung up on my uniform. Thank God, it didn’t fire. But why didn’t it? Was it out of ammunition? The tank commander had to know that I couldn’t do a thing to him. That was no longer news to anyone. The Russian was racing along, with cobblestones flying. He was going to ram me in the side. I yelled in the intercom: “Pull back!” But the driver could not hear me, since I had pulled out the plug in the course of my entanglement in the cupola. That, on top of everything else! I kicked myself out of the cupola and slid down in front of the driver’s hatch and gave him hand signals. The driver caught on immediately. He put it in gear and jumped back—not a moment too soon. The big grizzly squeaked by, rammed into a wall, partially broke it and got stuck. The crew had either lost its mind or its nerves. From a distance of 20 meters, I placed two rounds into the turret—but without success. The Russian tank attempted to move back. It started to move slowly. The company saw my duel and took the KV I under fire. Round after round slammed into the turret, but none of them penetrated. Unbelievable fireworks were taking place 10 meters in front of me, and Ivan was almost out of the hole in the wall. Then I remembered Uslowaja. “Take aim like at Uslowaja!” I roared. The gunner reacted as fast as lightning. Three rounds hurtled out of the tube in rapid succession. I requested that the company cease fire, since the ricochets were endangering me. I then saw that we had hit him two times. We then fired a few rounds into the running gear. At that point, the Russians gave up. I saw them jump out of the vehicle to the side and disappear into the houses. In the side street, we found a few intact tanks that they Russians had abandoned without firing a shot. Why—I don’t know. Apparently, they had a great deal of respect for us. If only they knew …

HARALD NELES For more than two months, a young artist from Munich had wedged himself behind the gunner’s seat before every attack. We weren’t exactly pleased when he was assigned to us. What were we supposed to do with the soldier with a brush, who would certainly bring unrest to the crew in his function as a war correspondent and artist? Two more feet that stood around in the tank; two more lungs that made the air even more stuffy; one more fear in critical situations; but no hands that could help in a fight—at least that’s what we believed. And we were completely wrong. That’s because Harald Neles68 sat composed and calm in his little corner. He took notes, drew sketches and collected impressions. He also jumped in during an engagement whenever he was needed, whether as a loader, a radio operator, a jack of all trades. He was the “higher nature” of our crew and a fabulous comrade. Whenever the area behind the gunner’s seat remained empty, then something was missing. Indeed, the “oomph” was missing from the operation. That’s how much we had grown accustomed to his quiet ways and humor. He simply belonged there in the tank with us, our Harald Neles.

Uslowaja—An Episode from the Fall of 1941 Hermann Hoß, Signals Officer of the 5. Panzer-Brigade It was the middle of November 1941 and the headquarters of the 5. Panzer-Brigade had been returned to the 4. Panzer-Division. Positional warfare had commenced outside of Tula. We had also returned from our detachment to the Jefremow area to assist the LIII. Armee-Korps. The intent at that point was to encircle and take Tula, which was blocking the advance, by enveloping it to the east by moving through Dedilowo and going to Weneff. We were in Gorjatschkino on the road to Dedilowo. The village had been a new development for miners and had two-story houses. The intentions had been good, but it was already hopelessly run down. In the maps we had that dated back to 1918, new railway lines and new cities had been entered in a violet color. Our planned advance was going to take us into a completely new industrial area according to the markings. New railway lines in abundance, including a main stretch from the Donez Basin up to Moscow. The violet color was seen on three new industrial cities: Donskoi, Uslowaja and Stalinogorsk. But a few kilometers beyond them, the maps went white and had no entries. That meant the world must come to an end there. What were we going to do, since we were supposed to march all the way to Gorki? News arrived directly from the German Army High Command that there were supposed to be factories for the production of rubber and automobile tires in those new industrial cities. In addition, plantations for the cultivation of the necessary raw materials. Those hitherto unknown types of rubber plants were supposed to be found by us and reported. Considering the then current snow situation and cold, it was certainly a strange mission. The area in which we conducted operations was also geographically interesting. After the Waldai Heights, it is the highest area in western Russia, having hills up to 300 meters and is considered the coldest place in Russia west of the Urals. The Don, the river of the Don Cossacks, has its origins in the city of Stalinogorsk; other courses of water aim for the Oka and have dug deeply into the soft bottom land. With the cold that predominated, the slopes and routes leading to those rivers and creeks could hardly be driven on. We did not have any winter tracks for the tanks. If the drivers and the tank commanders of the vehicles were not as alert as hell, there was a danger that they would slide down the slopes like a bobsled and crash in the defiles. When we had gone to help the LIII. Armee-Korps, a few of the vehicles were lost in that manner. Along the little river of Schwaron, where Dedilowo was located, was the front. Schützen-Regiment 12 was screening there. It was intended to attack there on 18 November with everything the 4. Panzer-Division could still field in terms of personnel and equipment. It was completely dark when we took off on the totally iced-over road. The attack was supposed to start at first light, but it was nearly noon, given the circumstances. It was foggy, and the artificial smoke of the artillery mixed in with the winter fog to create a visually impenetrable veil. We did not attack the well-defended Dedilowo; instead, we enveloped it to the left. The defenders were Siberians and fought to the death. The river

was crossed at Borodino, followed by a lot of effort to ascend the slope in the direction of Bykowa. The resistance was not that great, but the snow demanded everything of us. The wind had blown it into formidable snow banks, and we had to make several runs at them to break through. When we finally stopped in a defile to allow the tanks and the infantry to close up, it was already dark again. It was directed that we continue the advance to the Dedilowo rail station, which was located a considerable distance from the city on the big railway loop. Eventually, a large truck showed up behind us. But it did not stop. It raced on brutally and passed us. We recognized that it was a Russian mess truck. I jumped on the machine gun, but nothing could be seen through the sights in the darkness. Besides, he was already long gone. We were both sad and excited. We were hungry and, of all things, a mess truck escaped our clutches. The tanks and the motorized riflemen soon arrived, and we reached the train station without incident. We spent the night in its room; there weren’t too many of us, after all. One dozen tanks, a company of riflemen from Schützen-Regiment 12, along with their commander—there was just enough room for all of them. The next day, 19 November, we were able to take a better look at our situation. The Dedilowo train station was a simple and isolated building along the railway system, surrounded by numerous outbuildings. The line to Tula branched off there, as did two trunk lines to small mines. The connection to the main line from the Donez Basin up to Moscow ran off to the east. Going in that direction for about 5 to 10 kilometers was the city of Uslowaja, the center of the industrial area. But Uslowaja was not our objective; it was to be taken by the LIII. Armee-Korps, which was approaching from the south. A landline section from Panzernachrichten-Abteilung 79 arrived and brought with it a connection to the division. The switchboard was set up in a small room in the train station. Using a colored pencil, I marked the schematic for the connections on the wall. There was already a line to use the phone, just like at the post office. Outside, in front of the train station, were the vehicles of the commanders and troop leaders. The combat vehicles of Panzer-Regiment 35 and the motorized infantry were spread out among the outbuildings. Coming from Uslowaja occasionally were artillery shells. Finally, there was a powerful explosion when a shell detonated in the limbs of a tree at the station and sent a hail of shrapnel down, perforating the vehicles like a sieve. Oberst von Lüttwitz’s vehicle suffered the most damage; even his rubber wash basin was torn apart. He was really affected, since that was his last personal possession. His trunk with all of his undergarments, etc. had been destroyed in the trains, when that armed mob of Russians broke out of Brjansk to the east. At that point, he was standing there with everything he owned on his body and even washing had become an issue. The firing had turned our attention back in the direction of Uslowaja. Soon a call was shouted out that electrified everyone: “Russian tanks coming from the direction of Uslowaja!” The crowd of people and vehicles scattered. The tanks moved in front of the outbuildings and into firing positions. The wheeled vehicles hid behind the same buildings and the ricks of grain. All binoculars were directed towards Uslowaja, from where a mass of tanks was, indeed, approaching us. The tension grew and reached the boiling point. What type of tanks were they? They could not yet be identified. If they were T-34’s, then we were all condemned to perish, since there was no defending against them in this

terrain. Everyone knew that, and it was almost palpable how that thought raced through everyone’s head. A grim situation! Another shout that was repeated from all throats: “They’re T-26’s!”69 We could handle those. The mood of doom and gloom transitioned in a flash to an eagerness to do combat. Let them get close to a good firing range! Then our main guns barked; almost every round was a hit. It was almost comical to watch. Whenever a vehicle was hit, two or three men bailed out of the stricken vehicle and ran across the snow-covered plains in the direction of Uslowaja. The remaining T-26’s turned and also disappeared in that direction. There was a fantastic atmosphere. Jokes were told; the gallows humor that had been suppressed burst forth. Then there was another alert, and the arms pointed south. There, about 3 or 4 kilometers away, was an infantry battalion marching along the horizon on the slightly ascending plain. It was headed from Uslowaja towards the west. Of course, it was a Russian battalion, one that had just unloaded in Uslowaja. The image seen through the binoculars was splendid and reminded you of the parade ground. At the front, on horseback, was the commander, followed at exact distances by the battalion headquarters, then the company commanders—also on horse—followed by their companies, divided precisely by platoons. At the end were the trains. It was a peacetime portrait. A fascinating image that prompted our brigade commander to issue perhaps the shortest order of his career and which consisted of only two words: “Lekschat, go!” Oberleutnant Lekschat was the acting commander of the tank company. He immediately took off with his three remaining vehicles. In less than an hour, he returned, reporting the complete destruction of the battalion, which had no chance at all on the barren terrain and which fought to the last. What a sea change! Just an hour before we had been prepared to honorably go down in flames; everyone was sure of it. At this point, we were the brilliant victors and were thirsty for more. Uslowaja was just a few kilometers away. It was not part of our mission statement, but the opportunity seemed to present itself like no other. The tanks and infantry that had moved out from there against us had either been eliminated or beaten. Should we take Uslowaja in a coup de main or miss the opportunity? That’s what the brigade commander, Oberst Eberbach, was thinking. Oberst von Lüttwitz agreed with him. The attack was ordered. The men moved out in a spirited fashion, with unheard of speed. After half an hour, we moved into the western portion of Uslowaja without opposition. Since it was starting to turn dark, the next mission of the headquarters was to find quarters. A warm place to sleep was the prerequisite for being able to fight the next day. The commander was in the process of directing the forces of our division that were starting to stream into the city. The sounds of heavy fighting could be heard from the city center. We found a suitable house, opened it up, fired up the ovens and set up our command post and nighttime quarters. The telephone central was established, and the obligatory evening meal of bread and larded meat was prepared. We then received directives that a new command post had been found and that we were to move to it. It was a military base in the southern part of Uslowaja. We set up in its open mess, where we intended to eat

supper at a table for once. Modest cutlery was also available. We had lost our own knives and forks so often, that they had become precious commodities. But, we couldn’t eat there, either. The sounds of fighting flared up and came closer. When the first Russian hand grenades crashed up against the windows, we moved back to our old quarters and spent a quiet night, despite a bad chimney fire. The fighting in the city lasted the entire night, since the Russians continued to infiltrate. Individual heavy KV 52’s raged through the streets until they were eventually eliminated in close combat. There was fighting the next day as well, until the Russians were driven out of the city. Once that was done, we could take a look at the city. The new industrial areas and the workers’ settlements were quite presentable. The apartments were furnished in a comfortable manner, and the people were very friendly. They offered us hot tea from the familiar samovars, which had been produced in Tula for all of Russia. On 21 November, we left Uslowaja after receiving orders from on high; the LIII. Armee-Korps was entering it from the south. We saved the corps a difficult mission as a result of our surprise raid. Strangely enough, the LIII. Armee-Korps is listed in the history books as the conqueror of Uslowaja, with no mention at all of the 4. Panzer-Division. This account—intended as a short treatment—should also serve as a correction in the interest of truth. Our brigade headquarters moved to the estate at Tschachowskoje, which was in good shape. It was only a few kilometers north of Uslowaja. Besides the opportunity to get our fill of sleep, we were also overjoyed to get some track cleats for our tanks, which we immediately mounted. They had been flown in directly from Germany on a transporter; you can imagine what kind of weight that was! Our episode in Uslowaja concluded almost peaceably with an armed excursion to the northern city of the industrial region; there was no combat. We moved into Stalinogorsk at night on 22 November. Despite the fact that it was night, it was almost light as day. On the railway line at Iljinskoje was a large grain silo, from which thick clouds of smoke were coming. The entire city, with its new and modern factories and administration buildings, was lit up in flames, like Moscow in 1812 when Napoleon was there. There was nothing to be gained there, and we moved back to our quarters. The only thing left to recount is the fact that in Stalinogorsk, as opposed to Uslowaja, the workers in the factories had to take shelter in horrible earthen bunkers, since the planned worker’s settlements had not yet been constructed. The fire in the grain silo was later extinguished. All of Guderian’s field army was later able to be fed from it. In fact, grain was even transported away until it had to be set on fire again during our retreat.

The Fighting for Tula From 26 to 29 October, the 5. Panzer-Brigade—to which all of the tank regiments of the field army were attached, in addition to its own Panzer-Regiment 35—fought its way forward on the muddy roads towards Tula. But it was too weak to take that heavily defended metropolis. Generaloberst Guderian decided to bypass the city. The muddy period was forcing the construction of suitable roads and called the logistics of resupply into question. Everything necessary for a campaign in Russia in the wintertime was missing. Generaloberst Guderian made his report through the chain-of-command. Nonetheless, the continuation of the attack in the direction of Moscow was ordered. As a result, our regiment moved out on 18 November, initially behind the motorized rifle brigade, which took Dedilowo. On 19 November, the regiment assaulted the train station at Dedilowo, and held it on 20 November against all enemy attacks. On 21 November, Oberleutnant Lekschat determined that the enemy had withdrawn his tanks from outside of Uslowaja. He immediately advanced into the city with his company, with the entire Kampfgruppe following him. Withdrawing enemy forces were scattered. Towards evening, the Russians attempted to take back Uslowaja. They pressed into the city with strong infantry and tank forces. The situation became quite critical for a while. They could only be ejected by employing all available forces. On 22 November, the regiment took Stalinogorsk without a fight. The Russians had set it on fire. We were amazed by the palatial factories and were aghast by the fact that the civilians lived in earthen bunkers and primitive barracks. Together with Panzer-Regiment 39, the regiment took Chawki on 23 November; on 24 November Weneff fell. On 25 November, the Brigade Commander advanced with Aufklärungs-Abteilung 27 (mot.) (17. Panzer-Division ) until just outside of Kaschira. From the inscription on an old marker, it could be seen that Moscow was only 70 kilometers away. Panzer-regiment 35 got to Olenjkowo; one of its companies reached Kortschinka. During a reconnaissance-in-force, Leutnant Böckle was wounded in a tank engagement. In the vicinity of Popowka on 26 November, the regiment prepared for an advance on the connecting roads of Tula-Kaschira and Tula-Moscow. A bridgehead was established at Assowka on 27 November and the advance continued as far as Teljakowo. Because of a heavy attack conducted by Siberian forces from out of Kaschira, our attack was called off. On that day, the regiment had only 23 operational tanks. On 1 December, there was an orders conference at the brigade headquarters in Chawki concerning an attack on 2 December via Bobrowka- Rewjakino-Gryslowo to the TulaSerpuchow road. It was intended for the regiment to link up with the XXXXIII. ArmeeKorps coming from the west and complete the encirclement of Tula.

These pages and overleaf: Details of the Eastern Front campaign of Panzer-Regiment 35 from 1941 to 1945. The legend indicates the following: The winter retreat 1941/1942; major attacks; route of retreats; train and sea transport; 1937 Reich border and the 1939 demarcation line.





4 July 1941: A Panzer III fords the Drut.

4 July 1941: Oberst Eberbach and Major von Lauchert with the tank regiment outside of Stary Bychow.

5 July 1941: Stary Bychow, shot to pieces by the Soviets.

3 August 1941: Oberst Eberbach, Oberleutnant Herre and war correspondent Lutz Koch during the attack on Roslawl.

3 August 1941: The fighting for Roslawl. To the left, the tanks of the regiment. On the right, vehicles from Schützen-Regiment 12.

3 August 1941: Generaloberst Guderian congratulates Oberleutnant Krause, affectionately referred to as Pikra, on his success at Roslawl.

14 July 1941: General von Langermann discusses operations outside of Kritschew with Oberst Eberbach and Oberst Schneider.

30 August 1941: Oberfeldwebel Erdmann Gabriel is presented the Knight’s Cross by Oberst Eberbach. He was the first noncommissioned officer of the regiment to be so honored.

8 September 1941: General von Langermann presents Major von Lauchert the Knight’s Cross for the success of his battalion at Stary Bychow.

3 October 1941: 1615 hours—headed full speed towards Orel.

View of Orel with its large bridge in the background.

10 October 1941: A heavy Soviet tank, a KV I, knocked out in close combat at Mzensk.

10 October 1941: A Stalin organ captured in Mzensk.

10 October 1941: A burned-out T-34 in Mzensk.

25 October 1941: Knocked-out Soviet KV I tanks on the road to Tschern.

25 October 1941: Advance on Tschern with mounted infantry.

24 November 1941: The “Bix tank”—a KV I—in Weneff with the main gun that had been penetrated.

25 November 1941: Tanks of the regiment 60 kilometers outside of Moscow.

The final days of November 1941—resting in Olenjkowo, south of Kaschira. This represented the northernmost point of the regiment.

CHAPTER 4

Retreat and Defense during the First Russian Winter

The Major Setback Hermann Hoß, Oberleutnant and Signals Officer of the 5. Panzer-Brigade During the orders conferences at the 4. Panzer-Division headquarters at Chawki on 1 December, the mood was really quite good, despite the disadvantageous nature of the situation. After all, all of the elements of the division were together again. The tank brigade had also been returned, since the division had been given a decisive mission. It was supposed to be the last battle of the year before reaching the longed-for winter positions. It was also high time for Guderian’s field army, since there were many signs of a Soviet winter offensive and Tula, to our rear, had not been taken. The field army had advanced past the city to the east as far as the Oka at Kaschira. That was actually farther east than Moscow. But it was not possible to establish a bridgehead. Fresh Siberian forces were pressing from the north and especially from the east against the forward positions of the 10th, 25th and 29th Divisions70 in Michailow and Saraisk. We had already encountered the Siberians at Dedilowo and Uslowaja. Their combat equipment was excellent and, over the long run, made them superior to us in fighting. On the other hand, we were freezing in our thin uniforms. They were the same ones we had been wearing ever since crossing the Bug. Our vehicles, which had suffered through the sand of White Russia and the muck of Orel, were no longer up to the task of facing the harsh cold. Large quantities were lost to it. Getting supplies from Orel was the main concern of the field army. Fuel, ammunition and rations were only arriving in insufficient quantities. There were virtually no winter uniforms. That meant that we were to try to take unconquered Tula from the rear at five minutes to midnight. Our 4. Panzer-Division was to conduct the assault from the east. It was directed that the division link up with the XXXXIII. Armee-Korps advancing from the west at the bend in the Tula-Serpuchow road at Kostrowo. 2 December—It was a sunny, but bitterly cold winter day. The tank brigade formed up to move out, heading directly for Tula to the west. The snow dusted above the tracks; the low-lying winter sun cast long shadows. Occasionally, there was a jolt under the tanks like driving on a corduroy road. Those were corpses of the dead, which were covered by the snow and could not be seen by the drivers. On the way, we captured a few Russian sleds with rations. The contents were not especially appetizing: Some soup concentrate and cans with preserved fish. They did not taste good, but they were taken anyway, since rations were scarce. I was able to get a pair of felt boots. They were somewhat big, but warm— that was the main thing. They brought the desired relief to my feet, which had always been freezing up to that point. We moved through Dedilowskye Wysselki, which the motorized riflemen had already taken in a pincers attack and linked up with the few tanks of Wollschlaeger and with Königfseld outside of Anischino. They were in the process of attacking the village, along with 40 motorcycle infantrymen. A Russian battalion fought in vain for its warm quarters. The radio traffic in the command vehicle did not leave much time for spying out through the vision slot. The paths of pyrotechnics crossed each other above the village, and the

smell from the burning thatched roofs was drawn into my nose. The Russians were soon overcome; 200 prisoners headed out into the cold from whence we had come. But we also moved out again soon after that and got to Wolynzewo, a larger village. We turned sharply to the north there in the direction of Rudnewo, which we reached without a fight in the afternoon after moving through ravines. We wanted to spend the night there before it turned dark and made searching for quarters dangerous. When you fight in the winter, the fighting during the afternoons is reserved for finding warm quarters for the night. Whoever was too late drew all of the disadvantages. Our dependable command vehicle—BO 1—took its departure of us in Rudnewo. We had moved out with a defective starter, which meant that in the event the engine quit, we had to dismount and work the inertial starter by hand. That failed to work as well. The vehicle was unusable for the brigade commander. Our good driver, Klöß, had to find his way by himself back to the maintenance facility at Weneff, all the while watching like a hawk that he did not kill the engine. We transferred over to a regimental command vehicle. The transfer of the radio equipment lasted until it started to turn dark. The brigade headquarters took up quarters in a peasant’s house. The last event of the day it heard was that our lead tank elements, in accordance with their orders, had blown up the rail line around the heavily occupied Rewjakino with a patrol. 3 December—Once again, it was a clear winter’s morning. It was 20 below zero.71 We were supposed to move out as early as possible, but a village to the right along the way turned out to be occupied by the enemy and had to be cleared first. In a tried-and-true combination of tanks and riflemen—one company of tanks, one company of motorcycle infantry and two batteries of artillery—Suchotino was taken. The few men and tanks took 260 prisoners and captured 5 guns and 30 machine guns. The march was continued as far as the rail line at Rewjakino, where we received enemy fire. A Russian armored train and supporting infantry held the village and did not pull back to the south until after engaging in heavy fighting. Around midday, our tank tracks pounded over the rails and our radio sets reported the success to the division. We received the mission to occupy the area between Rewjakino and Gryslowo and send out an advance guard, together with Aufklärungs-Abteilung 7 (mot.), to block the rail line. Correspondingly, we entered the small village of Gryslowo during the bright afternoon. The village was between the rail line and the road. Hauptmann Nierle led the advance guard. After being briefed by the brigade commander, it moved out to the north. The radio traffic did not let up until late in the evening. A small occupying force at Nikola-Serpuchow was driven out and the designated meeting place along the Tula-Serpuchow road was reached.72 The pleasure in doing that was dampened, however, by the fact that the XXXXIII. Armee-Korps, which was supposed to close the ring around Tula, was not there. We later discovered that it had been unable to move out at all on the designated day. 4 December, the bright winter morning bestowed a painful surprise on us: The temperature had sunk to -28 degrees [-18.4 F]. That made all movement difficult and restricted wheeled vehicles to an absolute standstill. Numerous engines would no longer turn over. Due to a shortage of fuel, the occasional warming of the engines had to be stopped. Due to water in the fuel, the fuel lines and the carburetors froze. My staff car was

in that category. We would have to postpone the warming of the equipment to the next day, if the promised fuel arrived. A landline had been laid to us from the division, so that the radios could be turned off. Due to the extreme cold, the batteries no longer had any power and the small generator was very sensitive. The receiver and transmitter were taken out of the vehicle and placed in the warm panje shed. At that point, the radio traffic worked seamlessly with the patrols. But who could hold a pencil and write when it was -28? The most successful of the patrols was led by Oberfeldwebel Abele. He moved along the road to the south with three tanks, where he initially encountered two enemy tanks, knocking one out. The other one then ran over a mine that the advance guard had emplaced. In Ssewajukowka, Abele destroyed two antiaircraft guns and, upon his return, ran into five attacking enemy tanks that blocked his route. Fortunately, they were T-26’s. They were in a bad position on a small embankment between two ponds. As a result, four were knocked out without too much difficulty; the fifth one crashed into the pond in all the excitement. While Abele was returning in the evening from his patrol, he discovered an entire Russian tank brigade of 72 vehicles—mostly T-34’s and KV 52’s—in Slobodka. He probably thought of himself as the rider on Lake Constance.73 Of course, that was an alert for us. Three kilometers—as the crow flies—an entire Russian tank brigade. And there we were, a couple of vehicles incapable of movement due to the cold! We hoped they wouldn’t find us! At least the war correspondent with us, Lutz Koch, had some material for an exciting article. The little bit we had left—a few tanks, an antiaircraft gun—were positioned in the direction of Slobodka. The rest we left up to the cold. Why shouldn’t it be our ally for a change? If the 72 tanks could actually move out, then it would be all over for us in short order. Towards evening, advancing enemy forces were reported all across the area to the north. It was especially Nierle’s battalion that kept us busy with reports on the enemy. From the riflemen, we heard that they had to put their bolts in their pants pockets and not insert them into the barrels until the enemy had closed to less than 50 meters—otherwise, the rifles and machine guns would fail. We did not learn about coating the weapons and vehicles with crude oil in extreme cold until later, after we had captured a Russian manual on winter fighting. The tanks and the artillery pieces also reported that the recoil mechanisms failed. The messages of doom and gloom continued throughout the night. In addition, the temperature continued to fall. To support the extremely threatened SchützenRegiment 12, three of the small number of tanks we had were sent to support it. 5 December—The thermometer registered -35 [-31]. Whenever the house door, which was reinforced against the cold with old rags, was opened, a cloud of condensation was formed when the warm air from inside collided with the cold air from outside. We only saw our Russian hosts when they were firing up the oven. It was puzzling to us where they were getting the firewood. Apparently, in accordance with an old Russian tradition, they broke apart everything in the house that was not unconditionally necessary. The enemy tanks, which were only three kilometers away, got on our nerves, despite everything. Artillery pieces and Nebelwerfer were placed into position, oriented towards Slobodka. Only map firing could be conducted, since observed fire was impossible. Every

vehicle was immediately swept away by Russian main gun fire. The brigade signals platoon had its own worries. The vehicles had to be warmed continuously; the landline section had to repair its captured truck, a French SIS. What happens at -35 can only be reported in a believable manner by a North Pole driver. I will not attempt it. In any case, my small Stöwer [staff car] was running again but the landline men had bad luck. The vehicle’s jacks slipped in the ice; the springs could not be reinstalled in the darkness. We had to postpone that until the next day. But what the next day would bring … that was something we did not know. During the afternoon, fighting broke out again along the northern front of the division. Schützen-Regiment 12 was the object of a heavy attack at Baranowo. The Russians detrained their fresh forces in Schemetowa directly from the rail cars and into the battlefield, throwing them against our 4. Panzer-Division. An advance by SchützenRegiment 12 against Schemetowa did not succeed. Nierle’s advance guard battalion was engaged in heavy fighting. When it turned dark, there were desperate cries for help from Shelabinka, where a small group of riflemen and motorcycle infantry were positioned. Of the handful of tanks, the three that would still start were immediately dispatched in that direction. In addition to regular soldiers, Russian railway workers, who had been hurriedly equipped with weapons, were also attacking. This time, the snow was our ally, because the attackers had to advance standing straight up in the knee-deep snow. The enemy had made it to the edge of the village when out tanks arrived and decided the fight in our favor. Before it turned dark, the constant radio traffic unambiguously showed us that the entire northern frontage was on fire. The alarm messages increased by the hour, and we could not avoid getting the impression that a decision was forthcoming. We heard from the XXXXIII. Armee-Korps that it had moved out to attack but that it was unable to advance. Late in the evening, the Russians attacked Shelabinka in thick waves. The artillerymen and engineers, who were quartered there, defended desperately. The 3rd Company of motorcycle infantry and the 2nd Tank Company of the regiment had long since received orders to race to Shelabinka. The effort to start two of the tank engines succeeded. The situation was turning extremely critical. The two tanks were able to join the fray just as the enemy was in the process of entering the village. They were able to hit the enemy in the flank and extract a fearful toll. At that point, the motorcycle infantry arrived on foot, as did three tanks from Königfeld’s company, and they also descended on the enemy. The enemy left behind 170 dead; the rest disappeared into the woods. In the meantime, facing the Russian tank brigade in Slobodka were only a couple of Flak and antitank guns. But the enemy did not stir, despite the sounds of fighting. The telephone rang that night … I was still awake, since the lice on my chest kept me from sleeping. It was the first ones I had, and initially I did not know what was causing me to scratch. It was the brigade commander, who had gone through the First World War, who was able to inform me. It was midnight when the telephone called out shrilly. I was on the telephone immediately. The division commander wanted to speak to Oberst Eberbach. I didn’t need to awaken him since he didn’t sleep during those kinds of situations. He merely rested with wide-awake senses. From his answers, I could figure out the entire conversation. It was a complete and total order to retreat in order to save the lives of the men of the division, disregarding the materiel. The Russian winter offensive had erupted

in full force. The retreat of the entire armed forces was in full swing, and the 4. PanzerDivision was in the middle of the enemy and a self-made trap. All objections of our commander—the certain, immense losses in materiel, the immobile guns and tanks—all of them were useless. It was vastly more important that the personnel were saved; it was a matter of the continued existence of our division. Everything that could not be immediately moved from its present location was to be destroyed—immediately and without any haggling. The order from the division was short and unequivocal; Oberst Eberbach had to repeat it, word for word so that there was no misunderstanding. “It’s an order,” he said to me, more slowly than I had ever heard him speak before and with a tone that I did not recognize in him and with an expression on his face that was foreign to me. 6 December—When it turned light the next morning, the thermometer registered -40 [-40]. Everything was moving in Gryslowo; no one had any time to think about anything, since it was a matter of survival. Whatever could move, was prepared for movement. We thoroughly destroyed everything else. The landline section’s truck was already on fire; the signals equipment and the men were loaded on the command vehicle. My small Stöwer was hooked up behind, since it would not go cross-country and through the deep snow. The routes through the ravines were impassable due to the ice. On the slope behind the village, the first few vehicles were already getting hung up and were unable to climb the hill. A Flak crew attempted to bring its gun up the slope with a winch, but the cable tore as if it had been paper. On one of the 10.5-centimeter guns, the limbers broke off like glass, and the gun had to be blown up. We learned our lesson: Always stay on the high ground and avoid every defile. The advance guard was also coming back along the road. It had had to leave a lot of materiel behind. Finally, we received the order to move back. We went around the ravine, marched through the woods and were soon in Nefedowa. Despite the cold, it was too hot for me, because I had to run next to the vehicle half the stretch and guide the driver so that we did not get stuck anywhere. The 10 men in and on the tank counted on me. In Nefedowa, three large Henschel trucks from the engineers were burning. They did not have any chains and, as a result, were unable to climb up the hill. We quickly reached the rail line at Rewjakono. Once we were across, I had us stop for a short period. In the process, the Stöwer ran into the back of the tank and smashed in its radiator. I yelled at Fischer, but he could not help it—the brakes were frozen. Towing it any farther would have been pointless. It was tipped off the side of the road and set on fire. We continued on. We drove down into the depression along Tuliza Creek. The climb on the other side was steep. I no longer knew how long we had been on the ice and how we had had to wrestle for every centimeter. The snow cleats for the tanks, which had been flown in to Dedilowo, had broken off a long time ago. At one place, it seemed like the vehicle absolutely would not move any farther forward; the loss of the tank gradually became a dire possibility. We then threw all of our overcoats under the tracks and overcame that accursed place on the way to Fedjaschewa. When we reached the top of the hill, it was dark. That’s how long we had been busy with that hill. The muzzle flashes of artillery pieces flamed into the twilight. Everything that we still had, had been collected here by Oberst Eberbach. Schützen-Regiment 12 was fighting against the enemy forces pressing from the north. It covered our flanks, but it was unable to disengage from the enemy. Eberbach formed a final Kampfgruppe for thrusting to the

north, and the artillery fired its final shells against the advancing enemy. That brought a turn of the tide. The Russians pulled back from the tanks, and the riflemen were finally able to disengage. Then it turned quiet on the battlefield; complete darkness had descended. Everybody set off for the east; there was no need for orders. The Russians fired pyrotechnics and antitank guns over at us from Krjukoff, but they didn’t do anything to us. By firing that way, they could not hit us. A ghostly army column wormed its way east. The vehicles moved as rapidly as the route and the light allowed. A full moon stood posted above the winter landscape and made it even colder. I involuntarily thought of a Russian winter landscape that I must have seen somewhere in warm southern France. For some time, I had not felt comfortable with the position of the polar star. It was in our direction of travel, it was supposed to lead to the east or the southeast. We were moving at high speed, and the interval between vehicles was growing greater. When a path led off to the right in a fork in the road, I made a decision and decided to go off in that direction. Our route led us into a defile, which we followed for hours to the southeast. I did not have a map, but I did have the feeling that we had to exit the defile to the east. But when we tried to get out along the steep exit point, all of our efforts failed. The men on the vehicle started to express their doubts, and the war correspondent, whom I had loaded on the vehicle, started getting loud. Finally, when it started to turn light, an opening out offered itself. Once again, we placed our overcoats under the tracks, and we finally did it. There was a village in front of us. We rolled towards and into Wolynzewo, where the division headquarters and the signals battalion were located. I gave Oberleutnant Fuhrmann, the commander of the landline company, his men and equipment back— complete. He waved dismissively, however, when he saw the equipment. Due to a lack of lift capacity, everything was destroyed on the spot. In the warm houses we sank into the deep sleep of those who had been saved. Under the command of Oberleutnant Wollschlaeger, the last tanks of the regiment covered the retreat of the division on 7 December and on the following day.

Christmas at Kromy From My War Diaries (Hans Schäufler) It was the 24th of December, 1941. We had come from a merciless struggle against cold and snow, against Russian numerical superiority and bitter disappointment. For three weeks we had struggled with the last of our strength for naked survival and the existence of our division. Exemplary comradeship and the magnificent performance of our leadership held the personnel losses within moderate boundaries as part of this first strategic miscalculation. We had the mission of disengaging from the deadly encirclement, blunting the Russian winter offensive, establishing a new defensive front, fighting our way back to the original line of departure and assembling in the area of Kromy. We knew that dreamy little town southwest of Orel from the time of the attacks in October. Fought out, exhausted and frozen through and through, we occupied prepared, warm quarters on Christmas Eve. The mail, which had not been distributed for three weeks, was given out. That, by itself, was like a holiday. The letters from our loved ones back home were read and the Christmas packages distributed in a comradely fashion. It was there that we also wanted to celebrate our first Christmas in Russia, since we had reason to thank almighty God and our comrades for still being alive. The division chaplain promised to come. Off to the side of the snow-covered town on a flat-topped hill was an Orthodox church, halfway in disrepair. It had a very oriental construction, with five wound onion domes. It was discovered that the Communists had blown up the arched roof during the revolution. Later on, they had used the church as a grain storage building, since there was no room for God anymore. The snow was knee-deep inside. Icicles were hanging from the empty window frames, and thick hoar frost covered the desecrated, sacral walls. We cleared the snow out of the church rotunda, placed two firs in the vaults, which were open to the sky above, and decorated them with candles and tinsel from our Christmas packages. Enthusiastic young soldiers assembled a clunky altar out of wooden beams and a primitive communion bank. In the middle of those efforts, a messenger jumped in, who handed me an urgent radio message: “Russian Cossack regiment approaching Kromy; considerable partisan activity in the city. According to reports from an agent, regular forces, dressed in civilian clothes, are preparing the attack and providing instructions from Kromy.” The dull thuds of hammering echoed through the nave of the church and upward into the exposed sky; hard sounds and yet, somehow, festive. A festive mood played out on the faces of the young soldiers. If I passed on that message then, we would have to immediately occupy our positions in front of the town, a quarter of an hour before Christmas matins. I did not want to believe that the Russians would attack within the next two hours. I talked it over with a few experienced friends. I then placed the message in my pants pocket without passing it on. I hope my commander from back then can find it in himself today to forgive me.

The night came early. We increased the number of outposts and placed a few tanks unobtrusively around the church so as to avoid any unpleasant surprises. The remaining 80 men lost themselves in the nave of the mighty Russian church. They listened to the Holy Mass, reverently and lost in themselves. A unique background surrounded us. Almost ghostlike, lit by the flickering candles from the Christmas trees, the chaplain stood in front of the unornamented altar. The snowflakes wafted down into the church from the open roof and arrayed themselves in a delicate manner on the shoulders of the field-gray acolytes and on the branches of the candle-decorated trees. When I turned around to look into the faces of the few soldiers, I didn’t trust my eyes with what I saw. Shoulder to shoulder were the citizens of Kromy behind us: Bearded men with leather sandals on their feet, legs wrapped in rags; women in shabby fur coats and dark headscarves. Even though the clothing was meager, I had never seen such a festive community in my life. Misty eyes glowed from the faces. How long had it been since these people had been able to partake in a religious service? That’s what I thought at the time. Those men and women of Kromy, even though they could not understand the words of the Christmas readings, which a comrade read aloud with an engaged voice, were able to read the glad tidings into it. Streaming from their eyes was the message: “Honor God in the highest and peace to men on earth.” My glance went discreetly from face to face, when I discovered a group of young Russian men, defiantly wearing fur caps on their head and leaning against the walls of a dark corner of the church. They were not participating in the sacred proceedings. I saw incredible hatred in their eyes; I saw looks that I will never forget my entire life. I noticed a tall, slender figure with a sharp-edged face and an intelligent look. As fast as lightning, the thought raced through my head—the radio message! A glowing hot shudder went down my back. I persisted in looking at the striking man in the middle of the group, which did not belong here at this hour. The men around him also did not let him our of their eyes, as though they expected something from him. If those were Russian partisans, then he must be their leader! An old mother figure, her back bent with the burdens of many a year, had undergone a spiritual metamorphosis. She kneeled, sobbing, in the snow, crossing herself. The strange group stood defiantly in the half darkness, but it seemed that they no longer looked so apathetically towards the altar. When we returned in pairs from communion, I also no longer spotted the derisive smiles. And then the strange thing happened. The chaplain gave the final blessing. He made the sign of the cross over the community of believers kneeling in the snow, over the Russians and the Germans, over the friends and the enemies. The tall man in the middle of the group—at that point, since everyone was kneeling, I could see the well-cut officer boots under the formless fur coat—took his fur cap of in a reverential manner and slowly lowered his head. Those around him looked at him, horrified, but then the others followed his example, a bit hesitantly, but without exception. Two harmonicas started the Christmas song. “Silent night, holy night” echoed back from the snow-glittered walls and carried out through the open church roof to the comrades who were standing guard outside. A cloud of white breath emanated from the singing group and lost itself in the dark ceiling.

The house of God slowly emptied. I was the last one to leave. The man with the officer’s boots was standing outside. He was all by himself. We looked in each other’s eyes for a long time. There was a strange gleam in his eyes. Then, in broken German, more to himself than to me, he said: “Christ is born!” He kissed me on both cheeks, just like in the Russian tradition of old, and spontaneously reached out his hand. It was warm and moist, and it responded to my pressure. I understood what he wanted to say, even though he did not say another word. Then he went out into the cold night. He did not take the well-worn path. No, he took a new route through the knee-deep snow. He went straight out, without looking back, into an uncertain darkness in the direction of a far light.

The Winter Fighting between Brjansk and Orel From My War Diaries (Hans Schäufler) The headquarters of the 4. Schützen-Brigade and the 5. Panzer-Brigade were dissolved. Oberst von Saucken assumed acting command of the division. General von Langermann became a commanding general. We went back to our respective original troop elements. On the night of 24/25 December, we were alerted. We took off in the direction of Belew. The Russians were attacking there with strong forces. The tanks were sent marching towards Brjansk. It was intended to employ them there against strong partisan formations and Russian elements that had broken through, which were causing unrest within the rear areas. But the danger turned out to be less than described. In the meantime, however, the Russians attacked Shisdra, and the tanks marched there to restore order. It would be an attack in one location before it started to stink somewhere else. If the Russian had only known that it was always the same combat vehicles that moved out against them between Orel and Brjansk, then they most certainly would have attacked at all of the hot spots at the same time. On 6 January, Oberst von Saucken was badly wounded. Oberst Eberbach assumed acting command of the division. Fresh forces were expedited to us from France. But they were not accustomed to the way things were in Russia. They also had only inadequate winter uniforms. But gradually we succeeded in holding up the Russian advance and establishing a cohesive defensive front, although not in quite the way it was portrayed in the Armed Forces Daily report. It snowed and snowed—it turned cold and then colder yet. Every movement in the open was a torture. Although the tanks were finally painted white to match the terrain, it served little purpose if they could not move in the meter-high snow. They pushed a white wave in front of them until they bottomed out and were stuck, as if suctioned to the ground. The tracks would just go round and round. Our fighting forces switched saddles—from motorized transport to horse-drawn. They “procured” draught horses. On the one hand, because there was barely any fuel and, on the other, because the two-meter snow and the biting cold completely paralyzed motorized traffic. During one night march, the temperature read -51 [-59.8]. An icy east wind cooled off an emaciated body in a matter of minutes. Correspondingly, orders went out that only two-man guard posts and outposts be established. Each had the duty to always observe the other for the first signs of frostbite. The white death came quietly, unannounced and without pain. It was a difficult time for the engineers and the landline signalers. The men with the black branch color had to clear snow and mines. The partisans emplaced their explosive charges very skillfully under the loose snow several times a day along the supply routes. There were signs everywhere on the roads that trails in the woods could only be negotiated in columns. At the front of the column, a section of engineers carefully searched the path for mines. It was swarming with partisans in the woods and the rural villages. The landlines were on fire day and night. The troop elements of the division were

widely dispersed and frequently changed their command posts, since we were employed here and there as the “fire brigade.” For the landline elements, the orders prohibiting travel in the woods did not apply. They whizzed through the lonely landscape all by themselves and took a lot of losses through mines. They had to head out into the bitter cold again and again, because the exploding mines also tore up the telephone lines. Whenever there were counterattacks to straighten out the front, only landlines could be used for command and control, because even the tracked radio vehicles could not get through the snow that was as high as a man. The batteries immediately froze whenever portable radios were used. Laying line in a trackless, deeply snowed-over region was sheer torture. Two or three men had to go ahead to stamp out a path for the man with the backpack wire roll. He had to be relieved every few kilometers so as not to collapse from exhaustion. The line-repair parties had to be sent out in squad strength so as to be able to defend against partisan attacks. It was impossible to put a ground into the rock-hard frozen soil, no matter what we tried. Because of that, we had to search out alternate methods of grounding. If none were found, then they only thing that worked also caused double the effort—a dual line. That lonely, difficult and dangerous work of the men with the wire racks and forks, away from the rest of the troops, was also scarcely praised. The tiresomely laid cables were torn up without a moment’s thought whenever they got in the way. Then the “line dogs” were cursed, whenever a connection was broken at a decisive moment. This needs to be mentioned here once and for all in their honor.

Tankers without Tanks after the Retreat of the 4. Panzer-Division, December 1941/January 1942 Diary Notes, Hermann Vogel, Oberleutnant in the II./Panzer-Regiment 35 24 December, Orel—Two bombs early in the morning. Road filled with smoke. I was given acting command of the headquarters company. At 0900 hours, I took over the company, with a short address by Leutnant Mussehl. Movement order for the evening. On Christmas Eve, of all times! Ready to move at 1700 hours. Of course, the mood was terrible, even though Fuchs had gotten a Christmas tree with candles and silver balls fashioned out of tin foil. The radio reception was also pretty bad. Schaeffer, Fuchs, Irmscher and I sat around together. Did not unwrap my packages. Later on, I dropped by the supply trains, which had attempted to conjure up some Christmas spirit in a different house. The Russians had decorated the tree very nicely. At 2100 hours, the orders arrived to head to the train station. There we discovered from Maiwald that the train had been delayed; we were to be on call. All in all, not very Christmasy. 25 December—Departed at 0700 hours. We were loaded into unheated freight cars at the train station. It was icy cold. It was almost always dimly lit, since you could only leave a crack open due to the cold. I traveled with Mühl-Kühner, Fuchs, Schaeffer, Irmscher and enlisted personnel of the headquarters. 1800 hours, Brjansk. No more movement. We crawled into our sleeping bags. The cold gradually moved up from our feet through our entire bodies. Occasionally, I would sit, since it could not be tolerated otherwise. That was the first day of Christmas! 26 December—We continued to wait to be transported out. It was said that strong partisan forces were in Shisdra, with the result that the village first had to be “conquered.” The presumed mission for my company, which is supposed to draw quarters there with the regimental headquarters and support elements. Towards evening, Hochbaum and Lauchert arrived; they had gone on ahead to Brjansk. The military railway administrators would not let us depart. We warmed ourselves up a bit in the “waiting area” and played Skat with Mühl-Kühner, Fuchs and Maiwald until midnight. The hall was so full with enlisted personnel that you could barely get a foot down to get outside. In the rail car my thick socks kept me warm for a little while, but it turned cold again later, with the result that I kept on waking up. In addition, the door rumbled open every half an hour for people who had to go out because of diarrhea. 27 December—When I put on my boots in the morning, I thought that I was going to get frostbite. They had spent the entire night exposed to the cold. Then we went over to the waiting area. Finally, orders arrived for us to look for quarters, since only individual cars could be sent forward by being attached to other trains.

I got a more-or-less warm room in a railway worker’s settlement along with Leutnant Irmscher, who was now in my company. The locals were very friendly. I opened a few of my Christmas packages. 28 December—Alert at night at 0200 hours: Get ready to move out. Alert called off at 0300 hours. 0545 hours: Final order to move out. Our railcar, which was loaded with 60 men, initially had a stove, but it was taken down when the enlisted personnel from Headquarters Section I left. From that point forward, it was icy again. Moved through Sikejewo to Shisdra, where we arrived at 1500 hours. The town had been reoccupied by an engineer company the previous day. Drove out the partisans. Provisionally took up quarters with the company. 29 December—New division of quarters. The company was relocated pretty much together around an intersection. I occupied a nice little house with Leutnant Irmscher and a member of the headquarters. Clean! A few things were moved around; two large rubber trees, which darkened the room, were removed. The bedroom and living room were combined; the other areas of the house in another room. Shisdra—population approximately 10,000—a nice, still completely intact town. All of the quarters were fine. The populace, which thought we were a “special SS revenge unit” due to our black Panzer uniforms, were besides themselves being nice to us. Comprehensive orders for security measures. 31 December—As much as was possible, New Year’s celebrations in the quarters of the battalion. Were invited there. After a long time, the dinner table was once again covered with fir branches and lights. Very nice. Went with Leutnant Irmscher on a walking tour of the quarters of my company. The 8th Company was engaged with Russian forces in the neighboring sector. The place it was staying in burned down. 2 January—The 1st Platoon, under the leadership of Leutnant Gabriel, went on patrol to Ljudinowo, 20 kilometers away, where Russian auxiliary police were guarding against partisans. At noon, the truck drivers of the platoon reported that the two diesel trucks had returned, since they had problems. The patrol had requisitioned sleds and continued on. That night, at 0200 hours, we provided a squad to escort Hochbaum to the rail station at Sikejewo. He had been directed to lead the attack against the Russians that had broken through from the area around Kaluga and had interdicted the Brjansk-Kaluga rail line. Irmscher, I and the senior noncommissioned officers guarded the officers. Indescribably cold towards morning. 3 January—Gabriel returned at noon with good reconnaissance results. No enemy contact. In the neighboring sector of the 8th Company, the Russians were attacking with regular forces at Duminitschi. It was presumably the forces that had broken through the front. Our division was fighting hard at Bolchow. The Russians were also successful at Kaluga. Langermann led the corps; Eberbach the division. He received the Oak Leaves to the

Knight’s Cross. Hochbaum commanded our security sector; Ehrenberg the battalion. 4 January—Hochbaum led the defensive efforts at Duminitschi. Maiwald’s platoon and probably a battalion of infantry; the situation was said to be critical. 5 January—Hochbaum was back. Unshaven and sleep deprived. The Russians were attacking with two regular battalions. He was able to restore the situation for the time being. Later on, Duminitschi had to be evacuated. A blocking position was established at Dubrowka (15 kilometers from here). It was said that the German infantry battalion was pretty badly battered and was being led by a Leutnant. Hochbaum went with the regimental headquarters to Brjansk. We loaded up all essential equipment and all of the vehicles, with the exception of two trucks. We had to plan on also possibly pulling back on sleds in the middle of the night. Until Ehrenberg returned, Oberleutnant Böhm from the engineers had overall command. In the morning, I discussed possible defensive positions with him. I assumed the duties of local area commander from Oberleutnant Schultz. 6 January—First day as local area commander. Lots of things happening. Troop elements passing through requested all sorts of things. Ethnic Germans in the Duminitschi-Dubrowka area were resettled. Headquarters Section II came over to eat for dinner. At 2300 hours, Hochbaum departed for Brjansk. 7 January—During the night, at 0200 hours, five officers pressed into our quarters asking to be given quarters!!! Additional forces from the 208. Infanterie-Division, coming from France, arrive; some of them without winter uniforms, with both horse-drawn and motorized vehicles! The operations officer of the 208th demanded that the local military administration clear the Shisdra-Bukan road of snow (20 kilometers)! A flood of all sorts of forces descended in sleds. Howling womenfolk complained that they had taken their felt boots from them! Lech’s platoon received a reconnaissance mission for the next day. The enemy was reported at Jassenki, 12 kilometers to the northeast of our location. 8 January—Extremely busy at the local administrative headquarters. All possible types of forces were moving through Shisdra and demanded sleds and more sleds. The news coming from the north was not good. Bukan was being threatened by the Russians. Fighting around Sikejewo. Oberleutnant Thielecke was defending with his 7th Company. Strangely enough, Lech returned from his reconnaissance mission without any enemy contact. The Headquarters Company was alerted at 1200 hours. It was rumored that the Russians had thrust past Sikejewo in the direction of Shisdra. We had to turn all of the sleds we had worked with great effort to assemble to Infanterie-Regiment 338, which had been directed to conduct reconnaissance in the direction of Bukan. At 1500 hours, Theisinger’s platoon, under the command of Irmscher, was employed at

the train station and the southwestern edge of the town. Bukan had also been abandoned. A regiment of Russian infantry was exerting pressure. Two companies of German infantry, which had detrained outside of the Sikejewo rail station, called off their advance when they received fire and set up all-round defensive positions along the railway next to the woods. Lech was sent to Sikejewo with his platoon and ammunition, since Thielecke had expended all of his. Later on, a second train moved through Sikejewo, detaining two companies while taking fire. The trains were set on fire. Major Aschen of the I./Infanterie-Regiment 337 assumed command of all of the forces in Shisdra. I checked our defensive positions at 1530 hours and again at 2200 hours. Irmscher’s command post was at the train station. Our sector—for two platoons—approximately 4 kilometers!!! The infantry regiments coming from France came entirely without winter sufficient clothing. With trains that didn’t make any sense, in areas where only sleds could move. For that reason, a lot of them did not measure up to the task initially! Ate dinner with the battalion in the evening. We spent the entire night with the infantry officers. One bit of news and report followed the next; Sikejewo was being fired on by mortars. At night, it quieted down. The railway personnel fled from Sikejewo in the direction of Brjansk in a train. It was engaged by Russian antitank guns. The last railcar, loaded with ammunition, burned out and blocked the stretch of track. Supplemental information concerning 8 January 1942: On 7 January 1942, two patrols on sleds were sent out from Sikejewo to the east at the behest of the battalion to see whether everything was in quiet. One of the patrols was led by Oberfeldwebel Knöllinger, the other by Oberfeldwebel Reich. Suddenly—it was around 9 or 10 in the morning —Gefreiter Teufel returned, slightly wounded. He reported that Knöllinger’s patrol had encountered Russian infantry. Oberfeldwebel Knöllinger, along with almost all of his patrol, had been killed. The alert was sounded immediately and within 10 minutes the company was ready for deployment at the east end of the town and at the train station. It was Siberian forces—with only the best winter equipment, with mortars and the RatschBum mounted on sleds. For some reason, however, the Russians did not come out of the woods that day or over the next few days. They only came to the outer edge of the woods, which was very puzzling to us. The solution to the mystery most likely lay in the fact that the dead comrades from the patrol had worn Panzer uniforms, and they assumed there were tanks in the village, which, in fact, also arrived a few days later, even if they were only a few of them from Kampfgruppe Cuno. Oberleutnant Thielecke received the Iron Cross, First Class, for his successful defense of the town.74 9 January—Early in the morning, at 0600 hours, I finally went to sleep at the battalion’s location on the uncovered spring mattress of a bed. Oberst Cuno75 arrived at 0900 hours. In accordance with his orders, he had pulled back

from the north with a regiment of infantry and a battalion of artillery. Feldwebel Zimmer and seven other men from the 8th Company were killed, when they marched out of “Karl Marx” Village, where 120 ethnic German families were waiting to be evacuated, in the direction of Sikejewo. Later on, it was discovered that two groups of soldiers from the 8th Company, as well as all of the ethnic Germans, had been encircled by the Bolsheviks. At 1000 hours, I checked our position again and reorganized somewhat so as to provisionally close the large gaps. I slept at my quarters for two hours at noon. Lech was back and brought a clearing station back on skis with him from Sikejewo. It was set up here. Mühl-Kühner had no type of operating equipment, dressings or anesthetics anymore. At 1700 hours, Lech received a new mission: Get the column of ethnic Germans from out of “Karl Marx” by means of a combat raid. A long column of those people were about 3 kilometers from Shisdra and were being engaged by partisans. At 1900 hours, Lech brought back the column of 100 families. The supposed partisans were harmless peasants. Along with our 8th Company, the Volhynian Germans76 had fought for two days in the villages of “Karl Marx” and “Rosa Luxemburg”77 against the Bolsheviks. Without the intervention of German ground-attack aircraft, they all said they would have been lost. They had to leave all their worldly possessions behind and could only secure that which fit on a sled. I had quarters assigned to those unfortunate people by the mayor. They had only one wish: Away from here and into the Ukraine or, preferably, to Germany. 10 January—I was awakened during the night at 0200 hours, because a large building on the marketplace was burning. The clearing station was supposedly endangered. Since the local fire department had disbanded itself, I employed our engineer platoon. With assistance from other forces, it was possible to contain the fire by 0400 hours. A patrol from the 7th Company disappeared; a second one, led by Feldwebel Reich, returned with wounded. At 1000 hours, I inspected the new position. At 1530 hours, we were pulled out. It was said that we would only be used for reconnaissance operations in the future. Two of the companies, which had been directed to move back to Ljudinowko the previous night, got stuck in the snow. The engineer company there [Ljudinowko] was said to have been scattered. Ljudinowko was occupied by the Russians. In the afternoon, a battery of 10.5-centimeter guns, as well as some Nebelwerfer and a few tanks from the 18. Panzer-Division arrived. They had come from Brjansk and had been road-marching for five days. With their arrival, the situation seemed to clear up a bit in this sector. There was still fighting around Sikejewo. A company of Russians was wiped out. The telephone connection with Brjansk was broken.

Snowstorm; outposts only reachable via sleds. 11 January—Occasionally, you could hear our mortars firing, but we did not know why. New forces arrived exhausted after coming a long distance from Brjansk. Theisinger’s platoon conducted reconnaissance without encountering the enemy. It had marched to the south and established contact with the 5th Company. Occasionally, the horses sank up to their necks in the snow. He brought back 11 more sleds. 12 January—You could hear the thunder of the guns north of the town. Our forces were attacking. I transferred responsibility for administration of the town. More and more new forces arrived after road marching.

Fighting for Chatkowo Heinrich Eberbach, Commander of the 5. Panzer-Brigade The 4. Panzer-Division had reached the last attack objective assigned to it in 1941—the Tula-Serpuchow road—on 4 December, with its lead tank elements approaching from the east. The XXXXIII. Armee-Korps had been directed to advance there from the west, thus encircling Tula. Only 5 kilometers separated the two corps; from there, it was only an additional 80 kilometers to Moscow. But the thermometer sank to -37 [-34.6]. Guderian’s light infantry from Goslar, who were supposed to link up with us, were bled white and got frostbite. And we did not have any fuel to advance any farther in their direction. The engines would not turn over, the optics were fogged up on the inside and the breechblocks of the guns no longer could be opened. The Siberian divisions attacked us from the north. They had been brought forward by the Russians, wearing their wonderful winter uniforms. Just to the south of our brigade command post were 60 Russian T-34’s, ready to crush us. Did they have any fuel? At that point, the corps issued the order to retreat. Despite the desperate situation, no one wanted to believe it. In three years of war, we had only attacked. And retreat without fuel? That meant we had to blow up our magnificent old tanks, our guns, and our vehicles, which could not overcome the icy slopes. No, we did not want to go back. And we said it loudly and not just once. But the order was firm: Blow up the tanks and the guns and immediately initiate the retreat. It was only gradually that we heard about the situation facing the German field armies. They were having to pull back everywhere in the face of the more than 40 Siberian divisions and the newly formed Russian tank brigades. Retreat as far as Mzensk! Vehicles of all types were in the way. The temperature as always between -20 and -40 [-4 and -40]. The shadows of Napoleon’s Grande Armée hung over us. The infantry still had their thin little overcoats on; bread froze in your pants pocket, where you also placed your rifle and machine-gun bolt. But there was also bright spots. The combat forces of the 4. Panzer-Division had clothed themselves thanks to the Siberian forces. When it was so cold out, you accepted the lice as part of the bargain. Suddenly, we had long columns of sleds pulled by panje horses—a motorcycle that wouldn’t start anymore on one; an infantry gun on another. As a result of the retreat, a gap of 40 kilometers was torn open between the XXXXIII. Armee-Korps and the XXIV. Armee-Korps (mot.). A flood of Russian forces poured into the area between Belew and Kaluga. If they reached Smolensk and Rosslawl, there would be no more supplies for us. Even if the Landser did not know that, the retreat shook their self-confidence. The regiments had long since been consolidated into battalions. Despite that, the companies only had end strengths of between 40 and 60 men. Panzer-Regiment 35 had only one company. The black men without tanks were supposed to be employed as

infantry. Kradschützen-Bataillon 34 was consolidated with Panzer-Aufklärungs-Abteilung 7. The most combat-proven armored reconnaissance men were employed as infantry. Rittmeister Bradel led that unit. Even in the most humble of circumstances, he always looked spic and span. Our artillery had barely half of its guns left and just a third of its prime movers. The situation was similar with regard to the engineers and the antitank battalion. On top of all that was the fact that they had taken away the commander-in-chief of our 2. Panzer-Armee, the brilliant General Guderian, with whom everyone had felt a kinship. He had ordered the retreat on his own initiative, wherever it had been necessary to spare blood. For this, he had lost his command. The leather footgear was sheer torture at -40 [-40]. In some cases, we could get felt boots from Ivan, but it was only the combat forces who could do so. The rear-area services were still stuck like the infantry in their tattered summer uniforms. Logistics was no longer working, because the trucks had been worn out and they would no longer start up when it was so cold. That often led to shortages of ammunition and rations. Signals communications was also lacking, because many of the trucks had been lost and the equipment also had snags in the cold weather. For that reason, the landlines took on a greater importance. But laying lines during that type of weather and in snow that came up to your chest cost unbelievable energy. Wherever the sleds could not get through, the heavy weapons had to be carried. The transition from motor transport to horse transport was also difficult—from mechanic to the driver of horses. Frequently, the panje horse had a different mind than its master, who first had to learn how to handle the animal and take care of it. The noncommissioned officers, who had transferred in from horse regiments, received unexpected honors. The soldiers quickly learned to observe one another to prevent frostbite. For that reason, only two-man posts were manned, which had to be relieved every half hour due to the cold. Our enemy, on the other hand, was conditioned to the winter and used to the cold. He attacked with ski companies—also at night—and from the rear, camouflaged with snow jackets. But there was no time to cry in our beer. Orel, the logistics base for two field armies, was being threatened. The Russians broke through the 112. Infanterie-Division at Christmas, and their men were massacred in a brutal fashion. As a result, our 4. PanzerDivision had to play “fire brigade” from 26 December 1941 to 1 January 1942 north of Belew and northeast of Bolchow. The interplay between motorized and horse-drawn was quickly learned. When it was necessary, motor sergeants became feed masters. Instead of using grease, which turned hard in the cold, they used petroleum jelly to make the machine guns function. The miracle happened: The thin ranks of the 4. Panzer-Division drove the enemy from village after village in temperatures ranging from -20 to -40 [-4 to -40] in a chest-deep

snow. It took back the positions along the Oka. But then our new division commander, Oberst von Saucken, was badly wounded in the head. As he had so many times with his rifle brigade, he had been leading from the front. Oberst Eberbach was designated as his successor. With their grim wit, on 1 January 1942, our Landser wished me Hals- und Bauchschuß.78 Strong elements of the division—Kampfgruppe von Lüttwitz—received a new mission. Elements of an infantry division that had been brought in from warm France had been cut off and surrounded by the Russians 120 kilometers north-northeast of Brjansk. Gruppe von Gilsa, with 5,000 men and 1,000 wounded, had been encircled in Suchinitischi. The mission was to relieve them. Starting on 16 January, Kampfgruppe von Lüttwitz—reinforced by two battalions of infantry, some artillery and engineers, and later joined by elements of Schützen-Regiment 12, which had been brought over from the Oka—attacked to the left of the 18. PanzerDivision. It moved into the areas designated as its attack objectives: Kotobitsch, Liudinowo, Simnizi and Slobotka. I can still remember seeing them move out in a snowstorm with icicles hanging from their eyebrows and noses, bent over close to their panje horses, if they had them. Despite everything, Kampfgruppe von Lüttwitz reached its attack objective on 22 January, moving through partisan territory and engaging in difficult house-to-house fighting. Gruppe von Gilsa was relieved, the wounded evacuated and Suchinitschi then abandoned. Kampfgruppe von Lüttwitz then transitioned to the defense. In the meantime, Panzer-Regiment 35—minus any tanks—had assumed the duties of protecting the rail line from Brjansk to the north. The only tank company left was Wollschlaeger’s, with up to 10 tanks at any given time. Perhaps I should say old crates instead of tanks? After all, there were only a few Panzer IV’s among them. Later on, he was joined by Kästner’s company, when the hard-working maintenance facility repaired another six tanks. The fighting was over small localities. At -40 [-40}, even the Russians could not stay outside forever. That meant the taking or destruction of the enemy’s quarters was of decisive importance. All of our battalions established ski platoons. That meant we had motorized elements, sled elements, foot elements and ski elements. Such a force is not easily led. For newly arriving officers it seemed an impossible mission. But we adjusted to the task. On 8 January, the division reported to the corps that it consisted of 50% foot elements. There was an infantry company composed of artillerymen. Our Artillerie-Regiment 103 had only nine guns on that day; of those, five could not be moved because of the loss of prime movers. The antitank battalion had only three heavy and five light antitank cannon. Our Panzer-Pionier-Bataillon 79 had only 10 squads. The I./Nebelwerfer-Regiment 53, which had been attached to us, had only four launchers and 120 rounds. The few supply vehicles we had left were often stuck in snow banks for up to 12 hours. After releasing Kampfgruppe von Lüttwitz, the division assembled what was left of its forces in the area around Chwastowitschi in tiresome marches lasting until 21 January.

Mission: Clear the west bank of the Reseta by thrusting to the north. The division had the following at its disposal: Headquarters of Schützen-Regiment 33 (Grolig) with Bradel’s battalion I./Infanterie-Regiment 446 from the 211. Infanterie-Division Feld-Ersatz-Bataillon 84 3./Kradschützen-Bataillon 40 Artillery-Infantry Company of Artillerie-Regiment 103 (mot.) Wollschlaeger’s and Kästner’s tank companies Regiment headquarters of Artillerie-Regiment 103 with six batteries The I. and III./Artillerie-Regiment 134 1 Nebelwerfer battery Pionier-Bataillon 41 Pionier-Bataillon 10 (minus one company) 3./Panzer-Pionier-Bataillon 79 3./Panzerjäger-Abteilung 49 Later on, these forces were joined by: Regimental headquarters and the III./Infanterie-Regiment 446 I./Infanterie-Regiment 317 III./Infanterie-Regiment 445 (211. Infanterie-Division) The field-replacement battalion had only 140 men; the I./Artillerie-Regiment 134 had only four guns. The strengths of the other elements were analogous. Infanterie-Regiment 446 had no experience in the east. On 22 January, it was -44 [-47.2]. A platoon from Infanterie-Regiment 446 was wiped out by Russian cavalry and partisans. Tanks and infantry eliminated those enemy forces. The enemy had placed strong forces in Dudorowskij, Moilowo and Brusny. On 23 January, strong enemy forces entered Kzyn. They were ejected by means of an immediate counterattack. On 25 January, the corps proposed an attack on Chatkowo. It was -40 [-40]. The division expressed concern due to the continued difficult supply situation. On 26 January, the division commander conducted a leader’s reconnaissance—some of it on skis—on the terrain for the designated attack. On 28 January, our 4. Panzer-Division took Moilowo, Ssuseja and Brusny through the commitment of the I./Infanterie-Regiment 446, Pionier-Bataillon 42, the 2./PionierBataillon 10, the 3./Kradschützen-Bataillon 40, one artillery battery and Wollschlaeger’s company. During the effort to take Chatkowo by means of a coup de main, Wollschlaeger lost three tanks to mines and antitank guns. The snowstorm continued on 29 January. It slowed down all movement. Our reconnaissance on sleds had to be abandoned, since the horses were sinking up to their stomachs. The friendly forces on the right were the 134. Infanterie-Division and, on the left, the 211. Infanterie-Division. On 31 January, it was directed that the 211. Infanterie-Division and our 4. Panzer-

Division take Chatkowo. Pionier-Bataillon 41, reinforced by the 3./ KradschützenBataillon 40 and supported by a battery of artillery and two Nebelwerfer, attacked Chatkowo at 0800 hours in a snowstorm. The attack made it into the outskirts, but then failed by 1600 hours, because the locality was defended by the entire Russian 1107th Rifle Regiment of the 232nd Rifle Division, supported by artillery and heavy weapons. The attackers had to wade through snow up to their stomachs. Losses: 2 dead and 15 wounded. The 211. Infanterie-Division was unable to take Klinzy. The division reported: Large-scale offensive operations are no longer possible due to the high snow. Answer from the corps: New attack on Chatkowo. The enemy’s bridgehead over the Reseta had to be eliminated as soon as conditions allowed. The snowstorm continued to rage on 1 February. Despite that, the III./Infanterie-Regiment 445, reinforced by a company from Pionier-Bataillon 10, took Trosna. All available forces were used to clear snow along the supply routes. Helping in that effort as far as Chwastowitschi was a snowplow from the field army. The corps continued to press for an attack on Chatkowo. Starting on 2 February, the following forces were moved forward to Ssusseja in stages: Headquarters of Schützen-Regiment 33 with the attached Kradschützen-Bataillon 34/Panzeraufklärungs-Abteilung 7, Pionier-Bataillon 41 and the I./Artillerie-Regiment 134. There, the following elements remained attached to the regiment: Wollschlaeger’s tank company, the 3./Kradschützen-Bataillon 40, the 2./Pionier-Bataillon 10 and the I./Nebelwerfer-Regiment 53. The following elements were moved to Milejewo: 8./Artillerie-Regiment 103 and a company from Pionier-Bataillon 10. Elements of the 211. Infanterie-Division were attached to Schützen-Regiment 33 for the attack. One can see from the organization the jumble of elements from different divisions, from which the smallest unit to the largest formation were thrown together out of necessity in order to plug the most dangerous gaps. The average snow depth off the roads on that day was one meter; drifts, including the roads, reached up to 1.8 meters, that is, higher than a man. The snowstorm stopped on 3 February. Even with the snowplows from the field army, the clearing of the roads remained difficult. Even the tanks were restricted to the roads under those conditions. Otherwise, they’d bottom out on their hulls. But the roads were mined. Bringing the artillery forward also proved difficult. For those reasons, the third attack on Chatkowo was postponed by the division for another day. The division command post was moved forward to Berestna. The division commander did not want to attack without sufficient ammunition. He wanted to do everything to ensure that the men entrusted to him were not confronted with a mission that was impossible to accomplish. As a result, all available forces were used to clear the roads leading to the front until the ammunition could roll forward. The following participated in the attack on Chatkowo: Bradel’s reinforced battalion attacked from the east and the southeast; Buddeberg’s reinforced battalion (PionierBataillon 41, 3./Kradschützen-Bataillon 40, the 2./Pionier-Bataillon 10 and a few heavy weapons from Infanterie-Regiment 446) attacked from a southwesterly direction and the I./Infanterie-Regiment 317 from the 211. Infanterie-Division attacked simultaneous from the west from Leschowo. Supporting the attack from the Ssusseja area were the I./Artillerie-Regiment 134 and the 8./Artillerie-Regiment 103 (mot.). The preparations for the attack were made so that each of the three attack battalions

would attack Chatkowo at 0800 hours. The division’s armored signals battalion established land lines to all three of the attack groups. The division commander moved forward on 5 February. He moved far enough forward on skis with his liaison officer that he was able to observe the attack starting at 1030 hours. Chatkowo is a large village, split into several parts by defiles. Our artillery fired with exactness. The men of the motorcycle/reconnaissance battalion pushed their way towards the village from the east through the belly-high snow. The enemy defended with artillery, machine-gun and mortar fires. But the motorcycle infantry did not allow themselves to be held up. They entered the first houses. They slowly worked their way into the village with hand grenades. The enemy was strong. Where was Pionier-Bataillon 41, which had so often proven itself? Where was the I./Infanterie-Regiment 317? Even at 1200 hours, nothing was to be seen of them from the observation post! If the motorcycle infantry and reconnaissance soldiers were left by themselves, then that magnificent battalion, which had already accomplished so much, would be left to be bled white. The division commander hastened back. With all of the signals means at his disposal and his liaison officers, he hounded the remaining battalions not to leave their comrades in the lurch. The artillery was informed of the nasty situation. That day, they fired 100 light and 160 heavy howitzer rounds. In fact, it turned out that Pionier-Bataillon 41 had moved out from the south at 1100 hours. It was advancing slowly through the high snow and cleared the village from the west. The tanks were positioned in front of the mine obstacle. They could only function as artillery. But the infantry was still bogged down along the wood line, even though the Russians were already pulling back to the north with two battalions and two guns so as not to get caught. The battalion finally attacked and reached the northwestern edge of Chatkowo at 1500 hours. The house-to-house fighting in the middle of the village and along its northeastern outskirts continued until 1630 hours, when Chatkowo was finally in our hands. If the infantry had moved out at the right time, then a considerable victory could have been won. As it was, it was an ordinary victory, which was entirely thanks to Kradschützen-Bataillon 40/Panzeraufklärungs-Abteilung 7. Oberleutnant Lembke in Kradschützen-Bataillon 40 was killed; two other officers were wounded and 60 noncommissioned officers and enlisted personnel killed or wounded. Despite the losses suffered by the weak battalion, it was able to wrest Chatkowo from a reinforced Russian regiment, thanks to its inner superiority and the example of its officers. The retreat was over. We had attacked again, despite winter and the loss of the equipment. On 11 February, Infanterie-Regiment 446, reinforced by Kästner’s tank company, took Dudorowski. Wesniny and Stowrowo were taken on 12 February. The 211. InfanterieDivision took Klinzy on 13 February; on 15 February, Infanterie-Regiment 446 Simowka; on 16 February, the I./Infanterie-Regiment 445 Poljanskij. In each instance, both of our two tanks companies participated. On 20 February, the corps ordered a transition to the defense. Chatkowo remained in the front lines and was improved accordingly. Just on 6 March 1942 alone, the Russians fired

360 artillery rounds on Chatkowo.

Panje-Regiment 35 From the Diaries of Hans Schäufler During the winter months, the bulk of Panzer-Regiment 35 in its black uniforms was employed securing the rail line to Shisdra. There were numerous engagements with partisans. The cold was barbaric; the snow chest high. Every company had added horses and sleds to its arsenal. The men referred to their regiment jokingly as Panje-Regiment 35. Only one company still had tanks. Led by Oberfeldwebel Wollschlaeger and, later, by Oberleutnant Königsfeld, the company supported the difficult defensive fighting of the division. A second tank company was formed from repaired tanks in the middle of January and led by Oberleutnant Kästner. It was employed like assault guns.79 Both of the tank companies were attached to Kampfgruppe Grolig for a while. The division was divided into two groups. The main group fought in the BerestnaLowat area under the command and control of the division headquarters; Kampfgruppe Lüttwitz fought at Bolchow. Prior to that, it had hacked out the German forces trapped in Suchinitschi, along with 1,000 wounded. The losses of the division in January and February 1942: 250 dead, 600 wounded, 250 cases of frostbite and 550 on sick call. In order to fill the companies, every more-or-less available man from the rear-area services was brought forward. A wave of homesickness spread through the division in the spring. Eventually, five percent of the soldiers were allowed to go home for leave. Our few tanks had to be continuously “loaned out” to the infantry divisions. Just their appearance in their sectors seemed to work miracles. April saw the return of the mud period. But the men were ready for it. Reserves of rations were stockpiled up front, and the sleds were replaced by panje carts. The ability to improvise on the part of the men— developed in a time of need and also plagiarized from the Russians—was terrific. At the end of April, the 4. Panzer-Division had to transfer the II./Panzer-Regiment 35 to Panzer-Regiment 15, where it became the 3rd Battalion. Both the division and the regiment were sorry to see that happen, since it meant the highly proven 4. PanzerDivision was to remain in positional warfare. The soldiers of the 2nd Battalion were happy, however, that they were finally to get tanks again and could go back on the attack. Oberstleutnant Hochbaum was transferred to another tank regiment, where he was badly wounded. At the end of May, the division was consolidated again and employed in an area we knew well—Mzensk. The division headquarters was located in Woin, which had once been so bitterly contested. The combat forces took up quarters in Dumtschino, Scheino, Narischkino, Wolkowo and Dworiki. Mzensk was a city on the front again. The previously bitterly contested high ground became the forward-most line again. While a new offensive was underway in the south in the direction of the Donez basin

and the Caucasus, we made ourselves comfortable where we were. Oswald Zöller, a woodcarver from Dorfprozelten, decorated the wall of our community area: If we are granted a visit home, then we’ll celebrate with Franconian wine!80 Our terrific maintenance company had performed a miracle: From shot-up vehicles that had been fetched from all over the place, it had created a battalion of 30 operational tanks. Major von Lauchert fought with them with considerable success in the neighboring division sectors. The enemy gave up attacking in the area of the 4. Panzer-Division, even though it was defending a sector of 35 kilometers with its weak forces, since all of his attacks there had ended with the elimination of the Russian forces employed. Our snipers and our artillery also inflicted heavy casualties on the enemy in the trench warfare. The number of deserters we received was considerable. On occasion, we bathed in the porridge-brown Oka. We also caught fish there to enrich our otherwise monotonous menus. The vehicles were mothballed; the fuel was stockpiled. We rode horses. During the day, scarcely a round was fired. But whenever it turned twilight, it all started: Chug … chug … chug.

THE SERENADE OF THE “SEWING MACHINE” Ancient high-winged or biplane aircraft81 chugged their way from Tula to us every night, not wanting us to sleep in peace. From the start of evening twilight to morning first light, the Russian skies belonged to those pains in the neck. They scattered shrapnel bombs over the entire area. The Landser had a whole litany of names for those ghostly fliers: Night owls, sewing machines, staff duty NCO, Natasha, pain in the neck. Those nightly disturbers-of-the-peace flew so slowly that it seemed as though they were suspended on rubber bands. Just before they were about to drop their bombs, they turned off their engines and steered noiselessly towards their targets, just a few hundred meters above the ground. Occasionally, they called out slogans to us through loudspeakers or cursed at us. Our Flak did not take them seriously and did nothing against them. A Flak battery was set up at the Dumtschino train station, however, when one of the nightly raiders set an ammunition train sky high.

DANGER OF AN EPIDEMIC! A new enemy approached us. Malaria, dysentery, Volhynian Fever, and typhus took their first victims. In my company, 12 soldiers died just from typhus alone. We constructed a delousing station and a sauna; we shook lice powder into all of the crevices of our quarters; we separated the Russian civilians from the soldiers. Nothing helped. It was not until a major inoculation campaign was started that everything disappeared almost overnight.

Home Leave From My Diaries (Hans Schäufler) In Dumtschino, just a few kilometers from the front, I climbed aboard the train for personnel taking home leave. Even though I had been looking forward to the opportunity, when it finally arrived, I was not glad to go. Everything seemed surreal—the red freight cars with the German lettering, the glass windows in the passenger cars, the familiar rattle of the train. It took a while before my insides settled down. Day by day, I got closer to home, but I was still so far away from it in my thoughts. Brest-Litovsk; the Bug was behind me. Out of the monotonous wasteland and wilderness on both sides of the tracks, there started to appear the well-maintained villages and ornamented gables. After two summers, I was finally seeing German territory again. Everything seemed like it was on film, while I sat unaccustomedly idle in the compartment. Then a loudspeaker bellowed with a metallic bass and reminded me to get off the train after six days of travel. I stood there with my small bag and cheap personal effects on the train platform. The flood of humanity buoyed me along. I placed one foot in front of the other, reverently. Dreamy happiness in my heart as I approached our house like a sleepwalker. The howling and bursting of battle were still in me when, quietly, but ever louder, there was a celebratory singing, like organ music at Christmas matins—the happiness of seeing others again. I went through narrow alleyways and the broad streets of the large city as far as its outskirts, where the houses stood, spread out, in the fulsome green of the fall fruit trees. In front of a Kindergarten, there was a group of happy boys. Thank God they did not know anything yet about war and fighting and death—and that they should never discover that was probably our main mission. When I went past the happy group, the carefree laughing suddenly died. Round eyes looked at me, startled. Perhaps it was my serious, sleep-deprived face, on which there were still perhaps traces of the fighting, perhaps the silver-rimmed cross on my chest. I didn’t know. In order not to steal the happy mood from the happy crowd, I walked away quickly. At that point, a young boy hopped along, following me. He shyly went ahead of me, his large blue eyes looking at me reverently. A hesitant small hand moved a rose towards me, and I heard a small voice say almost reverently: “Soldier, I’m giving you the flower!” As quickly as he had come, so quickly did he also disappear, the small figure. There I stood, a man whose temples had already turned gray from the fighting. A soldier from the front, whose feelings had been struck dead by barrage fire. A man who had forgotten to cry when the friend next to him bled to death in the dirt. My hands started to shake as I looked at the rose. Hot and cold rippled through my body; my eyes were burning. I thought about the far-away front. I thought about the soldiers of my company. I thought about my dead comrades, far away across the Bug. From here, everything seemed

different. I would take the rose with me when I returned to Russia. Whenever the big question surfaced—why?—perhaps it could give me an answer. I had no son yet who carried my name, but I would see the blond shock of hair and the large, trusting child’s eyes and they would remind me to do my duty—to the very end.

The first days of December 1941—headquarters of the 5. Panzer-Brigade in Gryslowo. The withdrawal was initiated there on 6 December 1941 in temperatures reaching 40 degrees below zero.

6 December 1941: The withdrawal was conducted under bitterly cold temperatures and in snow squalls.

CHAPTER 5

Russia, 1942-43

The Second Winter in Russia Hans Schäufler Major von Lauchert was sent to a regimental commander’s course. Hauptmann von Cossel assumed acting command of the 1st Battalion. Major von Jungenfeld assumed command of Panzerjäger-Abteilung 49. It snowed again. We listened to the Armed Forces reports of the heavy fighting in the south with great concern. We were concerned about our comrades at Stalingrad, in the Caucasus and along the Don. Please, God, spare them a winter like we had the last time! We were on a short leash as far as fuel, ammunition and replacement parts were concerned; understandably, everything went to the field armies that were attacking in the south. Our maintenance company showed a lot of cleverness and organizational talent in putting together our shot-up and worn-out veterans. Truly, miraculous things were accomplished there. But, despite all that, only one company could be outfitted with tanks. It was positioned, ready for operations, west of Mzensk. The other two companies were consolidated in Orel and trained as infantry. It was deep, dark night for the tankers. The two motorized rifle regiments were redesignated as Panzer grenadier-Regimenter . The rumor went around that we were supposed to be pulled out of the line to be reconstituted and reformed. By then, we had grown accustomed to the area we were in. In our quarters, we knew every local man and woman by first name and were familiar with their worries and problems. We had learned so much from one another that we were reasonably well able to communicate with them. It should be noted that the gibberish we spoke, this frontline Russian, was a mixture of bits and pieces of languages from throughout the world. The terrific thing about it was that the Hungarian understood it as well as the Italian, the Russian as well as the German. The word kaputt assumed a dominant role in it. Our way of life, our thinking and our perceptions were accommodations to the uniqueness of the situation and were presumably far removed from standard bourgeois thinking. We didn’t think twice about it any more. Seen through the eyes of a “newbie” from Germany, we must have struck him as a bunch of oddballs.

The Longest Night Rudolf Meckl, Gefreiter in the 2./Panzer-Regiment 35 There had been 13 of us. We had left for the field from Schweinfurt in a so-called march company. For three weeks, we rolled along in a cattle car though Lissa-Orscha-RoslawlBrjansk to Orel. We arrived there in November 1942. When we had arrived in Roslawl, the train station was burning—a sort of reception for us. The 18-year-old warriors were treated to a foretaste of partisan warfare. I do not know who was responsible for assigning our group of Gefreiter officer candidates. In any case, it appeared they did it according to the old aphorism: The good ones in the pot; the bad ones back into the crop. The pot, in this case, was PanzerRegiment 36; the crop Panzer-Regiment 35. And the 13 of us were shaken into those crops. Among the worst was apparently 18-year-old Gefreiter Rudolf Meckl. When the leader of our transportation detail reported the group in to Hauptmann von Cossel, one of my new lord and master’s first questions was: “Gefreiter Meckl, where is your efficiency report?” The companies that did not have anything to do were in Orel. They had been put up in some sort of garrison-type place, since the front around Mzensk was silent. The battalion had only a few Panzer III’s, a handful of Panzer IV’s and two cobbled-together T-34’s. Since those few tanks were only enough to outfit a single company, they had come up with the idea of setting up an operational company in the village of Owtschuch, west of Mzensk, and then put most of the rest of the battalion on the backburner. That could also be taken literally, since the rooms at the aforementioned locality had neither heating nor lighting, unless you wish to count a few miserable Hindenburg lights. The ready-reserve company was led by Oberleutnant Königsfeld and had the numerical designation as the 4th Company. Although I had been assigned to the 2nd Company, I was sent to the reserve company for my baptism of fire at the front. The company was located in a defile. Tunnels had been dug into the steep banks, where the tanks rested, four or five, one behind the other. Those bays were absolutely foolproof against bombs and despite that—no, more about that later. We were employed pulling guard, fetching mail, pulling guard, chopping wood, pulling guard. I have never been able to find out what the more senior ranking personnel did. For pulling guard, we had overshoes of thick, woven straw over our boots, as well as a shapeless lamb’s wool overcoat. In that outfit you were highly immobile, which had as a consequence the fact that the guards only moved occasionally and spent their tours of duty standing in the village, with occasional intervals of movement. It was a quaint picture in the quiet, wintery village to see all of the thick little men standing like resting poles, with submachine guns as limbs … inflexible as nutcrackers, one after the other, each on a different level of the defile. Guard was also pulled at night, of course, but it was up top, on the edge of the defile, so as to see the approach of the partisans, who, by the way, never came. At the time, they

took pains to avoid being in areas where you could hear the barking of machine guns and the wailing of artillery. These night rounds as a guard under the dreamy moonlight and the glittery expanses of snow have remained unforgettable for me. There is nothing in Germany to compare with a winter’s night in Russia. Once, I even saw a wolf. I will skip over the time that I was sent to a rifle battalion in the front lines to get “experience.” In any event, I did learn there that the riflemen in the trenches had a lot less cozy time of it than we tankers did in our peasant huts. Even with a pistol, rats can only be frightened away occasionally. Finally, the day arrived when the Hungarian front lines along the Don collapsed and everything from Woronesch onward waltzed its way towards Kursk. We were alerted and, as a consequence, the tanks were taken out of their mouse holes for the first time. Nothing hurts a tank so much as to be parked for months without even letting the engine draw a breath of air. In other words, it took hours to get the steel behemoths out of the tunnels and get them started. The lead tank was out in the open, when the third one caught fire. The culprit was a candle, some fuel and a lot of stupidity, which soldiers sometimes have, even if they are senior noncommissioned officers. First, there was an explosion, which did not pose a problem for the tunnel, but did pose a problem for a few soldiers. In the end, there was an Unteroffizier who, despite smoke and heat and fear, moved the tank in front of it out into the open. Since I was fairly sick at the time and had an index finger thickly wrapped in dressing, I had to go with the trains. On the road, the conveyance struck an approaching vehicle on the black ice and slid into a ditch. The mistake brought with it a moonlit night on a lonely road and some injured. We were then loaded on trains at Orel. Hauptmann Esser led this company. I can still see this markedly elegant officer standing in front of us in formation and hear him say with exceptional calmness: “The engines have to keep running during the rail movement, since it is possible that we will be employed from the ramp.” That may not have meant much for the others but, for me, it signaled the start of the war. Although we did not have to start firing from the rail cars, we were committed with exceptional speed at Schtschigry, east of Kursk, to relieve a wondering pocket. Small groups were fighting their way back west—still with some combat power, but completely worn out. Most of them had already been passed by packs of Russian tanks. I was set as a messenger, with my dressed-out index finger, to the division command post. I sat in a Russian school with the “emissaries” from the other sections and battalions. It was already dark when someone threw open the door and a soot-covered face looked into the musty room. I had a terrific shock, since it was the same sort of powder-covered face reminiscent of our boyhood readings, but it belonged to the otherwise so elegant Hauptmann Esser: “You were with K.?”82 Before I could stand up and answer, he continued: “He’s dead.” Gefreiter K.—the only son of rich parents, idolized and spoiled—despite his youth, the eloquent and experienced young man from the Rhineland, who lived in Munich—he was dead at 18? It was said that a Russian sniper had shot him out of his motorcycle. He was the only dead we suffered during the fighting at Schtschigry. It was one of those captured

and lame T-34’s that had saved the almost hopeless situation. Under its fire, the old hands were able to escape. We placed the frozen-stiff dead comrade on the lowboy. Since there were no other places to sit, we sat on him and moved in the direction of Kursk in a snowstorm, wedged in between vehicles of all types. When the ears of one of our comrades turned white, another man took off his gloves and, without making a fuss about it, rubbed his ears warm again. When he wanted to put his gloves back on, his fingers were white. No wonder … we had no winter over garments, no felt boots, only the thin overcoat from back home and the hob-nailed boots. The snowstorm took no pity on us, poor dogs, on the open lowboy. In Kursk, there was just enough time to give our dead comrade a decent burial at the military cemetery. Following that, the Russians almost got me. I was sitting at the division headquarters again, with my dressed-out index finger. The dressing was black by then. I sat there an entire night and morning. Towards the end, I was all by myself. No one had any orders for me, so I sat there and was bored. Kursk was already on fire from one end to the other; wild firing formed the aural backdrop to that sad picture. Gradually, I started to become afraid. After all, an 18-year-old is entitled to be afraid occasionally. Once again, the door swung open with force. It was the junior noncommissioned officer who was responsible for taking care of the messengers. He stared at me and said coolly: “What are you still doing here? Your guys have already taken off to the four winds.” Then he mounted his heavily laden motorcycle and raced off. First I stood up. Then I started walking towards the battalion command post, breaking out into a run. It was a long ways away in the burning city, and there were no more people on the streets. When I then heard firing starting from a completely different direction than before, I started to run for my life. I didn’t even have a pistol, only a pocket knife and a spoon. When I reached the Uliza, I saw the last truck disappearing from sight, the last one from the battalion. They had waited for me there, but, in the end, the company first sergeant thought I had taken off with the division and he also departed. I was lucky that a few comrades at the back of the truck saw me running. This, the longest night for me, came to an end at Ligoff, the last stage of my stay with the trains with my dressed-out index finger. We received self-propelled guns with 7.5centimeter cannon,83 although they were open on top and to the rear. Gefreiter Meckl returned to his 2nd Company, where the unforgettable Oberleutnant Burkhardt was in charge. I climbed aboard the self-propelled gun of the platoon leader, Leutnant Kremer, and the war started to take on the dimensions I had expected.

The Fighting for Kursk Generalmajor Schneider, Commander of the 4. Panzer-Division Ligoff, 22 February 1943:84 With the collapse of the Woronesch Bend, a gigantic gap developed between the right wing of the 2. Armee and Kharkov. The 4. Panzer-Division, which had been halfway pulled out of the line for reconstitution, was moved by fast rail to Schtschigry and committed there with the mission of holding up the Russians until the remnants of the 2. Armee could escape impending destruction. Those were exceptionally hard and crisis-filled engagements that the division had to master. The battalions were committed as they arrived by rail. Initially, we had to form a bridgehead around our own detraining station. Then we had to restore some semblance of order to the chaos existing in Schtschigry and set up a blocking position across the Russian forces attacking on a broad front. We held up the enemy for five days there and prevented our being outflanked by attacking. During that time, more than 10,000 German soldiers made it through our lines in small groups. They were loaded on trains at Schtschigry and evacuated to the west. At the same time, the Russians had already marched unimpeded many kilometers to the west to the left and right of us. The signs of an impending encirclement were growing. The orders to withdraw came at just the right time. After a short counterattack, all of the elements were withdrawn from potential encirclement. In delaying actions, we moved back step-by-step towards Kursk, where the entire game was repeated. While everyone was more or less streaming westward in an undisciplined fashion— around us, next to us and behind us—we positioned ourselves in a semicircle around Kursk, initiated immediate counterattacks and delayed the enemy’s advance, allowing the fleeing rest of the Woronesch front to reach a strongpoint at Obojan, which was defended by a battalion from the division. Resupplied there, they were able to continue the march west without interruption. The final fighting around Kursk, a city of 80,000, turned dramatic. For 24 hours, I did not know whether I would have to allow the division to be encircled and fight to the last man or to continue fighting as we had been, holding up the enemy for as long as possible and then pulling back at the last moment. The enemy, numerically superior by several fold, had already encircled the city about 80% when the orders for our salvation arrived directing us to give up Kursk and establish a new defensive line west of the city. Thanks to the magnificent performance of the soldiers, the division succeeded in fighting its way out of the impending encirclement with minimal losses while inflicting heavy casualties on the enemy. Several batteries were positioned in the field army’s ammunition depot and fired with everything they had the final night—9,500 rounds in 24 hours. Our guns proved themselves once again in an exemplary fashion. Not a single gun failed to fire, despite the terrific strain placed on them. The Russian divisions bogged down. We were able to gain time and were able to gain more time, important time, halfway between Ligoff and Kursk. We held out in Ligoff for 10 days, the lefthand bulwark of the field army. To the right

rear of us, the field army had established a new defensive line, with the result that a certain amount of stabilization started to set in two days previously. Exploiting our mobility, we attacked the Russians again and again, whenever they ventured too far forward. The previous day, a newly introduced Russian brigade was wiped out in its staging area by means of a surprise attack. The motorcycle infantry battalion executed that attack; it was effectively supported by two assault-gun batteries and a tank company. Today, the remnants of the Russian brigade were forced back east by concentrated artillery fires. For the 4. Panzer-Division, the conduct of a delaying action was something new. The psychological pressure on the men and the leadership was extraordinarily high. Despite that, the men withstood the pressure well. Over the course of the last 10 days, some valuable reinforcements in the form of troop elements and equipment were brought forward to us from the rear. An assault-gun battalion with long-barreled guns and a new Army Flak battalion supported the division. Cossel received five Panzer IV’s with long-barreled main guns; in addition, Jungenfeld received 27 7.5-centimeter self-propelled antitank guns.85 Another 16 Panzer IV’s were on their way. In addition, we received 100 Mulis—fully tracked cargo transporters (based on truck chassis). Those would be especially good for the motorcycle infantry and the riflemen. The casualties sustained in the occasionally quite hard fighting were painful, but kept within the limits of the bearable. While I went forward with strong elements of the division to relieve an encircled Kampfgruppe 60 kilometers deep in the enemy’s rear to the east, the enemy pressed hard on Kursk. The pressure was so strong that the tanker “infantry” company, which had previously been spared from the fighting, had to be committed to close a gap. In the process, the magnificent Hauptmann Königsfeld and six of his noncommissioned officers were killed. It was a painful loss for the division. Cossel and Esser were able to execute several successful attacks in the recent past, despite their small numbers of tanks. They also fought it out successfully with eight T34’s, knocking out five of them. The wide winter tracks thankfully also go through deep snow. Presumably, we will be able to conduct more mobile warfare in the near future. I received assurances that the 4. Panzer-Division is on the list of armored divisions to be reconstituted and all of the 4th desires that it be outfitted with new equipment in the course of the spring so as to be able to move out again for operations in full strength. The introduction of new weapons is making good progress. The soldiers of the division have rapidly overcome the shock of Stalingrad. Once again, we have a powerful tank battalion and are able to conduct defensive operations. By means of smaller immediate attacks, the men rapidly rebuild their self-confidence. To the north of us, in the area around Ssewsk, it appeared all hell has broken loose. Correspondingly, we were loaded on trains on 5 March and sent via Bachmatsch-Gomel to

Nowgorod Ssewersk. On 9 March, the division deployed on a broad front to attack the Russian formations advancing to the west.

Counterattack from Nowgorod Ssewersk as Far as Ssewsk Leutnant Lecius, Liaison Officer in the Headquarters of the 4. Panzer-Division (Killed in July 1943) Iwot, 10 March 1943—It was a frosty, clear winter’s day when the division commander climbed aboard his “goat” in order to personally lead the attack on Iwot for expanding the bridgehead of Nowgorod Ssewersk. Just before 0700 hours, he was in the firing positions of “his artillery”; a short while later at the command post of Panzer grenadier-Regiment 12 next to a haystack 1 kilometers northwest of Iwot. At that time, the artillery preparation started on the village. All of the batteries, the attached Nebelwerfer, the antitank guns and the mortars fired and placed a fatal hail of fire on the enemy-occupied village. Within a short time, thick clouds of smoke rose to the heavens; the place was burning from one end to the other. Iwot was consumed by flames. The plan to surround the village from all sides had succeeded, hopefully. The commander wanted to convince himself that all of the gaps had been closed. He moved along the eastern edge of the village in his “goat.” Two Russians were retrieved from a stack of hay and disarmed. Based on the sound of the fighting, the enemy appeared to be well and heavily armed. You could hear the sound of the Russian submachine guns repeatedly. We received mortar fire. The General observed the village through the scissors scope as the Russians attempted to break out to the east. The tanks of the I./PanzerRegiment 35 cut off their escape route. The ring around Iwot was solid. The General moved back to the haystack. From there, he conducted a short telephone call with his operations officer and then moved into the village, where it was said that the command post of Panzer grenadier-Regiment 12 was located. The sounds of heavy fighting were coming from Iwot. No one seemed to know where Oberst von der Damerau was located at the time. The General thereupon took off into the village, moving between the glowing houses. The heat and the smoke took your breath away; the wind fired up the flames continuously. There were explosive sounds to the left and to the right. The grenadiers were clearing the village. Red Army men and partisans had barricaded themselves in practically every house and fired from ambush positions. Leutnant Broch fell victim to the bullet of a 15-year-old civilian. The tanks continued to advance. They had to blast every building to bits before the resistance was broken. The command post for the 12th could not be located there. That meant we had to go back through the burning village until the Oberst was finally found in a side street. The General wanted to take stock of the situation. He called Oberst Betzel and Oberst von der Damerau for a conference to that end at 0930 hours. The 1st Battalion was directed to immediately advance on Antonowka and take the village in the event of weak enemy resistance. Von Heyden’s battalion was entrusted with the defense of Iwot. When the General went to the command post of Wüstner’s battalion at 1030 hours, the sound of the fighting had grown considerably weaker. The command post of the

II./Panzergrenadier-Regiment 33 was located in a barn with a good view towards Kalijewka. During a conference with Oberst Dr. Maus at Prukopowka, the General approved the recommendation of the regimental commander to move out on Kalijewka with Panzer grenadier-Regiment 33 in the afternoon. Antonowka and Kalijewka were taken that same day.

KRIWONOSSOWKA-GLASOFF-CHIULTSCHITSCHI-DURBROWKA- WOWNA 13 March 1943—The day had not yet dawned, when the General and his battle staff took off from the division command post at 0400 hours. It was another day of attack. It was imperative to expand the bridgehead at Nowgorod Ssewersk to the north and the northeast. The General had boarded his “goat” with his operations officer, Oberstleutnant i.G. Lutz. The first objective was the command post of Panzer grenadier-Regiment 33. As it turned light, the journey took us through Birin to the northeast. The patch of woods 3 kilometers north of Birin was bypassed, reaching Kriwonossowka via Hill 153.4. That village had already been taken by the 1st Battalion. There had only been weak enemy resistance in the improved positions, which were quickly taken down. The battalion was already advancing on Chiltschitschi. You could feel the momentum of the attack and hoped for a considerable victory on that day. At 0600 hours, the division commander ordered Hauptmann von Cossel to exploit the good situation, bypass Chiltschitschi with his tanks and advance on Uralowo and Rudnja. To accompany and protect the tanks, the 3rd Company of the 33rd mounted up on them. In the meantime, the 2nd Battalion had reached and occupied Glasow. The tanks moved out. In the haze of the early morning, they soon disappeared as dark silhouettes on the horizon. The reconnaissance observer aircraft was reported as having taken off; it was soon sighted over the battle staff of the General. It reported: Wowna heavily occupied by the enemy; Dubrowka, Rudnja and Uralowo also occupied. The division commander ordered an attack on Wowna from the south, moving through Gudowschtina, by the 2nd Battalion of the 12th. The 2nd Battalion of the 33rd received orders to move out on Dubrowka. At 0800 hours, Hauptmann von Cossel reported: “Uralowo and Rudnja occupied by the enemy; we are advancing past to the south.” The division commander moved on to Kalijewka and discussed the attack on Wowna there with Oberst von der Damerau. Offense: That is the type of combat best suited for tanks. A movement to contact was initiated in the area of Dubrowka-Wowna. Three Kampfgruppen had the mission of encircling the enemy there. The concentric attack started at 1015 hours. The General moved to the northern edge of Gud. From there, he had a magnificent view of the terrain outside of Wowna. He observed through the scissors scope. No detail escaped him. He was able to give the artillery missions based on targets he personally identified. He always wants to give the artillerymen their due. The southern outskirts of Wowna were thick with enemy. Our artillery fire hit exactly where directed. Despite that, the Russians held on to their improved positions. The tanks were already in Dubrowka; they were engaging columns of Russian sleds there. They forded a creek to the north of the village, continued marching south and reached the northern outskirts of Wowna at 1230 hours. Due to the friendly fires already being placed on Wowna, von Cossel was unable to continue advancing south. The General personally intervened and had the artillery fires stopped immediately. All of the forces

were being led directly from the general’s command vehicle at that point. The radio operators worked feverishly. One radio message followed the next; most of them had to be encrypted or decrypted. The enemy attempted to pull back to the east, faced with the pressure of the tanks from the north, the destructive artillery fires and the frontal attack by the mechanized infantry. Long columns of horsemen galloped along the road to Nowokalinowka. Hauptmann von Cossel received orders by radio to pursue the fleeing enemy. The tanks formed up in packs along the outskirts of the village. The tracks threw the snow meter high into the air. They took off, racing, over the hard-frozen, white, flat ground. The fleeing enemy was quickly overtaken. The Russians were disarmed and taken into captivity. The pressure of the division upset the enemy tremendously. The aerial reconnaissance aircraft reported enemy columns pulling back. Without a doubt, the attacks of our division had decisively taken pressure off the forces of the 2. Armee, which were involved in hard defensive fighting south of Orel. On 13 March, the Armed Forces Daily Report announced that the enemy had stopped his attacks south of Orel.

SSEREDINA BUDA 15 March 1943—At 0930 hours, the Snobowka river line was crossed without major enemy resistance. A few minutes later, the General entered Tschernatskoje in his “goat.” The bridge was blocked by engineers. The engineer officer did not want to assume responsibility for the bridge if tanks crossed it. A few assault guns, the command and control vehicles and the general’s “goat” were in front of it. The attack on Sseredina Buda needed to be continued and the assault guns were needed for it. Therefore, the General issued the order to have the vehicles cross the bridge. The beams of the bridge bent mightily and the bridge groaned and moaned, but the bridge held. The movement continued. A few kilometers outside of Tschernatskoje, the General discussed the situation and the attack on Sseredina Buda with Oberst Dr. Maus and Oberst von der Damerau. While the regiments prepared, the division commander observed the terrain, the enemy positions and the area east of the city. A large-sized Russian cavalry formation pulled back to the southeast in a great hurry. The General immediately ordered von Cossel’s tank battalion to advance on Sseredina Buda from the south. The combined fires of our artillery drummed down immediately on the city. The mechanized infantry moved out in combat order at 1430 hours. Well-camouflaged gun positions at the outskirts of the city revealed themselves. An intense struggle for the city ensued. The coordination between the mechanized infantry and the artillery functioned terrifically. Every identified enemy position immediately received a “blessing” from our batteries. The attack was in full swing. Hauptmann von Cossel entered the city from the south with his tanks. Soon thereafter, he was followed by the mechanized infantry of Oberst Dr. Maus from the west. The new self-propelled guns of the 35th supported the attacked in a terrific manner. Sseredina Buda was burning. The General entered the city. Between the burning houses, the cadavers of horses, the captured guns, the shattered weapons and the dead Russians, he entrusted Dr. Maus with safeguarding the city. At the same time, the tanks and assault guns of the 35th hunted down the withdrawing enemy to the east.

ATTACK ON SSEWSK—FOR THE SECOND TIME 19 March 1943—Who would have thought during the first attack in 1941 that we would have to take this city for the second time 18 months later? Our regiments had been fighting their way towards the city of Ssewsk—once again, against a tough opponent—for two days. But the dominant terrain of Hill 216.6 was still in Russian hands. Improved field positions were occupied by a tough enemy, who knew how to employ his tanks ruthlessly and as direct-fire artillery. During the early-morning hours, Panzer grenadier-Regiment 12 received unconditional orders to take the woods north of Hill 216.6. PanzergrenadierRegiment 33 moved out against Morizkij. The intense fighting for the hilly terrain was in full swing, when the General visited the command post of the 33rd at Korostowka. Oberst Dr. Maus had just left to see his 2nd Battalion up front. Who had ever seen Dr. Maus in the rear during a fight? The General also moved forward to the main effort of the fight and met Dr. Maus at a hay barn in Bukowitsche. The locality was still under main-gun fire from enemy tanks. As a result, the “goat” had to remain behind in a depression. The enemy appeared to want to hold Ssewsk at all costs. The General intended to hold the high ground to the west of the city, while bringing up the motorcycle-infantry battalion from the south. He intended to make the final thrust on Sswesk the next day, employing the tanks from the north after a thorough artillery preparation. The division commander then wanted to take a look at the terrain outside of the city himself. He went forward between the mechanized infantry, who were approaching rapidly from south of the road at that point. The General climbed aboard an assault gun that was supporting the attack. As it happened, an enemy tank took that particular assault gun under fire. But the General calmly saw his reconnaissance through to the end and came to the conclusion, based on his observations, to immediately employ von Cossel’s battalion to attack Ssewsk along the road. A landline section from Panzernachrichten-Abteilung 79 tapped into a telephone line along the road and passed on the general’s orders for immediate forwarding to the tank battalion. While discussing the situation with Oberst von der Damerau, the lead elements of the 33rd entered the city. The tanks raced in, provided effective fire support and pursued the withdrawing enemy forces. Sswesk was taken by the soldiers of the 4. PanzerDivision for the second time.

The Fighting along the Dessna—as Seen by the Russians From the Diaries of 1st Lieutenant Nowikoff, Signals Officer with the 29th Ski Brigade (Killed on 18 March at Byki) 3 March 1943—I was in a depressed mood, since I did not know what I should do. The radio stations had no contact. I was supposed to communicate by radio and I was unable to. Marched as far as Chinel, the main city in the partisan region. The activities of the partisans amazed me. Our [partisan] battalions prepared to attack, but they had no ammunition. I met one of the partisans. An oppressive feeling! Chinel was the first Ukrainian village. 5 March—I went though Sswessa to Jampol to extend a telephone line to here. 6 March—Went from Jampol to Alexandrowskij. Bad roads. Attack by German aircraft on our forces. 7 March—Attack by our ski battalion on Iwot. Stubborn defense. This was the first encounter with the Germans. 8 March—I am on the way to the corps headquarters to pick up batteries for our radio stations. A catastrophic situation throughout the corps area with regard to radio traffic! Uninterrupted complaints from the local populace about dreadful deeds on the part of the Hungarians, but also about plunder on the part of our partisans. 9 March—I retuned to Alexandrowskij at 1100 hours. Immediately established radio contact with the corps. The night was very quiet. We transitioned to the defense along the Sswessa-Jambol-Iwot section of the front. 10 March—The day started with an attack by German tanks, armored cars and infantry on Iwot. The consequence of the encirclement and the lack of ammunition in our garrison was the destruction of our 2nd Battalion and the units attached to it. Only very small groups succeeded in getting out. 11 March—The failures of the radio communications rip your heart out. The feeling of helplessness torments me. I feel that I am useless here. It is too bad that I have no one I can talk to about it. 12 March—Being cut off from our supply lines forced us to go back, since the Germans concentrated gigantic forces against us. We pulled back towards evening. 14 March—The retreat was very difficult. It was not until 1200 hours on 13 March that I arrived at the new command post. They had already given me up for dead or captured. Fortunately, no one had snapped me up. Three of our radio operators, whom I had sent to take down the telephone lines from Orlowka to Jampol, did not return. They probably fell into the hands of German reconnaissance. Three telephone operators escaped capture with the help of an old man. It was unbearably painful to have to leave the people in the localities behind.

15 March—Yesterday, at 1600 hours, I went to the corps headquarters to get more batteries for our radio stations. I turned in all of the paperwork and received a lot of paper for the brigade headquarters, but little in the way of anode batteries. I visited the signals officer of the 28th Brigade. A massive evacuation of the local populace to the east was in progress. Our forces had left Sseredina Buda and occupied defensive positions in Rudenka. The radio operators returned from Jampol today. There was fighting all around us. That evening, our final rearguards left the last village in the Ukraine, the main city for the partisan area. The retreat moved through villages that had been abandoned and devoid of people. 17 March—We headed out for the rear, which was relatively close. What for? I left to look for my radio stations.86

Division Order-of-the-Day (28 March 1943) In the period from 8 to 27 March, the 4. Panzer-Division covered 97 kilometers in its attack east while fighting two guards cavalry divisions and two ski brigades, which were later reinforced by two additional brigades and several tank brigades. In the process, 66 localities, including the strongly fortified cities of Sseredina Buda and Ssewsk, were taken in storm, and the area west of the Ssjew River line cleared of the enemy. Four hundred and twenty prisoners were taken; 73 tanks, 62 artillery pieces, 73 antitank guns, 81 mortars, 97 antitank rifles, 202 machine guns and numerous other pieces of equipment were captured or destroyed. The recovery and counting of the spoils-of-war in Ssewsk is still in progress. The Armed Forces Daily Report today contained the following: “To the northwest of Kursk, mechanized infantry took the city of Ssewsk after days of hard fighting.” With that, a chapter of heavy fighting lasting two months has come to a successful conclusion. The forces of the division, sacrificing their blood and their lives in difficult but successful engagements, have carved out a major victory of farranging importance. /signed/ Schneider Generalmajor and Division Commander

Not Everybody Had a New Panzer IV Long Rudolf Meckl, Gefreiter in the 2./Panzer-Regiment 35 I find that even among our “next-of-kin,” that is, within the other regiments and troop elements of the division, little is known of what we understood as “tanking.” Whatever is known about the tanks is limited to the fact that these military vehicles have a lot of iron around them and move themselves forward with the help of tracks or caterpillars, some would say. One often hears the opinion expressed that such a vehicle must be a mighty fine thing and that little could happen to you in such a thing. They show little interest in the main gun, since it was war, after all, and you couldn’t get by without such a thing. Otherwise, everyone was happy when such a thing happened to be in their vicinity. What those strange people think of the guys who sit in one of those iron cages is usually not written down very often. Perhaps it is a good thing, therefore, once in a while to hear about tank regiments that fulfilled the missions of full-strength regiments with insufficient means and with 15 or less tanks in a battalion. And if they couldn’t fulfill those missions, at least made an honest effort to do so. Once upon a time … at a time when Panzer-Regiment 35 consisted of a single battalion with all of three companies. A time when the optimists among us maneuvered against the T-34’s with the Army’s door knocker,” even though it served no purpose, even with the best of intentions. That would be around January and February 1943—not, as you might think, in the fall of 1941, when it sometimes happened that the crew would hide its “combat vehicle” in the bushes and approach an advancing T-34 on foot with a tanker’s bar. With a great deal of time and effort, 15 of these war chariots were assembled in the battalion and assigned as the “4th Company,” the regiment’s ready reserve. That weak company was the backbone of the 4. Panzer-Divis ion—and, I think, half of the field army. It was directed that the encirclement that threatened at Schtschigry be thwarted with this armed might. Yes, that’s basically how it was. And yet, our morale was not down, since we possessed two actual T-34’s, spoils of war from earlier victories. Unfortunately, one of the two trophy pieces was always a bit “footsore”; the other one, however, was the cliff in the breakers. As was to be expected, the counterthrust against the overwhelming numerical superiority of the Russians soon bogged down, and the mechanized infantry had to pull back, if they did not want to be encircled. The tank company would have also liked to have pulled back, if it had only been so simple. It is an old truism that the tank that shows its rear deck to the enemy is a goner. During that critical situation, our T-34 placed itself like a barn door on the road and slammed round after round out of its long barrel. As a result, the rest of the old jalopies were able to pull back. Later on, when we were in Ligoff, there appeared, like a gift from the heavens, six Panzer IV’s with the fabled long main gun. That meant we had a “heavy” company again, and our chests puffed up mightily. The sound of the powerful engines, a new sound for us,

accompanied us into our upbeat dreams. The next day, the new tanks were sent out on operations; only five returned. A 4.7centimeter antitank gun had put a small hole under the turret of the sixth one; a hole so small you could barely put your finger in it. Those of us in the 2nd Company received self-propelled antitank guns. They were 7.5centimeter guns on the chassis of a Panzer II. They were the butt of considerable jokes— they were open on top and to the rear. On the sides, we only had a bit of sheet metal for protection. But the cannon was something else! If the armor was too little, it was made up for by the fact that you had fresh air and good observation. We continued to wage war with those contraptions—mind you, in contravention of everything we had learned about the art of war. Attacking antitank-gun positions by bounds. And look! The Russian crews ran as fast as their legs would fly. At that point, we even put up with the overabundance of fresh air and proudly called our crates “assault guns.” Just before the assault on Ssewsk was our big day. Long-barreled Panzer IV’s in great numbers! The “great numbers” were just enough to outfit each company with six to eight vehicles. Despite that, we figured we were a force to be reckoned with. Just out of Ssewsk, a smart young man was able to secure signals instructions out of a Mark II knocked out by one of the “assault guns,” which the intelligence section of the division promptly analyzed, with the result that the Russian radio traffic could be monitored during the main attack. When our jalopies rolled out, a Russian tank commander requested help: “Heavy German tanks attacking!” We were as happy as clams for a long time regarding the reference to our tanks being “heavy.” You can see what an effect a little bit of scrap metal can have sometimes. I need to mention that our tanks had sideskirts at the time. With the sheet-metal overcoat we actually did look menacing. Once we received the Panzer IV with the long main gun, the golden age of tanking started for us. Even if the companies shrunk in size to only three or four tanks, we were there for each other and feared nothing. In conclusion, I would like to mention one of our veteran tanks. The “Defile Dasher” was an old, venerable Panzer IV with the genteel short-barreled main gun and very narrow, delicate tracks—a cavalier in rough company. It was said it had been around for the war of 1870/71.87 The proper time of year for our “Defile Dasher” was the winter time. Why? The battalion always moved in a column, one tank right behind the other, with the “Defile Dasher” right up front. There was a reason. The road would start to climb. The lead elements of the column would move up it slowly. The drivers would shift gears; the engines droned peacefully. The “Defile Dasher” would displace off to the left and hovered next to the battalion, like a drill sergeant next to recruits. The tank would almost reach the ridgeline, when it started to slide, almost imperceptibly. The crew had been waiting for that, however. In a flash, they would slam down all the hatches in the turret. The driver would attempt to shift and steer, but that did not stop the course of fate. The “Defile Dasher” would dash, broadside, all the way down the slope again, throwing up a blanket of snow. It would sail past the grinning battalion, which shrugged it off and continued up the hill. The engine would roar and the driver would desperately throw it into reverse. Finally, as if nothing had happened, the battle-

tested vehicle would catch its stride in the cold bottomland. Then a sympathetic prime mover would hook up and tow it along to the next slope. The old one suffered its final fate outside of Ssewsk, although not in the usual manner. The 2nd Company was attacking alongside a slope; the “Defile Dasher” was laboriously working its way forward, off to the side. Suddenly: “Enemy tanks ahead!” “Halt!” The turret turned to 1 o’clock. “800!” “Shaped charge!” The loader rammed the plump hollow charge into the breech, switched the safety to fire and announced, “Up!” “On the way!” It roared like never before. When the smoke cleared, the breech was gone. Only the mantlet jutted skyward as a sad stump. Later, the loader, Gefreiter Federlein, said: “I thought, Well kiss my ass! The breech is in the casing collector.” The gun brake or the reciprocator must have been worn out, with the result that the recoiling tube landed by the deflector and never returned to its former elegant short length. Good, old “Defile Dasher.” That was its last trick, since it was sent from there to Magdeburg—where nothing ever came back. Easter 1943—The fighting along the Dessna was over. The infantry had relieved us and went into position on the new front. We enjoyed a quiet Easter in Nowgorod Ssewersk. The local populace had not obeyed the order by the Russians to evacuate and was demonstrably friendly towards us. On 29 April, the tanks were loaded and sent by rail to Karatschew. A dirty war awaited us there.

Partisans Hans Schäufler The area was dominated by partisans. Tens of thousands of them lived in wooded encampments, terrorized the civilian populace, ambushed villages night after night, blew up rail lines and mined roads. Those resistance fighters, as they called themselves, were well organized and led by Russian officers, who had been there ever since the large pocket battles. Thus, for better or worse, one was forced to undertake a large-scale operation against them, since the police units could not master the situation. That was not war for us. Who was a partisan? Who was a harmless Soviet civilian? We were surprised and impressed when we read the diary of a partisan leader that we had captured during an operation:

Diary from the “Kotowskij” Partisan Detachment Maintained by Red Army 2nd Lieutenant Michail Iwanowitsch Popoff, born 1919 On 28 September 1941, I was given command of the 7th Company of the 624th Rifle regiment of the 137th Division. We were on the defense at Baklan until 4 October 1941. On 7 October, we marched in the direction of Brjansk. The enemy had cut off the route by taking Prolyssowo. Brjansk and Orel fell. My regiment was directed to attack Prolyssowo on 8 and 9 October. I was given orders to set up an ambush on the ProlyssowoGololobowo road. The attack did not take place; I remained in my ambush position. The regiment then pulled back. I remained in my location until 0500 hours before returning, but no one was there. I discovered the regiment had marched off in the direction of Swatoje. As a result, I marched behind a column of guns towed by tractors. When the column with the corps artillery exited the woods on the Prolyssowo-Nawlja road, three German aircraft attacked us at low level. At the same time, German artillery began firing on us from the western edge of the woods. A German company moved out to attack from the gardens of a collective farm. The platoon leaders ran into the woods. I shot one of the cowards. We decided to defend. But our fires were so weak that they didn’t shock the Germans in the least. We had neither machine gun nor mortar. The Germans, however, had a damned lot of submachine guns, which caused our soldiers to seek cover and forget to fire. At the decisive moment, we wanted to lead our men into close combat, but the Politruk was killed and I was shot in the leg. The Germans continued to attack. Some of our people ran into the woods; others surrendered. I was left behind on the battlefield with five dead soldiers and the dead Politruk. It turned dark. During the day, I had noticed that there was a settlement about 700 meters away from us. I crawled towards it. I was supposed to be picked up by a German vehicle. My two medics, who had surrendered, wanted to carry me over to it. I ordered them to keep quiet about me, however. I started crawling quite slowly. My leg was hurting and I had been weakened by the loss of blood. In addition, I was very hungry. I took pains to get to a high wheat field that had not been harvested and found a good place. The wheat straightened up behind me. I covered myself with my overcoat and fell asleep. I slept well and did not wake up until the morning of 10 October. The entire field was covered with snow. I had been covered by snow, but I was warm and had slept well. At about 0900 hours, I reached the settlement of Paschenki, where the local populace greeted me and hid me from the Germans. I dressed my leg, ate for the first time in five days and slept a long time. After three days, a kindly older woman, Maria Iwanowna Petruschina, took me into her house. I was sick for a long time and the leg hurt a lot. At the same time, a commissar, who had been badly wounded, reached Paschenki. Visitors to the house informed me of that. I was unable to walk. He had been put up with an old woman who went by the codename of “Siberian Woman.” During the first half of December, I started to walk again. My first effort was to get to the commissar. The

Germans only came into the village occasionally. He was laying in bed. He could only see with one eye. He was unshaven with uncut hair. Nobody tended to his wounds. We introduced ourselves to one another. He had just completed attending the military-political academy in Moscow a short while again and had been at the front since September, where he was the commissar of the battery I had marched with on 9 October. His name was Sergej Saizew, and he was a young, energetic and politically educated fellow. I helped him dress all of his wounds. The ones on his hands healed quickly. He had other wounds on his back. The small bones on one foot had been broken. His left eye was lost. Gradually, he started to walk again. We visited the neighbors to smoke. Every evening, former Red Army soldiers met there who had been released from captivity and were attending to domestic duties. We smoked with them and talked about different things, primarily, however, about partisan activities and their usefulness for the red Army. On 25 December 1941, we assembled all of the men and youths capable of military service and discussed the necessity of forming a partisan battalion in Paschenki. The people willingly wanted to be armed. As a result, a partisan group of 34 men was formed. Representatives from the Rayon Party came from Nawlja, who held a meeting [concerning the formation of the partisan detachment]. I was designated the commander; my friend became the Politruk. And so I became a partisan on 25 December 1941. My first operation was on 9 February 1942. I participated with my group in the blowing up of two railway bridges along the Kljukowniki-Ssineserki stretch. The operations ran without incident and without casualties. That same February, there was an operation to eliminate the garrison stationed in the village of Ssineserki. We killed 6 Germans and took 40 police prisoner. In addition, we blew up a railway bridge. After the operation in Ssineserki, we spent a long time n Shurawka defending and then went to Paschenki to recover. Similar groups joined together to form a “bush administration.” Our “bush” was called Ssytenki. It comprised Gawan, Ssytenki, Prolyssowo and Paschenki. Shakarshewskij became the commander, Ossipoff the commissar. As long as the “bush” was in effect, the people stayed in their “bushes” and didn’t do anything. At the end of April, our bush was changed into a detachment—Partisan Detachment “Kotowskij.” During its organizational period, the detachment undertook an operation against the train station at Chmelowo. I personally did not participate; I only had to provide five men. The operation failed. On 5 June 1942, the detachment derailed an enemy transport train and engaged it. More that 400 Hitlerites were eliminated. Our losses were two men. At the end of July, I undertook an attack on Ssemzy, Waluez and Pjany Rog, along with Ossipoff and 150 men, taking along 76 mines and the regimental mortar. We eliminated 70 Germans and civilians and captured a lot of cows and pigs and grain from a German supply trains element. The operation was conducted in conjunction with the Chomutowo

Detachment (Kursk region). No friendly losses. The operations was ended on 10 July. We returned back to our region. Almost all of the region of Nawlja was in the hands of the partisans; Soviet rule had been restored. In Prolyssowo, an executive committee was founded with all of the subcommittees, including a court. During times they had no duties, the partisans lived at home. In the battalion, a strong diversionary group was formed that went to work and also derailed trains. The main body guarded the boundaries of the partisans; those without duties engaged in agricultural work. From the beginning of August to September, I conducted long-range reconnaissance with a group of seven men in the rear area of the enemy (across the Dessna). In September, sections from different detachments, including one from ours, blew up the railway bridge over the Nawlja. The detachment collected 13 tons of grain and hid it well. Starting on 17 September, the Germans commenced a large-scale operation with two divisions against the partisans in the Nawlja region. Of course, we did not surrender the region without a fight. We really made things hot for the Germans, especially at Kolomino on 29 September. An order from a German division commander was captured, in which he admitted to and recognized the elasticity of the partisan tactics. In addition, it was reported that the Germans had lost 800 “heroes.” We think otherwise: That it must have been at least 1,500, since just at Kolomino alone, 400 Fritzes were lost. During the retreat, we suffered tremendous hunger in the Ssusjemka Woods and covered many a kilometer. After the fighting at Kolomino, we crossed the Nawlja again and went back into our woods. Into the woods, since the built-up areas had been burned down and the civilians driven off. In the meantime, our 2nd Company had fallen apart, because most of the men joined the police. The reason for that was bad leadership. Iwanoff, the Politruk, is a drunkard and the company commander was not much better. They spent their time with drinking. As a result, 35% left; the remaining ones are the reliable ones. By fortifying Glinnoje, the Germans cut us off from the Ssusjemka Woods. We attempted to fight our way out three times. They had so firmly entrenched themselves that we could not do anything without artillery. We had buried our guns, since we had run out of ammunition. During that fighting, we lost 30 of our best comrades, killed and wounded. The first seven as a result of the stupidity of the detachment commander. He is hot headed and doesn’t think things through. In October and November, the battalion stockpiled supplies, established 59 dugouts for living quarters and derailed four trains. On 18 December, the enemy found our camp and attacked for three days. On 21 December, the 1st Company was attacked by Hungarians. We gave them hell, firing into their flanks with our submachine gunners. We wiped out more than half of them, approximately 120 men. Those who survived saved themselves by fleeing. The enemy losses during those days consisted of 600 men of the Russian-German Army and 150 Hungarians. Their defeat had as a result the fact that they ran away and have not shown themselves since then.

On 18 February 1943, I contracted typhus, which is very common among us. Half of the battalion contracted it. Even those immunized caught it, but they got through it easier. 5 March—Today we discovered that our forces had taken Ssewsk and our own tanks were in Smelish. The night was restive. One section went to Karatschew with a mission. I was unable to go, because I still felt too weak from the typhus. On 7 March, the section returned and brought four policemen, three heavy machine guns and three light machine guns. We did not take any losses. 9 March—An enemy group went to Worki. We ambushed it. Our army was advancing. We prepared to greet it. 14 March—Our brigade received a combat mission yesterday to blow up the railway bridge over the Rewna near Ssineserki. Our section came back and reported terrible things. The Germans had discovered our operation four days before it began. They had prepared to receive our people and let them approach to within 15 meters before they opened fire. Kosowoj, a patriot, was killed; many were wounded. The worst was that the enemy did not allow a portion of the force to get back across the tracks. They remained behind with the badly wounded; presumably, there were many of them, including many dead as well. Damn it all that they knew about us! 18 March—The situation grew more difficult; the enemy’s activities in the partisan areas were increasing. The Germans were conducting combat patrols; occasionally against Worki, occasionally against the outposts. German aircraft frequently arrived and engaged our camp. 7 April—We undertook four large operations over the last 14 days. I was in the Karatschew and Ssineserki regions. The last operation failed. It was very dark. The ground was soft. We sank up to our knees in the muck. We were at the embankment, when I walked on an alarm wire. We were engaged; my people slipped off to the side. I got caught up in the wires, fell into the muck and was only able to get away with great difficulty. After that operation at Ssineserki, the enemy strengthened his garrison and was said to have off-loaded six transport trains, supposedly with the mission to destroy us partisans. 8 April—Today marked the 18th month that I had been in the enemy’s rear. A lot of energy and health had been expended during that time. The hate, however, has remained the same. Every day is full of surprises. We stand firmly, however, and will stand that way until our blood oozes away: For homeland, for victory, for Stalin. Unfortunately, there have been and there are traitors—cowards. They are the servants of the Germans. But that is just the panic-stricken populace, 11 April—The enemy reduced the ring daily. A large-scale attack will probably follow soon, just like in the fall of the previous year. 6 May—I led a group of 70 men to Klinskoje. Police and Germans were all around us. We had been directed to get a few cows. The effort did not succeed, however. As a result, we had to hide out in some vegetation during the day. We were surrounded. The enemy was numerically superior to us; he had a few tanks and artillery pieces. Apparently, he wanted to wipe us out to the last man. I broke out with 20 men across the field and, in the

process, eliminated three police outposts. The remaining group of 50 men maneuvered in a very adroit manner. The Germans wanted to catch two rabbits, but they got none. 20 May—Starting on 18 May, the enemy occupied the places where the villages of Ssidorowka and Andrejewka used to be with approximately three battalions; he assembled strong forces in the area around Selepegowka. Today, originating from Ssiwzew, he attacked our outposts, but he was turned back. For three days now, we have found ourselves in a very tense situation. If we used to live on something the size of a fiveKopek coin, we were now reduced to the size of a two-Kopek one. We had been enclosed on all sides by quite strong enemy forces. Our people will fight to the last round. The enemy attacked again. The Germans surrounded our camp in a circle stretching seven kilometers. It appears that tomorrow will be the decisive battle. In case I live, I will write about it.88

Operation “Zitadelle” Hans Schäufler Operation “Zitadelle” was the codename for the large-scale operation designed to cut off the Soviet forces that had advanced the previous winter in a large arc to the west of Kursk. The pincers operations envisioned a simultaneous advance in the north from the area south of Orel and from the south from the area around Bjelgorod. The operation stood under a dark cloud, since it was also known that the Russians had also assembled strong forces to eliminate the bend in the front around Orel that likewise was a thorn in his side.

Teploje Reinhard Peters, Leutnant and Platoon Leader in the 1st Battalion After weeks of a break for resting, which our 1st Battalion spent in Karatschew, it was time. During the first few days of July, we moved into the area around Liwny. The major summer offensive was about to start. During the night of ⅞ July, we moved to our attack positions. We had never seen such a concentration of armored forces before. Fortunately, Ivan had not noticed us, since it would have been a tempting target for Soviet bombers. 8 July, 0230 hours—We received the order to move out. The objective was Hill 240 at Teploje. Wing after wing of the Luftwaffe thundered overhead—bombers, Stukas, bombers, Stukas. And so it went for hours on end. All of them dropped their payloads on the hill. The Stukas also attacked individual targets, the dug-in T-34’s and KV I’s on the forward slope of the hill. That calmed our nerves, since nothing could go bad after that. Georgi’s company initially took point. When our tanks exited the defiles at Ssamodurowka, they received bitter antitank-gun and main-gun fires. We had not expected that after the gigantic bombing raids. The first attack wave started to waver. After the next tank company also bogged down in the defensive fires, it was our turn. Oberleutnant Prast issued the order to attack, but he was knocked out after advancing only a couple of hundred meters. Leutnant Beck, the senior platoon leader, assumed acting command of the company, but his command was also of short duration. After a few minutes, his tank was also hit. Then it was my turn. I ordered: “Panzer—marsch!” But there weren’t too many of us. Only a few vehicles were rolling next to me. Oberfeldwebel Allgaier had identified a dug-in KV I, one of many. With his Swabian steadfastness and calm, he took it in his sights. But the distance was too great; the 7.5centimeter main-gun round ricocheted off. He then fired in front of the tank with highexplosive rounds, so that the kicked-up dust and dirt would rob the enemy of visibility. He used the time to get closer. The same game was repeated two or three times. Then he was where he wanted to be. He waited in ambush with an antitank round in the breech. The clouds of dust dissipated, and the target was revealed. On the way! Target! It was masterful. As a result of the hours of massed bombing and shelling, there was a cloud of gunpowder smoke and dust above us. The sky seemed to be masked off. I felt it was the afternoon, but my watch only showed 0900 hours. In the meantime, Petrelli’s company had reached the village of Teploje, which lay at the foot of the hill. Our attack started to bog down again, however. For the first time, we experienced the employment of Goliaths, small, remotely controlled tracked vehicles with demolitions mounted on them. But they didn’t quite work as planned. Due to technical problems, they would not operate or they were knocked out. In any case, they did not bring success. We breathed a sigh of relief, when we saw Sauvant’s Tiger battalion89 pull up. We needed reinforcement and relief. Just as I was edging over the top of the commander’s cupola to observe with my binoculars, a monstrous pressure, accompanied by an ear-

deafening bang, threw me from my commander’s seat. It was now our turn, I thought. But we were all in one piece, including the tank. The reasons were soon found. A Tiger had taken up position behind my Panzer IV. When it fired, the muzzle of the 8.8-centimeter main gun was barely a meter from my open commander’s hatch. That wasn’t exactly the way we had conceived the Tigers would be employed. The afternoon saw an immediate counterattack on the part of the Russians. We pulled back to the edge of a defile and waited. A Russian tank unit rolled about 1,000 meters to the left of us. We were able to take it under effective flanking fires. The rest were eliminated by the Tigers. But Russian infantry also attacked at the same time. They approached us through the grain fields with stoic calm. It was swarming with them in front of us. We let them approach to within 300 meters, then it was “Fire at will” with our machine guns and high-explosive rounds. The attack was bloodily repulsed. During the night, an element of Petrelli’s company succeeded in making it to the top of the highly desired Hill 240. But the tanks had to pull back at first light. The key position of the enemy could not be taken. It was a black day for the battalion. In the log books of the battalion maintenance sergeant were many entries listed as total losses at Teploje on 8 July 1943.

In a Trap General der Panzertruppen a.D. Dietrich von Saucken, Division Commander During the battle of Orel, the command tank of the division commander entered the village of Teploje and got stuck on a low bridge, when it broke through. While reconnoitering on foot, Leutnant Simon, the signals officer, was mortally wounded, which we could not see at the time. All around us at the top of the balka were invisible Russian riflemen in position. “Bear Leader” was notified on the tank radio [concerning the division commander’s situation]. Soon, two Panzer IV’s appeared to free the commander from the trap. Despite a warning, Leutnant Lecius left one of the Panzer IV’s in the belief that he could still help his fallen comrade, Simon. In the process, he was also killed by a round to the head. All the while, the command tank remained immobile, but undamaged, on the bridge. It was a “matter of honor” in such cases, when it was still conceivable to recover a vehicle, to remain with it. The next day, the command tank was recovered. Instead of a “matter of honor,” one could also say “the tanker spirit.” Of course, that’s the subject of this entire book. The next day, the commander-in-chief [Generaloberst Model] said at the command post to the division commander: “At the time you were stuck in Teploje, your ops officer [Major Lutz] was also wounded. That meant the division was without a leader.” “Not quite,” the division commander replied. “There was still contact with the Bear Leader.” “Fine,” the commander-in-chief replied. “That sort of thing can happen. It’s happened to me as well.” And how often did those sorts of things occur?

The Nutcracker Josef Leitl, Gefreiter in the 2./Panzer-Regiment 35 I was still a young Gefreiter at the time, and our thirst to accomplish great things was gigantic. You only have to consider that all of us replacements arrived with a “naked chest” and we looked up to the old hands with a certain respect, since they seemed to shine with orders and badges. The young recruits were all ears when it came to discussions of whose crew they might be assigned to and what he had accomplished as a tank commander or platoon leader. The details were important to us at the time; as a result of all the talk, each of us was already thinking whose crew they would like to be assigned to. My absolute favorite at the time was Oberfeldwebel Algeier. But as often the case in life, everything turned out differently than what was swimming around in my fantasies. Initially, we had to pull an unbelievable amount of guard duty and, in the time remaining, we did just as much maintenance and training, since the basic training we had received in the homeland did not meet the standards that the frontline forces expected. But nothing lasts forever and, one day, Hauptfeldwebel Müller, the first sergeant at the time, assigned crews. To my great disappointment, I was assigned to Unteroffizier Wolmershäuser’s tank, of whom I can only say good things, but, as already mentioned, was in the opposite direction of what I had wished for … I experienced my baptism of fire at Bolchow with that crew. We conducted five attacks there, as well as screened. When we later moved to Owtschuk, in the vicinity of Mzensk, my desire to perform great deeds was already considerably dampened. My dreams of heroics and all the other things that young tankers imagined had received a breakthrough experience at the front. But I was as proud as I could be when I received the Tank Assault Badge in Silver.90 At that point, I felt like I was one of the “old hands,” even though I was still quite far removed from that. And so the time passed with anti-partisan operations, different engagements and all the things that come with being at the front. The spring of 1943, it was my turn. In the meantime, I had been promoted to Obergefreiter. I had to participate in a noncommissioned officer course in our billets in the vicinity of Orel. I was there when Oberfeldwebel Algeier observed me and asked whether I wanted to join his crew. At first, I couldn’t believe my ears, but then the news washed over me and it sunk in that my desire to be a part of the crew of that outstanding tanker was going to come true. With a joyful “Jawohl, Herr Oberfeldwebel!” and a powerful handshake, I signaled my agreement. I can still see our Oberfeldwebel “Nutcracker” in front of me with his small, compact frame. The eyes that were always happy or glaring. Eyes that could literally talk. Coupled with his lively Swabian dialect, which stemmed from the area around Hohenzollern, you had a portrait of this soldier’s personality that personified a soldier who was a straightshooting, experienced and conscientious platoon leader. His words could be either kind or sharp as a knife, and I often thought that two souls resided in his breast. Our Oberfeldwebel issued only clear and precise orders, and we knew that everything

had its justification when it came from him. In the famous calm before the storm, he would provide us with advice and tips as to how we were to react in this or that situation. And so he molded us into a tank crew—yes, you could almost say, a family—in which everyone would stand up for the other in danger! The hour of testing did not let itself wait too long. When we received operations orders at the beginning of July 1943, we were prepared and waited with confidence for the things that would come. By then, we had a Panzer IV with the long main gun and so we were also burning with curiosity to see whether those things could prove themselves against the Russian T-34’s. Under a beaming sun on a magnificent day in July, we moved towards the enemy and into a staging area. The Stukas and other bombers droned above us, flanked and guarded by Me’s and FW’s. When the thunder of our own artillery started immediately thereafter, which then had the hissing of the enemy’s artillery mixed in, it all rose to a heretofore never-experienced hurricane of fire. We then knew what was on the table and what would be headed our way. It was not too long after that that we moved out. We rolled out onto a gigantic, broad plain in a widely dispersed formation, deeply echeloned. We were joined by the tanks of the neighboring division. It was the battlefield of Teploje. On the horizon, we saw a chain of hills, which would turn out to be of decisive importance to us. I have never seen a more gigantic demonstration of concentrated firepower as I did in those minutes when we moved out to attack. The same image was repeated in Ivan’s sector: tank next to tank, wherever you looked. The closer we got to the enemy, the worse it was for us, since the greater part of the Russian tanks and antitank guns had been dug in. Our tank commander whistled so loudly that it hummed in our headphones when he recognized the shit stew we were about to enter. Like a mountain climber on a steep cliff, our Oberfeld91 clung to his cupola, looking out over the edge and always finding his targets at the right moment. On top of all that, he maintained a composure that, it goes without saying, also spread to the entire crew, with the result that the crew often only had a feeling of the dangers that existed outside, rather than actually identifying them. In front of us, about 200 meters away, a KV I was ablaze. We were forced to take a heading for the crate, if we did not want to become separated from our formation. When we pulled even with the mortally wounded giant, there was a muffled roar and our hatches flew open as if opened by spirits. Fire and smoke lay on and around our tank. I was barely able to hear the command of our tank commander: “Bail out!” At first, you could not think clearly. It was more a subconscious thing that shoots through my senses: We had been knocked out. It was not until we were taking cover behind our tank a few seconds later that we realized what had actually happened. When we had pulled even with the KV I, it exploded and blew apart into individual pieces. Its “blessings” poured over our vehicle, and it was burning from one end to the other. Our tank commander, a man who made fast decisions, immediately issued orders to put out the fires, since the rest of us were still too shocked by what had happened that we needed minutes in order to clear our heads. We all joined in feverishly, and we were soon ready for combat again. Many of you will still remember how we knocked our teeth out on this first chain of hills with their dug-in tanks and antitank guns. The high losses on both sides pay mute testimony.

A few days later, we were fighting in the area of Trossna. And that’s where it was that they would also get our good Oberfeldwebel Algeier. In order to provide support to Pomeranian light infantry and an infantry regiment from Munich, we had been separated, as so often was the case, to be attached to them. After turning back a Russian tank attack, in which our gunner, Unteroffizier Behringer, knocked out several T-34’s, we transitioned to screening. The terrain was well suited for us, since we were on a reverse slope and had great fields of fire. To a certain extent, the knocked-out enemy tanks also provided a certain amount of cover for us. For tankers, it was a good feeling to know there were infantry in front of us and next to us. The tanks of our platoon were positioned at 150-meter intervals to the right and left of us. All of the crews had dug the well-known pits under the tanks, since we wanted to be able to stretch out whenever the situation allowed it. Two men remained on alert in the tanks during the day, while the others rested, wrote letters or made themselves otherwise useful. It wasn’t so peaceful most of the time, though, since Ivan usually granted us damned little in the way of breaks. He constantly fired harassing fires with artillery or mortars on our sector, with the result that we had to dig in and were always forced to endure the fires from our safe haven. During one of those harassing fires, the crew next to us took a bad hit, since all five men were standing behind the tank when several shells impacted in their immediate vicinity. I was lying under the tank at the time when the shrill cries for the medics penetrated into my ears. We immediately jumped up to see who had been hit and saw our five comrades lying on the ground. In the blink of an eye, I grabbed the first-aid kit from the tank. Taking evasive maneuvers, I reached the wounded. Our heavily burdened medic, Unteroffizier Wagner, a man from Vienna who was always friendly, was not there. Correspondingly, I had to treat the wounded as well I could. After finishing, I started to return to my crew. Halfway there, I once again heard the macabre, typical whooshing of mortar shells in the air. Our ditch appeared right in front of me and, in a jump, first-aid kit in my right hand, I landed headfirst. But several shells had already impacted in our vicinity … at least, that’s what my brain registered. Then I felt a hefty blow to the left side of my head and red circles fogged my brain into a bottomless emptiness. You may ask yourself why I am giving such a detailed account of my wounding—it is related to our Oberfeldwebel. When I opened my eyes again and came back to my senses, he said to me: “You deserved that … why in the world did you run out to help in the middle of an artillery attack. You should have waited until the fireworks were over!” The fact that our tank commander didn’t really think that way would soon come home to roost on him. Then I was evacuated to the main clearing station. Two days later, Leutnant Peters also arrived there. Oh, what tricks life plays on you! The submachine gun under his tank commander’s seat had worked itself loose as the tank rattled cross-country and the round that was set off found a home in Leutnant Peter’s “seat cushion.” That didn’t deserve a trip to a hospital in the homeland, so when they removed the bullet, both of us made our way back to the front. Due to the heavy losses, every man was urgently needed, and so I climbed into our crate, which had long since become our “home,” despite an aching head. Little had changed at the front over the past few days. The skirmishes between friend

and foe changed based on the situation. We were under our crate, when our Oberfeld felt nature call and, armed with an entrenching tool, disappeared into a nearby grain field. Then, at the worst time, the air started to be filled with lead again, and every one of us knew that a lot of shells were whistling through the air whenever Ivan started stuffing his mortars. Even today, I feel goose bumps all over my body whenever I think how that sudden call caused us to tremble: “Help! Help! Medic!” There was no doubt who was calling. As if chased by the Furies and feeling something bad had happened, three of us raced off towards the sound of the calls. He could not be found immediately, because the grain was tall. A few moments later, however, we found ourselves in front of our unfortunate commander, who had been wounded by numerous pieces of shrapnel. Disregarding the many impacting shells around us, we carried our sad cargo back to the cover of the tank. We placed him in a shelter half; it was only then that we saw what had happened: Our Oberfeld was bleeding from at least 10 wounds. He had taken it the worst in his legs. We carefully cut his boots off of his feet and removed his uniform. It was only then that we were able to approach the many bleeding places so as to staunch the flow of blood. He bore his terrible fate fully conscious and suffering unspeakable pain, which shook us to the core. We took care of him as gently as we could and did not spare any comforting words, which served to encourage us but hopefully also diverted him from his unfortunate situation. In the meantime, our radio operator had raced away to find a stretch-bearer party, since we knew there was a wounded collection point nearby. It did not take very long and two medics came racing up with a stretcher. Followed by our “frequency torturer” and me, the medics carried our Oberfeldwebel to the wounded collection point, which was located in a defile. Our patient then started to become calmer, since the firing had abated and the first ambulances came rattling forward. A physician’s assistant, who looked more like a butcher than a Samaritan, provided his first professional help. With the obligatory wounded tag pinned to his chest, they loaded him into the ambulance. When I took my leave of our tank commander, he tugged on the sleeve of my tanker’s jacket and indicated I should bend over to him. Although it was already very difficult for him to speak, he whispered hesitantly: “Thanks for your quick help! Now I know what kind of dumb nonsense I sputtered when you were wounded. Please don’t think bad of me! Keep your chin up! When I’m healthy again, I’ll be climbing back into the tank as your old tank commander!” Those were words like balsam to my ears, since they showed that the old fox had considered us to be equals and that we had grown on him in good times and bad. When they loaded him, we waved to him for a last time, and his final farewell to us was a feeble smile. The fact that we would never see one another again was not clear to us at the time. Unteroffizier Behringer became the tank commander, and I was elevated to gunner, which was a welcome change after being the loader for such a long time. Things happened rapidly and death made a rich harvest, even in our ranks. We only occasionally received news about our former tank commander. Our concerns grew, when we heard that both legs had been amputated. But we were truly shook when we received news that our beloved Oberfeldwebel Algeier had passed away in a hospital near his home as a result of his

wounds. The fact that they had awarded him the German Cross in Gold92 filled us all with inner satisfaction, despite our sadness. All of us had reason enough to be proud of that wonderful tanker. It was told to us that he had stopped a T-34 with a simple hand axe, which he jammed between the track and the sprocket. That’s how he had earned the nickname of the “Nutcracker.”

Detlev von Cossel Dr. H. J. Schulz-Merkel, Battalion Physician for the I./Panzer-Regiment 35 When Major von Lauchert, Hauptmann Esser and Oberleutnant Schäffer left the regiment, Major von Cossel assumed command of the 1st Battalion. It was a tradition in our regiment that only one of the “Old Guard” could become a commander. Based on his many operations with the regiment, Detlev von Cossel was a well-known figure. Not only during times of fighting, but also during the quiet times, he had gotten closer to all of us because of his comradeship and also for his pranks. His happy, upbeat personality radiated to all of us. For those who were not fortunate enough to have been around him, he was the personification of the perfect tanker. No one had as many stories circulating about him as he did. He was the most lighthearted out of all of us and a gifted person, who always found his bearings, no matter the situation. His heart was young and his happiness radiated from within, and he liked to shock those occasionally who took appearances too seriously. He was the master of any situation and he did not let circumstances master him. In radio traffic with his companies, he had a completely unique style. His orders came alive, even if they did not correspond to the Army manuals in the way they were expressed. His battalion followed him blindly and venerated him, and he lived only for it. Detlev von Cossel always had plans, and he always knew a way out. Something always occurred to him. I had never seen him perplexed. Thus, it could not be helped that his name became a legend. I cannot swear whether it’s true, but I heard that he flew a French private aircraft once, without ever having had a stick in his hands before. I also do not know how he was able to spend three days along the Dnjepr in the midst of the Russians before he succeeded in escaping across the river. I only know that at first light one morning he was suddenly there —unshaven, tired, his features sunken, sort of a ghost figure of himself. He was not the type of person who liked to talk about himself. 19 July 1943—We were employed along a salient in the front that the Russians apparently wanted to expand. Enemy bomber formations attacked in numbers we had not seen up to that point. The Russian artillery contributed its bit. The localities we were fighting around had familiar names to us: Kromy, Ssewsk, Norgorod Ssewersk. We did not have time to dream about the days when we had taken them as we stormed forward. 20 July—It had to be either Saturday or Sunday. We were in a small fruit orchard on a slight rise. Somewhat against our wills, we followed the orders to dig protective dugouts under our tanks. For my medical staff, it was especially hard, since they had to dig for the wounded as well. We were in the northeast corner; the commander had his command post in the southern section. 22 July—We were rudely awakened by a Russian aerial attack. The bombers dropped their payloads directly over our battalion. Then a monstrous artillery barrage followed, something out of a war movie. Stalin organs completed the lurid concert. My medical staff was with me under the tanks; only Hutschenreuter remained at the radio. We did not hear

anything from him. A tanker came running through the salvoes and threw himself under cover next to us: “The commander received a direct hit … he is badly wounded … or dead!” I hastened with Luther through the fruit orchard, literally flying from one shell crater to the next. A salvo of fire was coming down around us. We were buried under clumps of earth. We were amazed that nothing serious happened to us. Finally, we reached the commander’s vehicle. It was burning and smoking. Luther and two tankers attempted to get our Cossel out of the burning vehicle. We could not do it, despite all of our efforts. He was pinned in, and his uniform had already started to burn. He was badly wounded on the left side of his face and chest. We heard that the driver still had to be in the vehicle. He must have been badly wounded as well, because he could not open his hatch. We were unable to help him as well. Fuel and ammunition were starting to burn; thick smoke was pouring out of the hatches. It was not until we had given up out of despair that we discovered that there was heavy artillery fires raging around us and that we were under direct fire from enemy tanks. On the opposite hill was an endless succession of Russian tanks. One of them must have hit the “Bear Leader” through the open hatch. Another hit probably set the command vehicle on fire. I quickly surveyed the situation. Oberleutnant Burkhardt, the battalion adjutant, filled me in on more details. Over there, on the hill, our Panzergrenadier-Regiment 33 was supposed to be positioned, as well as on the slopes that could not be seen farther to the south. I discussed operations with Burkhardt. The situation became more critical by the minute. Things needed to be done, and done quickly. I personally gave instructions to some of the elements. In the case of the platoon leader of the light platoon, Leutnant Bolten, I had to pound mightily on the turret, before I caught his attention. Nobody questioned that the orders came from me, the battalion physician. Initially, I did not tell the companies that their commander had been killed so as not to make the already precarious situation worse. In order to hold up the Russian tank attack, there was a good position in the terrain, but it was outside of the battalion sector on the right wing. Apparently, the enemy advance was continuing in that direction. The 1st Company was employed in an appropriate manner there. It received orders to block the path of the enemy. Another company was able to operate somewhat in the enemy’s flank. The radio traffic with the companies finally started to work. The command post in the vicinity of the commander’s vehicle, which was still burning, offered good observation. For Burkhardt and for me, there was only one thought: The battalion had to master the critical situation. Everything was in full swing. The sounds from the tanks fighting mixed themselves with artillery fire. The company commanders were used to the fact that Burkhardt was on the microphone. Then the division commander, General von Saucken appeared with his combat “goat.” I reported to him on von Cossel’s death, the things I had directed and the current situation. In response, I was dressed down: “What do you think you are doing, employing my tanks outside of the division and corps sector, when I urgently need them myself?” I discovered that there was no more contact with the mechanized infantry and that the situation in the entire division sector was less than clear. The General took the light platoon with him and moved on in order to check out the

situation in the sector of the mechanized infantry. With superior certainty and calmness, he assembled the men, reorganized the formations and personally employed them. I received the news that the commander of the 12th, Oberst von der Damerau, had also been killed. The regimental and battalion headquarters had been overrun by the Russians. Our General succeeded in establishing a cohesive main line of resistance. In the middle of the Russians, he left his “goat” and grabbed himself an olive-green comrade. He wanted to know whom he was fighting. In the process an Ivan with no respect shot a hole in his old field cap. The only thing he said: “Those guys just don’t have any respect for a German general.” Apparently, he also came to be in agreement with the way I had employed the tanks, since his orders did not affect the 1st Company, which continued to fight in the neighboring sector. He even sent a battalion of grenadiers over there to reinforce it. In the course of that day of fighting, I passed on the news to the companies at an appropriate moment that the commander was no longer there. No enemy tank that had broken through survived the day. We no longer had any casualties; I did not need to function as a doctor. It became quieter during the afternoon hours. The battalion fought as successfully as it had ever done. It turned back a Russian offensive; it knocked out 78 Russian tanks without a single friendly loss. It even shot down an enemy aircraft with a main gun, as it started its descent to attack one of our tanks. But the battalion had lost its best one, its Detlev von Cossel. The day had started with gray fog and the sound of fighting; in the smoke of battle, the sun set blood red. The large Russian counteroffensive to Operation “Zitadelle” had failed—at least in our sector. 23 July—In the afternoon, we turned our dead commander, Detlev von Cossel, over to the Russian earth next to some blooming bushes at the edge of a field. General von Saucken spoke form the heart: “It is as if a star has burnt out!” Not much was said at his gravesite. After the chaplain, I spoke from the heart to my friend and comrade. It was difficult to speak. It wasn’t much better for the others. He loved blue cornflowers. We decorated his coffin with them. The company commanders asked me to continue leading the battalion for the time being, since no one wanted to leave his company under these circumstances. We went to the division commander with our communal wish. It said a lot about the spirit of the regiment that we were all of one accord in this regard: His successor should come from the regiment. The only one we thought of was Major Fritz Schultz. He was in Paris at the moment attending a battalion commander course. We wanted him to be the commander. We discovered, however, that a replacement had already been requested from the unassigned officer manpower pool. We did everything to have that rescinded. I had to be on top of things so that nothing went wrong and a man not from the regiment would come to command the “bears.” We were continuously in action, you could almost say, all along the front at the same time. The companies were frequently sent out to differing divisions. The struggle for a reasoned employment of the tanks within the infantry divisions was my most difficult task, since the strategists among the infantry thought they were vastly superior to the young battalion physician when it came to tank tactics.

Our Major Schultz finally arrived after a good two weeks. I was able to transfer the battalion to him and returned to my duties as the battalion physician.

Goroditschy Hans Luther, Medical Oberfeldwebel in the I./Panzer-Regiment 35 Whether the one-horse town was actually called Goroditschy, I can no longer say. There had been trouble brewing for several days. It had seeped through to us that the Russians had assembled strong tank and infantry forces. We had been alerted and were on alert, day and night. The Russian attack was initiated in the sector of Panzergrenadier-Regiment 33, which had already been battered by the previous fighting. It was no wonder that the Russians succeeded in breaking through, since he was also vastly superior numerically. The terrific mechanized infantry put up a good defensive fight, but this time, all of the courage appeared to be in vain. I was helping take care of the wounded in the sector of the 33rd, Unterarzt Dr. Stockmeier, since many of the medics had been lost. We had established a provisional forward clearing station in one of the first houses of the village. The Red Cross flag waved at the entrance to remind comrades moving to the rear to pick up wounded. Moaning wounded were lying everywhere on makeshift beds, and more and more were seeking help from us. If only vehicles would come to take the poor devils to the main clearing station. There … the sound of tracks in front of our house. I quickly went to the door … the shock took my breath away. It was a Russian T-34. In the open terrain, I could see tank after tank advancing with mounted infantry. The first mortar rounds burst on our house; the dust whirled skyward. The wounded sensed the impending danger and begged us to get vehicles, which could get them out of there at the last minute. We tried to calm them down, even though we no longer had any hope ourselves. Besides us, there were no more Landser in the village. In the meantime, the T-34’s had all reached the edge of the village, and the infantry dismounted. We attempted to hide ourselves and the wounded. Fortunately, there was a potato cellar in the house, and we disappeared into it while the explosive rounds of the Russians slammed into the beams of the house. The ground shook from the heavy tracks of the tanks. Good that the experienced Dr. Stockmeier kept his nerves. That was always the best medicine in such situations. Outside, it had turned damned quiet. Only occasionally could you hear the cracking of a few large calibers. It was time to check out the situation. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Out in the field, a number of T-34’s were burning, with the ammunition remaining in the tanks exploding. The other T-34’s raced back as if the devil were after them. The escorting infantry was racing behind them. I ran back to the wounded in order to bring them the good news and free them from that additional worry. Once again, tanks rattled past our house, but this time it was our 1st Battalion. I asked the first crew I could find to radio back for vehicles to take the wounded to the rear. They arrived soon thereafter, and the sorely tested comrades could count on further treatment soon in a field hospital.

How had the miracle occurred? Our Dr. Schultz-Merkel, who always had a nose for critical situations, had initiated an immediate counterattack when he saw the Russians coming. The mechanized infantry were able to reoccupy the village again without taking a lot of casualties. It was said that our good doctor personally knocked out 10 T-34’s in the engagement. For his bold actions, he received the German Cross in Gold. Nobody could have congratulated him more sincerely on the award than the wounded and us.

A Tank Mechanic in Need Peter Oberhuber, Obergefreiter in the 3./Panzer-Regiment 35 Summer, 1943—After the large Russian offensive, we were moved to Nowgorod Ssewersk in August. That was an area that we remembered from our advances in 1941 and the defensive fighting in the spring of 1943. The trains of the 3rd Company were in some woods not far from a cloister on the Dessna. The tanks were conducting difficult defensive fighting between Ssewsk and Sseredina Buda against the hard-pressing enemy. In the evening, radio traffic arrived indicating that a Panzer IV had broken down outside of Sseredina Buda with clutch problems. The leader of the maintenance section gave me the job of fixing the tank. I went forward on a supply vehicle with some tools. A few kilometers outside of Sseredina Buda, the vehicle had to turn off the road, since our tanks had changed position in the meantime. And so I marched by myself during the night towards Sseredina Buda. The morning started to dawn as I got close to the town. Infantry approached me, which was in the process of preparing to pull back. The platoon leader asked me where I intended to go. I told him of my mission and, fortunately, he was able to describe the exact location of the tank, since his platoon had marched past it a short while ago. He also alerted me to the fact that with the exception of a weak rearguard there wasn’t anyone out front any more. I trotted along with mixed feelings. I arrived in the town and also found the right street and the tank at the edge of the town. It was so eerily devoid of people there. The driver was not there, either. He had been wounded. The replacement driver could tell me nothing and also not help. I went to work right away, believing that the clutch only had to be adjusted. I tried doing that with an adjustable wrench. To my horror, I determined the clutch had already been adjusted all the way out. I hadn’t counted on that. Since the vehicle had been there for some time, the clutch had cooled off. I then attempted to start up the tank. Gingerly, I engaged the clutch and carefully applied gas. We stalked our way slowly through the town. If I applied just a bit more gas, the clutch started slipping again, the damned thing. Despite all my efforts, it was all over 500 meters outside of the town. The disks were too hot and were slipping; the tank could no longer be moved. What was I to do at that point? A recovery vehicle had not come along. I didn’t have an additional clutch plate, and I didn’t have anymore time, since the Russians could show up at any minute. Things just didn’t seem right, but the tank had to be saved. You just couldn’t give up a valuable combat vehicle for such a small thing. The sun slowly rose over the horizon; we could be seen from a great distance. Our situation was not exactly rosy. Far in the distance, on the road, I saw a motorcycle, a thick cloud of dust behind him. Suddenly, it came to me—yes, dust! I quickly filled my cap with dirt from the road and formed a funnel out of paper. The clutch was released by stepping on the pedal, and the cap full of dirt disappeared between the smoothly polished plates. I started up right away

and—there, you go! The plates were as rough as sandpaper. The tank moved out elegantly. I was even able to put it in second gear. After 6 kilometers, the same spectacle repeated itself, after which we were able to move another stretch just as long. By evening, we were a good 30 kilometers beyond Sseredina Buda. Then a prime mover came from the recovery platoon and towed us to the maintenance facility. New clutch plates were installed, and the vehicle was committed in an attack three days later. A few handfuls of dirt had done the trick.

Bernhard Himmelskamp, Our Obergefreiter with the Knight’s Cross Anton Müller, Oberleutnant and Company Commander of the 4./Panzer-Regiment 35. I had a crew that not only worked together magnificently but also held together through thick and thin, thick as thieves. Heine Huck, a junior noncommissioned officer from the Hamburg area, was the driver. He gave us drastic examples of north German cuisine. For example, he taught us that a slice of bread with margarine on it, as well as artificial honey and mustard, did not taste as bad as it sounded to south German ears. Hannes Freiwang, from Miesbach in Upper Bavaria, was my “load master,” as he liked to call himself in his modest way. Although he always had to have the last word, there was nothing that could shake him. He only worked when he had to, but his weapons were always in good condition. His favorite pastime was eating. If he did not have anything, then he “procured” something, one time, an entire cow. His cap always sat at a dangerous angle over his smart face. The radio operator was an awfully young youth from Swabia. He responded to the name of Bartels. One time, he got a piece of shrapnel in his head the size of a cherry and ran around for weeks with a dirty head dressing. The wound got infected, but he would not go to the hospital, because he wanted to stay with his comrades. In the middle of an attack, he yanked the shrapnel out of his wound with his oily fingers and handed it up to me in between two radio transmissions: “Herr Leutnant, did you want to see my shrapnel?” The fifth guy in the group was my gunner, Bernhard Himmelskamp. He came from somewhere in Lower Saxony. He was a quiet Obergefreiter with a round farmer’s head, on which his cap seem somehow too small. He loved to deliberate over matters, liked to sing weepy-eyed songs from grandmother’s time and rolled the corners of his mouth up to an impish grin, which became even sweeter the more someone wanted to irk him. He was an exceptionally nice comrade, who always remained happy and friendly, even in the worst of situations. Whenever Bernhard Himmelskamp missed a target with his main gun, then it was entirely possible that he would not speak for days. He would ponder and fiddle with things and feel his honor as a gunner had been impugned. His mood would only improve if he were able to book new success. One time, the Russians placed a salvo of Stalin organ rockets on us. When they started whistling, we all dove under the tank. Himmelskamp was a fraction of a second too late and did not make it quite in time into our “hero’s basement.” When we crawled out after the fireworks were over, he held his hands on his rear end, curved his lips in a particularly impish manner and whispered lightly and unostentatiously: “They shot me in the ass!” I do not know how long he carried that shrapnel around with him; I only know that he categorically refused to go see the doctor. In the weeks that followed, he always rolled up a shelter half into a wreath and set himself upon it so carefully that his wound did not touch the gunner’s seat. We often gave him grief

concerning his elaborate procedure. That didn’t bother him. He only grinned and continued to knock out tanks, even with his damaged butt. The last attack we conducted together was on 29 August 1943 at Ssewsk. The Russians had broken through nearby and Kolitsch brought me the order to take the grenadiers back to the trenches that the Russians had driven them from. Initially, everything went smoothly. I moved right though friend and foe alike to give our grenadiers a bit of courage and to intimidate Ivan. After 2 kilometers, I positioned myself in such a manner in front of the trench line that I could effectively support the grenadiers in their assault on the trenches that had been occupied by the Russians. We were receiving fires from all sides from light infantry weapons. That was not too bad. Unfortunately, there were also antitank rifles among them. The driver received glass shrapnel in his eyes when the vision block was hit; I squashed a finger when I was tossing out shell casings and Himmelskamp suddenly got a round or a spring bolt in the belly. We were able to hold out for a while. Bernhard fired high-explosive rounds into the muck to cover us in dust. I kept on hoping the grenadiers were coming and was also counting on another vehicle. When Himmelskamp started to suffer great pain, we pulled off into a depression, dismounted and put a dressing on him. Since our storage box behind the turret was also on fire, we were so preoccupied that we did not pay attention to our surroundings— unfortunately. Suddenly, two small tanks came around a hill. Two, three hits, and our vehicle was on fire. The Russian tanks were only a few meters away from us. Himmelskamp received another piece of shrapnel in the belly. My lower leg was shattered. I pulled Himmelskamp behind our burning vehicle; the other men fetched Leutnant Nieder-Schabbehart, who was fighting nearby. Unfortunately, the Russians had shot out his main gun, with the result that his vehicle only added a moral factor. We laid down on the rear deck of his tank and moved to the rear. Russian heavy weapons fired angrily after us, but they did not hit. The only thing they got was the cap of a very young Gefreiter by the name of Knetsch. Despite that, he did not disappear into the turret; he did not want to leave us by ourselves on the rear deck. A general stopped us and had me brief him on the situation up front. Then he placed an ambulance at our disposal, which was supposed to take us to the main clearing station. It seemed that Bernhard was doing well. He spoke to me, but then he turned curiously quiet. Then he said with a quiet and composed voce: “Herr Leutnant, give me your hand, I have to die now!” That sounded so matter of fact that it penetrated me to the marrow. I tried to comfort him: “Bernhard, don’t talk that kind of nonsense. We’re almost there. You’re going to recover sooner than me.” He did not answer. He was lying above me. I reached up my hand to him. He held it tightly and we continued into the clearing station that way. He was unloaded first, then me. When I was being carried into the Russian hut, the medic told me: “Obergefreiter Himmelskamp is dead. He died on the way here.” And so, he left this life the way he had lived—unassuming, modest and quiet. In the field hospital in Warsaw, I heard the following report on the radio: “Obergefreiter Bernhard Himmelskamp, a gunner in Panzer-Regiment 35, has been posthumously awarded the Knight’s Cross on 13 September 1943 for having knocked out 40 tanks.”

The “Buffalo Migration” Hans Schäufler (From My Diaries) To the south of us, the Russians had succeeded in making a maj or penetration. They marched west, following the course of the Dessna, practically unimpeded through the marshes and the partisan areas. A straightening of the front by advancing was no longer possible after the bloodletting at Stalingrad. As a result, we had to pull back, step-by-step, in our sector as well, so as to establish a continuous front along the Dnjepr, if possible. The withdrawal movement generally proceeded as follows: Counterattack— disengagement from the enemy—withdrawal to a new blocking position—defense from the position- counterattack … always in that order. This type of maneuver warfare was christened the “buffalo migration.” And so we moved from Sseredina Buda to the Dnjepr by way of Nowgorod- SsewerskRadiomka-Turja-Chotiwlja-Charpilowka without the Russians ever succeeding in penetrating us in our sector, no matter how hard they pressed or covered us with bombs. The backbone of that mobile defense was always the tanks. For days on end, they supported the difficult defensive fighting of our mechanized infantry at the hot spots of the battlefield. They turned back the Russian attacks and ironed out small penetrations. The tanks were what conducted the immediate counterattacks to create the necessary breathing room for the withdrawal. Whenever there was strong enemy pressure, they were the rearguards. When we reached the Dnjepr on 28 October, the Russians had already established a bridgehead on the near side of the river in the vicinity of the confluence with the Pripjet, farther to the south. We were immediately sent to the vicinity of Chernobyl to straighten things out.

Operation “Chernobyl” Ulrich Sachse, Leutnant and Platoon Leader in Panzeraufklärungs-Abteilung 4 16-22 November 1943—Chernobyl is a town on the lower course of the Pripjet, not far from where it joins the Dnjepr. It was a pretty pitiful one-horse town. For us, it came to be synonymous with the concept of a successful defense in the “wet triangle,” as we called the area between the two rivers. We had just reduced a bridgehead north of the town, which the enemy had pushed across the river. We had repaired the front at just the spot where Heeresgruppe Mitte adjoined Heeresgruppe Süd.93 We had taken care of that which we could take care of. Then, it happened south of the town. The boundary between the field army groups had been ripped open; the most recent Russian offensive had effectively wiped out the left wing of the southern field army. For the time being, we had been spared. Chernobyl remained a bulwark for Heeresgruppe Mitte. But we could not help our neighbors, even if we still had some reserves. At Chernobyl, the Usch River emptied into the Pripjet, coming from the west. It cut the rear area of the German front into a sharply defined north and south. It outlined in advance where the two field army groups would be torn apart. The army corps to the south of us split and fell apart under the onslaught of the enemy thrust; its remnants continued to fall back to the west. Our front remained intact at Chernobyl but with a gaping open flank to the south, which continued extending to the rear by the day. Soon, we were also subjected to heavy attacks. Our last reserves stopped the enemy elements in an immediate counterattack, but by then they had moved along the Usch to the rear of Chernobyl along a stretch of 15 kilometers. As a result, the main line of resistance of the division had expanded to 40 kilometers. Our standing armored-car patrols guarded the deep flank of the division—the corps, the field army, the field army group—along the north bank of the Usch. They also felt their way into the abandoned area of the rear area of the neighboring corps. When would the enemy turn north, cross the Usch and advance into our rear? In the bandit-controlled woods within the Pripjet Marshes, it started to come alive. The partisans could smell a fresh breeze coming in. A hundred kilometers to our rear, the supply base at Owrutsch fell into their hands; barely 90 trucks full of rations could be saved by sending them forward to the division. In the meantime, the division held fast in the face of the increasing pressure on both sides of Chernobyl. On 15 November, information was received that the old front had been penetrated by the enemy in the vicinity of Lojew, along the middle Dnjepr. The measures taken by the field army, which had to prevent under all circumstances losing its contact with the friendly forces to the left and thus hanging in the air, resulted in a quite extraordinary mission for our armored reconnaissance battalion: Immediately form mobile Kampfgruppen, which were to initiate a high degree of activity along the main areas of the former main line of resistance of the division, so as to deceive the enemy concerning the

evacuation of the positions west of the Pripjet. The evacuation started at 2400 hours on 16 November. The rear-area services of the division had already flowed northward across the only useable Pripjet bridge at Dawljady, since the division had to be committed into the area of the breakthrough at Retschiza, moving there by means of expedited marches. The mission of the reconnaissance battalion was to keep the enemy from crossing the Pripjet for at least two days by means of delaying actions on the part of the Kampfgruppen, the holding of blocking positions by the rest of the companies and, in the end, through a defense of the bridgehead at Dawljady. The timeframe was necessary in order to allow the corps on the right wing to reorganize itself along a shorter line running Kalinkowitschi -Mosyr after giving up the open Chernobyl bend. When the mission arrived at the battalion command post in Sapolje, there was only one hour of time until the gigantic divisional main line of resistance would start to expose itself at the stroke of midnight. On top of that, most of the battalion was located in the extreme righthand sector of the division. It first had to be pulled out of its trenches and strongpoints, which meant that it was also participating in the same withdrawal movements that it was supposed to conceal. The armored-car patrols were committed in guard missions far to the west along the Usch River. They were at Kabany, 20 kilometers deep in the open flank, and were engaging enemy forces that were pressing from the south across the Usch, as well as partisans that were coming out of the woods to the north. The commander of the Luchs94 company, Hauptmann Kelsch, assumed responsibility for forming, leading and supplying the mobile Kampfgruppen. The commander, Hauptmann Westermann, employed the rest of the battalion in the blocking positions. When it dawned on 16 November on the abandoned positions of the division, the enemy attacked at the usual places of his main effort. To the south of Sapolje, the Russians ran into the withering fires of the Luchs reconnaissance vehicles and the self-propelled Flak, which could not follow the enemy into the marshlands, however, where they pulled back. Therefore, it was also not possible to keep them from taking Sapolje. The Kampfgruppe blocked their continued advance to the north, however, along the high ground along the edges of the locality. Ten kilometers to the east, Kampfgruppe Schöttl raced into Chernobyl just as the enemy was entering the town from the southeast. Schöttl dismounted with a couple of men and, supported by the vehicular weapons, drove the completely panic-stricken enemy out of town. Eight kilometers upstream along the Pripjet, the Kampfgruppe positioned there drove the enemy out of the extended village of Lelew, after he had entered, and hunted him back across the river, inflicting heavy casualties. The two sections positioned farther north did not become engaged with the enemy. In an involuntary case of reconnoitering, the field mess of the heavy company discovered that its impression of the overall enemy situation was no longer valid after it started receiving heavy antitank-gun fire. In a large arc extending 40 kilometers, the remaining three sections guarded to the west

against the partisans in the woods. The most southern section overwatched the former reconnaissance line along the northern bank of the Usch. During the evening of 16 November, it had its first enemy elements on the near side of the river in front of it. With the exception of the entering of Sapolje, the entire main line of resistance was in our hands on the evening of 16 November. It was then time to establish the rest of the battalion, principally the light SPW companies, in improved positions on the high ground outside of Tschistogalowka and Kopatschi, oriented to the south. Those intermediate positions blocked off the southern third of the area between Chernobyl and Dawljady. There were four Kampfgruppen operating in front of the blocking positions: North of Nowoselki, at Sapolje, in Chernobyl and at Lelew. The first report of 17 November, however, came from the section far out to the west on the north bank of the Usch. It was pulling back slowly, fighting continuously, to the north. It was able to stop the enemy at the locality of Ilinzy. Strong enemy forces moved out to the north from Sapolje. They had to attack six times in order to gain 2 kilometers by noon. Then they bypassed to the north, turning west. The section north of Nowoselki engaged those forces, after having waited in vain for enemy to approach from the south. In the meantime, Schöttl had stopped all of the attacks on Chernobyl. Towards noon, he received orders to shift west to the area north of Sapolje. He raced off and encountered the enemy group—by surprise and with devastating effect—that was attempting to head north. Those enemy forces were only able to make small gains for the rest of the day. The Kampfgruppe at Lelew was ordered south and encountered strong enemy forces halfway to Chernobyl. The enemy had been marching out of the town, heading upstream along the Pripjet. The Kampfgruppe engaged a compact march column while on the move, sending it back in an undisciplined fashion. A second effort from the enemy—an attempt to flank from the west out of Chernobyl—forced the Kampfgruppe to take up positions behind the intermediate position at Kopatschi. The enemy attack ended there that evening in the defensive fires coming from the blocking position. Later that evening, the section located far to the west reported that the enemy moved out to attack the locality of Ilinzy after placing heavy fires on it. The enemy moved out against phantoms and conquered the village with an Urrää, even though it had not been defended by a single soul. When it turned night on 17 November, that marked the two days that we were supposed to trick out of the enemy. The bridge over the Pripjet at Dawljady was still 24 kilometers behind the intermediate positions, however, along whose left portion the enemy had taken a bloody nose. To the north of Nowoselki and at Ilinzy, the sections were still even with Chernobyl. On 18 November, the blocking positions on the hills outside of Kopatschi and Tschistogolowka held long enough against heavy enemy attacks for the last section, that of Oberfeldwebel Frank, to fight its way back from Maly Korogod. Frank’s section then covered the jump of the 3rd Company from the first blocking position to the second one,

10 kilometers farther to the rear and located around Nowy Schepelitschi, while the 4th Company jumped from Kopatschi to Dawljady, occupying the outer ring of the bridgehead. A hard-working construction battalion was busy constructing the fortifications there. On the far west flank, the section at Ilinzy had joined up with the southern antipartisan outpost and prevented the advance of enemy elements, still striving directly northward, by continuous skirmishes. On 19 November and halfway through 20 November, the 3rd Company held its blocking position at Nowy Schepelitschi. During the same time period, Frank’s section, to the west at Stary Schepelitschi, prevented the enemy from exiting the woods until he suddenly found himself surrounded by the enemy in the middle of the village. The two sections in the west that had joined up were directed to Stary Schepelitschi, where they were able to break open the ring around Frank’s forces. The brave leader of the section lost his life to fire from an antitank rifle. During the evening of 20 November, the 3rd Company occupied bridgehead positions around Dawljady. The remaining anti-partisan outposts from the west were called in, since the enemy was threatening to cut off their withdrawal route from the south. The Russians tried in vain all of 21 November to break through the outer ring of fortifications. Hauptmann Winterling’s battery, as well as an attached Flak platoon, which had already worked with the Kampfgruppe at Sapolje, decisively strengthened the defenses in the positions, along with the heavy weapons of the battalion. The six vehicles of the 8wheeled cannon platoon95 flitted back and forth. When the inner ring of defenses was occupied during the night of 2½2 November, it was only as part of the effort to initiate the evacuation. The battalion was desperately needed in the Korowatitschi area. The tracked and wheeled sections needed to assume missions along the open flank of the field army at Mosyr. According to the radio reports, the division was involved in heavy fighting. In the boundary area between the 2. Armee and the 9. Armee, things were reaching a crunch point. Around midnight, on the night of 22/23 November, the battalion flowed north over the long wooden bridge over the Pripjet. It was covered by a rearguard. Despite the fires from the heavy weapons, the enemy followed hard on the heels of the rearguard and took the bridge with an Urrää just as it flew into the air with a mighty detonation caused by 1,500 Teller mines. They were what remained of the mines that could not be transported away from an ammunition dump.

Korowatitschi Dr. H. J. Schulz-Merkel, Battalion Physician of the I./Panzer-Regiment 35 19 November 1943—Ever since Operation “Zitadelle,” the front had not been quiet. Again and again, the Russians massed their tremendous reserves of men and materiel at the decisive sectors to force a breakthrough. The German attack forces had become specialists in defense. Although the Red Army succeeded here and there in achieving a small penetration, our tank reserves were alerted immediately so as to close the gaps again and restore the situation by means of immediate counterattacks. As the year progressed, the mission became more difficult. Our 4. Panzer-Division, especially the tanks, was supposed to be at many places all at once. Thus the Russians were able to achieve a deep penetration in the Retschiza area in November. According to unconfirmed reports, it was said that they had broken through as far as Ipa Creek. For the formations of the division that were fighting west of Retschiza, the cobblestone road to Kalinkowitschi was a lifeline. Our mechanized infantry had raced ahead of the division to assist the infantry divisions. God knows, they didn’t have it easy in that wooded and moor-filled terrain, which was part of the Pripjet Marshes. The threat of encirclement loomed large again and again. All of the 4. Panzer-Division, reinforced by field-army antitank assets, was rolling east on that compact cobblestone road. It had been laid on a massive embankment and had been properly paved. To the right and left were moors and willow brush, followed by thick woods. We had received the mission to advance to Korowatitschi and farther east and keep open that important artery. The terrain around Korowatitschi was more open. The large, extended village was heavily occupied by the enemy. While the mechanized infantry attacked from the west, the tanks worked their way forward from the south. It was soon possible to take the western portion of the locality. The antitank fire from the eastern part was so heavy, however, that it did not appear advisable to approach across the open terrain. The weather wasn’t cooperating, either. It was foggy, and it rained occasionally. On top of that, it was palpably cold. Major Schulz had suffered from a fever for several days. The long days of fighting and the terrible weather were not the proper ways to cure the battalion commander. He could neither sit nor stand in the tank. But he only followed my advice begrudgingly to go to the main clearing station for a few days to get himself cured. He asked me to step in for him for a few days. It was to be assumed that the attacks off the next few days would not produce any special demands. We were always optimists. Besides, self-propelled antitank guns were to be attached to us. During the night, the division reorganized. During a commanders’ conference, the operations for the next day were locked in. Feints and operations designed to distract the enemy were supposed to spread out the enemy’s defensive efforts. A battalion of mechanized infantry initially attacked at first light towards the north.

Then the main elements of our tank battalion moved out to the east. The village seemed endlessly long, the main street exceptionally wide. The tanks supported the advance of the grenadiers and the house-to-house fighting. The antitank elements were employed south of the main road. Unfortunately, our combat power was no longer so great. Only 15 tanks could participate in the engagement. The antitank elements also only had a few tubes. The attached field-army antitank battalion had some heavy hitters with a quite respectable caliber, but the fingers of one hand sufficed to count them. The commander of the antitank elements was Hauptmann Grohe. He had always wanted to be a tanker. Despite the weak forces, I held back two tanks from the 4th Company as a reserve at the outskirts of the village. The attack was tough and proceeded slowly. Every house, every group of vegetation, had to be fought for. Ivan had a number of antitank guns, and mortar and artillery fires fell on the road continuously. The familiar sound of the Ratsch-Bumm mixed into the concert as well. I was more than impatient. It was no tank engagement that a tanker liked. As a result, I was constantly on the go—on foot, of course. Sometimes at the command post, sometimes with the grenadiers, sometimes with the antitank elements —all to see what was going on. To see how my tanks could be employed more effectively in order to push the attack forward more quickly. Our adjutant, Bruno Kolitsch, was unhappy. He accused me of unnecessarily endangering myself by constantly running around. But all of us were trying to find the best way to advance and wanted to prevent the tough fighting from degenerating into a senseless war of attrition. I was tempted several times to commit the two reserve tanks. Towards 1100 hours, the enemy’s firing on the village grew more intense. While the Russians had previously only fired from the north and the east, they were now firing from the northwest. The road, which everyone had avoided as much as possible before, suddenly came to life. Vehicles from the grenadiers came racing us from the west. “The Russians are attacking us from the rear!” I had never reached my tanks faster before. I went to the western outskirts in order to form a picture of the situation. Indeed, the Russians had gone around us and were attacking from out of the woods to the northwest. A pack of tanks, rolling slowly but firing rapidly, approached our location. Both of my reserve tanks were in excellent positions. Both of them were north of the street, concealed by houses and had fields of fire to the northwest. Moltke’s company was the closest and would be the easiest to disengage from the enemy. Graf von Moltke96 reacted quickly and immediately had three tanks moving west. He was so eager that he took the first route available, winding up in the village pond and getting his vehicle stuck. He then jumped behind the turret of one of the other tanks and raced off into the designated position. Walter Grohe also joined in. The division commander had contacted him directly. One of his vehicles appeared at the entrance to the village, where an intense tank engagement was in progress. We had allowed the Russians to approach quite closely. Even the “Bear Leader”97 participated with his short-barreled 3.7-centimeter main gun. Oh, boy, did he fire poorly! We mixed it up, because the adjutant simply could not stand standing idly by. The fires from our tanks were excellent, in contrast. There were practically only hits. After a quarter of an hour, everything was over. The Russians were so confused that they opted to turn around. Not too many reached the woods. We precisely encrypted our message of success to the division. We were very conscientious about not counting any “kill” twice. We were a disciplined lot. While Graf

Moltke was in the process of trying to retrieve his tank from the muck, we dispatched the message to the division: “Enemy attack turned back. 15 enemy tanks knocked out.” As a receipt to the message, we received: “Thanks, Doctor! Ivan has already informed me by unencrypted means that he suffered 22 losses.” Our own attack had also come to a standstill. By order of the division, it was called off completely. The tanks were pulled back. The “Bear Leader” was summoned to see the division commander. What did I do wrong now? I thought as I made my way to my “prince.” A few kilometers to the west, in some dense woods south of the road, I found the division headquarters. They were having a siesta there, as if nothing were going on. Only the operations officer, Oberstleutnant i.G. Sauerbruch, was busy, bent over a situation map. The division commander, General von Saucken, personally briefed me on the situation. The enemy had broken through to the north of us with strong forces. The leading attack elements were already 50 kilometers to our rear. The Russians had also turned south with some elements and were moving through woods and marshland towards our road. One of those attack wedges was the tank attack we had just turned back. We were encircled. The road 12 kilometers to the west was occupied by the enemy. The terrain south of the road was devoid of other routes. The cobblestone road had been blocked by antitank guns. “Doctor, you need to open it up.” It was not necessary to tell the division commander that that was not an operation for tanks. To attack along a narrow embankment, from which you probably could not get off, against well-camouflaged antitank guns—that was crazy! The division commander knew that better than I. I wanted to make a recommendation. “Shit, Herr General,” I couldn’t hold it back. “Right,” he said, “you’ll be getting a company of engineers. That’s the only thing I have at my disposal.” My tanks rolled slowly along the cobblestone road to the west. I moved with a few engineers in my staff car in the direction of our new operation so as to see the terrain a little bit in advance. We moved 10 kilometers and then a guard stopped us. He told us to watch out like crazy. We snuck along a little bit farther. A slight bend in the road allowed us to approach without being seen from far away. I stalked my way forward with the commander of the engineer company, far enough to be able to see a bit. To the north of us were thick woods. The guard had already seen enemy movements there. A burning vehicle was on the road. That had to be the blocking position. The tanks then started to arrive. The conditions were relatively reasonable. We would be able to get off the road to the north there. My plan was finished. The engineers had also arrived. The operation was quickly discussed with the tank commanders. The engineers came back from their reconnaissance and reported that the woods opened up somewhat after a few hundred meters and a sandbank ran from the point of the blocking position through the moor. There was a path on the sand bank that led from the main road. It was assumed that antitank guns had been positioned north of the road, which could knock out any vehicles moving on the main road without any effort. We had encountered that method often enough. It had been used by the partisans. That’s why I had not seen

anything on the road that resembled an obstacle. Farther to the west, you could see the smoke rising form another burning vehicle. The ground was firm enough, and the tree trucks were not that thick nor were they located closely together. They would topple when our heavy critters would lean against them. While the engineers felt their way forward along the road, the tanks took off to the right. Remaining in sight of one another, with the turrets at 6 o’clock and with the hull machine guns firing occasional bursts, we slowly broke through the woods. The trees cracked, split apart and crashed to the ground like they had been felled by a mighty storm. Moving in low gear, the tanks made a monstrous sound. On top of that, there was the rattling of machine guns and the howling of the ricochets. The battalion waltzed through the woods like an antediluvian monster. Although we did not see any Russians, the abandoned equipment indicated they had fled head over heels. When we reached the clearing, we saw panje carts, minus horses and crews. At that point, we received antitank-gun fire from the vicinity of the sandbank. The markings on the Russian map were accurate for once. Thus, we were able to form a good impression of the size of the clearing and how the guns might be positioned. The engineer company positioned itself on the wood line between the cobblestone road and our tanks. The tanks provided protective fires. I was in the roadside ditch, still discussing individual details with the commander of the engineers, when mortar fires were placed on the road ahead of us. The Russians, who apparently realized what we intended to do, also apparently had a large number of mortars positioned across the way. They would drag them everywhere though marshland and woods, after all. He was able to direct the fires well by observers positioned in the trees. It didn’t take too long before there was a racket around us and I received a couple of holes in my leg. The tanks then took the individual taller trees under fire. The engineers made good progress. A short while later, we had the sandbank. Reconnaissance indicated that there was marshland behind it. The road was clear! My medics attended to me. I had myself taken to the division. I didn’t have any great pain. A shot worked wonders. During the night, I was taken to the main clearing station. Hauptmann Grohe assumed acting command of the tanks and the antitank defenses. It was always a strange feeling to have to say good-bye. I was dog tired. The next morning, when I awoke, I was in a school next to Major Schultz. Unfortunately, it was not going as well for him, with the result that he could not go back to the front right away. Unfortunately, Hauptmann Grohe was only the leader of the tanks for a few days. He was killed a few days later at another blocking position. But Major Schultz had recovered enough by then that he could reassume command of his battalion. The hospital train took me to Brest-Litowsk. It would not be difficult for me to return to the battalion, however, since I had the necessary papers already in my pocket. They still had the signature of Detlev von Cossel!

Operation “Nikolaus” Reinhard Peters, Leutnant and Acting Company Commander in Panzer-Regiment 35 In December, the 1st Battalion of the regiment was in Osaritschi. For a few months, there had been a gap in the front with the friendly forces to the north, which was supposed to be closed. A time for the operation had not yet been set. We only hoped that they would allow us to enjoy Christmas in quiet. When a gap in the front has existed for half a year, a few more days would not matter. But the senior command was apparently of a different opinion, since it ordered the attack for 0600 hours on 20 December. On 19 December, we moved into our staging area. That afternoon, I looked at the position with my platoon leaders—on foot and crawling part of the way—from which we were to attack out of the main line of resistance. The trench line ran up a slight rise with a few sets of low bushes. In front of it was a 200-meter-wide no-man’s-land, a meadow. Behind that, along a wood line, were the Russian positions. That evening, we received the news that some 1,000 mines had been laid in the attack sector, according to prisoner statements. Those certainly were happy prospects. Together with the real bean coffee we really enjoyed that night, we were barely able to sleep. While it was still dark, we occupied positions on the reverse slope. I had two platoons of tanks, each with four vehicles, pulled up to either side of me. At the last moment, the thought occurred to me that I needed to move a bit farther to the right. I was unable to order the lefthand platoon over to the right, since the radio communications were not functioning. So, I jumped down to pass on the order orally. Speed was of the essence, since it was only a few minutes before the scheduled attack time. We nervously looked at our watches. Then it was time: “Kompanie marsch!” The shells of our artillery gurgled and whistled above us. We reached the high ground; then the fireworks started. To the right of me, the tank of Leutnant Heinemann drove into the friendly trench line and got hopelessly stuck up to its hull. Heinemann looked out of his cupola. Then he was mortally wounded by a Russian sniper. It was his first operation. To the left of me, all four tanks ran over mines, one after the other. The tank commander of one tank jumped down and landed directly on a mine. It was enough to make you cry! We reached the enemy trenches along the wood line with the right-hand platoon. The Russians fled. We pursued them on a trail in the woods without encountering noticeable resistance. It was not until we exited the woods some 5 kilometers farther east that we ran into massive antitank-gun fire. Leutnant Stanitz identified an antitank gun. As the round left his gun, there were muzzle flashes from the other side. Both rounds hit their targets. The Russian antitank gun was blown apart; the cupola of the tank was ripped off. Leutnant Stanitz was killed.

KOSLOWITSCHI NISHNIJE 3 January 1944—I moved with my company to Koslowitschi Nishnije. The rumor was going around that a Russian offensive could be expected in the next few days. To safeguard against surprises, the companies were distributed among the villages behind the front, which ran from west to east. We were on the left wing, which meant we were the farthest west. Around 0100 hours during the night of ¾ January, radio traffic from the battalion reached me: “The Russians are planning their attack for tomorrow morning … highest state of alert!” That meant good-bye to sleep. It was still very early as we stowed our personal belongings and the crews mounted up. At that point, we could only wait. At 0600 hours, the artillery fireworks started. I tried to reach the commander on the landline. Although I could reach two switchboards, I was unable to get through to him. I slowly became impatient. I kept on trying until the man at the switchboard finally said that my connection was the only line that had survived the artillery fire. In order to escape the fires somewhat, we exited the village to the southeast. I finally established radio contact with the battalion there. We were ordered east in the direction of Dawydowitschi. On the way there, I saw infantry moving rapidly back from the dominant terrain feature, Hill 147. If Ivan took the hill and then broke through to the road to the south, then we would be cut off. That could not be allowed to happen. I sent Oberfeldwebel Beginnen over there with two tanks to see what was going on. It was as we had feared—Ivan had broken through in the area, but he had not yet reached the hill. It was imperative to act quickly at that point. Moving rapidly, we reached the foot of the hill and were able to hold up a Hauptfeldwebel and a handful of men. We took them under cover of our tanks back to their trenches and promised them we would not leave them in the lurch if we had to pull back. All the time, the enemy artillery was firing incessantly! All of a sudden, an eerie booming and hissing passed over us—Stalin organs. The wave of fire approached ever closer from behind us. We got out of the way by moving forward somewhat. Then the first Russian attack wave directly approached us on the hill. They had a few tanks supporting them. We eliminated four of them with the first rounds from our long-barreled 7.5centimeter main guns. The Russian infantry pulled back in the face of our machine-gun fires. We had turned back the first attack; the hill remained in our hands. Towards noon, Landser worked their way forward to us very carefully. It turned out that it was our Field-Replacement Battalion under Hauptmann Beintger—the ready reserve of the division. It had the mission to take back Hill 147. We had already taken care of that some time ago. That afternoon and all of the next day, we were subjected to harassing fires, interrupted by individual attacks by the Russians, all of which were able to be turned back easily. That said, we had some vehicular losses due to the artillery fire; on the morning of 6 January, we only had five operational tanks at our disposal. I had to send my command tank back to the repair section as well. I switched over to a platoon leader’s tank. Unfortunately, the

radio operator had not been informed of the frequency. As a result, I could only try in vain to reach the battalion. Finally, I heard an urgent radio message in the nick of time over the old company radio frequency: “The Russians are attacking your position with 60 tanks!” The intelligence section of the division had intercepted the radio order for the enemy tanks located 2,000 meters away from us to attack. The message was translated and passed onto the battalion. That meant it could not be too long before they arrived. A few seconds later, the sound of tracks could be heard. Approximately 800 to 1,000 meters to the left of us, the first tanks appeared from out of a depression. We opened fire with the four main guns. My gunner had to aim with the entire tank, because the turret had jammed. One Russian tank after the other was mortally wounded before the enemy even noticed he was being threatened from the flank. Only a single T-34, which had sought cover behind a hedge, returned our fire. Then he saw the light as well. After 14 tanks were on fire, some of them blowing apart, the Russians pulled back with what remained. We had stopped that attack, as well.

TUROWITSCHI After the Russians had tried in vain to take Hill 147 and, by extension, the road to the south, they advanced south during the night of 6/7 January some 3 kilometers west of the road along a trail in the woods with tanks and infantry. At the same time, countermeasures were discussed at the division command post with General von Saucken. Initially, it was planned to follow the Russians along their route of march with the available tanks and grenadiers and fall on their rear. But because there were signs the Russians were going to attack east at Sielce, the operation, which had already started, was called off. For the rest of the night, we screened the locality, oriented towards the east. In the meantime, alarming news was coming from Turowitschi. The trains of a few division formations were there, including the maintenance section of our battalion with several non-operational tanks. In order to counter a possible enemy night attack, the damaged tanks were towed to the outskirts of the village. Help and reinforcements were urgently needed there. What remained of our tank strength reached Turowitschi that morning. The village was bounded in the north by woods and to the west by bush country. At the moment, it was quiet there. There was nothing to be seen of Ivan. Mechanized infantry had slaughtered a pig in the house where I was positioned to screen to the west. We were invited for lunch. The pleasure was short, however, since the guards we had posted were soon sounding the alarm. We jumped into our tanks. Russian infantry was attacking through the bushes in front of us. Our position was not good. Oberleutnant Petrelli, who was commanding the remaining tanks of the battalion, issued orders to pull back to a reverse-slope position. My driver pressed on the starter. The engine would not start. The battery had become too weak as a result of the continuous radio traffic over the past few days and nights. That meant: Out and get back there with the inertial starter! The Russian infantry were barely 200 meters from us; the enemy tanks had already passed us on the road to the right some time ago. Finally, the starter handle had been swung enough. I pulled on the starter linkage— damn!—the handle pulled off!—get out! Then Unteroffizier Most pulled up behind me with his tank. Our salvation! But no, neither of our tanks had a tow cable. There was only one thing left to do: Dismount and disappear. We had to leave our personal belongings behind. My driver lost his felt boots while dismounting. We sat up front on Most’s tank. The Russians had already positioned their tanks along the other end of the village behind us. We had to get past them. There was no other way out. The driver stepped on it. Because of the bouncing through the gardens and over fences, we were barely able to hold on. But it was only by moving at high speed that we had a chance of not being blown away. We reached the end of the village. We would soon have to pass T-34’s. Most tossed smoke grenades. That took some of Ivan’s visibility away from him. Only 300 meters to the protective slope. The Russians started banging away behind us with everything they had. Thank God, they didn’t hit us. We did it! We were then happy to see Stalin organs rocketing the village. They didn’t hit any Germans—only their own Ivans.

Recovery Platoon to the Front! Konrad Küfner, Leutnant and Recovery Platoon Leader January 1944—A cold winter night placed its veil over the marshland west of Osaritschi. Suddenly, a messenger plunged into the stink of our Russian hovel: “Recovery Platoon: Get ready to move out!” The bridgehead west of Osaritschi had to be evacuated by 2400 hours. A few of our tanks could no longer make it back under their own power. Speed was of the essence, since it was not too long until midnight. The heavy prime movers barreled out into the cold winter night at full speed. We had to go through a cut in the woods. The path led downhill gradually to a wooden bridge. The commander, Major Schultz, was already waiting impatiently for us there. He briefed us laconically. We discovered there were still two tanks on the other side of the bridge that had plunged into marshland and sank farther into the moor with the slightest movement. The icy smooth, frozen-over road demanded extreme caution. Very slowly and with a great deal of attentiveness, we pulled the two unlucky ones along the narrow roadway. It worked like a charm. The tanks then rumbled off across the bridge. But then Oberleutnant Graf Moltke was waiting for us. He told us his vehicle had also plunged into a ditch and, unfortunately, was completely incapable of movement. A Panzer IV escorted us for protection. We were unable to just pull it out. In a hurry, we positioned both of the prime movers and set up the winches with block and tackle. We wanted to first try pulling the tank out of the mud hole. The winch started turning, the cables tightened. But nothing moved. Another attempt. Nothing. The left track would not move; the differential had to be damaged. The track had to come off. We pushed and pulled on the heavy weight and got it off the return rollers with fingers that were frozen stiff. The winch hummed again. As a result of the gear ratios, the tank started to move. It slowly climbed out of the ditch, centimeter by centimeter. Suddenly, a yell from the rough voice of an engineer: “Ivan … Ivan’s here!” The men of the engineer platoon, who were running hastily past us, had been the last outposts on the far side of the river. I had to think things over quickly. What should we do now? Take off, and the tank would be lost. Stay there, continue on, then both of the prime movers would probably be lost. And it would take some time before the recovery would be finished. I didn’t know what to do for a moment. All the while, the winches were pulling. The tank had almost reached its tipping point. It started to turn lively around us. Pulling directly with their vehicles, the prime mover drivers yanked the tank onto the road. Cables and pulleys were tossed into the vehicle. It only took a few seconds to hook up the tow cables. Despite the bitterly cold night, we were sweating in streams. With the two prime movers in tandem, it did not take long to pick up speed. The drivers stepped on their gas pedals. The tracks danced on the icy surface. Hopefully, everything would work! I grabbed on to the mudguards and walked next to the vehicle. I visually checked out everything. The drivers picked up the pace, despite the icy road. We caught

up to the engineers. We reached the bridge, which had already had charges placed on it. It moaned and groaned under the triple load, but it held! Then we went uphill, towards the concealment offered by the forest. At the same time, behind us, the rearguards were shooting it out with the pressing Russians. I furtively stroked the prime movers. Thank God! We had done it at the very last minute!

The drive on Orel, 30 September-3 October 1941.

The front line, October 1941-July 1943.

Map of operations in the Tula area.

Details of the area surrounding Tula.

Anti-partisan operations in the Brjansk (Briansk) area, January-May 1942.

Anti-partisan operations in the Brjansk (Briansk) area, January-May 1942.

Operation Zitadelle (Citadel), with details of the German forces involved in the attack on the northern section of the salient on 5 July 1943. The Russian defenses held firm with a maximum German adavce of some 12 kilometers (8 miles). The attack in the south was somewhat more successful but was called off on 14 July, ostensibly due to the Allied invasion of Sicily. On 22 July 1943, the Soviets launched a massive counteroffensive.

Details of the Zitadelle area of operations.

Korowatitschi area, November 1943. Scale is 1:200,000.

April 1942: Guarding the Brjansk-Shisdra rail line.

Generaloberst Guderian in conversation with Oberst Eberbach.

An American Lend-Lease tank—a “General Grant”—that was employed by the Soviets.

10 March 1943: Attack on Iwot, using assault guns, such as this StuG III/f8, instead of tanks.

19 March 1943: Recovery of a Panzer IV that had broken through the ice.

7 July 1943: New weapons for Operation “Zitadelle” included the massive Porschedesigned tank hunter, the Ferdinand. This vehicle mounted the devastating 8.8-cm L/71 tank gun. The tank in the background is a Panzer IV Ausf. G.

8 July 1943: Tigers in the attack on Teploje.

8 July 1943: Hit during the attack on Teploje—bail out!

8 July 1943: The same Panzer III on fire.

CHAPTER 6

With the 11. Panzer Division

The II./Panzer-Regiment 35 as the III./Panzer-Regiment 15 of the 11. Panzer-Division (1 June 1942 to 31 August 1943) Georg Heymer and Ernst Hain (8./Panzer-Regiment 15) Finally! It was finally turning slowly milder after the unimaginably cold months of the winter of 1941/1942. At Sikejewo, we had measured temperatures as low as -52 [-46.67]. Ever since we had been moved to the large tract of woods at Shisdra at the end of 1941, it had remained one intractable unbroken shield of ice, which did not start to break up until April. Nature only slowly came back to life. We could finally divest ourselves of our fieldexpedient winter uniforms, which we had provided for ourselves. The actual winter uniforms did not arrive until the cold part of the year was already gone. Then all at once, life returned to the usual daily duties. The II./Panzer-Regiment 35, which was in Shisdra and the surrounding localities, was to be detached from the regiment. Then we were supposed to get new tanks, as well. At first it was only a rumor, which then started to be heard more and more frequently. Finally, at the end of April, after other formations had relieved us in the Shisdra-Sikejewo area, we assembled on the high ground of Brjansk to say good-bye. The Dessna, which we could see from there, was in flood stage and had flooded all of the lower localities along its banks. General Eberbach, who was the commander of the 4. Panzer-Division at the time, addressed us on the occasion of our leaving the regiment and the division. We were officially informed where we would be going: To reinforce Panzer-Regiment 15 of the 11. Panzer-Division, the “Ghost Division.” We had very mixed feelings. On the one hand, we were happy to get out of those partisan-filled woods; on the other hand, it was difficult for all of us to leave our old regiment. Many of us had been there for years and participated in the campaigns in Poland and France and the hard year of 1941 in Russia. But we could change none of that, and we were loaded on trains at Brjansk during the final days of April 1942. Moving though Ossipowitschi, we went to Lapitschi. We took quarters there in the former Soviet cavalry base. But we didn’t need to get domestic there. Within 48 hours the entire battalion was on the way to Germany: Home leave! When we returned to Lapitschi at the end of May, the new combat vehicles were waiting for us at the base: Panzer III’s and long-barreled Panzer IV’s. We only needed to climb aboard. Tanks again after such a long time! Training commenced in high gear, since the battalion had a complete complement of equipment. We received not only new tanks, but also staff cars and trucks. Personnel replacements had also arrived from the homeland, brought by the former first sergeant of the 7th Company, Hauptfeldwebel Hain. He brought a large number of both old and new comrades from the replacement detachment in Bamberg. Since the convalescents wanted to go back to their old outfits, the distribution of the replacements went quickly. In June, we were redesignated as the III./Panzer-Regiment 15 and had new tactical

symbols painted on the vehicles. The 5th Company was dissolved, with the men going to the remaining companies, which were designated the 7th, 8th and 9th Companies. Only the Headquarters Company remained unchanged. We soon departed from Lapitschi for the new staging area east of Kursk, with the tanks going by rail and the wheeled vehicles by road. There was a frightening amount of activity on the rails up front; an impressive picture that was presented. None of us had ever seen so many weapons and vehicles concentrated in one place. Of course, the roads were often jammed, with the result that we frequently had to take quarters earlier than planned. Everything was pressing forward in only one direction—the area where the summer offensive of 1942 was supposed to take place. There was activity on the rails day and night. The closer we got to the front, the more uncomfortable it was. This gigantic approach march did not remain hidden from the Soviets, of course. Constant air attacks were a consequence. But since there were a lot of air defense weapons lining the roads, we did not suffer any great damage. Once we arrived at the staging area, we were familiarized with the new MG 42. Our stay there did not last too long. The attack started on 28 June. The 11. Panzer-Division was employed along the left wing of the attack, headed in the direction of Woronesh. During the first few days of our advance towards the Don, our battalion commander, Major von Burstin, was killed. We buried him along with two others, who had fallen, at a windmill. We were pulled out of the line after a week and took up quarters in the village of Schtschigry, east of Kursk. The stay there would have been pleasant, had the Soviet harassment bombers not arrived every day after nightfall. Disregarding the civilian populace, they dropped their bombs until midnight. Then we went back to the central sector, initially in a rest position at Orel. We received a new company commander there, who quickly fit in with us and was able to earn the trust of the old tank commanders very quickly. On 11 August 1942, we moved to the Belew-Mogelselsk-Suchinitischi area. An advance was planned from there to beat the Soviets to the punch. But we soon had to transition to the defense, since the Soviets were very strong. The combat elements were involved in hard fighting throughout those operations.

Night Attack Hermann Bix, Oberfeldwebel and Platoon Leader in the 7th Company It was the middle of August. Despite the best of intent, I could not tell you the date. We were north of Bolchow and found ourselves in a ticklish situation. The Russians had just finished blowing apart a few tanks from the battalion and a number of SPW’s from the far bank of the river. It was senseless to try to advance any farther there. And so we waited in a reverse-slope position until it turned dark. We would then try to form a small bridgehead so that the division could cross the river in the morning. Our company commander called the tank commanders together and told us that the 7th Company had been selected to execute that mission. We were 2 kilometers from the riverbanks. Again and again, we could see the muzzle flashes of the guns firing right along the river. We figured there was one gun next to the other there. It could be interesting! I was given the special honor of being permitted to lead the point platoon. For the special mission, I received a special complement of “star” tank commanders. Even our first sergeant, Hauptfeldwebel Hain, felt the need to climb into a tank again. A few days ago, he had participated in an attack as a commander, so I had no concerns. I could well use his sunny humor and aggressiveness. Then I picked out two Oberfeldwebel and two Feldwebel as tank commanders. The operation was discussed and planned to the last detail. It was known that a small wooden bridge led over the river, but it most likely could not support the weight of our tanks. The crossing was supposed to be held for the wheeled elements that were following. Our commander gave us a pep talk, but he knew it was an extremely risky undertaking. In case we were successful, he promised us the entire stock of the company’s alcohol. I was a bit skeptical, since I figured we probably would not have any opportunity in the next few days to enjoy it. It had turned dark. We formed up and moved out. We maintained a 50-meter interval between vehicles and kept complete radio silence, since we knew from experience that our “radioing” could be heard from a long distance at night. We needed to surprise the enemy, if we wished to be successful. An oppressive stillness had fallen over the countryside. Our tanks could barely be heard, since we were moving through soft soil, and the drivers had been instructed to apply gas smoothly. They had experience in doing that. Meter-by-meter, my feelings turned from bad to worse. I could count on running over a mine at any minute or being engaged by antitank guns. We reached the edge of the village; right on the other side was the little river. Just before the bridge, the route branched off into the village. I left a tank there to screen. I continued on with the other vehicles. In front of us, we could see the uncertain outlines of the bridge. A quick glance told me it could never carry a tank. Right next to the bridge, a gigantic crater was gaping, which had been created by the bombs from a Stuka. We needed to find a firm place to ford. But when did the Russians ever leave a crossing point unmined? Although the Russian guns continued to remain silent, the tension and the uncertainty were almost unbearable. Where and how

would we find a ford in the darkness? Should we just trust to blind luck? Who could tell me what the conditions were like on the far bank? I could not identify anything in the darkness. Then I had the thought all of a sudden that I should move through the bomb crater, since it was still fresh and there couldn’t be any mines in it. I reported by radio to my commander that I was at the bridge and was attempting to cross through a bomb crater. He left it up to me to determine the best course. My driver carefully glided the tank into the dark hole, and we slowly climbed up the steep far side. Initially, the tracks turned through a bit, but then we were at the tipping point—the tank did it. I breathed a sigh of relief. We were on the other bank. There had to be antitank guns and artillery right in front of us. Was Ivan letting us get close or had he pulled back a bit for the night? I moved a bit off to the left to make room for the remaining tanks. I then determined that the river was practically dry and we could ford easily ford. I called up Ernst Hain, Adolf Reich and Gerlach by radio. I left the one tank at the village edge as security. All of the tanks made it through the crater. The four vehicles set up on the far side. In front of us, like black clouds, were the silhouettes of giant alders in the nighttime skies. That meant that where we were, the Russians could not identify us too easily. Oberleutnant Tschöpe moved up slowly with the rest of the company. He was working his way through the Stuka crater with his tank, when ear-deafening fireworks opened up against us. I was looking right into the muzzle flashes of at least 10 guns. The reports of the guns were so loud that it almost took your hearing away. I saw to my satisfaction that the shells all landed in the crowns of the trees in front of us. That meant the Russians had not yet identified us. We took our time getting a sight picture on the muzzle flashes by means of the illuminated crosshairs on the optics. The other tanks were directed to do the same thing. “Be prepared to engage with main gun and machine guns … wait for the order to fire!” I radioed to the other tanks. We didn’t need to monkey around here; we needed to strike hard. I waited for the Russians to fire another time so as to confirm the sight picture and then I told my vehicles to fire at will. The fires from four machine guns and four main guns lashed out towards the Russian guns in front of us. There was nothing but a crashing and a roaring. I fired a pyrotechnic signal into the sky. The Russians started running as if the devil were chasing them. We pursued, overran the guns and Oberleutnant Tschöpe radioed me: “Bravo, you did it!”

March into the Great Bend of the Don and into the Kalmuck Steppes Georg Heymer and Ernst Hain (8./Panzer-Regiment 15) It was 19 November 1942. Alert! Alert! Get ready to move out! The dream of a quiet winter position was over. We had forgotten that we were the reserves of the field army. Our things were quickly packed; the vehicles made ready. The motors were turned over and we made our way to the Rosslawl train station. There was a lot of speculation: Since things stank in the area of the front around Stalingrad, as we could gather from the last Armed Forces Daily Report, we thought we might be heading in that direction. We were loaded in freight cars again. We had to set up our own stoves, which were available at the train station, as was burning material. Those items had been thought of in advance. And we had guessed correctly. The blanket of snow got thinner and thinner; the south was becoming noticeable. The countryside slowly changed its face. The forests changed to patches of woods; in the end, there were only groups of trees. The transition to the steppes was on display. Sharp and deep cuts in the land broke up the broad expanses of rolling terrain. Those were the so-called balkas, where villages could often be found embedded. An unimaginable vastness spread out in front of us. The steppes approached rapidly. We were approaching the Great Bend of the Don. We had been on the train for a week when we arrived at the train station in Millerowo. What we saw there was anything but encouraging. The hard-frozen corpses of fallen German soldiers were stacked along a train platform. We didn’t have a lot of time to think about it, however. We immediately saw that things were proceeding at a hectic pace. The news of the large-scale Soviet offensive in the Stalingrad area was probably the reason for the unrest. As soon as the wheeled vehicles cleared the ramps, we headed east. We spent a few days idle in the village of Alexandrowka on the Great Bend of the Don. Then we headed southeast across the steppes. We never saw a house anywhere. We saw the first directional sign after 70 kilometers. We were in front of a defile, where the village of Nowo Petscherski was embedded. What we saw there was the most primitive thing we had seen up to that point. The houses, like everywhere else on the steppes, were very primitive. They had been constructed out of manure, straw and clay. How we were all quartered there is still a mystery to me to this day. The combat elements, which had been taken by rail to Morosowskaja, had already taken quarters there. We were then stuffed into the already stuffed nooks and crannies. On 7 December, there was an enemy tank alert. Once again, Soviet tanks had broken through. And that was how the tragedy of Stalingrad started for us.

Combat Missions The III./Panzer-Regiment 15 was given the following major combat missions: • Interdiction and destruction of enemy forces that had broken through. (The primary opponent was the tank brigades of the Soviet 1st and 5th Guards Tank Armies.) • Shoring up the front along the Lower Tschir. • Taking back and holding Skassyrskaja. • Taking back and holding the Bystraja River line between Mowo-Marjewka and Romanoff (oriented north). • Taking back the airfield at Tazinskaja. • Blocking the Danube crossing points on both sides of Zymlianskaja and the destruction of the Russian efforts to cross there. • Covering and shoring up the fighting retreat of Korps Mieth. • Attack on Morowsowskaja to fix enemy forces. • Relief of encircled elements of Armee-Abteilung Fretter-Pico between Bistraja and Millerowo. • Support of the alert formations on the Lower Don. • Destruction of the enemy forces that had broken into the Kagelnik Position. • Castling moves outside of Rostow and the destruction of the enemy tank elements that had advanced in front of the Soviet 28th Army.

Personal Experience: The White Hell Eugen Schaeffer, Unteroffizier in the 8./Panzer-Regiment 15 A few tanks swarmed out at the outskirts of a village and took up outpost positions. We discovered from them what was going on. A pack of Russian tanks had suddenly appeared and had surprised and overrun the few supply elements of the 6. Armee, along with their meager security elements, usually Flak strongpoints and ad hoc infantry elements— bakers, butchers and truck drivers. Through binoculars, we could clearly make out the Russian tanks about 3 to 4 kilometers away. All of a sudden, however, they disappeared, as if the ground had swallowed them up. A few figures in shock hastened across the open terrain in their shirts and trousers. They were the survivors of a main clearing station. No, I do not want to write it down. It is too terrible to describe the work of a group of devils. It was still dark. We were shaken awake by the sound of firing. We were ready quickly. Ivan was again attempting to break through our outpost lines. We were directed to pursue the enemy. But where was he? We carefully headed east. We tried to make out tanks with our field glasses. A Focke-Wulf circled about the monotonous white expanse, where we were leaving our tracks, widely dispersed. A slight rise appeared in front of us; the aerial reconnaissance aircraft started flying tighter circles and descending lower and lower. Then it flew directly towards us. We fired an aerial recognition signal. A small cloud of smoke emanated from its tail and a small parachute fluttered to the ground in front of my tank. We quickly ripped open the message capsule: “Enemy tanks behind the white hill. Wait for Stukas.” We finally knew where the enemy was. It did not take too long before three dark specks appeared in the clear winter skies. They neared us rapidly. It was the Stukas that had been promised. We set off yellow smoke and headed towards the hill. My tank covered the left flank during the movement. The three Ju 87’s dove like hawks and dropped their payloads. A blazing and a bursting filled the icy winter air. Mushrooms of smoke ascended, followed by columns of flame. That meant direct hits. At that point, there was nothing to do by get over there as quickly as possible to exploit the surprise and the shock. We were only halfway up the hill when two T-60’s appeared. My gunner had them in his sights; two torches soon decorated the slope. From the top of the hill, we could look into a defile. The pack of tanks had hidden itself there. The Stukas had hit a T-34 at the entrance, which then blocked the exit. The Russians attempted to get out of the defile at another location. It had become a mousetrap. We pushed out way forward on both sides and knocked out tank after tank. The Stukas then reappeared. We quickly set off our smoke signals, since they were tipping over directly above us. The first Stuka dropped its bombs in front of our tracks. The two other ones made another approach. Together with the Stukas, we eliminated the pack of Russian tanks. Not a single vehicle escaped. Then, suddenly, there was a rushing and a howling approaching us. Streams of smoke darkened the heavens; there was a crashing and bursting around us. Stalin organs had

come to the party. Tracks with the telltale superstructures disappeared over the horizon. Unfortunately, we were unable to pursue them, since night was rapidly upon us.

226 HOURS IN A TANK That first tank engagement on the hill was just the prelude to one of the most difficult defensive engagements we fought along the Don Bend. Our battalion was soon in Tschir, then surviving as a breakwater against the flood of Soviet armor at the airfields at Morowsowskaja and Tazinskaja. It defeated all of the Russian attacks and prevented the forces there from being encircled. After a short sleep in a musty peasant’s hut, we topped off and stuffed as much ammunition aboard as we could force into the vehicle. We received two loaves of bread, some cans of sausage and then filled our pockets like the Russians did with sunflower seeds. The engines then howled to live, snow whirled through the air and we took off into the Russian winter. There was no identifiable front there. We had to pay attention like the dickens so as not to wind up unintentionally at Ivan’s location. The Russians were waiting in ambush everywhere—in the defiles and behind the hills. Nothing offered concealment —not a tree, not a bush. The ice-cold sun made the snow glitter, and the wind swept over the hard-frozen ground. Our “greyhound”—that’s what we had christened our tank— became our home. Our screening sector extended a long way through the countryside along the Tschir. Every day, the Russians attempted to break through with new packs of tanks. Wherever the T-34’s and the KV I’s appeared, they remained behind as blazing fires on the snow. It was especially difficult to stay in those ambush positions at night. The lookout kept dozing off, only to wake up the next moment alert. The biting cold and the gnawing hunger made you sleepy and dazed. The bread had long since disappeared. We were still waiting for a warm meal. When it finally came, the meatballs tasted like gas, but we devoured them with a burning hunger. After 226 hours, we finally saw some warm quarters for a few hours. In the intervening 10 days, our battalion had knocked out more than 400 Russian tanks and thwarted all of the Russian efforts to break through in our sector.

BACK AGAIN 18 December 1942—We were in Werchne-Tschirskaja, that is, along the Don. Heeresgruppe Hoth had moved out on the Kalmuck Steppes in the direction of Stalingrad and was located even with us on the far side of the Don. We had been directed to take the bridge over the river and establish contact with Hoth’s forces. At the same time, the forces in Stalingrad were supposed to make a breakout effort—at least that’s what was said to us. I didn’t get any shuteye, since the attack was planned for 0200 hours. The hands of the watch kept advancing slowly. It turned 0200 hours—nothing stirred. It turned 0230 hours —everything was quiet. At that point, I fell asleep. It wasn’t until 0700 hours that the starting of the motor awakened me. But we did not approach the bridge over the Don. We went back to the area where we had fought several days previously. What was happening? No one knew. The skies were filled with snow; the flakes fell silently. We were apparently looking for the enemy. Visibility was poor. Our tanks had been given a coat of whitewash, with the result that you barely saw the man in front of you in the white desert. We bounced through the monotonous terrain slowly, without knowing where Ivan was. We stopped again and again to observe. Slight rises, high steppe grass, a few huts and snow as far as the eye could see. Suddenly, we halted and heard the sounds of a nearby aircraft. Up front—no, to the rear —something must be going on. Pyrotechnic signals rose in the leaden-colored skies. It stopped snowing. Our gunner, Weidner, also known as “Eagle Eye”—a man who saw everything and heard everything—spotted an aircraft, a Bf 110. It kept on diving on the village ahead of us, strafing the houses. That meant Russians had to be there. When the 110 strafed the road again, we could see that there were Russian columns marching on it. So that’s what it had been. We made our way closer to the village. To the left, along the extended ridgeline, we could hear the sounds of firing. It sounded like 8.8-centimeter Flak. We snuck up closer. Moving from the center of the village, Russian tanks were headed for the outskirts. The distance was about 2,000 meters. We took up positions behind the houses. We weren’t allowed to fire just yet. Firing could be heard form the ridgeline again. We could not believe our eyes. Tanks with mounted infantry were moving out of the village—I counted 10 … 20 … 30, before I gave up. They were all moving in the direction of the Flak. They weren’t T-34’s however. They were English Mark II’s and IV’s.98 We formed up to attack. I had to remain at the entrance of the village to screen and was able to follow the tank engagement that started up against the superior numbers of Russians. Concealed, our tanks set up along the left flank. The Flak fell silent. The Russian tank force moved in column, with the command tank identifiable by its large antenna. Ivan was still clueless when it lit up behind the slight rise. Antitank round after antitank round impacted. The Russian command tank was the first one targeted. Like a swarm of flushed out hornets, they moved all over the place—leaderless. Here and there, there were tongues of flames coming out of the rear decks. The Russians then sought

concealment among stacks of hay, but they moved right into our line of fires and the dance of death really got under way. We were relieved of our screening duties and were also able to join in. It was a terrible game that took place in front of us. Ammunition was exploding; fire was running out of the fuel tanks. Only a few of the Russian turrets traversed in search of targets, but soon flames were coming out of their hatches as well. Gradually, it turned deathly still on the battlefield. From the Flak crews, we discovered that some of the Russian tanks had moved on. We soon heard the unmistakable noise approaching us. Our Panzer III was in the best position to fire. Fire—Target! But the Russian kept on coming, undeterred, even though he was on fire. A second round hit the front slope, but the steel monster stubbornly kept approaching, as if it intended to ram us. We had to get out of the way of the blazing torch. Even another round to the rear didn’t bring the Russian to a stop. We had a strange feeling; we couldn’t figure out what was going on. It was only later that we discovered that the driver, who had been killed, was laying on the gas pedal. We counted 59 burning enemy tanks.

Procuring Fuel in the Winter Fighting of 1942/1943 Walter Rosenfelder, Leutnant in the Maintenance Platoon of the III./Panzer-Regiment 15 It was during our attachment to the “Ghost” Division and Panzer-Regiment 15 that we marched off in the direction of Stalingrad at the beginning of December to relieve the 6. Armee. The Italians and the Rumanians, who were supposed to have guarded the left flank, were pulling back and blew up everything in their path, including the fuel depots. There came a time when our fuel supply was reaching its end. There was no fuel to be found within the entire area of operations of the field army, and we could see the day coming where we would have to blow up our tanks for a lack of fuel. But we didn’t want that to happen. Our unforgettable battalion commander, Major Schmid, summoned me one day around 1500 hours and said: “Up to now, we haven’t been able to drum up any fuel. Rosenfelder, you are the only one who can help us. Get some fuel! I don’t care where. I’ll give you everything you need!” After short deliberation, 17 trucks with drivers and assistant drivers were assembled, in addition to a prime mover from the maintenance facility. There was a short briefing for the drivers and announcement of the route. The trucks were then dispatched individually. I followed behind as the last vehicle, along with the prime mover, so that we could recover any vehicles that broke down or might get stuck in the ice and snow. The movement went well, despite the rapidly descending night. Towards midnight, we arrived at our objective, but the commander of the fuel depot informed me that we could not receive any fuel, because our formation was not on the authorization list. We then had to resort to getting everything Landser-style! We had Schnaps and cigarettes with us. Quid pro quo! The trucks stopped along one of the side streets along the edge of the fuel depot and kept a lookout. It was a gigantic depot; the rows of stacked fuel drums stretched for kilometers. The most important thing was that only one pair of guards patrolled the entire area. It was just a matter of holding up the guards at the opposite end of the depot. After thorough reconnaissance, I returned to my waiting trucks and alerted the responsible senior noncommissioned officer to only start loading the fuel drums after receiving a signal—the lighting of a match. In addition, each of the loaded trucks was to move off immediately and then wait for the others a few kilometers away from the depot. After the final truck was loaded, the Feldwebel was to signal by blinking to me with his flashlight. I had great success in holding up the two guards at the other end of the depot, since neither one of them had anything to smoke or drink and had probably seen little of either in the recent past. I was in the “hot seat,” but thank God, there was nothing to be heard and the truck drivers worked silently and quietly. In addition, the guards were so

preoccupied with the completely unexpected refreshments that they barely paid any attention to their surroundings. Finally, the expected signal came. I pressed the remaining cigarettes and the booze in their hands and vanished into thin air. The return trip did not proceed as well as we had planned, since the Russians had broken through at one place and we had to take a considerable detour. That caused a certain crisis of conscience for me, since I had promised to be back at the battalion at 1030 hours, since the tanks urgently needed fuel. But, it all worked out. We were all back there at 1024 hours, after a round trip of nearly 600 kilometers—in the ice and snow and mostly at night!

En Route as the Fire Brigade Georg Heymer and Ernst Hain On our way to Millerowo, we were already noticing that there were many groups of Rumanians and Italians on the move to the rear without weapons. At the time, we still had no clue as to what kind of chaos was happening up front and that the Rumanian- and Italian-held sectors of the front had been broken through. It had been intended for them to safeguard the fighting of the German forces in Stalingrad. When our battalion rolled forward on 7 December, we soon received a briefing on the situation where we were going. A Luftwaffe field division99 had been in position in front of us. It had simply been overrun by the Red Army. The losses among its ranks were enormous. When our battalion moved out to attack Collective Farm No. 79 and the Krasny Star Collective Farm and reached it after a short time, it was confronted with a frightful scene. The main clearing station of the Luftwaffe field division had been at Krasny Star. When we arrived, it was deathly silent, even though we had been told that the clearing station had been full. All of the wounded had either been beaten to death or shot. The doctors, who had been in the process of operating on a wounded man, were all bent forward over him, eliminated with the round to the back of the head. On a unique advance, our 11. Panzer-Division reached the area around Kalatsch, where the Soviets sustained considerable losses in men and materiel. It was no longer possible to conduct any further attacks to relieve the encirclement, however. The Soviet superiority in numbers was too great, even though the 11. PanzerDivision knocked out 108 Soviet tanks on that day. We had to transition to the defense along the lines we had reached. It was only by doing that that we were able to postpone the Soviet breakthrough in the direction of Rostow for a short while. But our battalion sustained painful losses. Even our battalion surgeon, Dr. Dr. Mühl-Kühner,100 was badly wounded that day. Since both Leutnant Goertz and Leutnant Büttner had been killed and the company commander of the 8th, Oberleutnant Tschöpe, was lost due to illness, Oberleutnant Maiwald was given acting command of the company, even though he was also the commander of the 9th Company at the same time. Then a general retreat was sounded. It went right through the steppes to Schachty. There was little in the way of snow and cold temperatures. The last days of 1942 and the first few days of the New Year were spent conducting delaying actions. The 11. Panzer-Division crossed the bridge over the Donez and headed in the direction of Schachty. The bridge was then blown up. The battalion’s trains moved to the Schachty area. There was a lot to eat at the time. We had captured a truck that was loaded to the gills with meat, which was frozen solid and, therefore, still edible. No one went hungry. Quite

the opposite: We were able to feed scattered German forces as well, and there were plenty of them at the time. The combat elements were employed at Nowo Bataisk at the time. It was imperative to block the path of the Soviet forces advancing across the steppes, since the German forces in the Caucasus were pulling back in the direction of Rostow. On 21 January, the battalion conducted a fairly large operation in that area. We advanced to the northeast towards a collective farm. The antitank defenses were very heavy, so it goes without saying that we did not conduct a frontal assault. We succeeded in enveloping the farm. Hauptfeldwebel Hain was the first one to enter the farm form the rear. Clumps of antitank guns were parked along the main road leading through the farm. They were put out of commission before they could fire a shot. The first sergeant eliminated 9 cannon all by himself and his crew. Surprise was complete. Unfortunately, Oberleutnant Maiwald was injured in the fighting and had to leave the battalion. The battalion scored another considerable success two days later. During the attack on Manytschiskaja, 28 Soviet tanks were knocked out and 50 to 60 antitank guns captured. Ever since the middle of January, the combat trains of the battalion were in Rostow. The stay there would have been bearable had it not been for the nightly appearance of the “sewing machines” that dropped their bombs. As a result, we were happy to leave the city on 30 January. By then, the remaining elements of the field army withdrawing from the Caucasus had been passed through the lines. There was no reason to hold the city any more. We then moved into the Donez Basin, past Taganrog and in the direction of Stalino. Since we were able to move fast as a motorized formation, we intermingled with the rear elements of the Caucasus Army. Those units even had camels with them as pack animals —a very exotic picture. We had come from the cold originally, and we found the climate there in the south in the winter to be very comfortable. At noon in February, the sun shone so warmly that we were able to sun ourselves on the south side of the houses. There were canteen items to be had again, which had probably been intended for Stalingrad but had never reached their intended goal. At Konstantinowka, where we quartered for two weeks in February, we finally received a new company commander after a long time. He was Oberleutnant la Rocha-Schmid, an ethnic German from Brazil. He was a terrific man, who led our company in a terrific manner until his death. Together with SS-Panzergrenadier-Division “Das Reich,” Kharkov was retaken in March. Following that, our battalion was moved to the suburb of Osnowa. From there, the first soldiers in a long time were allowed to take home leave, while the battalion moved to Tschutowa, a larger village between Kharkov and Poltawa. Tschutowa! A friendly village in the Ukraine, far from the front. A village that only called to mind memories of peacetime. It was there that we were able to properly recover from all the previous hardships; from there, we took our home leaves. We came back to Tschutowa when we returned, a fact that amazed us, since we had become so accustomed to constantly being on the go. The food was also good, as was the provisioning of canteen

goods. It was a pleasant time that almost allowed us to forget the war. Above all, there were no partisans in the Ukraine. It was during that time that the rumor started to circulate that we were going to be returned to our 4. Panzer-Division. But this idyll was brusquely interrupted in the middle of July 1943. We headed out at breakneck speed through Warwarowka to Graiworon. The combat elements went even farther, through Borrisowka to Tomarowka. The initial operations of the 11. Panzer-Division went well. Our 8th Company, under the leadership of the new commander, took the point. After a few days, the tank crews could see the onion-domed spires of Obojan. Then the two SS armored divisions were withdrawn to be employed elsewhere. We were suddenly faced with a sector 10 kilometers across. This decisively changed the situation over night, since the fact that two armored divisions were missing was not lost on the Soviets. They attacked. The advance came to a standstill; the division had to transition to the defense. At the end of July, orders formally arrived from the German Army High Command reassigning the 3rd Battalion back to the 4. Panzer-Division. When that was announced, everyone was happy, despite the difficult situation at the front. On 6 August, the Red Army started its anticipated major offensive. The 11. PanzerDivision was almost encircled, since the infantry divisions in position were no longer up to the task of holding out against those vastly superior numbers of men and materiel. At the vary last moment, the battalion trains were able to pull back to Graiworon, since Leutnant Lech was able to warn them in time. The combat trains of the battalion, which were located farther forward, were partially overrun by Soviet tanks, with the result that considerable casualties were sustained. A short time prior to that, the former commander of the I./Panzer-Regiment 35, Major von Lauchert, assumed command of Panzer-Regiment 15. Fortunately, the situation in our sector of the front was stabilized somewhat when the entire front was shortened. The 3rd Battalion’s tanks were then transferred, platoon-by-platoon, to the remaining battalions of the regiment. The men of the 3rd Battalion marched to the train station at Mirgorod, where everyone was assembled who had once belonged to Panzer-Regiment 35. On 31 August, we were officially released from the 11. Panzer-Division. On 2 September, we departed for the homeland. After a long train trip, we finally arrived in our peacetime garrison of Bamberg on 11 September. After a period of leave, we were loaded on trains on 14 October in Bamberg and sent to Normandy. The battalion headquarters was sent to Alencon; the 6th and 7th Companies to Sees. We, the 8th Company, were billeted in a very modern seminary, which had been put to different purposes during the war. From there, details were sent to Erlangen to participate in courses on the Panther. In the middle of January 1944, we were sent to Sedan; later we went to the Mailly training area. There were already 16 tank battalions there that were scheduled to transition to the Panther. At the end of April, we noticed that we were being visited daily by British aerial reconnaissance. We didn’t think much good would come of that! On 2 may we were alerted: Leave the camp! We were put up in wooden barracks that were 2 kilometers away.

During the night of ¾ May, 250 British bombers attacked the camp and plowed it up in half an hour. German night fighters arrived in time and shot down a lot of them,101 but our losses were enormous. Our battalion alone had 44 dead. On 29 May, we were loaded on trains for Grafenwöhr, where we received our field equipment. In the middle of June, we arrived in Sokal at the location of our 4. PanzerDivision.

We Are a Regiment Once Again Hans Schäufler We were a complete regiment again effective 29 May. The 2nd Battalion, which had spent so much time with the 11. Panzer-Division, was back home with the 4. Panzer-Division. It was equipped with the new Panther tank and, because of its “weightiness,” was designated as the regiment’s 1st Battalion.102 The commander was Hauptmann Schaeffer. The long-time 1st Battalion accepted the new Roman numeral II somewhat sullenly. The battalion continued to be commanded by Major Schultz. Oberst Christern was made the regimental commander. The formal regimental headquarters, which had been the regimental headquarters of Oberstleutnant von Jungenfeld, returned. The headquarters was no longer essential, since the Porsche tank destroyers had been reduced in size to that of a battalion.103 The new 1st Battalion not only brought its new Panthers and many well-known faces with it, it also brought a wealth of experience from its previous employment.



28 June 1942: Windmill at Woronesh with the gravesite of Major von Burstin.

28 June 1942: Preparations for the attack on Woronesh.

28 June 1942: Attack in the direction of Woronesh.



June 1943: Rest position of the battalion in Tschutowo (Ukraine).

A portrait of poverty—the Soviet peasant.

A shot-down “sewing machine.” The fragile-looking, but actually very sturdy, Po 2.

5 April 1944: The fighting at Kovel. Last briefing before the attack. Oberst Hoffmann and Stabsarzt Dr. Schulz-Merkel.

6 April 1944: Knocked-out Shermans at the outskirts of Kovel.

6 April 1944: A dug-in British-built Valentine on the outskirts of Kovel.

May 1944: The 2nd Battalion was the first battalion of the regiment to receive the formidable new Panther. It was followed in June by the 1st Battalion.

May 1944: The new commander of the “new” 1st Battalion: Hauptmann Schaeffer. He is flanked by Stabsarzt Dr. Holzwarth and Leutnant Mayer.

3 and 4 May 1944: Attack by English bombers at the French Training Area Mailly, where the former II./PR 35 was undergoing training.

Destroyed buildings at Mailly.

6 May 1944: General von Saucken presents Major Schulz with the Knight’s Cross. The Soviet artillery has just fired a salvo in his honor.

CHAPTER 7

Russia, 1944

The Fighting for Kowel Hans Schäufler (Based on Diary Entries) While the few tanks we had left were fighting it out south of Bobruisk, another drama was taking place in the Pripjet Marshes. The Russians were marching, marching inexorably westward. They were advancing on Brest-Litowsk and approaching the Bug, and no one seemed to be in a position to hold them up. The city of Kowel had been encircled by the Russians, but it was being defended with admirable bravery by a German garrison of Waffen-SS , police elements and railway workers. The Russians, who unconditionally wanted to have that important transportation nodal point in their hands—a transportation center located in the middle of trackless territory and at the start of the mud season— attacked the city constantly with numerically superior forces. Kowel was declared a “fortified city.” More than 1,000 wounded were in the encircled city by then, and they could not be evacuated. As was so often the case, when a place was on fire, they called for the 4. PanzerDivision. But what we saw there did not look appetizing for tank warfare. I no longer know whom, but someone described the area of operations to a “t”: Muck, more muck, water, another two helpings of muck and add some more water. That’s what the “bears” had to deal with at Kowel. You would think you were paying close enough attention, but then you realized you had not been paying close enough attention: Your crate got stuck again. It took a lot of effort to free it up, but you did it—you had to do it. You could not leave the road at all, unless you had a submarine! And it was there that our tanks rolled and fought! Yes—fighting, since it was a struggle like in the year 1941. Our tanks were performing tremendously; the grenadiers no less. At the start, our prospects seemed hopeless. Everything had conspired against us: The weather, the roads and, not least of all, Ivan, who had established an unheard-of defensive front, a ring of steel around Kowel. But German soldiers and railway men were fighting in Kowel with every ounce of their strength, and they had to be chiseled out of there, no matter what it cost.

The Ring of Steel Is Blown Apart Oberst Ernst W. Hoffmann, Commander of Panzergrenadier-Regiment 12 A small band of German soldiers and railway men had been holding Kowel for nearly three weeks. The situation of the encircled men grew more desperate daily; the number of dead and wounded grew and the stocks of ammunition and rations declined. Slowly but surely, the enemy succeeded in breaking away one piece after the other of the outer defensive ring, forcing the defenders back to the actual outskirts of the city. The divisions designated to relieve the encircled city worked their way forward through the powerful obstacles that had been established by the enemy. The deep muck and snowstorms hindered the attack. In the meantime, the Russians succeeded in penetrating into the inner defensive ring in a few places. A few groups of houses were lost initially, then entire blocks and some key high ground. At that point, the enemy was able to observe all of the movements of the encircled forces. The aerial resupply, which was already being hindered by the bad weather, encountered increasingly heavy antiaircraft fire as well. The transport aircraft could only fly at night then. The increasing needs of the defenders could no longer be met. The situation in the encircled city became more critical by the hour. The Russians were already celebrating their victory. He was already referring to himself as the master of Kowel in fly bills and radio jamming, in whisper campaigns and through propaganda by agents. On 2 April 1944, the 4. Panzer-Division was finally in a position where it could move into attack positions during the night of ⅔ April for the decisive relief attack. The attack had been directed to start in the morning at 0400 hours. That day, the sudden onset of a thaw turned all of the paths into bottomless pits. Guns and armored vehicles sank past their axles in the muck. Every effort to move forward was thwarted. Seven to eight hours were necessary to move 2.5 kilometers. It was not until the early-morning hours, when the first attack objectives should have already been long since taken, that the mechanized infantry made it to their lines of departure. The guns of the artillery were still being pushed laboriously—centimeter by centimeter— through the ice, snow and muck. It seemed as though nature had allied itself with the Russians. The situation was gradually turning critical in Kowel. There was only a single German battery still firing. The attack by the 4. Panzer-Division was postponed to 4 April. The first blocking position to be taken by the mechanized infantry was a patch of woods 100 meters to the north of the locality of Nove Koszary. Two bastions, outfitted with machine guns and artillery, controlled the open area to their front. The bastion to the east, in the workers’ settlement of Warszyk at the southeastern corner of the woods, was a group of houses that had been transformed into a strongpoint through improvements. At the southwestern portion of the woods was “Egg Hill.” An improved position, which offered the defenders all of the advantages, coupled with a strong force, made it appear almost impossible to

take that strongpoint. The wood line between the two strongpoints was safeguarded by means of several machine guns. Based on the available combat and terrain intelligence, the mechanized infantry silently approached the center portion of the woods in a narrow wedge at night, one battalion behind the other. At the designated attack time, the 2nd Battalion, under the acting command of Hauptmann Heide, penetrated into the woods, with Heide at the front of his troops. After about an hour—it was already starting to turn light—the 2nd Battalion was north of “Egg Hill.” At about the same time, the 1st Battalion reached Warszyk, after rolling up the enemy positions along the edge of the woods and turning east. Green pyrotechnics in the skies informed the cannoneers, who had been firing on the bastions up to that point, that the mechanized infantry was then in the process of approaching the strongpoints from the rear in order to crack them open. The artillery fires abruptly ceased. With fixed bayonets and firing from the hip with light machine guns and submachine guns, the two battalions entered the strongpoints. Shaken by the preceding artillery fires from the tireless cannoneers of Panzer-Artillerie-Regiment 103, surprised by the sudden attack in their rear and paralyzed by the Hurra! of the assaulting grenadiers, the Russians only put up slight resistance on “Egg Hill,” which was quickly broken. The situation was different at Warszyk. The enemy appeared to quickly take notice of the fact that his numbers were roughly the same as those of the attackers and that he was superior when it came to weapons. The Russians immediately launched a counterattack. However, they hadn’t counted on the “thick skull” of the Hessian, Hauptmann Hahn, the acting commander of the 1st Battalion. In the withering fires of all of the machine guns and the submachine guns, the enemy attack collapsed. In a hard fight—man-to-man and house-to-house—the enemy was eliminated in Warszyk. The two battalions captured four artillery pieces and a number of machine guns and antitank rifles. The I./Panzer-Regiment 35, led by Stabsarzt Dr. Schulz-Merkel, one of the few doctors awarded the Knight’s Cross, was unable to follow the attack until lanes had been cleared in the broad minefields. The engineer company of Oberleutnant Nieß cleared lanes through the expansive minefields, occasionally still taking machine-gun fire. The 1st Battalion, advancing rapidly to the north along the eastern edge of the woods, received heavy machine-gun and artillery fire from a well-camouflaged and previously unidentified enemy force 700 meters away. The mechanized infantry were covered with a flurry of lead. Casualties were taken. The forward observer from the artillery was unable to ascertain the exact location of the enemy, since he had to look directly into the rising sun. Although all of our weapons were firing, it seemed to be without effect. It appeared that the initial attack objective—taking the northern edge of the woods—was in danger of not being accomplished. The acting battalion commander could scarcely believe his eyes: His reserve, the 3rd Company, was advancing against Hill 141, some 500 meters farther east. Shortly thereafter, the company penetrated the enemy’s positions there with a loud Hurra! The fires from the flank died out suddenly, as if a plug had been pulled. Leutnant Pohris, the acting commander of the 3rd Company, had recognized the danger and, making a hasty

decision, attacked across the marshland. After a short, sharp fight, he was able to report the following to the battalion: “Enemy forces appeared by surprise on Hill 141; 6 machine guns and 4 cannon eliminated. Threat to the flanks eliminated. No losses.”

Panzer marsch! From an Article Written by Dr. H. J. Schulz-Merkel The mechanized infantry moved out again. They worked their way forward until they received aimed rifle fire. At that point, our tank attack started to roll. While the remaining companies fired on the wood line, the 3rd Company of Tommy Wilstermann rolled ahead towards the woods. The vehicles moved as fast as the engines would allow. When they reached the grenadiers, the mechanized infantry jumped on board, hunkered down behind the turrets and continued on to the wood line, where they dismounted and assaulted into the woods. We held our breaths; up to that point, everything had worked fine. No vehicle had been hit, no vehicle had gotten stuck and no grenadier had been left behind. There was rumbling and firing in the woods. Then, it slowly turned quiet. In its place, we heard the sounds of heavy fighting coming from Kowel. Ivan wanted to force the fall of the city before we could get there. The night was spent with reorganizing, rearming, refueling and rations. The commanders of the employed formations all gradually came to me in a potato bunker. Around 0200 hours, we discussed the upcoming attack. General von Saucken told us the Führer had issued another order for it. We were supposed to turn along the railway line to the south. Our division commander was well acquainted with the situation, and he had the courage to order the attack at the place where he thought he had the greatest chance of success with the least casualties instead of where he had been directed.

THE CEMETERY WOODS AT DUBOWA The tank companies were positioned behind the railway embankment even before first light. The first attack objective was the locality of Dubowa and the wooded cemetery to its south. The enemy had outfitted the area with so many antitank guns, antiaircraft guns and artillery, that the attack had to be well prepared if we didn’t want to take a lot of casualties. The mechanized infantry moved out while it was still dark and took out a field position of the enemy in front of the village by surprise. The tanks, which were supposed to support the attack by fire, were not to move out until ordered to do so. A Panther company from the Waffen-SS with eight vehicles was attached to reinforce me. They did not appear to like being attached to me, since a medical doctor as a commander wasn’t exactly what they had in mind. They received an area of the village as their objective and also set up behind the embankment. The concentrated fires had barely commenced, however, when the Panthers took off across the tracks to the southeast. They not only obstructed our own fires by doing so, they also exposed their flanks to the enemy. Although they were quick, they were not quick enough. The Russians were not going to let the opportunity pass by. A few of the Panthers were hit, with two being stopped. They were then shot to pieces. Although that was a bitter pill to swallow, the muzzle flashes from the enemy showed our grenadiers the way. One of the tank companies went to help the Panthers and the grenadiers at the cemetery, while the remaining vehicles continued to observe the edge of the village and respond to every muzzle flash with concentrated fires. The lighter it became, the better the accuracy of our fires. The grenadiers rolled up position after position, effectively supported by our tanks. Tanks and grenadiers also approached the village from the north at that point. The enemy had not counted on that. The hard fighting lasted nearly four hours, before the cemetery and the Brest-Kowel road were in our hands. By eliminating Dubowa, which had always been reported as being impregnable to armor, a considerable success in the battle for Kowel had been achieved. The reforming for the attack on the inner ring of encirclement could start. We wanted to move out at 1100 hours. Once again, there were orders to attack west of the rail line. That was where the Russians expected us. Their earthen bunkers were there; their antitank guns were there. There were no laurels to be won there! Once again, General von Saucken risked his neck—as far as I know, the attack objectives originally ordered were never taken—and ordered the attack at the place where the Russians didn’t expect it and he thought there was chance of success. We moved out at 1130 hours. At extremely close range and over open sites, one bunker after the other was blown open. The enemy had been industrious, but he had oriented all of his defenses to the west, and we were coming form the northeast. The fighting around the brickworks was especially bitter. But after exactly two hours of bitter fighting, we were at the final obstacle. A T-34, which had been knocked out by the plucky defenders, was there. Oberstleutnant Hoffmann climbed aboard one of our tanks and moved into Kowel. He received a riotous welcome in the streets from the bearded men. They were hard fellows, but tears of joy were streaming down the battle-hardened faces of a few.

We engaged the tough resistance to both sides and rolled up the encircling ring, bit-bybit. It was not until late in the afternoon that the “Bear Leader” made his way to the headquarters of the local area commander. We received a respectable welcome, but SSGruppenführer Gille did not want to admit that our General had done the right thing tactically. For my medical section, which had little to do during the attack, there was then no shortage of work. The division physician, Dr. Paechner, personally led the evacuation of the 1,500 men from Kowel in the SPW’s of our mechanized infantry. The road had no bottom and, in addition, was still under fire from the south. The Armed Forces Daily report of 4 April celebrated our 4. Panzer-Division .

AN UNDESIRED BIRTHDAY GREETING Oberfeldwebel Luther, my senior medical noncommissioned officer, had performed the miracle of getting our Opel Blitz staff car through the muck to the command post. We were having a small victory celebration there. General von Saucken had invited the commanders down to company level. It was a bit crowded but comfortable, nonetheless. It was midnight when I went out under the star-filled, clear night. It was my birthday. There, 10 meters in front of me, was a very unusual congratulator, an extra sort of surprise—a T34 with a menacing barrel. Watch out! Turn off the lights! I yelled as I ran to the closest tank so as to alert my men by radio. But no one was monitoring the radios. Our uninvited guest started to move out slowly, disappearing in the direction of our supply route in the darkness. Then I was all alone. Everyone looked for and hunted the T-34, armed with Panzerfäuste104 and Teller mines. What would that bastard do?

THE TANK ENGAGEMENT AT KOWEL The next day, the battalion headquarters moved to the edge of the city. Three companies were entrusted with screening missions. One was resting in reserve. I had just started to get some shut-eye at noon, when I was summoned to the tower at the brickworks, which the division commander and the division’s artillery officer, Oberst Laukat, were climbing. From there, you could see far into the enemy’s rear. On the road to the north, there was heavy traffic. Ivan had something in mind. Very calmly, the division commander announced: “Those are no trucks, gentlemen. Those are tanks rolling there.” I was thinking that the Old Man wasn’t seeing right, since I could not see anything of the sort, even with the help of binoculars, and I thought I had pretty good eyes. Even the other gentlemen, meaning no disrespect to the general, did not want to agree with him. There was a scissors scope in the vehicle. Get it up here, quickly! Of course, he was right. I counted nearly 40 tanks. How many had already disappeared into the woods? A look at the map told me exactly where they would most likely come out. That was where Lange’s company was. I furtively looked at my watch. The companies would not turn on their receivers for another 25 minutes. I sent a motorcycle messenger. I followed it with my staff car, making sure before I left that the command vehicle would also follow. We moved as quickly as we could, but the road was terrible. I got the first tanks moving. The company commander was up from with his outposts. The terrain was hilly, so I could not get a good grasp of the overall situation. Then things started happening. Main gun rounds screamed by. Cover! We moved into a depression in the ground. While I was considering whether I had been very smart in racing out there, a Russian Sherman moved into the depression and immediately took us under fire. We jumped out of the staff car and sought cover, each in a different direction. I hoped that the Sherman would consider it not a very productive enterprise to hunt individual tankers when a tank fight was going on nearby. It rolled back. On the edge of the depression, I found better cover underneath one of my tanks. I was able to observe the progress of the fighting close hand. I figured out that my company was doing fine all by itself and started back as my staff car approached me. We knocked out 28 Shermans at close range. It looked like a junkyard there. We didn’t suffer any losses; that’s what made it such a good victory.

DEPARTURE FROM PANZER-REGIMENT 35 Major Schultz returned from his home leave, and I was summoned by telegram to other duties in the homeland. I had to take my leave from my guys—forever. The regiment had been my home for four and one half years. Rudi Maier got a roasting pig for a farewell dinner and found a seat for me on a courier aircraft to fly back home. Oberstleutnant Hoffmann brought me a gift, which I especially liked, since I felt it had been for the operations we had shared and the good cooperation we had enjoyed. They made my departure very difficult. What was I to do in the homeland when they were still here with the enemy?

That Happened at Kowel as Well Hans Schäufler The battalion was screening on a hill west of the liberated city. During the night, a Russian T-34 succeeded in filtering past the outposts. It caused all sorts of excitement. Two vehicles from our company were assigned the mission of following the tank and destroying it. We were armed will all sorts of close-combat means. The division commander was with us. All of us fantasized about getting the tank destruction badge105 on his right upper sleeve. Our chests puffed out in anticipation of all sorts of honors. Suddenly, a huge shadow in the darkness in front of us. The T-34 we had been looking for. But what was going on there? Landser were standing around it and talking peacefully. We hastened over to them to discover what had happened. A mess truck from some grenadier outfit had gotten stuck in the marshes. The driver heard the tank coming down the road and wanted to stop it so that it could help get him out of the muck. When it got close enough, he noticed his mistake and said, resigned: “Oh, boy! That’s a bad guy!” He went back and fetched a shaped charge and, without making a song and dance out of it, fastened it to the hull of the tank. Boom! Gone! The members of the well-armed antiarmor elements stole away, one after the other, but not without admiration for the oft-maligned “kitchen dogs.”

General von Saucken Leaves the 4. Panzer-Division Hans Schäufler We were pulled out of the line to conduct a battlefield reconstitution in anticipation of a large-scale Russian offensive. Mother’s Day. In a simple, contemplative ceremony we thought of our mothers in Germany, who were consumed with care for us. A moment of silence was held for the mothers of our fallen comrades. Our division commander, Generalleutnant Dietrich von Saucken, recipient of the Oak Leaves to the Swords to the Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross, was leaving our division. Our 1st Battalion, Panzernachrichten-Abteilung 79 and the division headquarters assembled to bid him farewell. For the last time, the general reviewed the troops. He found heartfelt words of thanks and admiration for the days of fighting we had shared. His highest award—the Swords—remained behind in the division. They were painted on every vehicle, from each tank to each maintenance vehicle, next to the division’s tactical sign. His successor as commander of the 4. Panzer-Division was, once again, someone from its ranks, whom we all knew and valued: Oberst Betzel.

The Breakthrough of the Russians in the Central Sector Hans Schäufler We initially assembled in the southern sector of the Eastern Front. On 28 June, the first elements were taken to the central sector by rail to be committed against the Russian’s large-scale offensive. The trip took four days, since partisans continuously blew up the rail lines. We were already being attacked by Russian fighter-bombers as we detrained. Schultz’s battalion, which had been the first to arrive, was already committed and inflicted heavy blows to the enemy, together with the mechanized infantry. The days of fighting between 2 and 16 July can be summarized as follows: Hard defensive fighting. Those engagements, which took place during a series of withdrawal movements, were not the kind that you wanted to participate in as an armored division. It must be said, however, that the enemy did not succeed in breaking though at a single location where Panzer-Regiment 35 was used as a mobile fist. All of the efforts of the Russians to get past us failed, and we had the feeling that Ivan did not want to tangle to seriously with us. Unfortunately, he found opportunities far from our wings to break through, with the result that we also had to pull back again and again in order not to be cut off. This type of fighting often led to dramatic situations. While the withdrawal movements headed west, the regiment undertook an energetic thrust to the east. On 3 July, separated only by the run of a river, it linked up with a neighboring division. The division commander personally led the attack. Our return the next day forced us to negotiate a corridor 20 kilometers long but only 2 kilometers wide. The I./Panzer-Regiment 35 boxed its way out by attacking to the front, while the II./Panzer-Regiment 35 provided covering fires for the retrograde movements of the wheeled elements. The maintenance company had not been loaded out on trains initially. A sweet revenge was extracted for that later on. Although we had not suffered many combat losses, there were a lot of mechanical problems that could not be attended to in a professional manner right away. As a result, the number of operational vehicles shrunk rapidly. The maintenance contact sections and the recovery sections performed miracles. Tanks were recovered in the most unbelievable situations. There were also situations like that on 5 July, when the 1st Battalion had to move out for a decisive attack with only 20 vehicles. The 2nd Battalion had only 8. We had to stop the advance of the enemy along the southern wing of the division. Despite that, both of the battalions enjoyed great success. The Panthers knocked out more than 20 enemy tanks. The 2nd Battalion, with only four main guns firing in the end, advanced against a road nodal point that was heavily defended and took it. The successful resistance offered at Baranowitschi and Slonim that was extolled in the Armed Forces Daily Report was thanks to the 4. Panzer-Division. Kampfgruppe Christern—Panzer-Regiment 35, Panzeraufklärungs-Abteilung 4, an

SPW battalion, an artillery battalion and a company of engineers—became the mobile fire brigade. Wherever things were hot, it was employed as an iron fist. The coordination and cooperation within the battle group was extraordinary. The armored raiding parties defeated all enemy attacks. The artillery went into positions next to an ammo dump and fired with everything they had. They only paused from firing when the barrels turned glowing hot. The supply sections had to give their all during that fighting in order to have ammunition and fuel where it was needed. The operational tanks fought in the south … then in the north … wherever the enemy was hoping for a success. Once again, withdrawal movements were initiated by the armored battle group first thrusting into the enemy. He then tried to go around us in the large, marshy wooded terrain. But Kampfgruppe Christern was employed in time in the deep flank, with the result that the planned actions on the German side were not disturbed. We even had the opportunity to sleep occasionally. We were also “loaned out” to the neighboring divisions on occasion. In the meantime, we also got our maintenance facility back. In the blink of an eye, an amazing amount of repaired tanks returned to the regiment. Hauptmann Schaeffer remained with his troops to convalesce from his wounds. The mission of the division—prevent the front from being torn open—was accomplished. A new defensive line was established. Fresh divisions were brought forward.

Defensive Fighting in the Timkowitschi Bridgehead Peter Oberhuber, Driver in the Regimental Reconnaissance Platoon At the start of the Russian offensive and the subsequent breakthrough in the center sector of the Eastern Front, we were loaded on trains as quickly as possible and moved from Sokal to Sluzk. We moved to the breakthrough area in forced marches. The soldiers of the defeated formations sat discouraged and despondent along the sides of the roads. They waved to us tiredly, but their faces grew visibly in confidence as they saw the many tanks moving towards the front. The 4. Panzer-Division moved out to attack in its entirety. It had been a long time since we had headed east with two strong combat battalions. I sat at the steering controls of the R02. Our platoon leader was Oberleutnant Werner. Our crew: Oberfeldwebel Haase (commander), Ehebauer (gunner), Henneberger (loader) and Zweckerl (radio operator). We attacked with our reconnaissance platoon along with a company from Panzer grenadier-Regiment 33. The two tank battalions of the regiment attacked to the right of us. We quickly reached the first locality and the important Baranowitschi-Minsk rail line. We stayed there initially so as to protect the flank of the tank regiment, which continued to advance. We dispersed along the edge of the village. It didn’t take too long, but four Russians tanks came over the rise on the other side of the railway line towards the village. They had not noticed us. We were well concealed next to a house and allowed the Russians to approach to within 600 meters. An antitank round had been sitting in the breech for a while. Ehebauer calmly took up his sight picture. Two antitank rounds rapidly departed our main gun. Two direct hits! The T-34’s caught on fire; the crews bailed out. The third round was in the breech, but there was no report from the main gun. The gunner tried and tried, because the two remaining T-34’s were pulling back. We tormented ourselves with the misfire. We opened the breechblock, but the round would not come out. We rapidly pulled back to behind the house. Loader, radio operator and driver jumped off the tank, screwed together the cleaning rods and pushed with all of our might against the misfire. Saying nice things to it ahead of time, we loaded another round in the breech and carefully snuck around the corner of the house. Just as the two T-34’s wanted to disappeared over the ridgeline, Ehebauer depressed the trigger. A black mushroom of smoke rose up from behind the hill. We rapidly pursued and were able to take care of two antitank guns. In addition, we liberated some comrades, who had been taken prisoner by the Russians. We were mighty proud that we could paint three “kill” rings on our main gun after the very first operation. And we did it with only three rounds—despite a misfire!

“Swimming Islands” of Resistance Diary Entries from Ulrich Sachse Leutnant and Platoon Leader in Panzeraufklärungs-Abteilung 4 29 June 1944—Massive upheaval in the center.106 Division alerted; end of the idyll as the reserves of Heeresgruppe Nordukraine. Rail load in the area of Lemberg- Krystinopol. The commander went ahead in a staff car through the partisan area along the Bug via Brest-Litowsk; then the road through Sluzk to the east. Kobryn-Bereza-Kartuska … toward the front through an agitated rear area. Columns coming against the direction of march … forces from the rear-area services. Discipline and confidence seemed to be in a state of dissolution. Baranowitschi had been bombarded; hence, the detraining station was Lena. The division command post was located west of the Sluzk in the vicinity of the road. It was working full speed. The troop elements were committed to battle as they arrived and were off-loaded. The division was attached to the I. Kavallerie-Korps. Our division intelligence officer was working feverishly to get a clear picture of the enemy situation. Generalfeldmarschall Model appeared—small, wiry, monocle flashing, energetic, emanating confidence and firm will. Borbruisk—gone; Minsk—gone! But Model was there—commander-in-chief of Army Group “Hole.” The Situation: Sluzk was lost a few days ago. The enemy was advancing on Minsk with strong forces. The breakthrough on the road to the west could be prevented for the time being, but the enemy was advancing along the parallel roads to the north and south of the Sluzk-Brest road. Our own forces were continuously infiltrating through the enemy to the west from the area around Bobruisk-Paritschi-Pripjet and were assembling around the road. With some difficulty, weak German forces were holding back the enemy from widening his main thrust along the road. Our Mission: It would be impossible to take back Sluzk. Based on the force ratios, the only thing possible would be to hold up the enemy or slow down his advance. To that end, the corps formed two attack groups and the strongest blocking force it could across the road. The one attack group advanced south against the enemy marching there; the second one advanced against the northern enemy forces. The southern group had limited success; but because of the force ratios, it could not assert its will. The northern group, to which our Panzeraufklärungs-Abteilung 4 belonged, was unable to accomplish its intent, since the enemy had good flank protection through a flood plain and could only be disrupted through fires. As a result, the battalion was then attached with some of its elements to the southern group. We were filled with grim rage that we could not get to the march columns that were waltzing westward, easily seen and only a few kilometers away. The enemy pressure on the road increased. The friendly blocking forces pulled back to the west, step-by-step.

Operations then blurred together … day and night, night and day. It was not until 4 July that I was sure of the date again. In the meantime, the command had reached a decision, because the following had happened: The corps was blocking access across the next northsouth flood plain at two bridgeheads. The parallel movements of the enemy had to come together there to cross the river. Thus, a good opportunity existed there to move out against the Russians without them being able to simply bypass to the right or left. The reinforced Panzeraufklärungs-Abteilung 4 assumed the screening of the southern bridgehead and occupied in a wide circle the edge of a creek that was impassable to tanks. A deceptive idyll as evening descended. The panorama in the distance along the road showed burning houses. The sounds of heavy fighting from the direction of the fires. Nighttime quiet in front of our own outposts. A dramatic day. It started suddenly with tanks advancing out of some grain fields onto the road, which was their way into the bridgehead. They disappeared as quickly as they had come, even though we did not have any armor-defeating weapons. Our command SPW was knocked out when it moved through a grain field to establish contact with the assault guns of Hauptmann Adamowitsch. Good old Killy, the driver of the SPW in hundreds of operations, was killed. Our commander was wounded. Hauptmann Adamowitsch, who was directed to support us after the tank shock of the early morning, suddenly became the commander of the entire bridgehead. In the evening, the evacuation was ordered. In a hardheaded struggle with the demolition officer, we were able to delay the blowing of the bridge until the last vehicle of the battalion and the last assault gun were on the west bank. The new front was supposed to run along the west bank. The battalion moved through Kleck to Nieswitz, a movement through wonderful summer countryside. The regiments of the Imperial Hungarian 1st Cavalry Division trotted towards us. A splendid force! What would it look like, however, after encountering Russian tanks? The battalion received a handful of reconnaissance missions and was directed to hold open the road north from out of the city of Nieswitz, on which the General had advanced with Panzer-Regiment 35 in order to establish contact with friendly forces that were also “swimming islands of resistance” that had no contact with other forces. We did not succeed in making the front cohesive. We were also unsuccessful in keeping the west bank of the river clear of the enemy north of Nieswitz. Then the corps picked up the pace, which the enemy flood west dictated in its enveloping actions, especially in the south. Snow and Baranowitschi were lost. 6 July—Kampfgruppe Langkau, which had Panzer-Regiment 35 as its core, fought its way back along with combat elements fished out from along the river sector south of Kleck. It braked pursuing enemy forces at Baranowitschi by a series of punches. The tanks assumed the rearguard mission west of the city, while the reconnaissance battalion, reinforced by some Panthers, attempted to guard the deep southern flank of the corps against enemy efforts to envelop. The 28. Jäger-Division, encircled north of Slonim, was hacked out. An armored car section was lost, however. 11 July 1944—The reconnaissance battalion established contact with the 28. JägerDivision along the left wing of the division, with the result that a cohesive corps front was

established for a short time. Rain—rain—rain. During the night of 11/12 July, the battalion was thrown far to the southwest along the right wing of the corps, where the 129. Infanterie-Division was under hard pressure in the eastern tip of the Bialowiez Forest. Its division command post was already under infantry small-arms fire. The division was unable to disengage from the enemy by itself. The reconnaissance battalion assembled in the woods just to the north, where Pettenberg’s battalion was screening to the east. The enemy advanced between us and the 129. Infanterie-Division. We let them get to the village of Lachowice, where we surrounded them and destroyed at least a battalion. As a result, the 129. InfanterieDivision had some breathing room and was able to disengage. 13 July—Corps order to the reconnaissance battalion: “Relieve the 129. InfanterieDivision! It’s in some difficulty again farther to the west.” The battalion attacked mounted from out of the village of Studzieniki to the southeast and grabbed the 129th out of the fire again. Captured maps revealed the enemy’s intent. The enemy wanted to advance through the Bialowiez Forest and envelop the corps from the south. We continued moving west and passed withdrawing infantry, who could barely place one foot in front of the other under the weight of weapons and equipment. The comrade’s faces grew dark; they shook their heads and fists. We knew what they were thinking and calling out, even though their words and gestures were lost in the roar of the engines and clouds of dust of the racing vehicles: “There, you see, the tanks are in a hurry to get out of there.” Movement at night. The Russian “sewing machines” blubbered above us, their bombs joining the racket of the engines. Finally, we turned south. As it turned light on 14 July, we reached the crossings over the Narew at Luka, where we intended to counter the enemy’s expected advance in the northern portion of the forest and hold open the corps’ rear for its withdrawal that night. Where would it all end? We knew that the enemy was advancing far to the south of the woods with 200 tanks in the direction of Brest-Litowsk. When would the island of resistance that was being driven west once again become part of a cohesive defensive firmament?

The Breakthrough of Goldhammer’s Company Robert Poensgen, War Correspondent Embedded with the 4. Panzer-Division July 1944—They had moved into the village that evening, the 3rd Company of PanzerRegiment 35 and the men of Panzergrenadier-Regiment 12. They had been pulled out of the withdrawal movement to press forward. They had overrun the pursuing enemy and driven a deep wedge into his front. They screened all through the night along the edge of the village, and the enemy did not dare trying to attack the powerful force. They bypassed the unaccustomed and unpleasant buffer. The Kampfgruppe was ordered back by radio. Farther to the rear, a new position had been established thanks to the protection that had been offered by the Kampfgruppe. The mission had been accomplished. The situation was very serious, when Oberleutnant Goldhammer summoned his tank commanders. The heavy Panthers could not take the road the mechanized infantry were taking, since the bridge they had to cross was too weak to support them. There was only a single way back—they had to try to fight their way through the Russian attack wedge. That meant moving as fast as the engines would move them, not allowing themselves to become engaged with the enemy and staying together come hell or high water. Mount up! Start your engines! Marsch! While the tank engines are fired up and the tanks arrayed themselves in a column, Russian artillery started firing salvo after salvo into the village, which soon started to burn brightly. The hatches were buttoned; the weapons cleared for action. The crews waited tensely for that which was to come, which seemed like a dark cloud above them. The lead tank of Leutnant Göhrum reached the edge of the village. He received strong enemy fire. Step on it! Stay close! The drivers gave it gas, shifted. The speedometers indicated 30 … 40 … 45 kilometers an hour. Off to the right, a Sherman was firing. Leutnant Göhrum stopped momentarily. Two, three rounds and flames spilled out of the tank. The movement continued. Russian infantry senselessly fired from the woods with rifles. They approached a village. Go! Pick it up, pick it up! A crazy hunt started on the road to the front, earth-brown figures scattered in a panicky shock and disappeared off to the sides into the grain fields. But Russian antitank guns were also waiting in ambush positions there for the bold enemy. The engines of the tanks roared. Long jets of flame shot out of the mufflers. The churning tracks flung clouds of dirt and dust into the air, as high as a house. All of the turrets were traversed to the right to 3 o’clock, where the muzzle flashes blazed garishly from out of the grain fields. Wherever the tank commanders and gunners looked, they stared into the threatening barrels of the antitank guns and artillery. They felt hard blows against their turrets, and fired with everything they had while moving. Halting at that point was tantamount to suicide. Only luck could help out. It was a trip through hell. There were antitank guns everywhere. It was not possible to get out of the way. There was a crashing and a firing all the way around. The hits

ricocheted off the steep armored walls of the tanks with brilliant flashes of flame. The German mechanized infantry in their trenches suddenly pricked up their ears. What was going on? There were some amazing fireworks going on in the village occupied by Ivan. The antitank rounds whistled on their way over as far as the German positions. Did Ivan suddenly turn crazy? It appeared he was setting his own village on fire. Suddenly, the German outposts saw a tank, engulfed in a gigantic cloud of dirt and dust, rolling out of the village like a demon possessed, followed by a second one, a third, then an entire pack … one after the other, at tight intervals. “Tanks up front!” The alert was bellowed from one foxhole to the next. The antitank weapons were prepared. Suddenly, a Leutnant, looking through binoculars, shouted: “Those are German tanks! Keep alert!” He jumped up and waved with his cap. The first tank aimed directly for him. The Leutnant had a spine-chilling feeling. What if those were Russians in the German vehicles? But a hatch was soon tossed open; a signal pyrotechnic shot skyward and a black cap was visible. The vehicles stopped, one after the other, a few meters from the grenadiers. The hatches flew open. The tanks blinked in the brilliant light of day. They climbed out and grabbed some fresh air after the unearthly ride. While they smoked their cigarettes, the hits on the turrets, hull and rear deck were counted. They looked over to the village, which was ablaze, and were happy to still be alive. You could see it on them, even if they didn’t say it.

The Tank Fighting East of Warsaw Based on Reports of Panzer-Regiment 35 End of July 1944—The 2nd Battalion, under the acting command of Oberleutnant Lange —Major Schultz had been wounded and was convalescing in the area of the supply elements—advanced in a determined fashion. He fought two nights and a day against numerically superior enemy forces, until the division behind him had improved its positions. The battalion then rolled back, dog-tired, from its operations, only to have to move 105 kilometers west the next hour. It had to move out against Russian tank spearheads that had penetrated there. We went into position northeast of Warsaw so as to break open the encirclement efforts. We were storming forward again. Despite a blown-up bridge and enemy tanks, the city of Radzymin was taken. The Armed Forces Daily Report covered it. The 1st Battalion conducted an enveloping attack east at night. We were fighting as part of an armored corps that was under the command of the former division commander, von Saucken. The Russian Guards Tank Corps was encircled during tireless operations. Losing only 4 vehicles, Panzer-Regiment 35 knocked out 80 enemy tanks. Some of the Russian elements fled for their lives. The Armed Forces Daily Report discussed that fighting there as well. The attack of the Russians on the city of Warsaw collapsed. The Russian Guards Tank Corps was practically eliminated. At that point, our regiment was pulled out of the line. The tanks were repaired in feverish labor. We were ready for a new mission.

Radzymin—A Suburb of Warsaw Reinhard Peters, Leutnant and Acting Company Commander Beginning of August—A large Russian armored formation was advancing on Warsaw. It was supposed to be stopped. Panzer-Regiment 35 received the mission to take Radzymin from the east. The Panther battalion was directed to be the spearhead, but it was still refueling and rearming. As was so often the case, the 2nd Battalion moved out first. It was early in the afternoon when the city appeared, palpably close, in front of us. The only approach road from the east led through marshy terrain across a high embankment. We went into attack positions along a hedgerow that ran perpendicular to the road. Generalfeldmarschall Model had assembled a group of generals next to my Panzer IV. He aired his displeasure concerning the delay on the troop movements to the generals. When it was time for our former division commander, General von Saucken, to receive his due, he simply dropped his monocle and said with a quiet voice: “You’ll not do that to me, Herr Feldmarschall.” Then he turned away. We furtively grinned. What was about to transpire was anything but a textbook tank attack. We had to move across that damned embankment in single file. It was a dream for the Russian antitank guns and tanks, which were said to have run out of fuel. We were skeptical in that regard. I sent Leutnant Graf Moltke out with his platoon of tanks. We remained in ambush positions with the remaining tanks to provide covering fire, if needed. The platoon reached the edge of the city without encountering the enemy. We followed. At the marketplace, I had pairs of tanks move out along each of the streets that emanated like a star from there. We were all by ourselves next to a church. Suddenly, we heard tank tracks behind us. A T34 was approaching us. He had turned his turret to the rear. My gunner initially took up a sight picture of a tank that had already been knocked out at the edge of the market place. “More to the right,” I yelled at him. Finally, he had the tank in his optics. The antitank round raced out of the barrel and brought the colossus 10 meters from us to a standstill. It was high time, since he would have rammed us a few seconds later.

Grodzisk Reinhard Peters, Leutnant and Acting Company Commander We received the mission to take back the locality of Grodzisk. Oberleutnant Kremer attacked in company strength from the north, while I approached with my company, swinging out to the right. To the west of the village was a patch of woods. That offered concealment, and we approached to within 500 meters of the village without being seen. That took some time, however. In the meantime, Kremer’s forces had received antitank-gun fire. The Russians concentrated their fires on the attacking force from the north. Our tanks cleared a path through the young stands of deciduous trees to the edge of the woods. We were then able to exit by platoon and dash to the reverse slope of a slight rise. With us providing firing cover, Leutnant Badekow attacked with his platoon, together with Oberleutnant Heym’s SPW company from Panzeraufklärungs-Abteilung 4. They moved as rapidly as they could. I ordered them to fire with everything they had and not to take firing halts. Everything worked, just like at a training area. In the blink of an eye, the attack force reached the edge of the village. The Russians disappeared to the east in a cloud of dust. We were able to register 48 tubes as spoils of war: antitank guns, field guns and Ratsch-Bumm.

Dirt Thoughts of a Simple Soldier in a Big War107 Dirt—Dirt?—Dirt was in your eyes from scraping it off your boots in a fit of bad temper. Thoughtless as you were, you forgot that your forefathers were resting forever in this dirt. In your shortsightedness, you did not notice that this was the dirt that gave you your bread and life, because a pious and industrious farmer forces it, year after year with strong arms and folded hands, to bear fruit. Dirt—Dirt. It’s been foreign dirt that we have dug the nails of our boots into these past five years. The dirt of Poland, of France and of Russia. It has groaned under the weight of our tanks; it reared up under the impact of shells. The lime soil of Champagne, still marked by the Great War—it permitted us to trample over it as unwelcome guests. The soil of Flanders, where the burial crosses of our father stand in formation—it did not rise up to devour the sons. Dirt—Dirt. The black dirt of Orel. We plowed it and tore it up from one side to the other, finding a bloody harvest. We held fast to it as death, a thousand fold, rolled overhead. The scourges of war—iron, gunpowder and lead, once children of the earth and born from its depths—whipped over this patch of ground for nearly two years. With powerful crashes and booms, the released elements blended together. The trembling earth and quivering air celebrated a marriage amid wild drumming and whistling. Dirt—Dirt. It became our best friend as the large, angry army moved out from the east to attack. Our spades ate away at the hard-frozen earth of Kursk, in the hard clay soil along the Dessna. We sought protection in the white sand along the Dnjepr and the moors of the Pripjet, where swamp fever and malaria hunkered down in ambush. Dirt—Dirt. Perhaps it will fall on your pale, bloodless face when fate abruptly abandons you. No wooden shrine will surround your bleeding limbs. Just a small mound of dirt, equal to your body mass, remains there where your comrades dig you a final dugout. But it is not dead earth that bears down on your lifeless body; no cemetery, as they say in the homeland, will take you in. Dirt—Dirt. Living dirt, continuous source of life that surrounds you. Golden-yellow wheat grows out of what was once your bones and, out of your heart, perhaps a bunch of blood-red poppies, which allow you, through their irises, to gaze down for all eternity on to that small plot of earth where you died, believing. Bound to the earth, as you were in life, so will you go over into another world. And in this earth, you will continue to live as a piece of it, even then, when those for whom you believed and died, have long since been dead.

CHAPTER 8

The Fighting in Kurland

Reports of Panzer-Regiment 35 9 August 1944—In the middle of operations outside of Warsaw, we received orders to move. The Russians were threatening East Prussia from the north. We broke off the fighting and marched to the Polish fortress of Modlin. We waited there until the requested rail cars arrived. 11 August—The first train rolled off in the direction of Deutsch-Eylau at first light. It was followed by train after train. We rode through the East Prussian countryside and saw German land and German people for the first time in a long time. We felt like we were home. A muted happiness and serious concern for our homeland alternated in our hearts. Outside of Memel, we crossed the border into Lithuania. After two days, we arrived in Skoudas. We detrained and marched into the division’s assembly area. The Lithuanian population was very accommodating and exceptionally friendly to us. We were given butter, eggs and bacon—a welcome change for palates used to “army chow.” But the delight did not last too long. 15 August—During the night, our tanks rolled east. The countryside there was quite different. Everything was small: Tiny patches of woods, small hills, narrow roads, narrow bridges and drainage ditches and creeks everywhere. In a nutshell: it was no land for tanks. We could see that after a few kilometers. Causing the most difficulty, above all, were the narrow, curvy roads and bridges that were much too weak for our “big bears.” Although the engineers were very industrious and accomplished superhuman feats, we found a ford washed out here and a bridge collapsed by a heavy Panther there. We had to search out detours. Again and again, traffic stoppages occurred in front of new obstacles. Wherever the tanks could still move, the fuel vehicles could not follow—and fuel was something urgently needed with this type of movement. Finally, the 100 kilometers to our new assembly area were covered. But what cannot be counted were the numerous small heroic acts that occurred during the darkness of such a night. Without taking a long break, we were directed to latch on to the Russian defensive positions and break through so as to reestablish contact with the forces to the north. The scouting parties that had gone ahead of us oriented us. The enemy was outfitted differently there. They had untold amounts of tanks, most of which were dug in. It was said that the new Josef Stalin heavy tank was employed here as well. Thinking about the legendary 12.2-centimeter main gun, with which the tank was supposed to be outfitted, already gave us some nightmares. 16 August—On the evening before its first day of fighting, the division reorganized. The reorganization was a true masterpiece on the part of the regiment. 19 August—The locality of Vegeriai was taken at first light. Complete batteries of guns fell into our hands. Many tanks and assault guns and 60 antitank guns were destroyed. For us, it was a new type of war, this fighting in confined areas. It was a bitter fight for every meter of ground. There were no spontaneous assaults. Instead, a deliberately planned fighting in a small area. Those of us who had come from Russia had to slowly get

accustomed to this type of warfare. Soon we encountered the first Josef Stalins as well. When eight of them flew into the air from our fires in short order, the spell was broken. They were huge crates with a monstrous turret and a tree for a main gun.108 The Russians defended their positions with tough stubbornness. We had to break them down, piece-by-piece. We advanced north, kilometer-by-kilometers. Artillery, Stalin organs, tanks, tanks and more tanks … At night, we pulled back a bit; in the morning, we advanced again. There was defensive system after another. A breakthrough seemed not to want to occur. Again and again the tanks cleared a path for the grenadiers. The teamwork within Kampfgruppe Christern was tremendous. The SPW battalion was generally referred to as the 3rd Battalion of PanzerRegiment 35. The armored engineer company and the 3rd Battalion of Panzer-ArtillerieRegiment 103 felt as though they were part of us as well. The forward observers rode along in our attack ranks and directed the fires quickly and intelligently, wherever we needed it. This heartfelt comradeship—you could almost call it friendship—had a positive effect on the conduct of the fighting. The rear-area services supported the combat troops magnificently. The tanks with their wounds and scars were brought into a small patch of woods, where the maintenance sections worked with their welding machines and cutting torches from sun up to sun down. Repaired tanks rolled forward every day. The supply elements went foreword every night to the troops with ammunition, fuel, rations and despite artillery fire and the Soviet air superiority. The medical services also performed in an exemplary manner, tirelessly caring for the wounded. They were always there where they were needed, the men with the Red Cross on their arms. Three doctors were wounded in the front lines. Finally, finally, the neighboring division succeeded in breaking through to the north and establishing contact. The Russians then did everything in their power to interdict that contact. They conducted desperate counterattacks. In the process, the city of Autz was lost. We received the mission to take it back. With unheard of offensive spirit, the 4. Panzer-Division succeeded in taking back the city in a boldly executed night attack and to reducing the front a few kilometers beyond it. Over the next few days, the fighting raged back and forth. The Russians again tried with all available means to take back this sector of the front—all to no avail. 27 August—The mission was accomplished. Cohesive contact had been established with the forces to the north. The fighting gradually died down. The direct threat to East Prussia seemed to have been thwarted.

Rest? Based on Reports of Panzer-Regiment 35 The frontage that had been taken was feverishly improved. The tankers spread out with spades and pick axes to create a continuous trench line. Four meters a day per man—that was the requirement. The black moles were derisively referred to as PASCHAS—PAnzerSCHAnzkommandoS.109 Then there was the harvest. The grain was still in the fields and was waiting for the scythes. The tankers also pitched in there, as well. The operations started with a search action for farming implements. Horses were “procured.” Mowers, manned by black-clad men, harvested the land, section by section. Threshers went to work. They droned peacefully into the fall days, which increasingly grew cold. Hundreds of kilograms of grain were processed. 15 September—Commander’s call at the division, followed by a night march to a new assembly area. The Russians had started an offensive on Riga. We advanced into their flanks, at different locations, pretending to be a large armored force. The enemy had to peel off some of his attack forces to engage us. Our 10 days of operations turned out to be a great success. The Russian main attack lost steam and finally came to a standstill. 18 September—The high point of the fighting was the struggle for Hill 92.0 west of Doblen. It dominated the bottleneck of road to the north. A gap existed there as the result of an attack by the neighboring division. Acting quickly, the tanks of the 1st Battalion and the SPW Battalion move out to assault. That initiated what was probably the toughest fighting that had been conducted by us in the previous few months. It lasted almost 24 hours. The hill had to be wrested from the enemy, meter-by-meter. The hill was packed with antitank guns and dug-in tanks. There was a large number of heavy caliber artillery pieces, a lot of Stalin organs and the usual mass of mortars. Snipers engaged every individual target of note. It seemed that it would be impossible to assault that hill. The attack bogged down in the afternoon hours. We then decided to try a night attack. At 2100 hours, the thinned-out tank companies moved out with the grenadiers. It was a pitch-black night. Despite that, the tanks pushed their way forward. The Russian antitank guns were factored out of employment due to the darkness. The hill seemed palpably close. Then a barn fire lit everything up. The situation changed in the blink of an eye. From a distance of 200 meters, the enemy fired from the protective darkness. The Panthers stood out as gigantic silhouettes against the lit-up night sky. At 2300 hours, the attack had to be broken off. The limit of advance was not abandoned, however. The commander of the 1st Battalion, Hauptmann Grohe, was badly wounded by the last antitank-gun round fired at midnight. Hauptmann Knüspert assumed acting command. The next morning, the attack force was concentrated again. Artillery, rocket launchers and the Luftwaffe were employed in support. At 1200 hours, an unheard-of amount of fire rained down on the hill. The tanks and the grenadiers formed up and moved out. The enemy again appeared determined to hang on to the hilltop with all of his strength. The

first tanks boldly advanced up to the ridgeline. The 2nd Battalion pushed its way forward and cleared the hilltop plateau in difficult fighting. Finally, the enemy resistance was broken. The division quickly exploited the success of the Kampfgruppe and brought up a grenadier battalion. The dominant piece of terrain known as Hill 92.0 was expanded into a bulwark of the new defensive line.

Feldwebel Christ Knocks Out Seven Tanks on His Way to the Maintenance Facility Hans Schäufler Hill 92.0 was firmly in our hands. In one of the tanks that assaulted the hill, Feldwebel Christ was the tank commander. His crew: Rehard (gunner); Mehling (loader); Gietl (driver); and Faustmann (radio operator). The tank had acted up the entire time. Finally, Christ received permission to move to a depression to see what was causing the problems. The driver determined that the engine oil was leaking and the steering brake was defective. The tank was no longer operational and had to go back to the maintenance personnel. The tank commander waited and waited for an opportunity to depart. Russian fighterbombers and bombers dropped their payloads; artillery shells impacted all around them. The crew preferred to wait inside the vehicle. Only Christ was exposed in his cupola, observing. Suddenly, he heard tank noises off to his right. Things were getting interesting for him, since there were German forward outposts in the patch of woods that were blocking his vision in the direction of the noises. But what was out there could only be Ivan. He dismounted and went over on foot to the grenadiers. That told him that they had observed Russian T-43’s110 in the woods opposite them for some time. Christ snuck forward through the thick underbrush and saw two T-43’s, which were positioned at the edge of the woods, screening to the right down the slope. He quickly got his gunner and brought him forward, showing him the targets. The sick tank was brought forward carefully and occupied a good firing position. The first Russian tank was taken under fire. After the second round, the crew dismounted, even though the vehicle was not burning. The second T-43 went up in bright flames with the first round. During the engagement, Christ observed the muzzle flashes of two additional Soviet tanks. They were firing in a completely different direction, however. Rehard took up a sight picture somewhat to the left of the muzzle flash, which was spitting its flames to the right. After a few rounds, that vehicle was also burning. A patrol later found a fourth tank, destroyed. The German vehicle then pulled back from its exposed position. The Feldwebel remained there, continuing to observe with his binoculars. Then he saw that two new T-43’s were positioned next to the previously knocked-out two. Their barrels were trained directly in his direction. The matter was about to turn unpleasant, since the Russians knew exactly where their opponent was located. Once again, Christ had his “needy” vehicle brought forward. Gietl carefully moved into position. Rehard took up a sight picture on the Russian who was aiming in his direction. The ace gunner drilled the tank with his first round. It flew into the air with a mighty bang. That was number five! At that point, the very first T-43 that had been hit attempted to move out. Apparently, its

engine still functioned. It received a coup de grace and started to burn like a torch. That signaled the end of the ammunition. Two men from the crew raced off to another vehicle to fetch some more antitank rounds. Christ couldn’t believe his eyes. The second tank was still there and started firing for all he was worth with his main gun, while next to his burning comrade. Christ hoped the two would return soon with the ammunition. He crossed his fingers and … it helped. It did not take too long before number six was burning. He missed out on another T-43, because he was out of ammunition again. The two men took off and grabbed another two rounds. Another Russian tank then attempted to meddle by sticking its nose out. Number seven burned after the first round. The Russians then thought better of going back to that stretch of the woods and pulled back. The mechanized infantry breathed a sigh of relief. When it turned dark, Christ and his crew rolled back to the maintenance facility in their half-lame tank.

The Fighting at Libau Based on Reports of Panzer-Regiment 35 The enemy initiated his attack on East Prussia from out of the area of Schaulen and also attempted to expand his success to the north by taking the harbor at Libau. The 4. PanzerDivision was alerted and committed expeditiously against the enemy. The Russian was called to battle by us at Moscheiken and Vieksniai. After having been reconstituted, the tankers of the division pushed back the advancing enemy. The fighting at Vieksniai saw the commitment of the 2nd Battalion of Major Schultz, together with attached engineers, advanced on the train station there. The thrust appeared to have been successful, when powerful antitank-gun fire was received from the rear and into our ranks. Major Schultz immediately turned his tanks around against that new enemy force and, trying to outflank them, advanced to the north. The enemy was ejected from his positions and the threatened encirclement by the Russians failed. Hauptmann Honstetter moved into strong enemy infantry forces all by himself in his SPW, causing no end of confusion to the hapless enemy. Leutnant Helmbrecht advanced into the enemy positions with his command vehicles and cleaned house there. The enemy was dealt a decisive blow all along the frontage of the regiment. Individual elements were able to save themselves only through panicky flight and abandonment of all of their equipment. The attack on Libau was turned back. The enemy was attacking East Prussian territory. The men were bitter that they had to sit in Kurland111 when their homeland was in direct danger. If possible, they wanted to defend their German homeland. The regiment was moved to the Libau area. In exhausting marches, the regiment was then moved into the Preekuln area. The first signs of an impending Russian offensive started to appear.

Defensive Fighting around Preekuln Oberst Christern, Commander of Panzer-Regiment 35 27 October 1944—The Russians opened their attack at 0755 hours with several hours of artillery preparation. Their main effort was in the exact same spot as our ready reserve was located. As a result of the enormous artillery preparation, the regiment alerted on its own without waiting for orders. When the division issued a warning alert at 0815 hours, the regiment was already prepared to do combat. At 1000 hours, Oberleutnant Gerlach, who had occupied a forward outpost with his Panther company, reported strong enemy infantry forces, supported by tanks, were attacking him. The Russians had taken a dominant hill south of Preekuln and were advancing on the city. By noon, the main axes of attack of the Russians had been determined and the nervewracking wait came to an end. The 4. Panzer-Division moved out to launch a counterattack in the direction of Preekuln. On the right was Kampfgruppe Christern; to the left was Kampfgruppe Hoffmann. Our 2nd Battalion, under Major Schultz, fought on the right wing. Separated from the enemy by an impassable creek, the battalion was sent through Preekuln and then fought its way to the southeast in a tough struggle. At 1500 hours, the first high-ground position was taken. By evening, the former lines were reached that the Russians had overrun in the morning. At the same time, the 1st Battalion of Hauptmann Kästner had carried its attack far forward, and Oberleutnant Gerlach and his Panthers still held their ground at the original location. Even when the grenadiers had to pull back, he did not give up a foot of ground. He served as a breakwater against the Russian attack. Even though their efforts and commitment of materiel stood in no relationship to the success achieved, the Russians did not give up. They ran stubbornly against our positions again and again. 28 October—During the night, the enemy brought new tanks and rifle companies forward and started the hard struggle anew. That morning, Oberleutnant Gerlach and his few Panthers were positioned to the northeast of Preekuln, when a Russian tank attack was aimed directly towards him. After hours of fighting, the enemy left 14 tanks behind. After he was unable to penetrate our sector, the enemy moved his attacks to other sectors. Once again, Panzer-Regiment 35 was called out to be the fire brigade. Where things were the hottest, that’s where it attacked. The Russians attempted to break through 14 times on a single day. Our tanks were called out every time. The tank crews were called on to give their utmost. Two names from the Kampfgruppe will be mentioned, by way of example. It was Leutnant Kurze who rallied the escorting grenadiers again and again and who knocked out a Josef Stalin and two T-34’s with his Panzer IV. When he was hit in the head, he sank unconscious to the turret floor only to reawaken and to lead and fight with renewed vigor until evening. Then there was Leutnant Tautorus, who was positioned in a small patch of woods and knocked out Russian assault guns, one after the other, and

condemned every enemy attack to failure. It was like that for four days, with the temperature just below freezing. The road network and the terrain were easily negotiable, with the exception of the many patches of low ground around creeks and marshland. On the fifth day, there was a dramatic change in the weather. The temperatures climbed to 10 degrees [50] . In the three days that followed, all of the countryside was transformed into a sea of mud. What the men then had to do can only be hinted at. Fighting during the day; marching at night. The morning dawned at 0630 hours. The first tanks would just arrive then, covered with mud. At 0635 hours, they would roll out, hit the Russian attack spearheads at 0650 and drive them back. On 2 November, using an ungodly amount of ammunition, the Russians attempted to force a breakthrough yet again. When that attempt also failed, they gave up for the time being. And what did we look like after those eight days of fighting? The regimental command post was in the exact same spot as it had been on 26 October. The Russians succeeded in only gaining slight bits of ground. The loss of 19 dead and 81 wounded weighed heavily on us. Our tanks numbers dwindled as well. Our maintenance facility had to work like the dickens to keep us ready for combat. Make something new out of the old! We could no longer count on receiving new tanks. After the defensive fighting, the commanding general wrote to our division commander, General Betzel: In the defensive fighting, the 4. Panzer-Division decisively supported the hardfighting neighboring divisions again and again through its employment of Kampfgruppen in a show of the best kind of combat comradeship. By doing so, it contributed in a terrific way to preventing the breakthrough to Libau. The 4. PanzerDivision was one of the best that has ever reported to the X. Armee-Korps in terms of leadership, esprit and combat value. For that reasons, its successes were so magnificent. I thank the 4. Panzer-Division for that which it accomplished as part of the corps and know that it played a major role in the defensive success in the battle for Kurland.

Considerations and Doubts Hans Schäufler Who was actually tying up whose forces? Were we tying up Russian forces in the Kurland Bridgehead and keeping them from participating in overwhelming the defenders of the German soil, which was happening in East Prussia? Or were the Russians tying us up? Was it their intent to deceive us by continuous large-scale attacks, that they thought we were a danger to their deep east flank and they were trying everything to eliminate us? Or did they actually want to prevent us from being available for the interior lines of defense for Germany when the final round was started? The battles of Kurland didn’t give us much time to think about those things. But the doubts were there and they tormented us. There was nothing left for us to do but turn our backs on them and dedicate ourselves to the demands of the hour, as could be heard from the endless sounds of battle in Kurland.

Fall 1944: Kurland Front—From Front to Rear! Hans Schmidt, Obergefreiter in the 8./Panzer-Regiment 35

KURLAND—THE FRONT As the result of a hit from an antitank gun, which, it should be mentioned, did not cause a lot of damage, we were sent to the maintenance facility for two days. Properly rested and in a good mood, we started to return to the company on 19 September 1944. That we would not reach the company—that was something we did not know at noon. That the relatively hilly country was also observable in parts by the Russians—that was something else we did not know. At least until they sent us greetings in their own way. That meant: Step on the gas and head for the next valley depression. While under cover there, we ran into the 7th Company and discovered that it would be impossible to continue on to the 8th Company, since a portion of the stretch could be observed. We needed to wait until night. But we didn’t need to wait until night, either, since Ivan decided to attack after a lengthy artillery preparation. We were sent to the left wing. Next to us was Feldwebel Moser. We had terrific fields of fire! Any Ivan who showed himself on the ridgeline had to stick his nose back in the dirt, since our machine guns covered all of the high ground. We enjoyed our handiwork, since Ivan was unable to advance a single meter. In addition, we had an old hand at the helm of the tank, Unteroffizier Ludwig Fritzmann. But we had started celebrating too soon! A round impacted tight in front of our noses and, before you knew it, we had thrown it into reverse. But it was in vain. The second round hit. It hit right behind the driver. That meant it had come from the left, an area where we had not previously suspected Russians to be. Bail out! Out! That was what each of us were thinking! As we finally found each other on the ground, some of us with headphones and throat mikes still attached, there were only four of us. Our driver, Friedrich, was missing. He was still in the crate! By Feldwebel Moser tossing a smoke grenade, we were able to approach the tank. We evacuated the badly wounded driver; shrapnel had opened up his entire back. The doctor in the SPW did not make us wait long; our driver was taken by the fastest way possible to the clearing station. As far as our proud tank was concerned—nothing was left of it except for a black, smoldering wreck.

KURLAND—THE REAR The time spent at the trains was only supposed to last a few days, but then fate struck again. This time from the other side, so to speak, from the highest look out. Hauptfeldwebel Schumacher sent me and a few other comrades to bury a fallen member of the company at the main clearing station. When we went back there the next day—taking the same route—so as to emplace a cross with marker at the grave—that’s when it happened! We strolled along the path. I had a walking stick in my left hand. A bad habit that was almost universal but which, I believe, had also made its appearance in the First World War. In my mouth was the usual pipe. The route took a slight bend, and a Kübelwagen suddenly appeared in front of us. We identified a command pennant on the fender although, it should be said, it took us way too long to do so. Then everything happened quickly. I didn’t have a cap and my hair fluttered slightly in the wind. A walking stick in one hand; with the other one I removed the pipe and turned to face the vehicle. The general rose from the righthand seat. A storm was unleashed: “Where are you going? … Where are you coming from? … What’s your unit? … Give me your pay book! … Well, answer me already!” After the many questions, I could not reply with a single answer. Therefore, I told him briefly what our mission was. Unit: Panzer-Regiment 35, 4. Panzer-Division. “So, so … do you recognize me?” “No, Herr General! ” “What did you say?” he started addressing me with the familiar “you,” more confidentially but also more vehemently,. “I am not a General; I am a Generaloberst! ” “Jawohl, Herr Generaloberst! ” “The 4. Panzer-Division has been part of the northern sector for some days now and, correspondingly, is under my command! I am Generaloberst Schörner!” Then he looked at my head. “What … so young and such long hair!” he turned to the Hauptmann sitting behind him: “His hair is to be cut to 2 millimeters!” I was not without my verbal wits, so I replied: “Herr Generaloberst, no disrespect, but we have been in action constantly for four weeks …” That’s as far as I got. “What … you allow yourself to contradict me! Climb in!” On top of everything else, I took my walking stick with me into the staff car, which caused him to completely blow his stack. I had to allow a thunder storm to pass over me. Hell, he even threatened to have me shot!

My two comrades then had to emplace the cross without me, and I was allowed to go to the barber for the first—and last—time with a Generaloberst. When I got to the headquarters, I was placed under the wings of the Hauptmann. The barbershop had been set up in one of the buses parked there. I must say, the atmosphere there was considerably friendlier. I was given a normal soldier’s haircut without cost and, relieved of a shock of hair, I traipsed my way back to my unit on foot. Already alerted by my two comrades, the first sergeant was waiting for me and ready to pounce. The storm broke over me one more time. I thought I was taking it for everyone, even though I was not responsible. As thanks, I was allowed to climb aboard a tank a few days later. I swear: It was a lot preferable up front for us old tankers than being in the trains. Our noses couldn’t stand the air there.

After-Action Report of the Company for the Period 28-30 October 1944 Werner Tautorus, Leutnant and Acting Commander of the 1. /Panzer-Regiment 35 On 27 October 1944, the company moved in a forced march with PanzeraufklärungsAbteilung 4, to which it was attached, from Gavieze to the area northeast of Preekuln. As it started to turn dark, the company received the mission to screen the northern edge of the woods next to the community of Asite and prevent Russian breakthrough efforts to the north. The occupation of the screening positions occurred without incident, and the night also passed without incident. Company strength: 8 tanks. The screening line ran as follows: right wing at Upites; the left wing 1 kilometer to the east in the vicinity of the lake near Pelenei. The left wing was in contact with grenadiers of the 30. InfanterieDivision; the right wing was hanging in the air. At first light on 28 October 1944, heavy artillery and mortar fire commenced. A Russian infantry attack that immediately followed was turned back as it exited the woods. When two of the vehicles wanted to pull into position, they broke down due to water in the fuel. I had them occupy good positions and continue to screen. The artillery fires continued. At 0945 hours, I went to the location of the commander of the I./Panzer-Regiment 35, since the company had been returned to battalion control. To get there, I used the trail running along the wood line until I got to the road near the cemetery (2 kilometers west of the community administrative buildings for Asite). While doing that, I found out that the western edge of the woods was held by weak enemy infantry forces. I met the commander on the road near Audari. I rendered a situation report; my mission remained essentially unchanged, but it was expanded to the extent that the company also had to screen the Asite-Stari road and prevent the Russians from advancing west on the road. After receiving my orders, I took the same route back to the company and determined that the Russians at the edge of the woods had been reinforced considerably and had also brought armor-defeating weapons into position. By moving as rapidly as possible, I was able to get to the company without incident, even though I was able to glean details from the woods at a very short distance (50 meters): Antitank-gun positions, antitank rifles and machine-gun nests. Once I arrived at the company’s location, the enemy started attacking with infantry, supported by tanks. The enemy tanks advanced to the north along the wooded trail running from Asite to Pelenei. The first tank had barely reached the edge of the woods when it was set alight by our fires. The remaining four tanks immediately turned around and disappeared into the woods. The attacking enemy infantry was driven back with high-explosive rounds and machine-gun fire. After it turned quiet again, I thoroughly briefed Oberfeldwebel Bix and sent him with two tanks to the road to screen in the area of the cemetery. Swinging out far to the west, the tanks received antitank-gun fire from the area of Krasti and the cemetery. By exploiting the terrain well, Bix was able to reach the road. The tanks moved into position there, and Bix knocked out one of the antitank guns in the cemetery that he had observed

as he was approaching. He also identified Russian infantry in the cemetery building, which he drove away with heavy fires. The second vehicle with Bix identified an antitank gun south of the road on the high ground at Labrenei. It was eliminated. After a strong artillery preparation, Russian infantry in approximately company strength attacked over the high ground. The attack collapsed in the face of the concentrated fires from the two vehicles. Bix did not have any contact with friendly infantry. In the meantime, the Russians succeeded in infiltrating through our outposts and getting to the farm buildings at Upites. Since I could not afford to pull any of the tanks out of the line due to the lengthy screening sector, I personally went to the buildings in my tank and, driving around in a crazy fashion and firing wildly, drove the Russian infantry out and chased them into the woods. In the process, however, our personal belongings on the rear deck caught on fire, as did the additional machine-gun ammunition stowed there. It was possible to put the fire out, however, and the tank remained operational. Since the broken-up terrain could spell a repetition of such incidents and no friendly infantry were around, I had the two immobilized tanks towed individually to the north. With the exception of artillery and mortar fire, the rest of the day remained quiet. Towards evening, SPW’s from the I./ Panzer grenadier-Regiment 12 arrived at my location. After establishing contact with their commander, I found out that friendly engineers (PanzerPionier-Bataillon 79) were about 300 meters behind me in position. At my location were SPW’s from Panzer grenadier-Regiment 12; to the left, as was already known, were infantry from the 30. Infanterie-Division. The engineers were said to have been in position for some time behind me, but they had not been identified by us and had also not done anything in the fighting against the infiltrated Russians. At night, the company formed two hedgehog positions: 4 tanks with friendly SPW’s at Upites; the two tanks under Bix pulled back somewhat from the cemetery at the onset of darkness and established contact with PanzeraufklärungsAbteilung 4, which was positioned behind me. The night passed quietly. I discussed the attack planned for tomorrow with the commanders of the I./Panzergrenadier-Regiment 12 and the engineer company. 29 October 1944, 0530 hours. After a heavy artillery preparation, Pionier-Bataillon 79 and Infanterie-Regiment 30 attacked. The mission: Pionier-Bataillon 79 and InfanterieRegiment 30 move out after an artillery preparation and reach the main road at the community administration center of Asite; the I./Panzergrenadier-Regiment 12 supports the attack with mortars and cannon vehicles; the [tanks of the] 3./Panzer-Regiment 35 attacks by fire on the edge of the woods with four high-explosive rounds each and machine guns. Following that, the 3./Panzer-Regiment 35 moves out and supports the 1./ and 3./Panzer-Pionier-Bataillon 79 to advance to the woodline. At 0529 hours, the artillery preparation started. It was still fairly dark; individual targets could not be identified. I left a tank behind about 200 meters east of Upites to screen the northern edge of the woods. The two tanks of Oberfeldwebel Bix remained in the vicinity of the cemetery. With the remaining three tanks, I went around Upites to the west when the attack started, turned in towards the edge of the woods and then conducted the attack by fire. In the meantime, the engineers had formed up, but it was difficult to follow their attack exactly due to the darkness and the broken terrain. I therefore issued orders to fire

on identified muzzle flashes. Heavy machine-gun and infantry fires struck out against the engineers from the woods and, after about 15 minutes, heavy Russian artillery and mortar fires commenced. As a result, the attack threatened to come to a standstill. To prevent that, I moved out and, in the process, sent one vehicle far out to the right so as to work over the wood line behind a corner of the woods that was jutting out. The company advanced approximately 30 meters without incident. Then the vehicle on the extreme right received concentric antitank-gun fire from off to the half right and rear from the vicinity of the farmstead 1 kilometer southwest of Upites. The vehicle received several hits, was knocked out and the crew had to dismount. The place, where the easily identifiable fire was coming from, was located right between Bix and me. The engineers were supposed to have been located there in their attack positions. So as not to engage friendly forces, I asked Bix whether he though it might be possible that Russians infiltrated there during the night. He answered affirmatively. I pulled back somewhat and took up the firefight. An antitank gun was put out of commission. At that point, a radio report from my lefthand screening vehicle reached me stating that the Russians were attacking out of the edge of the woods and were supported by tanks. I immediately shifted my two vehicles to the left next to the screening tank and saw an assault gun coming out of the woods. It was knocked out. A short while later, one of the company tanks was hit and put out of commission, whereupon I sent it back north. That meant the company had only four operational tanks left. Despite that, we succeeded in turning back the Russian attack. The friendly attack by the engineers had bogged down completely. Its lefthand wing temporarily entered the Russian positions, but contact had been lost with the elements on the right wing. The friendly losses must have been high. The commander of the company from Panzer-Pionier-Bataillon 79 came to me in my tank; he had gathered up some 15 men from his and the 1st Company and established a weak blocking position at his original line of departure. That meant we had no infantry protection. Heavy artillery and Stalin organ fires forced us to change positions and go to the farmsteads at Upites. From Bix came the radio message that the Russians had marched west through the vegetation at Krasti without resistance and had already reached the woods north of Stari. He had been able to knock out two enemy tanks that had been advancing on the road and thus stop the Russians at that location. After receiving that message, I sent both of my vehicles farther to the west. From there, I was able to observe the approach of the Russians and effectively engage them. An antitank gun was knocked out. At the same time, Bix engaged from the south the area where the Russians had penetrated and knocked out two antitank guns and a prime mover. The Russians soon identified my position and placed heavy antitank-gun and artillery fire on it. I was not able to change positions there because of the terrain; I was positioned at Jaugiesi. Artillery and Stalin organ fires were being placed among our tanks. After we had fired vigorously and held the position for about an hour—the Russian infantry had approached to within 150 meters of the farm buildings of Upites by then—I received a message from one of my damaged tanks that the Russians had already occupied the woods behind me and that the sounds of tanks could be heard. The damaged tanks were 2 kilometers north of Upites. I thereupon sent a report to the battalion and asked for

permission to advance north, whereupon I would turn south and reach the old position that way. My recommendation was disapproved with the rationale that countermeasures were already underway. I was directed to continue to hold the position. In the tank with me was the commander of the 3./Panzer-Pionier-Bataillon 79. Later on, the acting commander of the 1./ Panzer-Pionier-Bataillon 79 arrived. He had been captured by the Russians and been able to break away. He climbed aboard another tank. In the meantime, my position had become untenable. We were receiving such heavy antitank-gun fire that we had to pull back into a depression. From there, however, there were no fields of fire. I reported my situation to the battalion again and my decision to move north. There was no other option. My decision was approved after-the-fact. Before I started to move out, I had Feldwebel Eitel’s knocked-out tank set alight. It was already in the Russian lines. Two badly wounded crew members could not be evacuated, either by foot or by tank. Since I knew that a tank from the regimental headquarters was stuck in a mud hole on the path through the woods, I placed myself in the lead and went to that location. I soon saw Russian infantry; the woods were swarming with them. Machine-gun fire quickly scattered them. When I saw the regimental tank, I also saw an antitank gun going into position next to it. The prime mover and the antitank gun were destroyed. After receiving permission from the battalion, I set the regimental tank alight as well (Hauptmann Hohnstetter). The other tank, which had screened the operation, then took the lead and the breakthrough to the north continued. After about 200 meters, we encountered a Russian column of assault guns and tanks that was moving ahead of us. It was about to move off to the right and left into the woods. They identified us. The trail assault gun was set alight from a distance of 100 meters. We moved past it. The tanks and assault guns that had gone off the forest trail were usually easy to spot because of the tracks they made while turning off. In close combat, from a distance ranging from 5 to 15 meters, they were destroyed, one after the other. The assault guns were not dangerous, because they were penned in by the woods and not capable of moving enough. It was only the tanks that occasionally got off a round against us. Since they only hit well-protected areas of the tanks, they were unable to do anything. I then received a report from the commander of the other tank that he was completely out of ammunition. I moved next to him and we started passing ammunition from turret to turret. The radio operators fired like crazy with their machine guns to keep the Russian infantry suppressed. After we had finished swapping ammunition, my engine would not start. The tank was immobile, and the turret could only be turned very slowly by hand. While the commanders screened from their cupolas, the tanks were hitched up and the breakout was continued with a vehicle in tow. The situation became tense; the end of the woods could not be seen. But everything continued to go fine. On occasion, I had to have my tank towed in such a manner that my main gun was pointed directly at the enemy tank. When that happened, the trigger was

depressed. We engaged every enemy tank until it burned, that is, it was completely destroyed. As a result, we did not have any antitank rounds for the last enemy tank. A high-explosive round with delay setting caused the crew to dismount; the second round went through the open driver’s hatch and caused it to start to burn. At the edge of the woods, we set off signal pyrotechnics to be recognized; in addition, there was radio contact. Once we exited the woods, we were engaged by a Russian assault gun. One of our damaged tanks, positioned in front of us, knocked it out. From encountering the enemy tanks until we exited the woods, 20 minutes had passed. During that time, the two vehicles of the company knocked out nine Russian tanks and assault guns. On 29 October 1944, the company booked the following successes: 8 assault guns 5 tanks 7 antitank guns 2 infantry guns 2 prime movers 1 heavy machine gun

The Russian Winter Offensive Ulrich Sachse, Oberleutnant in Panzeraufklärungs-Abteilung 4 23 December 1944—Forced march from the partisan area southwest of Windau through Hasenpoth-Schrunden to the area southwest of Frauenburg. The 3rd battle for Kurland had started yesterday. The frontage around Pampali, where the 2nd battle had ended successfully, was smashed under the unbelievable amount of materiel of the enemy. The Russians had not yet set out to thrust deep into our rear. Elements of the 4. PanzerDivision had already arrived at the gap in the front and started to block—at least as much as they could. There were still dangerous gaps. Bringing in the infantry reserves took time. Panzeraufklärungs-Abteilung 4, fast and mobile, had to go up front. In a night march, the battalion reached the locality of Klavas along the southern road connection between Frauenburg and Schrunden. The place was swarming with rear-area services, headquarters and field-replacement battalions. You got the impression that an apple couldn’t fall to the earth from a tree, it was so crowded. Correspondingly, the Soviets bombed and bombed again. The roads through the marshy lowlands were so narrow that all motorized movements had to be strictly controlled since any oncoming traffic immediately resulted in stoppages. In addition, the open terrain demanded exclusive use of the nighttime hours to maintain secrecy and provide protection against the total air superiority of the enemy. 24 December—Forward at high speed, off the side of the road on a corduroy road heading southwest. The marshy lowland transitioned to sandy swells in the ground with meager amounts of gravel, which gradually thickened to woods. The sound of fighting in front of us increased. Widely dispersed, the reconnaissance battalion arrived in Ozoli and quickly took up positions. The division command post was in the line of fire in Ozoli. It was the front line facing the northern spearhead of the enemy. Panzergrenadier-Regiment 12 was arrayed to the left of Ozoli, oriented south. The Panther battalion was in a right angle next to it, facing to the west. It constantly fired high-explosive rounds into the eastern edge of a wood line opposite it. The same woods that extended to the outskirts of Ozoli. The woods were full of the enemy. The Russian breakthrough had advanced farthest north in the thicket there. Final protective fires by the divisional artillery prevented the enemy from exiting the woods and advancing against the division command post. All of the batteries fired salvo after salvo up and down into the depths of the woods and plowed up the stands of trees—spitting and cracking—of its northern portion. They fired to the point farther west where Major Beukemann and his engineers had been directed to establish a blocking position. Two dismounted reconnaissance companies were directed to take a section of the woods in a counterattack. The first effort failed. It had moved directly against the woods across a broad front. That was not going to work. Time was pressing. The enemy had to be prevented form pushing more forces farther north. Hauptmann Kelsch then advanced into

the woods from the side. He reached the designated line and then turned left, orienting south and establishing a defensive front to the south. At the same time, outposts blocked off enemy forces of unknown size from the rear. Raiding parties made efforts to clean up the northern portion of the woods, section by section, after artillery preparations. They brought in whole groups of terrified Russians as prisoners. In the meantime, the enemy was feeling his way forward along the wooded trails with tanks against the blocking positions of the two companies. Above all, they were making it difficult to maintain contact with the armored engineers on the right. Heavy attacks had to be turned back, in between feverish work on field fortifications. Klaus Heym, the commander of the 4th Company, was killed. The morning of 25 December—Barrage fires by the Russians. Most of it landed in the woods behind the companies and probably put paid to the cut-off enemy elements still there. Friendly artillery, with the guns of several regiments, fired protective fires in front of the positions. They had to fire so close in order to get at the enemy forces that the explosions in the treetops caused friendly casualties. The salvoes from the “execution battery” continued to slam into our positions. Due to the number of tubes in play, it was not possible to determine who was firing short. As a result, all of the fires had to be shifted back. They were then most likely falling with devastating effect into the area between the Russians assembled for the attack. The defense of the main line of resistance therefore had to be accomplished by the use of infantry weapons. The ammunition consumption for the two companies was immense. There was an exchange of hand grenades in the thickets. Oberleutnant Pielot, the commander of the 3rd Company, was also killed. The SPW’s continuously brought ammunition forward; in all, 115,000 rounds. They took the wounded and the dead back. The first day of Christmas came to a close in an inferno of materiel consumption on both sides. Friendly losses were heavy. They must have been horrendous on the Russian side. During the night, an improbable stillness fell over the destroyed woods. Bombs then fell by the light of the moon, as the infantry came forward to relieve us. Far to the right in the distance, there was the thunder of an artillery barrage. I wondered whether they were familiar with the new Russian tactic: Leave lanes in the barrage during the final hour of preparation, through which tanks could roll forward. They then thrust into the rear area, surprising the reserves, which had been waiting for the end of the barrage to launch a preemptive immediate counterattack against the attack that was to follow? We assembled and headed out towards our new march objective. The devil was on the loose south of Tukum. Inattentiveness on the part of the lead element had us take the wrong route. We moved in the wrong direction and suddenly passed the section of woods where the drama from yesterday had played itself out. The woods were completely quiet. The collapse of the enemy efforts in that sector was complete.

The Jump across the Baltic to Danzig Hans Schäufler While we were defending foreign soil in the Kurland Bridgehead with the last of our strength and desperately fighting for our lives, there was another drama playing out in West Prussia. The death knell for Heeresgruppe Mitte had started to sound from the Russian bridgeheads at Baranow and Warka. The enemy advanced in the direction of Bromberg, Posen and Silesia. Millions of women, children and old people headed in panicked flight on horror-filled roads covered in snow and ice to the west and to the north. The columns were overrun or pushed aside by the lead Russian tank elements. The “brown” officials112 had long since already taken care of themselves. The pitiful columns were subjected to the whims of the weather and the retaliatory rage of the Russians—the civilians were helpless and without leadership. That was the situation that faced us when we boarded the Preussen in the harbor of Libau on the night of 2½2 January 1945.

September 1944: Knocked-out American-built Shermans at Auce in Kurland.

October 1944: A knocked-out Stalin, with its 12.2-centimeter main gun.

Kurland, the winter of 1944/1945: Panther with Oberleutnant Eisenbraun and Feldwebel Böttcher.

March 1945: The last image of the last commander of the division. General Betzel with two former division commanders: Generaloberst Reinhardt and General der Panzertruppen von Saucken.

CHAPTER 9

The Fighting for West Prussia

Convoy to Danzig Based on the Diaries of Ulrich Sachse, Oberleutnant in Panzeraufklärungs-Abteilung 4 22 January 1945—We left the heavy equipment behind in Kurland and transferred to the formations that were continuing to fight there. Submarine alert; too few life vests. Hardly any lifeboats A wintery cold Baltic surged against the pounding ships. Depth charges from the escorts racing around. Submarine alert over. Air alert! Then another submarine alert. The piers at Danzig, eighty children frozen to death just unloaded from a refugee train from Elbing—that was our first impression. Anguished mothers. The city jammed to the rafters with refugees. Bombing raids. Never-ending air alerts. To the south, the south! Through the deep snow banks on the road along the west bank of the Vistula. Through Neuenburg. A ghostly procession from a female concentration camp headed north. To the left, the East Prussian plains on the far side of the river, terrain open to the enemy. When would the Russian tank spearheads be here? A thin German outpost line, through which the columns of refugees head in all possible directions. The sounds of fighting to the south. The road was fired upon. To the south, the south! Graudenz was encircled; Bromberg encircled. The Gruppe Training Area has become a gigantic dumping ground for equipment that can no longer be transported. Fighting to the southeast. In between more and more columns of refugees. A race through the contested locality of Schwetz. Panzeraufklärungs-Abteilung 4, with most of its armored cars out front, was widely dispersed and oriented south on the enemy side of the Schwetz-Tuchel road. It was defending against an enemy which was turning north to act as a flank guard for the major Russian effort in the direction of Schneidemühl. Other armored cars were employed with Panzer grenadier-Regiment 33, which had advanced into the enemy encirclement of Bromberg and was able to fight its way out with some of the garrison there. Enemy tanks were advancing along the Upper Silesia-Gotenhafen coal route to the north. They then turned west on the Schwetz-Tuchel road. Sperrbrigade I113 of Oberst von Unhold was blocking east of Tuchel. Beginning to middle of February 1945—Far to the west, the Luchs section monitored the large-scale enemy movements along the Brahe that were headed in the direction of Nakel and the border region. Its screening line extended from Tuchel to Kamin, some 40 kilometers. As was so often the case, their radio reports provided a clear picture of the enemy; as was so often the case, they formed the first pegs of a gradually forming defensive front along the riverbanks, along which the torrent of the mighty breakthrough to the west was pouring. As was so often the case, they formed the backbone of fires for the formations tossed into the line to defend in between them. The enemy recognized a potential danger to his flanks and massed newly formed Polish forces to defeat the [German] front that was forming along the southern edge of the Tuchel Heath. The remaining elements of the reconnaissance battalion were raced to Konitz, where they were completely outfitted with factory-new combat vehicles. Panzer-Regiment 35

received a complete new complement of Panthers. It was puzzling how this miracle of organization happened, since the connection to the Reich proper along the Pomeranian coastline was constricted through a narrow corridor with a single east-west rail line. The lack of fuel made a short-distance but time-consuming trip to Tuchel necessary to detrain. Only enough fuel could be put aboard that was necessary for the planned movements in battle. The fuel had to be conjured up by the drop. Eight-wheeled armored cars—tropical armored vehicles with diesels114—that were intended for the encircled 24. Panzer-Division in East Prussia were impressed into the service of Panzeraufklärungs-Abteilung 4, along with their crews. That gave us a reconnaissance radius of hundreds of kilometers, since diesel fuel was available in abundance. The 4. Panzer-Division attacked south from Tuchel with its new tanks. The vehicles were broken-in in battle. The attack gained ground in hard fighting, but then it bogged down in the masses of enemy poised to attack north. To the right of us, the big attack against Konitz kicked off. Between the division and the reconnaissance battalion, which had rapidly been committed on the right wing of the field army, desperately defending formations were penetrated. Panzeraufklärungs-Abteilung 4, successfully offering resistance between Kammin and Großzirkwitz, was cut off. A race ensued between the battalion, which had been ordered back to the division, and the Russian tank spearheads headed for Konitz. The battalion needed to use the only route north of there to return to Tuchel, even if circuitously. The Flak in Konitz was already engaging ground targets in the city and the enemy tanks were also being engaged with close-combat means. That was followed by street fighting in Konitz. Konitz was on fire. The Russians were in Konitz! The reconnaissance battalion of the 7. Panzer-Division of General Maus, which was outfitted with long-barreled armored cars115 and other fine things, was advancing towards Konitz from the east after it had broken out of the Russian encirclement in East Prussia. At the same time, Panzeraufklärungs-Abteilung 4 was distancing itself from the city, on its way south to Tuchel. Final fighting in Tuchel—Strong enemy armored forces pushed their way forward, stepby-step, to the north. The reconnaissance battalion defended in Kelpin and to the north, jumping from one rise in the ground to the next. The eight-wheeled armored cars with the stubby 7.5-centimeter main gun116 stood in the path of the heavy Russian tanks, side by side with the assault guns of our antitank battalion. With 80 rounds on board, Unteroffizier Janson raced off his next action, another one of an uncounted many. He fired round after round in rapid succession from the main gun until he received a direct hit that reduced his vehicle to atoms. We would never again see his happy, furrowed face under a gray shock of hair again. The others could afford to look neither to the right or to the left. They fired and fired, and supported the colorful alert units as they slowly pulled back to the north, until the over-all situation demanded a withdrawal of the front through Hochkelpin to the area around Heiderode. The divisions from Kurland, which the general populace had based its hopes on, had also been decimated in the meantime and marched to their death. They improved their new positions in the north, supported by constant immediate counterattacks on the part of the

armored vehicles. Reserve-Panzeraufklärungs-Abteilung “München” appeared. How in the world did it get from Munich to our location? The coal route! The Russians were then advancing along it and were threatening the new front before it had a chance to come into existence. The reconnaissance battalion was committed far to the east, a few Panthers went along. At Königsbrück, it encountered enemy forces on both sides of the rail line and threw them back. But the local success did not help anything. The Russians pressed past us on the left.

Defensive Fighting for Tuchel Peter Oberhuber, Obergefreiter and Tank Driver in the 6./Panzer-Regiment 35 We were back on German soil since the end of January. We left out tanks in Kurland. From Gotenhafen, the crews were taken to the Graudenz Training Area on all sorts of vehicles. We were on a low boy. Completely unprotected, we were exposed to the biting cold and the sharp winds from the east. We received our new tanks there. The 2nd Battalion received Panzer IV’s and a company of assault guns.117 The 1st Battalion had the Panther, with one company receiving the Jagdpanther. Those of us in the 2nd Battalion looked at the combat power of the 1st with a touch of envy. We then went back to Tuchel. The populace waved to us in a friendly manner. We had to go against Ivan in difficult defensive engagements day-in and day-out. Two times, three times a day, we conducted immediate counterattacks. Here, there, everywhere it seemed, in an effort to slow down the advance of the Red Army. 13 February 1945—We marched through Tuchel to the south. A signpost told us we were outside of Liebenau. Tired and burned-out soldiers from a flight unit sat on the side of the road. They waved to us, since they knew that they certainly would have been captured by the Russians without us. We moved under a train overpass. We could already see the red tracer element of the Russian antitank rounds coming for us. A strong enemy armored formation was facing us. The 6th Company deployed by platoon and took up reverse-slope positions. Only the tank commanders were able to observe over the rise. The platoon leader directed that we were not to fire until he gave the order. The first three Russian tanks were nosing their way over the slope. A KV II was in the lead—unmistakable because of its massive turret. We opened fire like a thunderclap at 50 meters. Three Russians were soon on fire. The crews bailed out. The tanks that were following turned around quickly, but they received flanking fires from another platoon of the 6th. They fled as quickly as possible and disappeared into the village. We received orders to pursue and attack the village. A Tiger was attached to us, which had been with the regiment for some time. I do not know where the giant came from. All of a sudden it was with us, and it stayed with us. We first tried a frontal attack, but that did not work, because we received fires from every nook and cranny. So we went around the village and attacked from the side. The Tiger took a lot of work away from us, since it could crack open the Russian tanks at 2,000 meters with its 8.8-centimeter. We were not able to enter the village from that angle, either, since the enemy was quickly able to concentrate his weaponry against us. As a result, we swung farther out, so as to approach directly from the south. By then, it had become dark, however. The even plain proved deceptive. The ground underneath my tank collapsed all of a sudden. It had broken through the ice of a snow-covered creek. Water was running into the driver’s hatch. We almost flipped over. It was only through luck and some cleverness that I was able to get out. But the Tiger—our pride and joy—was hopelessly drawn in due to its enormous weight. Our hearts ached when we received

orders to move back to the line of departure and blow up the Tiger.118 14 February—We formed a semicircle around Tuchel to defend it. Our vehicle was positioned 100 meters in front of the edge of the woods on the road, concealed from the air by a roadside tree. The Russians were expected here. The grenadiers had already pulled back. It was quiet, almost too quiet. We strained our eyes observing. Suddenly, something moved between the old forest and the young stands of trees. About 10 earth-brown warriors were pulling a 4.7-centimeter antitank gun into position with a rope. Our gunner had a lot of time to take up a sight picture. When the Russians started to spread the gun trails, he depressed the trigger. When the smoke dissipated from around the main gun, there was no more antitank gun there. We thought we would no longer be bothered from that area—but we were kidding ourselves. Barely half an hour went by before another antitank gun moved up to the exact same spot. They didn’t have any better time of it. In the space of two hours, we destroyed four Russian antitank gun at that corner of the woods. What was Ivan thinking? He must have thought we were sleeping! We were, no doubt, a thorn in his eye, because we were blocking the way into the city. It slowly turned night. We assumed the Russians would move the next antitank gun up to the road under cover of darkness. And we weren’t wrong there. Although we could not see anything, we could hear heavy movement. The tank commander gave us instructions and to the tank behind us. When we could clearly hear the trails being emplaced on the road in front of us, there was no longer any doubt. We had already had a high-explosive round in the breech for some time; the range was set at 100 meters. The tank behind us fired a signal pyrotechnic into the air. The surroundings were practically lit up like day. And there it was … approximately 100 meters in front of us was a heavy 9.2-centimeter antitank gun, which had planned to roll us up. Before the signal flare went out, the heavy gun had been hit. Ivan finally gave up. At 0100 hours, the tanks of the 6th Company assembled and evacuated Tuchel. 15 February—We were positioned on dominant high ground with five tanks, screening to all four sides. We could look out into the countryside for 5 to 6 kilometers. A Russian infantry unit was marching towards us. It was straight-up noon. A field kitchen came pulling up. The column took a break, and the Russian soldiers streamed to the field kitchen from all sides. Our stomachs were also growling. The tank commander shouted something to the effect of “spoiling their soup” and pointed to the Russians below us at about 1,700 meters. The first high-explosive round landed 200 meters from the mess trucks. I suspected the gunner had done that on purpose. It was not exactly his style to fire on soldiers peaceably fetching a meal without first giving a warning. The Russians did not stir, however. He then sent another high-explosive round considerably closer to the vehicle. Finally, the Russians scattered like a flock of chickens. The third round was a direct hit. There was nothing left of the field kitchen. We pulled back a bit to a depression. A grenadier came running up to us, reported that Russian tanks were moving up into the valley below us. We could not observe them from our position. So the tank commander went with the man to the other side. Through his binoculars, he was able to clearly make out how the Russian crews were camouflaging their tanks with straw. We moved out of the

depression and back to the high ground, so as to be able to be effective in the valley. We could not prevent ourselves from sticking out like a sore thumb, however. Correspondingly, I left the engine running so that I could move back into the depression again, if necessary. The distance was about 1,000 meters. The tank commander issued his fire command; the gunner took his time getting a sight picture. The first round was a direct hit. Unfortunately, the wind was not cooperating, so that it took a very long time before the gunpowder smoke cleared away from the muzzle brake. It took a long time to get another target in the sights. The second round was a hit as well. But before the third tank could be taken up in the sights, there was a garish flash below in the valley. I automatically shifted and gave it some gas. There was an explosion next to us the next moment. The Russian round grazed the track, went down the long side of the hull, tore off the mudguards and the sideskirts. There had been two Panzerfäuste on the mudguards; they exploded and sent up an ungodly amount of smoke. Smoke poured into the crew compartment, and I thought we were on fire. It was only with some effort that I was able to force myself through the hatch, since the turret was in a bad position. A new round hissed above the antenna. When I got to the depression, the entire crew was already assembled there. We first looked each other over to make sure nothing was wrong; then, despite the serious situation, we all started to laugh. Everyone was standing there with their headphones and throat mikes on; the cords flaying in the breeze. And our tank moved, as if steered by a ghost, down into the depression. It did not stop until it reached the other side and started to climb up and the engine choked out. Before dismounting, I had put it in gear! We then looked at the battle damage and went to work repairing what we could. The radio operator patched the cables together. The turret would no longer traverse, since the angle irons for the sideskirts were completely bent over. We moved to a quieter area. I then went to work with a sledge hammer trying to move the brackets enough so that the turret would traverse again. In the middle of my best efforts, a round impacted in the vicinity and I was wounded by shrapnel to the throat. But we were able to escape the encirclement without incident and make our way back to the 6th Company.

Diary Entries Ulrich Sachse, Oberleutnant and Adjutant of Panzeraufklärer-Abteilung 4 From the end of February to the beginning of March—Bitter defensive fighting north of Heiderode, around Long and along Schwarzwasser Creek. An enemy coup de main against a bridge was prevented at the last moment by a rapid advance. The enemy took bloody losses. Long was lost. A failed advance on Long during the night with Leutnant Gsell’s vehicle. The dashing tank commander was mortally wounded in the process. Then we hacked Reserve-Aufklärungs-Abteilung “München” from out of an enemy encirclement. Counterattacks followed by counterattacks. We helped the bravely fighting infantry. The general of the 83. Infanterie-Division stood there with a carbine among his men. His eyes turned big when we arrived. Friendly tanks? There was still such a thing? They laughed, they cried, they waved and they fired. No, comrades, we are assault guns. We only have our little carriages. We dismounted to launch an immediate counterattack! Leutnant Stohr was killed; Unteroffizier Flurschütz was killed. Casualties and more casualties. The battalion command post was next to Tree 17, somewhere in the woods. No artillery support and no fuel for transporting ammunition. Occasionally, a few rounds brought forward by harried horses with twitching flanks, hauled through the dirt of the endless heath. Enemy tanks up front! We still have tanks! But the Panther battalion had pulled back far to the northwest and into the area around Dramburg-Bütow, where the enemy was threatening to break through to the Baltic. Graf Molke, a small man, was still with us. He had a single Panzer IV. He went wherever he was needed. With thundering mufflers, he moved back and forth, day and night. His loyal, but crippled crate was making enough noise for an entire battalion. Middle of March 1945—Bütow fell. The front running along the line Bütow-Berend could not be held. The major breakthrough to the Baltic succeeded at Stolp. Bridgehead Danzig has come to pass. Our mission was clear: Hold the ring around Danzig; allow hundreds of thousands of refugees be evacuated west by sea. It was imperative to hold open the possibility for flight for hundreds of thousands. We carried along 1,700 liters of potato fuel for use as regular fuel from the area of operations southwest of Bütow. We marched to Damerkow, loaded non-essential elements and the trains to Lauenburg and then moved on to Karthaus. The reconnaissance elements formed a big arc to the south of Karthaus. The Panthers advanced into that area to hack out a column of refugees that had been cut off by the enemy. The Russians pressed from the south and broke through to the north from east of Karthaus. The enemy took Seefeld, which was full of refugees. A panic broke out. Fifteen thousand liters of fuel were retrieved from the reserves at the fortress of Danzig to keep the tanks mobile. The penetration at Seefeld was sealed off with some effort by Major Tölke. Karthaus was evacuated at night. With great difficulty, the division snaked its way past Seefeld to the Gotenhafen area. Kampfgruppe Tölke was stuck without fuel 30 kilometers deep in enemy territory at a crossroads; while waiting for fuel to arrive, his forces knocked out

hordes of enemy tanks. A bold tank thrust into the enemy lines provided the encircled force with fuel and kept the Russians off its back until the refueling could be completed. Lauenburg was in enemy hands. Elements that had been sent by rail there fought their way through to Gotenhafen. Our reconnaissance sections were dispersed in a wide circle around Gotenhafen-Danzig. The remnants of the 2. Armee were fighting desperately against the attacking Russian field armies. The ships were loaded without interruption, day and night, despite the panicky fear of the civilians ever since the torpedoing of the Wilhelm Gustloff 119 with thousands of refugees on board. Wave after wave of bombers dropped their payloads on Danzig. Draconian measures by the military police and the courts-martial helped to hold the chaos in the beleaguered city in check. The city was under artillery fire. The reconnaissance battalion was fighting with elements of Panzergrenadier-Regiment 12 in unimaginably hard defensive fighting outside of Leesen in the municipal area of Danzig. All three antitank guns were destroyed after they had knocked out six enemy tanks and the crews had become casualties. We moved back through Emaus and into the Schidlitz suburb at the base of the citadel. Bombs, bombs, bombs. Concentrated fires from all of the fortress Flak of Danzig and Gotenhafen and the heavy artillery carriers in Danzig Bay engaged the enemy tanks concentrating at Kölln. Königstiger and Jagdpanther knocked out up to 90 enemy tanks each and every day. Despite that, it was not possible to prevent the breakthrough of the Russians through Groß-Katz to Adlerhorst. The bridgehead was split into two. The garrison of Gotenhafen moved out for its final fight on the Oxhöfter Kämpe. General von Saucken assumed acting command of the 2. Armee.

Heading Out with a Panzerfaust! Hans Schmidt, Obergefreiter in the 8. /Panzer-Regiment 35 On 5 March 1945, the 8th Company conducted its last tank attack against the Russians. Loaded with badly wounded soldiers, we moved back to the clearing station in 1st gear. But 200 meters before we could get there, the Panzer IV gave up the ghost; its next stop was the maintenance facility. But it was still loading on trains in the “rear area,” or what passed for such any more. Loaded onto rail cars, we moved through Lauenburg in the direction of Gotenhafen. But we were overrun by Russian tanks the next morning. The watchword at the time: “Every man for himself!” The next morning, our comrade from the 8th Company, Hofmockel, knocked out two Ivan tanks with Panzerfäuste. We were able to make it through to the company in one piece, where I was again in the hands of Oberleutnant Müller, our company commander. We were then formed into a Tank Destruction Company, together with the Headquarters Company of Leutnant Rahn. I was assigned to the company headquarters and was responsible for taking care of the material well-being of my commander. If he had cigarettes, then I had some; if he didn’t have anything to smoke, then I didn’t either. It was the same with Schnaps. As a result, we got along quite well through thick and thin. The next two weeks were event-filled, but they were also very hard and difficult for us. I would like to concentrate on two small episodes here. The Russians were pressing on the outskirts of Danzig. Our Landser were pulling back in groups, large and small, and came from all branches. My company commander and I were looking for Russian tank concentrations and, as a result, became separated from the company. While we were doing that, we ran into a Hauptmann from another troop element, who wanted to interdict withdrawing soldiers and have them go into position there. My company commander was directed to help him in the effort. Of course, two officers were not enough for that mission, so I put on the overcoat of my company commander and temporarily became an Oberleutnant. The three of us “officers” were able to do it, although it took a lot of effort. After about an hour, I had to take off the overcoat again, much to my chagrin, since I had felt pretty good as an Oberleutnant. In any event, a new front line could be established. While we were doing that, we also saw Unteroffizier Freiwang from the 8th Company, who had been separated from the company. He was happy to rejoin us. Some hours later—it had since turned night—the three of us went tank hunting. We were armed with four Panzerfäuste ; my company commander had a shotgun, his pistol and overcoat pockets filled with ammunition. I had a rifle as well as my P 38. Our own positions were behind us. We looked for a good route through no-man’s-land to get behind the Russian positions. When we got to a small depression in a valley, marching in the direction of Ivan, our focus stubbornly to the ridgeline in front of us, we had a small difference of opinion. I asserted that Ivan was sitting on the high ground above us, since I thought I had seen some movement among a couple of dark points—inasmuch

as you can see at all at night. My company commander was of the opinion, however, that they were just mounds of dirt from the former German positions. After a lengthy back and forth, I was able to convince him that we would not be able to get through there. We would have found that out right away anyway, since we had barely turned around when the Russians started sending greetings of lead our way. More on our bellies than on our feet, we made it to safety around the hill to the right. After feeling our way forward for a few hundred more meters, we suddenly encountered a Russian patrol, which was just as surprised as we were. Without firing a round, the Russian patrol pulled back. But then we hear Russian tanks moving a short while later. We set up our nest in a deep, dried-out ditch, which led under the road we were moving along. A couple of roadside trees had been felled as an obstacle and were lying across the road. We had barely taken up cover in the ditch when the Russian tanks came rolling up. They stopped in front of the felled trees and remained there for a while. Apparently, they were uncertain how to proceed. That was the time for us to act! Get out of the ditch, move out into the roadside ditch and go far enough so as to be assured of a hit on the tanks. Suddenly, however, the tank commander of the first tank dismounted and moved to the edge of the road and looked into the ditch. There was nothing more pressing for us at the time than to bury our noses in the dirt. The barrel of my rifle got tangled up in the telephone wires that were dangling down; a wonderful “music” emanated from them. At that moment, I believe, we would have preferred to have just disappeared from earth. But Ivan remained standing there without stirring for a while, before he slowly climbed back into his crate. He turned to the right and crossed the ditch, the other tanks following him. It was clear that he had only checked out the size of the ditch to determine whether he could get across with his tank. Apparently, he had not even noticed us. When the Russians started to slowly cross over the ditch, it was finally time to act! Three Panzerfäuste were directed against the combat vehicles. As if by command, there was a loud crash. We used the seconds of shock to crawl back into our ditch as quickly as possible. Then all hell broke out over us! Unfortunately, we could no longer determine whether we had hit them or how badly. The Russians put down murderous fire above us. We were in a right proper mousetrap at that point. Right in front of us was Ivan. Behind us, he had set a barn on fire, with the result that everything was as bright as day. We had to get out of there! Oberleutnant Müller recommended we separate to make our way back to the German lines individually. We would link up there again. I do not know, whether Unteroffizier Freiwang got through, since I never saw him again. That all happened during the night of 25/26 March 1945. Oberleutnant Müller was wounded early on 26 March by a wound to the head, a fact I did not discover until that afternoon after not having seen him earlier. My fate was also sealed, since I was also wounded on the evening of 26 March.

Make Out Your Testaments, Comrades! Robert Poensgen, War Correspondent Embedded with the 4. Panzer-Division During the difficult defensive fighting in the area of Danzig-Gotenhafen, Oberleutnant Gerlach of the 4./Panzer-Regiment 35 received orders on Tuesday, 15 March 1945, to move as rapidly as possible with five operational Panthers of the battalion to the sector of the 389. Infanterie-Division in the area of Danzig- Oliva-Neue Welt.120 They were to prevent an imminent tank breakthrough by the Russians. Shortly after the movement was initiated, one of the Panthers had to be released to another Kampfgruppe of the regiment, which only had Panzer III’s and had reported the approach of Josef Stalins in its sector. Two additional Panthers fell out of the march later on, because there were considerable quantities of water in the fuel they had used to tank up with. Just before it turned dark, Oberleutnant Gerlach reached the designated area of operations with just the two Panthers. After reporting to the operations officer of the 389. Infanterie-Division, he received orders to support the night attack of the fusilier battalion121 on “Neue Welt.” After destroying the enemy tanks reported there, he was to block the bottleneck next to the lakes at “Neue Welt.” Around 2000 hours, the grenadiers moved out. It was already dark and heavy fires lashed out against the attackers. The reports from the many tank main guns could be registered through the muzzle flashes. In the meantime, it was also discovered that there were no less than 24 enemy tanks in the locality of “Neue Welt,” including 8 Josef Stalins among them. And Oberleutnant Gerlach had been directed to attack that formidable force with his two Panthers! He tried to get the operation called off, which had a 95% chance of winding up with a score of 1:0 in favor of the Soviets, but he discovered that the attack had to take place under all circumstances. “Boys, make out your testaments!” That was the only comfort he could offer his men. And he was no pessimist or man given to dilly-dallying: he had participated in almost 150 armored attacks since 1939. But this attack appeared to be a suicide mission to him. There were no heroes sitting in the Panthers. They were men who did their duty to the utmost; men who had reconciled themselves to their fates, but who wanted to sell their dear lives as expensively as possible. The grenadiers made it up to the outskirts of the locality. They knocked out an enemy tank and an antitank gun through employment of Panzerfäuste. They received such heavy fires, however, they had to pull back a bit. At that time, of all times, the tank of Oberleutnant Gerlach had a mechanical problem, and he had to send it back with the crew and its driver, Oberfeldwebel Böhm. He only took along his experienced radio operator, since there was a very young soldier at the radios on the remaining tank. Otherwise, the crew consisted of old hands, who had already been sneaking up on the locality along a railway embankment. The engine was throttled down, so that they would not betray their location by the noise. The tank was concealed from the enemy by means of a snow fence and the freight cars parked on a track next to the tank. As a result, the silhouette of the

tank would not stand out against the horizon, even when it got lighter. About 400 meters from the “Neue Welt,” Gerlach’s new tank got stuck in the soft ground and it took all of the skills of the driver to get it free again. As a result of the unavoidable loud engine noises, however, the Soviets were alerted and fired blindly in the suspected direction, but without hitting the Panther. The gunner, Unteroffizier Lang, fired, using the muzzle flashes to aim. With his first round, he hit an assault gun, also catching the house behind it on fire, with the result that the entire area around the Soviets was lit up. In the glow, three additional enemy tanks were identified that were screening on the edge of the locality. Since Gerlach had started to receive heavy fire, he pulled back several hundred meters to a good reverse-slope position. He engaged the enemy from there. He succeeded in knocking out the three tanks, as well as two antitank guns, whose rounds were hissing uncomfortably close above the Panther. As it started to turn light, Oberleutnant Gerlach pulled back so far into the reverse-slope position that he was only able to observe into the enemy-occupied village with is scissors scope. The enemy tanks were positioned between the houses in thick clumps. Heavy artillery and mortar fires commenced. Towards noon, a second vehicle showed up to support Gerlach. It was the tank of Oberfeldwebel Palm, known as the “tank cracker.” In the course of the afternoon, Palm succeeded in setting two enemy tanks alight, including a Josef Stalin, as well as knocking out several antitank guns. Oberleutnant Gerlach succeeded in taking another Josef Stalin out of commission and knocking out a heavy assault gun. And so the day passed into the second night. The next day, the Soviets attempted to attack farther to the right with strong infantry forces. Oberleutnant Gerlach immediately moved to the threatened area. While Gerlach was engaging the enemy tanks that were appearing, his radio noncommissioned officer, Unteroffizier Kupfer, was independently directing the fires of the second tank and also engaging the Soviet infantry with his bow machine gun. The German tanks not only completely eliminated a Soviet rifle company in that area, they also knocked out five Josef Stalins, another heavy tank, three assault guns and a heavy antitank gun. On the next day, Gerlach and his two tanks were again employed in the same sector. From a good elevated position, another Josef Stalin, two assault guns and two antitank guns were eliminated in bitter engagements. Three other Josef Stalins were set alight, although it could not be ascertained whether they had been completely destroyed. The type of tremendous physical and emotional exertions and demands that a struggle for life and death that lasts over both days and nights is perhaps best illustrated by the fact that Oberleutnant Gerlach fell fast asleep during an orders conference at an infantry command post. When you consider the success of those three days of fighting—21 heavy enemy tanks destroyed without a single friendly loss—one also needs to consider that most of the eliminated enemy tanks were superior to the Panther in armament, armor and range. What had emerged victorious in those engagements, in addition to a unequivocally capable combat leadership and the seamless cooperation between the tank crews, was the spirit of long-time tankers who had seen and done it all.

That’s the end of this article! We have intentionally left out mention of all of the medals and badges, something that not only reflects the wishes of the recipients but also reflects an effort to pay tribute to all of the other comrades. To that end, here are the names of all of the comrades who participated in the this operation with Oberleutnant Gerlach: Gunner: Unteroffizier Lang Loader: Oberschütze Heinrich Driver: Obergefreiter Bauer Radio Operator: Unteroffizier Kupfer

Hunting Tanks in the Flood Plains of the Vistula Hermann Bix, Oberfeldwebel in the 1 ./Panzer-Regiment 35 We had converted to a Jagdpanther recently. It had a fabulous 8.8-centimeter main gun with amazing penetrating power and deadly accuracy. We only had to get accustomed to the fact that the main gun only had a very narrow traversing range.

AT THE TOTER KOPF NEAR KLESCHKAU Tautorus’s company, where I had been assigned, had the mission of holding up the Russians in the area around Kleschkau for a while. I led a section that had Igel and Schwaffert as tank commanders. Our mission was not difficult, because the terrain was only conditionally suitable for armored vehicles. We were familiar with the few routes that the Russians had to take since we had come from there ourselves. We knocked out an occasional Russian armored spearhead. An immediate counterattack was planned for that afternoon. It was directed to retake Kleskau once again so as to give the forces behind us some breathing room for the improvement of their positions. A Major from the grenadiers requested a bit of help in getting his forces closer to the edge of the village faster. But I was supposed to guard the road to make sure no Russian tanks got past. I let him talk me into it, however, and I moved with the grenadiers to the village. The advance went rapidly. In the village proper, however, the Russians put up tough resistance. The grenadiers took considerable casualties. I tried to eliminate a few machine-gun nests, but I was receiving some very unpleasant antitank-rifle fire. Despite that, I advanced into the middle of the village. Unfortunately, I received a special mission there. I asked Tautorus to wait a little longer, because the grenadiers would otherwise have to pull back. But the company commander informed me that 20 enemy tanks were moving on the main road towards Danzig and that there were no armor-defeating weapons positioned on the road. With a heavy heart, I pulled back. The grenadiers thought that I was fleeing from an identified danger and likewise pulled back. I tried to tell them my situation, but no one believed me. They were bunched up like grapes around my three tank destroyers and were taking heavy casualties from mortar fire.122 I was in despair. I had no choice but to shake them off so that they would at least take up cover somewhere. On the way back—it was dark already—I received the mission to move out against the estate at the foot of the Toter Kopf.123 The Toter Kopf was an unmistakable bullet-shaped hill, the highest elevation in the area. A battalion of Volkssturm124 were encircled in the basement of a Schnaps distillery. The enemy tanks were supposed to be in the estate. We approached the estate. I observed the terrain through my binoculars. Suddenly, I saw the large white turret numbers of the enemy tanks. The first tank lit up immediately. At that point, it turned as light as day in the park. The Russians did not know what was going on. They moved about madly. We could hear them from our position. I could barely believe my eyes: A second tank was on fire before I fired my second round. The Russians had to leave their concealed positions; otherwise, the remaining tanks would also catch fire. They moved out into the open and stood out like a sore thumb, while we were covered by darkness. We fired round after round into the pack of tanks; barely any missed their mark. The last remaining Russian attempted to disappear into a depression, when he also received a round. But it did not burn immediately. A few minutes later, flames shot up into the air from the depression.

Schwaffert and Igel each reported four “kills” along the road where the Russians were attempting to break through. Something was stirring behind a burnt-out barn with a number of window openings. From the antenna, I could tell it had to be a tank. We took up a sight picture at the next window opening. When it appeared there, my gunner depressed the trigger. Another one was burning. We then fetched the distraught men from the Volkssturm from the basement. They were unable to figure out what all the fireworks had been about. They had gone through deathly fear.

The Situation in the Danzig Area General der Panzertruppen Dietrich von Saucken, Commander-in-Chief of the 2. Armee The 4. Panzer-Division and, with it, Panzer-Regiment 35 were in positions about 10 kilometers southwest of the Danzig-Gotenhafen Bridgehead. On 19 March, its defensive lines were pulled back to within about 2 kilometers of the city outskirts as a result of the continuous fire it was receiving from all of the enemy’s weapons, especially artillery and rocket launchers. It was there that the division was located when I, the former division commander, came to visit General Betzel, so as to form an opinion of the situation and check on the morale of my old division. Our positions had never been under such intense enemy fires at any time in the war up to then. During the last phase of the war, the enemy had ammunition, tubes and warriors in abundance. Despite all of that, the last commander of the division did not report any signs of dissolution among his men. Everyone did his duty. The comrades held together. The division upheld its warrior spirit until the very end. At the time, the warriors in the front lines could not have known why it was so important to stubbornly hold on to an unimportant piece of real estate despite the high casualties. First: Retention of the port of Hela, the base for the Naval Command of the Baltic, had extreme significance for the supplying of all of Heeresgruppe Kurland. Second: It was only through a tough defense that time could be won—and that was something that everyone in the division could understand. To win time: That was what was imperative for our countrymen crowded together in the Danzig area. Win time so that the many thousands of refugees could be gradually evacuated. The extent to which the holding on to the two bridgeheads—Danzig and Hela— influenced the overall situation and the Russian operations in general can probably never be determined. In the meantime, however, there has been an argument advanced that if that threat to the Russians’ deep flank had not existed, they might have advanced even farther west, at least as far as the Rhine. The border between Rokossowski’s and Wassilewski’s field armies ran through our field army, basically along the Vistula. Both of them had employed strong forces against the bridgehead, which caused those forces to be withdrawn from the Russian main effort. As we discovered after the capitulation, the Russians also committed three tactical air forces against us, a sign that they had important reasons to clear out the bridgehead. In any event, we formed the shield for all of those who reached the west from Danzig, Pillau and Hela. More than a million Germans—children, women, old persons, wounded

and sick—had formed up behind this shield. As the commander-in-chief, I assumed responsibility for everything, since I had refused to subordinate myself to the local Gauleiter. The refugees, divided into groups, had to wait their call to board the vessels. They did that in the wooded dunes in the vicinity of the Vistula cut-off and then on the Hela Peninsula. They camped in the open in holes in the sand. Feeding them took place through the military with ad hoc elements. The brave and tireless efforts of the engineer landing craft and the naval ferries cannot be praised enough. The crews conducted their back-andforth traffic between the mainland and Hela in the middle of enemy fire and during constant air attacks by the Red Air Force. It was at Hela that the refugees were transferred from the smaller craft to the ships. It is difficult to imagine how much time and toil the movement by sea cost. The numbers that had to be mastered can be gleaned by one example: On 25 April, 5,000 people left the Putziger sand reef; on 28 April, it was 8,000. On 27 April, seven ships took 24,000 people in the direction of Kiel and Copenhagen.125 After the majority of the civilians had been evacuated, I emphasized getting as many soldiers out as possible as well. Of course, it was not known when that operation had to cease, although the time was short. As a result, the soldiers and civilians continued to be assembled until the last ships steamed out on the day of capitulation. As a result, my comrades of the 4. Panzer-Division also had to go into Russian captivity with me, since only elements of the division were able to get away. My former signals officer, comrade Schäufler, has portrayed the final days of fighting. At his request, I have provided the larger framework for the accounts that follow. All of us, who survived the war and, in part, captivity, are thankful to be able to breathe in the open, to enjoy freedom and sunlight. We also feel ourselves deeply connected to those comrades who fell on land or who remain in the Baltic. We also wish to commemorate the last commander of the division, General Betzel, who was killed in the street fighting in Danzig and who now has been resting for more than 20 years in the dunes behind the old stands of pines.

The Beginning of the End Hans Schäufler (Diaries) Danzig, the burning city at our feet. The war is lost. All sacrifice, all deprivation—in vain. Everyone knows; no one says it. Live—Survive! That’s our motto now! The venerable old city is under fire by Russian artillery. The war has defaced the proud architecture of an earlier era. Stone falls from stone. The streets seem to have died. Get out, just get out. Go to the place where thousands are waiting in dull despair. To the beach, to the sandbar, somewhere, where there’s water so as to wait until a ship, a ferry arrives in order to pick up the tragic remnants of a defeated Germany. But if everyone goes, who will hold back the pressing Russians from the wharves and the few ships? Who? The others? No one can take this final mission—the most difficult of all—from us, the pitiful remnants of bled-white German field armies. If loyalty, self-sacrifice, courage and altruism ever had a meaning in this unholy war, then it is now, in the face of the unavoidable end.

Last Summons Hans Schäufler Written at Zigankenberg on 22 March 1945: The old flags flutter higher, Flags, tattered by the storm, that remind all of you tired ones to be true to the very end! Raise them high unto the stars, so that every German can see them, A reminder in the gray distance, when the troop advances to death Raise them into the melancholy heavens, so that the most loyal ones see them, whenever in the heat of fighting, life flows from the mortal coil! Raise them above the shame and the disgrace, Do not leave them without veneration! Our country needs its men now, who know what loyalty and honor mean! Hold firmly on to Germany, Which had been visited with calamity! Whoever leaves it in the lurch now, may he be forever cursed!126 Danzig, 23 March 1945—Does it still have any meaning to be defending here on the Vistula, when, over there on the Rhine, where our loved ones are, Germany has long since been conquered and occupied? Questions—thousands of questions torment us, questions to which no one can give us any answers. We look for the god of our childhood in the ruins; we look for justice; we look for truth —we see only chaos. No path can be vaguely seen that will lead us out of this labyrinth. We see no ray of light in the smoke of battle that will penetrate the darkness around us and in us. Thus, there is no other choice. We must take the path to the end, even though we do not know where it leads. May the Lord God help us on the way!

Prayer Hans Schäufler Written in burning Danzig on 23 March 1945: Betrayed even by our friends, hated, cursed in all the world, hunted, wounded by the enemies, on our own in battle, And so we seek the way of duty. Dear God, don’t abandon Germany! We do not ask for our lives, for prosperity, for money and goods, we would gladly give it all, if You want it, take our blood! Just lead our people to the light. Dear God, don’t abandon Germany! A bloodied people has assembled, Everyone is fighting, from boy to old man. Bent over, tormented by a thousand hardships, hoping for the grace of God. We implore you, Lord, hold judgment. Dear God, don’t abandon Germany!127

The Fighting for Danzig Dr. Klaus Schiller, Leutnant and Acting Commander of the Tank Destruction Company of Panzer-Regiment 35 End of March 1945—I did not know what the day of the week was or the date. We had no feelings and weren’t interested in finding out any more. The rumor had petered out that we were going to be evacuated by ship to be reconstituted in the homeland. Instead, Panzerfäuste, machine guns, submachine guns and hand grenades were issued. It didn’t look like there was any intent to equip the knocked-out crews with new tanks. We played cards and wrote letters that might make it to the homeland so as to suppress the tense uncertainty. We all felt that this quiet, this turning off of the battle instincts to be necessary—perhaps the final preparation for something that was approaching us with eerie unavoidability—after the marches and the nerve-wracking rearguard actions that had led up to Danzig. We could still hear the storm over the main line of resistance in the distance. We had long since grown accustomed to the howling of the sirens, the banging of the Flak, the whistling of the falling bombs—the monotonous horrific music that provided the background to the destruction of the inner city of Danzig. What was playing out in all of these men? Men, who had known the war from the very beginning. Men who felt that Danzig was a giant mousetrap? Then a regimental order hit us like a shrill whistle: “A tank destroyer company will be formed out of the remnants of the shot-up companies. Protected by infantry, it will have the mission of eliminating tanks in close combat and thus stopping the advance of the enemy. The positions are to be occupied by 1500 hours. Contact must be established with the infantry unit.” The platoons and sections were quickly set up in an effort to maintain the bonds of the old comradeship. Trucks took us to the vicinity of the designated positions. We sang songs that we used to sing—this time, just like the first time! Before it turned dark, we sought out our prepared foxholes to the right and the left of the road to Danzig. There was a village in front of us; in front of it was a hill. The company had been divided into two platoons, which were led by battle-experienced noncommissioned officers. We split up after a final orders conference. The good-byes and the farewells had a special meaning, at least that’s the way it seemed to me. The handshakes of departure lasted a second longer than usual. We knew from previous operations that we could unconditionally rely upon one another, even in the hour of our greatest need, even when the phrase—“Save your own skin!”—had been silently making the rounds through this city for weeks. Figures hastened past us in the darkness in the direction of Danzig, individually and in groups. In response to our questions, the disturbed men answered: “The Russians are attacking!” In order to get a better idea of what was going on, I stomped through the muck with some other comrades towards the dark group of buildings. The warm felt boots sometimes had a mind of their own. Once there, we encountered some of the infantry we

had established contact with during the afternoon. Instead of manning their machines guns, they were enjoying their pipes. That meant things could not be so bad. They belonged to the unit that was in position on the hill in front of the village. We told them exactly where we were located and promised not to leave them in the lurch if tanks attacked. Calmed down, we returned to our trenches. The village was under artillery and mortar fire. Towards midnight, the calls of the Russians to one another approached us. During the breaks in the fires, we could hear them driving on their horses with exhortations of Dawei! We had been hearing the sound of the familiar grumbling of engines and the metallic clack of tank tracks for some time. It had to be T-34’s that were approaching us. The tracks then started clattering on the streets of the village. The first tank had to appear by the houses in short order. The skies were lit up with muzzle flashes from the guns and the impact of artillery, as well as individual fires. In pairs, we worked our way stealthily in the shadows of trees and houses towards the noises. Only individual operations promised success. Our machine-gun sections were directed to provide covering fires if Russian infantry accompanied the tanks. The nearby rattle of tracks stopped with a sudden squeak. We could easily identify a T34 on the edge of the street, which traversed its main gun in a threatening manner above us—looking for targets. The tank posed little threat to us that way. Try as we could, we could not make out any Russian infantry. So, let’s go! We worked our way up to the steel behemoth. 50 meters … 40 … 30 There was a shell crater. The armored opponent stood out against the pale night sky. The fiery tail of our Panzerfaust tore abruptly tore open the night. Two seconds, during which breathing stopped and hearts stopped beating. Then, a bright flash and a hard crash. Direct hit! A few yells. A hatch flew open. Shocked figures fell into the emptiness and disappeared, limping, into the night. The tank caught fire and burned out, coupled with loud detonations. Our little greeting must made quite the impression on Ivan. He suddenly broke off his night attack. He let his artillery and mortars then do his talking for him. Then, there was suddenly silence. We had long since reached our trenches. As it turned first light, we discovered the cause of the unaccustomed stillness that ushered in the second half of the night. The infantry, sapped of strength and decimated, had given up the village in front of the hill and gone around us when it retreated. That had not been very nice, but who could blame them? What were we to do then? If we also evacuated the small bridgehead, then our first platoon and the Bavarian infantry unit next to it would be cut off. Occupying the abandoned position on the hill in front of the village with our black-clad men, who had little experience in trench warfare or close combat, was a risky undertaking. But we had seen too much over the last few weeks. Columns with fleeing families—crying men and shaking women and children—all driven about by the advancing Russian tanks, only to be mercilessly shot down on their way to the coast and the salvation of the ships. Were we to disappoint those helpless people who were counting on us? Just the thought alone made the decision easy. We worked our way forward individually in the Russian artillery fire. We had already suffered two dead. We occupied the abandoned position on the hill. We were only able to

hold that forward position for a few hours, because the Russians considerably overestimated our strength. When we were finally certain that there were no longer any German soldiers to the right or left of us did we slowly start to disengage from the enemy around noon and assemble at the outskirts of the village. We were worried about our first platoon, since we no longer had any contact with it since the morning. It wasn’t until much later that we discovered that the first platoon had been encircled by the Russians, despite the counterattack that we had conducted, and had been wiped almost completely out, despite a desperate defense. Only a handful made it back unscathed. We, ourselves, were gradually pushed into the witch’s cauldron of Danzig by Russian forces attacking on three sides. Everyone who was still alive and did not deliver himself to the Russians without a fight was lying behind barricades, remnants of walls, piles of rubble and even gravestones. We heard the calls of the demoralized and the tired from the basements and the bunkers: “Throw down your arms!” They were not threatening, those voices of the despairing; they were begging, they were literally begging. There were also soldiers among them who thought they had saved themselves by throwing a bit of civilian clothing over their uniforms. Some of our own did not pass the tensile test either. A motorcycle messenger disappeared without a trace. Another soldier asked me imploringly, whether he might be allowed to fight his way to the rear, since he had a wife and child at home. I could not turn down his request. I wrote out a report concerning our operations, since the executioners would grab him if he were not on an official mission. Let’s be honest. Wasn’t everyone of us struggling with the question: “Continue to fight or give up? What’s the right thing to do now?” Were we to listen to the dispirited ones in the basements, or should we help the tens of thousands on the beach by holding out? But we did not have to one day stand ashamed in front of our dead comrades! For us, the struggle for Danzig went on, even if we were left entirely to our own devices. Over the last few days, we had developed a successful tactic for engaging and destroying the tanks in the street fighting. We moved along the roofs, which were connected together for reasons of air defense, and moved concealed up to the lead Russian tank elements. We placed a man with a submachine gun in one of the rooftop windows to provide cover. We then took up the tanks in our Panzerfaust sights from the air vents in the roofs. The effect on the Russians was enormous, whenever one of their T-34’s flew into the air. We used the confusion among the enemy to scram unnoticed so as to look for new targets. In that manner, we forced Ivan to advance slowly and carefully. Every hour, every day, was so very important for the refugees. There were enough Panzerfäuste scattered around for us to pick up. Rations, unfortunately, were another story. During one operation behind an obstacle in the road, we suffered killed and wounded. We sang the song of the fallen comrade to our dead.128 We promised never to forget them, as we stood at their graves. We asked God for consolation for their next-of-kin and for justice for us in this merciless struggle. We felt as though that last request was being drowned by the doubts within us and the hell around us. It was not until the city of Danzig stood in flames and the bridges started to collapse with a crash that we pulled back into the suburb of Heubude across the arm of the Vistula.

From a burning, slowly disintegrating bridge, I saw for the first time in my life—and also the last time—one of the world-famous symbols of Danzig, the crane gate, go up in flames. A deep depression overcame me. I hung my head in sadness. And yet every saved human life was worth a thousand times more than all of those historical buildings put together. I held incoherent talks with myself. A bitter laugh startled me. While I stumbled farther along, I realized that it was my own laugh. In Heubude, I met all of the comrades who had left Danzig alive and, to a certain extent intact, at the designated rally point, even though our rear-area services were not too far away. A deep satisfaction filled me. There really is something unique about comradeship in a war. We found an operational 7.5-centimeter antitank gun with lots of ammunition and a bunker. Even the crew, which most likely dreamt away half the war to the sounds of the nearby sea, was still there. They had been in the process of just stealing away, since they thought of themselves as a lost outpost. We asked them professionally but with determination to give us some comradely assistance, which they also, in fact, provided, albeit with somewhat fearful hastiness and heroic zealousness. The men stayed with us until the last round was fired against the hard-pressing Russians. We thanked them heartily and let them march off, since most of them were older and had wives and children at home waiting for them. We finally established contact with our battalion again and with the armored reconnaissance battalion, to which we had been attached. I asked that my lost outpost also be relieved when I was wounded.

Diary Entries Ulrich Sachse, Oberleutnant and Adjutant of Panzeraufklärungs-Abteilung 4 End of March 1945—The fighting for Danzig came to an end. The 4. Panzer-Division was stubbornly defending at the city gate to Oliva. Our division commander, General Betzel, was killed there; Hauptmann Kohl at his side. Hauptmann Kahle and Hauptmann Schalmat from Panzer-Regiment 35 were killed. The Russians sent salvo after salvo into the railroad yards. A bitter fight for the Schichau dockyards flared up. Again and again, we were able to steal a day from the Russians. A single tank successfully screened in the direction of Langfuhr. During the night, the city west of the Mottau was evacuated. Danzig was burning from one end to the other. We pulled back across the last usable crossing points to Heubude, east of Danzig. The Russians were carpet bombing concentrations of refugees and clearing stations. We were fighting desperately against the enemy pressing across the Vistula. The crew of a Flak battery, which had hauled up the white flag, was sentenced to death by a court martial. It was given a reprieve to fire off all of its ammunition. To the last man, all were killed in ground combat with tanks. We held out in barrage fire in the fields outside of Heubude. Hauptmann Kelsch was killed; almost all of the company commanders became casualties. It was not until then that we slowly pulled back towards Neufähr. The Weichselmünde Bridgehead was occupied and improved. In the meantime, the marines and the engineers worked feverishly at the load-out points, where the refugees and wounded were taken to Hela and from there transported on the big ships across the Baltic to Germany. Königsberg capitulated. The remnants of Armee Ostpreußen marched in endless columns under constant bombardment from the mainland at Elbing across the corduroy road of the Frische Nehrung to be loaded-out for sea. Beginning of April 1945—Major von Gaupp assumed command of PanzeraufklärungsAbteilung 4. The Danzig lowlands were flooded by the opening of the dike gates. The battalion held the enemy in check in hard defensive fighting.

Hitchhiking from Danzig to Austria Peter Oberhuber, Obergefreiter in Panzer-Regiment 35 Danzig, end of March 1945—We, what was left of the 2nd Battalion, were quartered south of the city on the Zigankenberg in private homes. We had transferred our last four tanks to the 1st Battalion on 18 March. The boredom, the lack of anything to do and the situation that we were tankers without tanks did not exactly put us in a good mood. The Russians had driven a wedge between Danzig and Gotenhafen in the meantime and had reached the Baltic at Zoppot. They then started attacked the old Hanseatic city through Oliva. What was going to happen to us tankers? That was our big concern. We received orders to pull back. We had been heading west for nearly two years. We had to pull back again but, this time, it was to the east. We were in a big pocket, after all. Only the way east was still open. To our rear there was an escape route over the Baltic, but the ships were missing and the Russian submarines were on the prowl. We moved through the old part of the city, which was gradually crumbling under the fires of the Russian artillery. After passing Heubude, we were in the meadowlands along the mouth of the Vistula. We quickly set up shop there. We were used to doing things like that, after all. Trees were felled; holes dug and lined with timber and concealed by the use of brush. A lot of bunkers were soon erected in the fine river sand. The sky and the stars were above us. But other stars were there as well, and they were falling towards us. Russian bombers disturbed our sleep. The earth shook and the sand, as fine as flour, sifted through the roofs of the bunkers. As a result, those days and nights of doing nothing were not exactly pleasant. A few shithouse rumors would give us hope, calming us down in the morning, only to fall apart in the afternoon. One day, it was said that the superfluous tank crews were to be evacuated by sea and sent to Bamberg. We didn’t believe it, since it would have been too good to be true. But before you knew it, we were being given marching orders, one crew at a time—one march order for every five men. Since I was not part of a fixed crew, I was assigned to the crew of the commander of the 6th Company. Feldwebel Krug was the tank commander; the radio operator was a man from Silesia; the gunner a comrade from Halle; the loader was someone from Insterburg. I, the Bavarian, was the driver. Thus, we were a colorful mixture from all over Germany. Bamberg—our peacetime garrison city—was the march objective! Incomprehensible—fata morgana?—We were really excited. Bamberg—Man, do you know what that means!—Out of that god-damned witch’s cauldron. Bamberg—that gave you some hope again. We took our leave of Panzer-Regiment 35, from those who had accompanied us through the war, in a dream state. Everything went quickly. We didn’t have a lot of time to think

about it. Like participants in the Olympics, we headed out for the marathon stretch of 110 kilometers to Pillau, the first objective in our dreams. We hoped to reach a ship there. We hastened through the burning villages, one crew at a time, and along the jammed roads. Since we did not have any wheels, we actually moved faster. But even that was too slow for us. We took possession of abandoned bicycles. We moved through the columns, more stationary than moving, like slalom skiers. When that was no longer possible, we carried the bikes on our backs, like cross-country racers. Forward, forward—that was the only thing that mattered. Cover more and more ground! With some difficulty, we were able to take the bikes with us on the ferry, which took us over the main tributary of the Vistula. At that point, we moved rapidly, since all of the traffic was jammed up around the ferries. Once we got past Segen, we were on the corduroy road. By the time we reached Kahlberg, there wasn’t a spot on our rear ends that wasn’t bruised. We reluctantly discarded the bicycles along the side of the road so as to allow others to have part in that dubious joy. Then we ran into some Landser—barefoot, reduced to rags. They had only been able to escape with their bare lives by using empty fuel drums to ferry across the harbor. Unearthly; beyond hope. Then Pillau came into view. We crossed the tributary on a ferry. We ran into the first of the “black men,” who were quicker than we were. But they didn’t have any good news for us. A stamp was missing on our march orders. Without the stamp, the debarkation staff would not let anyone pass. Not good prospects, those. Many had already headed back to their units to get the damned stamp. Despite that, we stayed in Pillau to test our luck without the stamp. We moved from one dock to the next. But all of the departing ships were heavily watched by the military police. Damn it all! A few seamen from the Navy wanted to help us; they wanted to take us on their small freighter. But the ship had to offload coal first and would not set out for another three days. The things that could happen in three days. Every day, every hour, was important—at least that’s what we believed. We just had no patience anymore. As so we marched back along the way we had come the previous day, the way we had advanced with so much hope. In the vicinity of Stegen, we saw signposts that indicated that our company had approached us a bit. Almost all of the “sightseers” were already there. Our Hauptfeldwebel bellowed at us: “Either get out of here right away or you’ll be joining the infantry!” We grabbed some food from the field kitchen, said good-bye one more time to our closest friends and then took off again. Back in Pillau, “our seamen” secretly stowed us aboard their ship at night. Well, look there, two more men in black from the 35th! The harbor was under Russian artillery fire. Just before steaming out, shrapnel penetrated the smokestack and called into question the departure. When the military police searched the ship looking for stowaways, we hid behind a crate of ammunition. We barely dared to take a breath. But that, too, passed. After a delay, we departed the Pillau harbor on 4 April. Bamberg was getting closer. After leaving the Hela peninsula, we joined a convoy. Outside of Rügen, the other ships turned off in the direction of Swinemünde. We continued steaming for Denmark. During the night of 8/9 April, we steamed into the Copenhagen harbor. We were put up in the citadel and issued infantry weapons. At the same time, we received 10 days of pay. It quickly disappeared. There was everything there to buy that your heart could desire. We fattened

our bellies with white bread, butter, chocolate, milk and cake. After all, we had not received anything to eat for four days. After we were finished, we were barely able to stand up. The trip continued on a train to Odensee, followed by a ferry trip across the Great Belt to Frederica, then to Schleswig … on to Hamburg … then as far as Wittenberge on the Elbe. The rides stopped there; from then on, it was on foot. We were warned about Berlin, since soldiers were being press-ganged into service there. Correspondingly, we marched through Brandenburg to Halle. Occasionally, we headed for a train station in the hopes that a train might be on its way to Bamberg. Outside of Halle, there was a tank alert—American tanks were in Halle. We pulled back in the direction of Leipzig. The same thing there. We continued marching east through Saxony in the direction of Dresden. They grabbed us there at the main train station, to be employed against the Russians. But we still had the march orders on us for Bamberg. We were able to scram in the ruins of the city. We then reached the train station at Neustadt and caught the last train to Aussig-Eger. Unfortunately, a fighter-bomber shot up the locomotive. And so we continued on to Eger on foot. We heard there on the radio that Bamberg had been occupied by the Americans. So—too late. Our great hope melted away like a dream. Consequently, we reported to the local military commander at Eger. We were told to head for Grafenwöhr. When we got there, the training area had already been evacuated. We received new march orders for Nuremburg. But the Yanks blocked our route there, so we headed for Regensburg. Our feet were on fire from the extensive foot marches. There was one blister next to the other one. As we struggled up a hill, a truck approached us slowly. My comrades did not want to stop it, but I couldn’t go on. I said to Willi Krug: “Let me climb aboard and ride for 10 kilometers so that my feet can recover some. I’ll then wait for you along the road.” Outside of Schwandorf, a roadside control point grabbed me and took me off the vehicle. Since my Feldwebel had my march orders, I was loaded on a truck and sent to the mechanized infantry garrison in Regensburg. As a result, I lost contact with my last comrades. I was assigned to an infantry unit as a “straggler.” We went north of the Danube to take up defensive positions to defend Regensburg. As a tanker, that was not exactly an uplifting experience. So I volunteered for a patrol. We snuck up to the Danube and identified American tanks, which had been prevented from continuing their advance due to the blown-up bridge. We reported back immediately. In the meantime, an armor Leutnant was at the post in Regensburg. He read the list of stragglers. He found three names, alongside which was written: Panzer-Regiment 35. He immediately set out on foot the 10 kilometers to our regimental command post. Just when I arrived back with the patrol report, I was summoned to the regiment. I was only thinking of American tanks and was completely surprised to see the platoon leader of our recovery platoon, Leutnant Konrad Küfner, standing in front of me. Just a few weeks ago, he had been in the Danzig Pocket with me. I didn’t want to believe my eyes. Who would not have recognized him, our Küfner! How may tank crews waited expectantly for him until he show up with his prime mover.

He never abandoned us at the front, no matter where it was or the situation. He immediately ensured that I got out of the infantry unit and then went on to Regensburg to await me there. When I reported out of the command post, there were also two men from the 1st Battalion there. They had been-press ganged into the infantry as well. We were sent on our way with a few bottles of Schnaps from unit stores. Outside the gates to the city, my two comrades were so fogged up from the spirits released from those bottles that they had to sleep it off at a bus stop at a worker’s settlement. Despite my best efforts, I could not get them to move on. Since I had promised Leutnant Küfner to get there right away, I continued on, alone. As a punishment, the two “sleepyheads” had to climb over the iron remnants of the Danube Bridge that jutted out of the water to escape premature capture. I believe I was the last person to cross the old, stone bridge of Regensburg before it was blown up. The next day, I went with Leutnant Küfner in the direction of Munich-Sauerlach. He had a valuable possession—a bicycle. In comradeship, we shared the bike. Two days later, the two “black sheep” arrived as stragglers in Sauerlach as well. There, all of us were equipped with modern assault rifles.129 Our path took us farther, all the way to the Enns in the Steiermark region of Austria. On 6 May 1945, a good month after having left our Panzer-Regiment 35 in Danzig, the three tankers who had joined the cause with Leutnant Küfner laid down their arms and went into American captivity.

Wassil—The Story on an Unusual Friendship Hans Schäufler When we crossed the Bug at Brest-Litowsk on 21 June 1941 and entered Russian territory, a cheap booklet was pressed into our hands that contained a few Russian phrases. Among others, there were: Sdrasd widje!—Good day! Rucki werch!—Hands up! I practically twisted my tongue off when I tried to emulate the unaccustomed sounds. To be perfectly honest, I did not make any special effort to learn that difficult language over the weeks that followed. On 10 July 1941, I was given the mission of accompanying a large combat raid with my landline section. At the time, I was the platoon leader of the signals platoon. We went across the Dnjepr on rafts. We had been directed to reconnoiter the enemy field fortifications. We were able to wade through the marshland without any serious resistance and enter the woods. But then all hell broke loose. The Russians had allowed us to approach, whereupon they had us in their grips. They attacked us from all sides. As long as it was daylight, we had been able to save our skins—albeit with difficulty—even though our retreat route had been cut off. But we were anxious with the approach of night, since the Russians were not only numerically superior to us, they knew the terrain better than we did. Furthermore, they were better suited to that type of fighting and were more connected to their natural surroundings than we were. But our brigade commander, Oberst von Saucken, was an old “fox of the woods.” Whenever the enemy set out to launch his decisive attack, we slithered off into the darkness, and the enemy forces engaged one another. Finally, the morning arrived, a morning we all yearned for. We screened the paths through the woods. The Russians regrouped for another attack, and we expected support. I was standing with a comrade behind a thick oak. From there, we saw three Russian soldiers approaching us. They were pulling an antitank gun into position. They got closer and closer: 100 meters … 50 meters … 20 meters. They were young fellows with Asian features. From our cover, I aimed at the lead man with my submachine gun. None of his movements, none of his facial expressions, escaped me. I had never aimed at a living human before in my life. I experienced the entire absurdity of war in the space of a few minutes. I found myself unable to dispatch the soldier with the clever eyes and the broad, goodnatured face, just because he was a Russian and I was a German. He had never done anything to me, after all. But if I didn’t do it, he would pull the trigger. But we also couldn’t wait until the three had emplaced the gun. There was only one solution. We had to try to overpower them and take them prisoner.

But, damn it, how did you say “Hands up!” in Russian again? Sdrasd widje! or Rucki werch! It was one or the other, for sure, but which one? I couldn’t remember, no matter how hard I tried, so I opted for the first one. Just as the three men were lifting their gun over a shot-off tree branch, the two of us jumped onto the path and I yelled, as loudly as I could: Sdrasd widje! As if they were nailed in place, the three Russians stood there as if they had been struck by lightning. It seemed to be an eternity to me. They did nothing. I wanted to yell out Sdrasd widje! again but, in the excitement, I was only able to sputter, and I probably did not seem like such a happy figure there. Then the face of the soldier in front, into whose eyes I was staring, broadened into a wide grin. He tore off his helmet in a single, graceful arm movement and bent forward like a cavalier. He did not take his eyes off of me, either. He replied: Sdrasd Pan!—Good day, sir! Then it started to dawn on me that instead of telling him to get his hands up, I had wished him a good day! That’s how we became acquainted, Wassil and I. It didn’t take too long, and we were soon sharing a cigarette. All three of them could speak a little bit of German, so they were soon telling us their life stories. Wassil had grown up in the northern woods, far to the east. Later, he was a “specialist,” as he proudly informed us, in a tractor factory on the far side of the Urals. Even today, I do not wish to reveal his hometown or his family name. You can never know. It took another two days before our vehicles were able to cross the Dnjepr. The Russians had blown up the bridges, and our engineers first had to construct a provisional bridge under difficult circumstances under artillery fire. In the meantime, we were left to our own devices. We had succeeded in getting out of the woods, and we had reached a small locality with a few peasant huts. Initially, none of us received any rations. We had to live off the land—as it is romantically referred to. Wassil proved to be a terrific artisan at cooking. He “procured” potatoes, carrots and whatever else you needed for an unassuming meal. He fixed the meals for all of us. He did not pay attention to the war or to the fireworks around us. In the short time we were together, I learned to respect and love this unassuming man, whose eyes beamed when I came back from operations. After three days, our tanks finally arrived. The prisoners had to be taken to the collection point, including Wassil, even though I did not want him to leave. But what was he going to do up front with us? When we were going to continue moving the next day, I went back into the poor peasant hut, where Wassil had previously cooked. I really don’t know why. Initially, I thought I was seeing a ghost. My prisoner-of-war, whom I had thought to be some 50 kilometers farther to the rear by then, appeared out of a dark corner and said with a smile: “I staying with you, chief … you need me, perhaps.” He looked me with pleading eyes. I thought he had lost his mind, before I understood he was deadly serious. My company commander allowed Wassil to go with the field kitchen after I portrayed his positive traits in the rosiest of colors.

We continued on, clear through Russia. Wassil was very useful. He repaired and maintained the vehicles of the mess section. Later on, he was the driver for the mess truck. He was a “jack of all trades” and helped to bury many a dear comrade. He soon became a familiar part of the company. I never saw him unsatisfied. He saved up all of his cigarettes for me, and I gave him my ration of Schnaps, which he enjoyed with visible pleasure. He taught me about Russia, as it really was—its language, its people. He never talked about the war or Communism. When I asked him for the first and last time what he thought about it all, he answered, short and to the point: “Has Hitler asked, you like shooting at Russkis … Stalin not ask me if I want to kill Germans. We are friends, chief, why ask about war?” Yes, he always called me chief as long as he was with us. Probably because he considered himself to be my own personal prisoner-of-war. The Russian winter descended on us, the clueless, like a natural catastrophe. 30 … 40 … 51 degrees below zero ambushed us cultivated denizens of comfortable quarters. Our tanks froze up into immobile steel behemoths outside of Moscow and remained there. The motor oil turned as thick as man-made honey, and the batteries in the vehicles turned into clumps of ice overnight. Wassil taught us to drain the warm oil out of the vehicles and dismount the batteries and take them into our quarters for the night … among other tricks, as well. By then, we had grown accustomed to the warm stink of the panje huts … the lice … the bugs … and the fleas. The main thing: We were warm. The snow grew to two meters in height. The war gradually froze. That was the time for Wassil to shine. He “procured” a light sleigh and upholstered it with straw to keep us warm. Then he showed up with a rangy panje horse. It was a joy to go hunting with Wassil in the Russian winter. We laid our telephone lines from the sleigh; we used it to check for breaks in the lines and to reconnoiter. Wassil’s native ways and his instinctive sense of direction were very useful to us. In the meantime, he had become a Hiwi, a Hilfswilliger or volunteer.130 In the meantime, his German had become so good that we were able to use him as a translator. Then the Russian winter offensive started. Once again, we were cut off with every connection to the rear. Chatkowo was the name of the village in the central sector that I will never forget. It was a bitterly cold winter’s night. The skies were chock full of stars, and the snow crunched underneath. The Russians were attacking from three sides at once. The telephone line, which was so urgently important at the moment, had been shot up. We had to go out into the bitterly cold night, into the artillery fire to look for breaks in the lines. Suddenly, we wound up between the Russians. A dull blow knocked me to the ground. I was unable to stand up. My right thigh turned hot and was hurting. When I felt the spot with my hand, I noticed that everything was covered in blood, which immediately turned to ice. My comrades were gone. I attempted to crawl, following the lines. I was able to go a short distance, then my strength left me. My legs started to slowly lose any feeling. Just don’t become unconscious—that was my only thought at the time— otherwise, it’s all over. No one ever woke up at those temperatures. Then I saw a shadow that was feeling its way along the cable. The figure approached ever closer. I was no longer fully conscious when Wassil checked me and protected my wound from freezing. In my sub-consciousness, I perceived how he picked me up by the

belt and dragged me out of the beaten path of the fires and behind a snow bank. He wrapped me in my coat there, gathered me up in his powerful arms and carried me, running, through the machine-gun and artillery fires to the switchboard. He rubbed my numb limbs with coarse snow until they started to hurt. Then he dressed my wound with practiced hands. Thank God, it was a flesh wound that had not struck the bone. The wound healed quickly, even without a doctor. Wassil spent night and day at my side. For his friendship and service to me, I gave him an amulet that I had always worn around my neck. My mother had given it to me before the war. The terrible winter finally came to an end. Wassil drove the field kitchen for three entire years. He took it back over the Oka, over the Dnjepr, over the Beresina, over the Bug and into Kurland. The fortunes of war had long since abandoned the German forces. We continued to distance ourselves more and more from Wassil’s homeland. He was a Freiwilliger and wore a field-gray uniform, like us. I never heard him complain or grumble. His world had become the company. In 1944, he was allowed to go on home leave with a comrade to Germany for four weeks. When he returned, he was more serious and thoughtful than he had been before. He had discovered that we had mothers at home who were waiting for us and who were anxious for us. His mother was also so unreachably far away. There was no way back there. He then started to talk about his home a lot. I could tell he was homesick. And then the signs of the terrible end that was to come started to gradually appear. The German forces had been driven out of Russia and then out of Poland. We were fighting at Danzig. It was clear to all of us—Wassil as well—that it was only a matter of weeks before the unholy war would finally come to an end. We then saw on German soil what had been done. Unfortunately, we recognized too late how irresponsible and ambitious people had senselessly sacrificed the youth of Europe. The world that we had believed in collapsed like a house of cards. I no longer had any will to live. Wassil would not let me out of his sight for a second. He still had courage, even though the end he was facing was much more difficult. That helped give me strength. The time had come to consider how I could help him. It was inconceivable what would happen to him if he went into Russian captivity with us. There was no doubt that he would be among the first to be executed by his countrymen. But if Wassil were to succeed in getting out to Germany somehow—what then? He would never again be able to visit his homeland or to see his parents. He had saved my life. Now it was my turn to do the same for him. But how was that to be done so that the enemy would not be suspicious? When I went past a prisoner-of-war camp at Heubude, I suddenly had an idea. I had Wassil sent there, where he was given the papers of a Russian prisoner and clothed as one. Then I brought him back with me. We when later evacuated a burning Danzig that night, I left him behind in a safe basement. I had coached him on the role he was to play for a long time. If he didn’t contradict himself, then nothing bad would probably happen to him. I was not ashamed of my tears as I shook my friend Wassil’s hand for the last time and he silently hugged me: “Farewell, Wassil. Lots of luck to you tomorrow and for the rest of

your life. Thank-you for everything and greet your mother for me.” I was fortunate enough after the ceasefire to escape the hard fate of Russian captivity. After a long journey, I returned home in December 1945. I found a Ukrainian in my apartment, who had served with the German armed forces. He had become homeless. He took his fate hard. I tried to make things a little bit easier for him, since I always thought about Wassil. I hoped that he had made it home. In 1951, I was summoned to the registrar’s office. I was handed a letter there that had been opened and which only bore my name and my address on the outside. I held it in my hands for a long time, before I opened it with some trepidation. There was not a single line in it. It only contained a well-worn amulet, the amulet I had given Wassil in 1942. I felt the worn-smooth surface with my fingers, almost caressingly. Then I felt that something had been scratched into the surface. With some difficulty, I deciphered the Russian writing: Karascho —Wassil. In good English: Everything is fine, Wassil. No matter how it happened, thank God for Wassil’s happy return home! Thank-you, Wassil, for your message! May the heavens repay you for what you did for me during those hard years. I am not capable of doing it. You have become unreachable for me! Although we can send satellites to Venus in our modern world, a friend still cannot write a friend.131

The end of 4. Panzer-Division and Panzer-Regiment 35 on the Weichsel River in May 1945.



CHAPTER 10

The Last Days of Panzer-Regiment 35

Gruppe Küspert Kurt Moser, Oberfeldwebel in the 3. /Panzer-Regiment 35 132 I was an Oberfeldwebel with the 3rd Company and was with my unit on the Vistula Spit.133 We constructed bunkers there as protection against Russian bombers and fighterbombers. We could no longer consider conducting operations, since we did not have any more tanks. Over time, the rumor went around that a Kampfgruppe was being formed that was supposed to be employed in the area around Berlin and which would be equipped with new tanks. The most experienced people were selected from the companies and assembled for movement. The group was called Gruppe Küspert. I was part of it. We were indescribably happy. After a while, things were ready to proceed. On 15 April, we marched to the beach. We were transported to the Hela Peninsula on military ferries. We waited there to be loaded out. We really wanted to get away from that hopeless, unpleasant witch’s cauldron. During the evening of 16 April, we were transported by means of small boats to the 7,000-ton Goya and loaded. With us were about 1,000 badly wounded and 3,000 to 4,000 women and children, all refugees. Along with the crew, there were well more than 6,000 people on board. There were other ships still in the harbor, including the cruiser Prinz Eugen. It was around 2000 hours. Then we got our first greetings from the enemy. The Russians must have noticed that something was going on, since they approached the harbor with some 25 to 30 bombers and arbitrarily dropped their bombs on the ships, but without scoring much success. We had a few wounded as the result of bomb shrapnel. The Flak put down a good curtain of fire, with the result that it was difficult for the Russians to drop their payloads with accuracy. After the aerial attack, things did not take too long to get moving. The convoy was already assembled. We were allowed to steam out. We all breathed a sigh of relief, even though the Goya was completely overloaded. The many people on board were not registered. We were in a compartment amidship on a lower deck. It was about 40 square meters. It was packed man to man in the passageways. It was difficult to get topside. Around 2315 hours, I started to feel uncomfortable below deck. I was no longer able to bear the bad air and the unaccustomed heat. I told Feldwebel Hungerland: “Let’s go up to get some fresh air.” But he said to me sleepily: “You go … then I can stretch out.” I forced my way topside by myself. It was pitch black up there. Suddenly, I heard a command: “Submarine danger! Everyone put on life vests!” Unfortunately, there were not enough available. I did not have one. We were still of the opinion that there were no submarines in the Baltic. Correspondingly, I was not too ruffled. But I was soon taught a lesson. It was just before 2400 hours. A troop transport in our convoy had mechanical problems. It was directed to be towed. That was our fate. Our ship was very modern and had diesel engines and dual screws. The other one still had a boiler room. The Goya turned about to approach along side the other ship. At that point, two mighty detonations shook the Goya.134 At first, I thought we had hit a mine. By the time I recovered from the

shock and looked around, the ship was already listing to one side. I had to hold on for dear life to keep from falling off the deck. A short while later, we were horizontal again, and I was hoping that everything would then go well. But, in the next moment, the deck was already flooding. I then realized the terrible seriousness of the situation. The ship was sinking. I then heard rounds being fired. There was no saving the comrades below deck. We wanted to release the lifeboats, but were unsuccessful. I climbed up to the bridge, but it only took a few seconds before I was surrounded by water there. The Goya had split in two. A lot of comrades jumped into the water. I remained on board; that was what saved me. When the water was up to my neck, I tried to get out of the suction, since I am not a half-bad swimmer. But no success. I was sucked into the depths. I was still fully conscious and was fighting for my life. Suddenly, the mast of the sinking ship approached me. I grasped on to it. Then the improbable happened. I assume it was a pocket of air from the ship that was shooting me to the top. I could breath again. Light buoys lit up the night. I saw a lot of people treading water. In my need, I grabbed on to floating pieces of baggage. Then I reached a life raft. With all of my remaining strength, I was able to pull myself up into it. A sailor and a woman helped me get all the way in. We floated around on the water for about two hours. All of a sudden, I heard: “Come over here, Panzer-Regiment 35.” But I could not see anything. A large shadow glided past us. It was a surfaced submarine. We kept very quiet. It did not notice us. Those were terrible hours. Then we saw a black behemoth approach us, a German destroyer. We drew attention to ourselves by shouting and waving. Someone immediately threw us a line. We held on to it, and the crew pulled us up to the ship’s hull. We were quickly pulled aboard. The destroyer was only able to pick up 50 survivors. It then had to quickly depart, since Russians submarines had been reported. The next morning, German fast boats searched the area. I do not believe they found many survivors, since the water was very cold. The Goya sank 50 nautical miles from Hela. It would be impossible for even a single swimmer to have reached shore. Only 250 people could be rescued from the 6,000. Seven were soldiers from PanzerRegiment 35. When I was brought ashore at Copenhagen, I was afforded the opportunity to see all of them. From there, we attempted to contact the regiment by radio concerning the disaster. I do not believe the message was received. Besides me, those saved from the regiment are Feldwebel Hannemann, Unteroffizier Wehner, Unteroffizier Grohs, Gefreiter Jung, Obergefreiter Veit and Gefreiter Burckhardt.

The Sinking of the Goya Jochen Hannemann, Feldwebel 16 April 1945—Just after 2000 hours, the Goya steamed out of the Hela harbor with 6,488 soldiers, wounded and refugees on board. Two minesweepers accompanied it. We had been assigned quarters amidship below deck. Soldiers, women and children were standing, sitting and laying everywhere along the passageways, the cabins and the cargo compartments. You could barely move. It was hot and the air was stagnant. I went up topside again and again to get fresh air. That’s probably what saved me. The night was clear and filled with stars; the sea was calm. It was painfully cold outside. Just before midnight—I was back on deck again—there were two dull blows. The ship was lifted; gigantic columns of water rose to the pitch-black skies and splashed on the deck. The lights went out abruptly. A terrible panic started within the ship’s interior. Everyone was pressing for the exits. Tragic scenes took place on the stairwells of the lower decks. A struggle between life and death started. No one will ever know what happened within the ship’s interior. Horrible, appalling—that’s what it must have been like. The water cascaded and rushed into the giant holes torn by the torpedoes. The ship broke apart in the middle and sank rapidly. The roar of the water was unearthly. When I was no longer able to hold on to the ship anymore, I jumped over the reeling into the icy flood of the Baltic. A gigantic wave carried me away. Suddenly, a life raft leapt up in front of me, which the water pressure had most likely ripped away from the sinking Goya. I succeeded in holding on to the life raft. Later on, there was a cluster of humans clinging onto the raft. We desperately fought the waves in the ice-cold water for two hours. We were completely exhausted, when a naval vessel arrived and picked us up. I counted 172 people who had been rescued. More than 6,000 sank with the Goya at the moment they thought they were moving back to life and had left all the dangers behind them. During the afternoon, those of us shipwrecked were transferred from the Navy vessels to the Kronfels, a transport ship, which took us to Copenhagen. Of the 200 men in Gruppe Küspert, 7 survived.

My Last Letter Home Hans Schäufler I wrote a thousand letters to You, from the east, the west and all over the world, just field post letters, in the tank, in a hole in the ground, in the tent. Sometimes, just a few words, a fleeting scribble, on a field postcard, on a scrap of paper. I wrote home quickly, when everyone around me was asleep. I used every pause, for—perhaps—the last letter. If the news comes from the front, that it’ll always be night for me, Give thanks for every hour, that You thought of me! Take my field post letters, from the east, the west and all over the world, burn the thousand letters, forget what I told you. Written at the forestry building on the Vistula Spit on 25 April 1945

Diary Entries Ulrich Sachse, Oberleutnant in Panzeraufklärungs-Abteilung 4 End of April 1945—Pillau was in Russian hands. The reconnaissance battalion and the 1st Battalion of Panzer-Regiment 35 were rushed through Stutthof to the Vistula Spit to be committed. The enemy had landed at Neutief on the spit. The armored car sections raced ahead of the rest. Moving rapidly, moving past the survivors of the East Prussian collapse, who were dragging themselves back, the armored cars headed to the east. Fists raised in anger shocked us. “You’re making the war last longer!” They called out. We knew what those men had already experienced. We started to hesitate. Were they right, after all? But we were responsible for seeing that those demoralized men were loaded onto ships for transport, along with the hundreds of thousands of other soldiers—no matter the cost. The load-out point at Nickelswalde was getting 30,000 men out every night. The armored car sections arrived in time to destroy a massed landing effort on boats just off the coastline of the bay with their machine guns and automatic cannon. A hard struggle then started on the spit, only a few hundred meters across. Defense, followed by attack, followed by withdrawal, followed by defense—from blocking position to blocking position. Enemy tanks in front, gun boats in the sea and the bay; shells, rockets, bombs, bombs, bombs. We forced our way through the narrow corridor of the spit for 40 kilometers in a hail of lead that was without compare. It was not until we were a few kilometers outside of Kahlberg that the Russian attack came to a standstill.

Tankers with the Infantry Georg Heymer, Unteroffizier in the 3./Panzer-Regiment 35 3 May 1945—Ever since 20 March, I had been detailed to the infantry along with 14 men of Panzer-Regiment 35. We had an endless odyssey behind us. It was terrible to be separated from your old comrades in a situation like that. We wound up with the 2nd Battalion of Panzergrenadier-Regiment 12. We were given the mission of occupying Blocking Position 7a. From our trench line we could see out not only to the Baltic but also to the bay, since the sandbar was very narrow at that location and we were on a rise. In front of us and behind us were thick woods. Other companies of the 12th were supposed to be to the right and left of us—at least that’s what we were told. 4 May 1945—The night was relatively quiet. That morning, engineers came back from the position in front of us that they had evacuated. They initially remained at our location to brief us. They were experienced in trench and positional warfare and had been well trained and equipped for that type of fighting. We, on the other hand, only had old rifles that came from a replacement detachment in Elbing; bullets made out of iron with a copper-colored coating; an ancient machine gun that had to be fed with the same type of ammunition. Our meager armament was rounded out by a few hand grenades and a Panzerfaust. We were babes in the woods compared to the engineers, not only in equipment but in experience in infantry combat. Towards noon, the engineers received orders to head to the Vistula Cut to be shipped out. We remained behind with very mixed feelings. Right after that, a soldier of my section was killed by mortar shrapnel. Since we did not hear or see anything of our neighbors in the trenches to the right or the left, I sent two men to establish contact. Things did not seem quite right to me. Based on our previous experiences, a Russian attack was to be expected at first light. My hunch proved correct. Neither the area towards the lagoon or towards the Baltic was occupied. I immediately sent a messenger to the company headquarters, but that did nothing to change the facts at hand, of course. So, we were all by ourselves. The night was cold, and it started to rain. Everything was just plain grim. 5 May 1945—The morning started to dawn. The lively mortar fire around us and the increasing intensity of the artillery on the rear positions announced a Russian attack. It soon started to come to life in the underbrush of the woods. Our machine gun, which was a bit forward due to the run of the trenches, started to hammer away. Here and there, the rifles began to fire. Visibility was still poor. What was going on to the right and left remained unknown to us, since we did not have any time to observe there. The Russians were right in front of our positions. The bad ammunition gave us a lot of headaches. The first to go was the machine gun; it could not be made to fire again. Then, several of the rifles had misfires. The sand and the rain didn’t help, either. Soon, barely a third of our weapons were firing. Towards the end, not a single rifle was intact. Despite the best of

intent, we had no other choice but to fall back to the next blocking position, since the Russians were entering the position from the sides and we were unable to defend ourselves. Total confusion reigned. I ordered the men to work their way back individually and to rally behind the rise. We threw our hand grenades into a bunker in front of us, which the Russians had already occupied, followed by the Panzerfaust. Protected by the detonations, we slid down from the steep slope. The other comrades were already waiting below. We quickly disappeared in the thick underbrush. But there were Russians already in there as well; they must have bypassed us. For the moment, they did not identify us. We worked our way through the thicket. The Russians quickly realized the original position was no longer occupied and covered us with fire from all of their weapons. Things were still going reasonably well for us. We only had two slightly wounded men, who were able to make it back on their own. The commander of the grenadier company instructed us to assemble in the rear with the trains. There were weapons everywhere on the ground. We were able to trade in our old rifles for the new assault rifles, when we discovered there was no ammunition available for them. So we held on to the historical firearms. After going a few kilometers, we ran into a Nebelwerfer battery that was just launching a salvo. The men immediately disappeared in their bunkers and holes in the ground. We also disappeared pretty quickly, since we had an idea of what was going to follow. And we weren’t disappointed. Within minutes, salvo after salvo came sailing over from the mainland and covered the Nebelwerfer personnel. One of our comrades cried out and fell in the sand. But the shrapnel had been stopped by his canteen. Other than a bruise on his upper thigh, he was not hurt. But we needed to get out of that miserable place, and in a hurry! The next salvo landed a good distance behind us.

Knocked Out at the Very End Herman Bix, Oberfeldwebel in the 3./Panzer-Regiment 35 At the Vistula Lagoon we were positioned behind Blocking Position 7 as a screening force. I believe it must have been around 6 May. The Russians were felling trees in front of me, as if they wanted to create an obstacle. What was that all about? Did Ivan intend to dig in there? No, that wasn’t what he wanted to do. He was attempting to bring up a heavy tank under cover of the felled trees that was supposed to take me out. I saw blue smoke and heard the sounds of an engine, which sounded pretty damned familiar to me. Then a few Russians scurried about the area and pulled away branches … and I was staring into the mouth of a gigantic gun. That couldn’t be a tank … distance 400 meters … load AT … I shouted through the microphone. After the round was fired, there was smoke around me; pine needles continued to fall from the trees for a few seconds. But there was no telltale jet of flame. That meant we had not hit the “barn door” dead on. A second round, then a third showed no effect. Then Ivan fired. The first round landed in the muck in front of us. The second one went half a meter above my head. The third one found its mark. I felt the deflector on the main gun being wrenched high; the Panther was jolted. The gunner could no longer see anything; his optics had been blown to pieces. When I opened the breechblock to look through the tube to aim, I found the deflector up on the edge of the turret. The mantlet must have been knocked loose from its mounting bolts. Time to get out of there. I had to pull back, if I didn’t want to be blown to pieces. I knew that Feldwebel Hofknecht was along the bay in the dunes. He had to come to my location. I radioed to him that he was to go after the Russian battering ram from the side. Both Hofknecht and Leutnant Fintelmann heard me. Both of them immediately came to my aid. I pulled back and Fintelmann raced past me into my old position. I called out to him to be careful, but it was already too late. He also received a nasty hit on the gun mantlet. Hofknecht was luckier. He fired an AT round into the Russian’s underbelly, and then another one. And, look there, the Russian crew dismounted. He moved up to the behemoth; the nonplussed crew surrendered. Then he took a close look and determined the assault gun had a frontal armor of some 20 centimeters. My three rounds were in the middle of the front armor, but then had only penetrated 10 centimeters.135 Even a Jagdpanther was unable to penetrate that much armor. Despite all that, however, it still rankled me that I had lost the duel after 75 successful “kills.”

And That Was the End The Final Pages of My Diaries, Hans Schäufler

FROM THE VISTULA LOWLANDS TO KIEL BAY These unrhymed lines were written during the hard drumbeat of bursting shells and the wild rush of the stormy Baltic when paralyzing uncertainty and dull despair ate away at our hearts and the struggle for our naked existence greedily devoured all of our strength. Stylistically, there is no doubt that some parts could be improved, and, with the knowledge gained by 1967, much more dramatically presented, but the pages of my diary —long since yellowed and battered—are intended to provide witness to my thoughts and feelings from the most difficult days of my life in the words used from back then. This song of praise concerning the performance of duty—with no fanfare—and for unconditional comradeship should be heard in the melodies of 1945. 7 May 1945—We have been engaged in murderous fighting, which has been conducted with a harshness heretofore never experienced in the war, for the last 10 days along the Vistula Spit northeast of Danzig. It is a battle of attrition that has no comparison. Weaponless figures in tattered uniforms with gray faces and deep-lying, glazed eyes from which the terror peers out at you hasten along the corduroy road of the spit day and night towards the rear. They are the survivors from the defeated armies from Samland136 and Königsberg, which, somehow and someway, were able to cross the lagoon in some sort of adventurous manner. Wounded on top of more wounded; the field dressings drenched and turned black. But no one will allow his dressings to be reapplied—back—pull back and only pull back. Get out of the storm of steel and lead; get away from the front that shows no mercy! The Russians placed light artillery fire down on the narrow spit of land— in some places only 800 meters across—incessantly. Ratsch-bumm, that’s our name for them. Along with dozens of Stalin organs and, above all, hundreds of mortars. Coming across from the lagoon were “heavy suitcases” from 180 guns. From the Baltic, we received broadsides from Russian naval vessels. Soviets tanks—Stalins, Shermans, T-34’s—and innumerable antitank guns engaged the coast, the tank trail, the main road. Our tank battalion, the I. /Panzer-Regiment 35—to be exact, 80 survivors and 12 sick Panthers of Panzer-Regiment 35—has been employed in support of the 7. InfanterieDivision on the Vistula Spit east of Schnackenburg. The positions had been improved. There was a continuous line running from the lagoon to the Baltic every two kilometers. Two to three positions in a row were constantly manned. But the Russians literally buried the trenches with the fires from their heavy weapons; they cut lanes in the woods with their firing. The merciless fighting played itself out in the Föhren Forest. The rounds exploding in the tree crowns were terrible. They made almost any movement outside of the protective trenches or the tanks almost impossible. The badly wounded could only be evacuated by creating new victims. Deep-blue skies—the weather was horribly nice. There wasn’t a single hour, day or night when Russian aircraft weren’t howling over the tree tops. Constantly, from first light

to evening twilight, the Russian aviators circled and jogged, strafed and hunted above the shot-up pines. Hissing, their rockets streamed onto the road, into the battery positions and anywhere, where there was anything that moved. Automatic cannon and machine-gun fires streaked through the sparse woods. Trees split apart, limbs and crown broke off—and then the next dozen showed up. Not a round of antiaircraft fire; not a single German fighter made an appearance. Without any type of support, forgotten by God and the world, the survivors of the 2. Armee conducted a sacrificial fight without comparison. We had not been fighting for the Vaterland for some time; we no longer fought to achieve a cheap victory. We were standing there because thousands of refugees, eyes wide with fear and limbs trembling, were waiting on the banks of the Vistula and on the Hela Peninsula for ships that were still supposed to come. Tens of thousands had already boarded ships. The front had to hold; otherwise, it was all over! Then, the bright singing of the “Boston” high-altitude bombers. Twenty … forty … sixty … then it started to roar. A bursting lasting minutes—the earth heaved and shook— seconds, that turned to hours—and then the bone-chilling cry of the wounded: “Medic!” That was the worst thing about it! It was enough to drive you crazy; it was enough to cause despair—this inhumane war with unequal means and forces. And, despite that, every soldier knew that we had to hold out as long as it took until the last refugee and the last wounded comrade was on board a ship. It was said, according to a rumor, that it was intended to transport us of there out with the Navy during the night of 9/10 May. The grenadiers stood their ground—iron, bitter and, in some cases, in conscious self-sacrifice. The best regiments of the German armed forces fought as bravely at the end as they did on the first day. That things were coming to an end—everyone knew that. The Russians attack: three times, four times, five times in a row. He thought he had wiped out all signs of life with his wave of fires. But they received heavy defensive fires from every trench, which also became the graves for many.137 The front had to be pulled back to the next prepared position after the forward positions were bled white, since the hail of fire did not allow reinforcements or ammunition to be brought forward. But the front held. The Russians were also taking high casualties, even though they had relatively few infantry forces in play. Our tanks accomplished the impossible. They had been in combat for 10 days without a break. In addition, the terrain was not suited for combat vehicles, as could well be imagined. And, despite all that, it was the tanks that gave the infantry a moral backstop at critical moments. Sometimes, they were the only ones fighting. 1500 hours on 7 May—A portion of the soldiers of our battalion were loaded. They had been waiting on the beach since early yesterday. Only eight tank crews were left here; all volunteers, most of them officers. Three tanks were still fully operational. Five immobilized tanks were towed in the next to last position and dug in up to their turrets. They were directed to be used as gun bunkers. One assault gun, which had a damaged main gun, was converted to a command and control tank by the addition of radio

equipment, since our regimental command vehicle—the good, old R 01—was destroyed by the Russians in close combat yesterday. 2300 hours—A foreign radio station announced the unconditional surrender of Germany. For us here, that would be the worst thing that could happen in our current situation. That would mean that all of us on the Vistula Spit would go into Russian captivity. Just the thought alone that our holding out would not bear any fruit for us personally was terrible. Of course, who hadn’t played with those thoughts anyway over the last few weeks? But now, now that it was so close to reality, it sent a cold shiver down the spine. The only small hope we had remaining was that the division knew nothing of a capitulation. We formed plans, considered this thing, discussed that—but we wouldn’t admit defeat just yet—we would continue to fight. 0800 hours on 8 May—A blood-red sun rose out of the Baltic. It showed us unmistakably that the last German warships had disappeared. They had represented hope to us. A wonderful May day started to bloom over us. Despair chewed at the pit of our stomachs. A slight breeze from the east played with the tops of the pine trees, but the breeze smelled of blood and death and corpses. We felt abandoned by the entire world. The sand spit had turned so empty over night. The front was quiet, suspiciously quiet. The Russians appeared to be saving themselves for the victory celebrations. It was directed that the positions be pulled back. Only a small bridgehead was to remain. Something was in the works. The line, where we had emplaced our five tanks, was not to be occupied. The combat vehicles were to be blown up. Only the three operational Panthers remained crewed. All of the soldiers that were not part of a crew were to be loaded on ships. I checked all of the radio equipment one more time. There was a crashing in the woods everywhere. Prime movers, guns and vehicles of all types were being blown up. An unsettling experience. Everyone wanted to get away, get away from the witch’s cauldron. It was understandable. 1400 hours—I received orders to immediately march to the harbor with all nonessential soldiers. Our radio SPW was there; it had contact with the ferries. I noticed that something was not quite right there. What I then discovered was terrible. The ships that had steamed out were not returning. Even the ferries on which we were to be loaded were already out to the open sea. Heading for Germany. They had departed half empty, someone said to me. A few ships were still there, but there were hundreds of soldiers waiting on the beach. 1700 hours—The news that had been in everyone’s mouth as a rumor appeared to be true: Effective 2301 hours today, there was a ceasefire, an unconditional surrender. No one talked about it, but it could be read in everyone’s face. We were sitting in a trap. Over there, far to the east, we had defended every foot of ground to here with so much blood and unspeakable deprivation—all in vain. There was a future in front of us that we did not dare think about. Our homeland, which we imagined in our blindness we were defending on the Volga, had forgotten us at that point, written us off. By our holding out, we had allowed hundreds of thousands of refugees to get away. But Germany had no ships

for us. It was only a question of hours before the trap snapped shut. No one wanted to remain where we were. That was the unuttered wish that was written on everyone’s disappointed face. And despite all that, perhaps for the last time in the history of our people, German discipline showed itself, soldierly bearing and order and, above all, a comradeship that had grown over six hard years of war. Even though every one of those waiting in the endless lines knew that the two ships at anchor in the navigation channel represented the last chance to get back to the homeland, there was no tumult or panic an the dock. It was only a couple of excited Flak gunners and a few egotistical trains people who attempted to furtively make their way forward in the line. They were quickly rebuked with elbows and without a word. The combat troops of Panzeraufklärungs-Abteilung 4 were loaded on the last ferry. I succeeded in getting my 28 men on board as well. I was expressly ordered to go with them. But the radio SPW of the 2./Panzernachrichtungs-Abteilung 79 was still sitting out there on the beach with its four-man crew. It had been given the mission to remain until the very end. We had participated in many operations together. The commander of the reconnaissance battalion, Major von Gaupp, with whom many a shared experience bonded us, reminded me to finally get on board. I stood on the beach, indecisive. Then I went back to my radio crew. I was ashamed that I had even played with the idea of leaving them there by themselves. The loyal driver was fiddling with the machine gun. He had damp eyes. He told me with a voice choked with emotion: “I would have shot you off of that ship if you had left us here alone. I would never have been able to bear that disappointment.” 1720 hours—The ferry swam out into the Vistula. The comrades waved. I watched them, with both a heavy and a light heart at the same time. So, homeland, farewell! The whistling in the headphones startled us. A radio message: “Destroy the vehicle and the equipment … Unconditional surrender at 2301 hours … You are released from your oaths of duty … Try to get out as best you can … Out.” Then it was “out” for good. Deathly silence in the ether. The words hit us like hammer blows. The last barge was gone. Those still waiting had long since dispersed. We were alone at water’s edge. 1830 hours—We were lucky. We found an abandoned rubber raft. We established contact with the rearguards of Panzeraufklärungs-Abteilung 4, which were getting their two assault boats ready at the farthest end of the spit. The comrades promised to tow us as far as Hela. We couldn’t dare to risk the open sea with that little nutshell. 2000 hours—A motorboat pulled up along side us. We were filled with new hope. We asked whether we could ride along. We could see there was enough room. But the unfriendly gentlemen—we didn’t know them—did not even bother to respond to our question. They took off and left us there. It had started to turn dusk. We were discouraged. Then a small motorboat pulled alongside. A Major was on the deck and wave me over. Embarrassed, he asked me whether I was familiar with the Baltic and the engine. I didn’t have a clue regarding maritime wayfaring, but I didn’t tell him that. I boldly lied to his face and said yes. To reinforce my point, I pointed to the Russian compass I carried on my wrist. Before he even knew what was going on, my four men had disappeared onto the boat, since I knew we

had to act quickly, since it was starting to turn dark. The first group of “night owls” were on the horizon and were scattering their bombs. 2145 hours—We took off in the direction of Hela. The boat—it was called Zander— was packed to the rafters. There were 15 men on board; there was only seating for 5. But they main thing: We were afloat. The sea had some movement, and the small boat started bouncing. The first few men were turning seasick. The Vistula Spit behind us was getting smaller and smaller. We were still able to see the night-blue crowns of the pines along the horizon, which was growing steadily darker. Like the gaping mouth of a crocodile, the sandbanks at the mouth of the Vistula jutted far out into the Baltic. I could not shake the feeling that this animal was not going to let us loose. You could see the flashes of the impacting shells and bombs from afar, both behind us on the spit and in front of us on the Hela Peninsula. Searchlights were showing the “night owls” their way; pyrotechnics hung from parachutes and dangled in the blue skies of night. 2310 hours—We bottomed out several times. A narrow strip of land headed out in front of us into the sea. We perceived it more than we could see it. That had to be the Putzig Spit. That was where we should have landed, but it was so fearfully quiet there that we preferred to move around Hela in a wide arc. 0130 hours on 9 May—The broad, open expanse of the Baltic spread out in front of us. An uncertain future extended in front of us—full of dangers, perhaps, but also full of hopes. Even though our boat was not constructed for a trip out into the open sea, we were willing to risk it anyway, since it was the only possible chance to get back to our homeland. For the “land rats,” which was most of us, it was the first major trip out to sea. We steered a course to the northwest. We wanted to get to the island of Bornholm; perhaps as far as Kiel. Not a single man of the crew had any prior relationship with the sea or even with a motorboat. Where and how would this adventure end? 0400 hours—We steered a course west. It started to turn light. The Baltic was flat as a board. A motorboat approached us. Was it German? Yes, it was, but our happiness was dampened by the fact that it was the boat that had declined to take us aboard the day before. We permitted his company only out of a sense of self-preservation, since we might have needed his help in an emergency. 0530 hours—We sighted a boat that was not moving. The crew waved to us. The acting commander of our division, Oberst Hoffmann, and the division signals officer, Hauptmann Illinger, were on board. In addition, there was an Oberleutnant zur See and a senior seaman. The boat had engine problems. The four “shipwrecked” climbed aboard the Seeadler which was the name of the boat piloted by the unfriendly men. There was enough room there. 1000 hours—Several clouds of smoke came into view behind us; they got closer and closer. We could make out a large-sized convoy. We were afraid they were Russian ships. 1030 hours—The Seeadler had clutch problems. We stopped to check out the problem. It turned out that the crankshaft was broken. We started to tow the boat. The Zander was

only able to go at half speed. We calculated that if everything went well, it would take three days before we saw Kiel. After a lot of consideration, that was our objective. The laughable 65 horsepower engine of the Zander pounded along with difficulty. 1300 hours—Gray clouds swept over the Baltic. A bad storm was approaching. The boat tossed wildly back and forth. We soon learned to maneuver and curve about. Unfortunately, our course was again to the northwest, since we had to steer perpendicularly into the mighty waves. 1330 hours—The convoy moved past us to the rear. We determined to our satisfaction that they were the Vistula ferries. Russian bombers curved above them continuously, dropping their payloads. Torpedo aircraft attacked at low level. We saw columns of water spray skyward. So that’s what the Russians understood as a ceasefire! We did not desire to hook up with that group, as we had previously considered. That meant, however, that we also had to continue to tow the Seeadler by ourselves. The storm increased in intensity. The Zander took wild bounces. The Seeadler jerked on the hawsers; it tore loose. Everyone was throwing up. 1800 hours—The horrible wind picked up. We had to steer a course north. It started to turn dark. The clouds were hanging low. We didn’t have a good feeling. A terrible night was ahead of us. Meter-high waves played with the Zander. We had no idea what we needed to do. The boat was being steered by a truck driver. But there was no denying that he had never seen he interior of a motorboat his entire life. We expected our nutshell to capsize any moment. Our bag of floats had been torn loose by the storm for some time. As it had floated away, so had our chance of surviving. The Seeadler was like a block of lead on our backs. With every large wave, there was a jerk that shook the Zander to its core. The night was pitch black. In our hour of need, we discovered that our little boat had a searchlight and that it even worked. But even it was incapable of illuminating the sea in front of us in this type of storm. It calmed the nerves a bit, however, to be able to see a bit. The boat seemed to barely move forward. The night was an eternity. Occasionally, a star appeared for a few minutes through a tear in the cloud cover. My senses were on high alert. They registered every detail. Our little boat had become a play toy for the elements. A black abyss yawned in front of us at irregular intervals, followed by a growing green-gray mountain of a wave in the night sky. The game was repeated several hundred times. And each time we feared that the abyss or the wave was our end. 0530 hours, 10 May—Finally, it started to turn light. The storm did not abate, however. Since the start of our journey, I had stood by the helmsman. After all, I had flippantly agreed to steer the boat through the Baltic. I had nothing but recriminations for myself. Everyone was seasick, no, passed out. The wind continued to pick up. It then forced us to steer to the northeast. We did not dare to steer another course with our load; we feared we would capsize if we tried anything by hitting the mountains of waves perpendicularly. But we would never get to Kiel the way we were going. We were on the point of despair. 0800 hours—The storm had become even more insidious. The Seeadler tore loose. An entire plank was torn out of the deck of the Zander. We took on water. We tried to repair the hole in the roughest of seas. We were spewing our guts out, but we fought back with

all of our willpower to live and to avoid drowning. As a result, we actually succeeded in stopping the leak. We hooked the Seeadler up to another hook. We slowly started to pick up speed again. The course we had taken was starting to worry us. We made feverish calculations. When the storm started, we must have been about even with Stolp. Our plan then was to cross the Baltic so as to at least get some firm ground under our feet. Then we intended to steer generally west to get to the east coast of Denmark with the Swedish mainland in sight. From there, it would not be too difficult to get to Germany. Just get away from the Russians! We estimated the boat was barely doing five kilometers an hour. Perhaps that was a good thing, since that meant we had not gone too far east. But that damned storm had to stop sometime. But when would we finally reach land again? The helmsman was about to fall over from being so tired. But we could not, did not dare to, switch at that point. And so the second day went by with no land in sight. We had not even seen a single vessel. Where were we? Horrible, that raging, water-logged solitude. 1815 hours—We headed into another raven-black night, our third one. Although the skies had become clearer, the storm continued with unabated fury. Everything repeated itself that had occurred the previous night. We were more dead than alive. None of us wanted anything to eat, even though there were plenty of provisions. The engine used a lot of fuel. The reserves would not hold out much longer. What would we do then? Slowly, much too slowly, the hours slipped away. 0800 hours, 11 May—The Seeadler tore loose again. It tore out half a plank from our Zander. Water cascaded from the rear deck into the boat’s interior. The storm raged to point of driving us mad. We no longer had any way to tow the Seeadler. We tried everything to get the despairing comrades some help. We needed two hours to get to the stricken boat. It would sit on the crest of a wave like a duck, only to disappear into a glassgreen mass, shooting out of it again, like a rocket. The screw of the Zander turned in free air on occasion. The tow cable got caught up in it. With a jerk, the engine came to a stop. Out. At that point, both of the boats were exposed to the raging sea without any engine power. Even I started to see black then. A lot of us hadn’t had any hope for some time. But we did not give up the ghost; we continued to fight with the unchained elements. One of the men allowed a rope to be placed around him to try to pry the steel cable off the bent screw. All of us helped to keep from colliding with the Seeadler, which was dancing next to us. In the meantime, the man actually succeeded in working the cable loose from the screw. All of us listened intently into the raging storm—listened to hear whether a miracle would happen—and the miracle, at least from our point of view, occurred: The engine started. The screw turned again. In the meantime, the Seeadler had been driven far away. It was clear to all of us that it was lost. Compared to the Zander, it was a large, seaworthy motorboat that could easily accommodate 25 men. The boat had sailed away from the Vistula Spit with three men on board, leaving us poor dogs behind. We had towed those egotists for two days and nights through the boiling sea. Our boat was overcapacity. For a moment, our sense of selfpreservation and a justified resentment let us consider thinking about leaving the Seeadler and its crew to its fate. It probably would not sink. The storm could not last forever, and a ship had to come by sometime. But Oberst Hoffmann, Hauptmann Illinger and the two

sailors were also still there. We thereupon threw all of our baggage, our backpacks, our laundry bags, the stores of rations—even our cameras—into the seething sea. We tore out anything that was not necessary that was on the boat. All of it wandered into the water to create space for seven people. A few things that had become near and dear to us and had accompanied us over the course of the war sunk in the waves. Other than a little bit of food, we kept nothing. Then we faced the most difficult part. We tried to get near the Seeadler. It was wonderful how the Zander glided through the water without all the extras. It took a long time before we got the seven men over to our boat by means of rope and swim vests. Then we fetched the fuel and the water. Everyone pitched in; the seasickness was forgotten. It was very difficult to keep the boat above water and away from the Seeadler in the rough swells and without moving. The Zander threatened to capsize several times or smash against the Seeadler. Hours passed. Finally, our boat was seven men heavier. A paymaster from the Seeadler crew brought along two fully packed rucksacks. He had seen us throw our baggage into the sea, so that we could take him aboard. As cool as a cucumber, he unpacked his delicacies—things we had not seen the entire war—and then ate demonstrably in front of us. He thought nothing of his unconscionable behavior. If my child should ever ask me sometime later in life what tactlessness is, then I would not be too far off in recounting the story of the paymaster. 1330 hours—Land in sight! Everybody crowded around the small window to look for the thin, gray band that meant life for us—life after two horrific nights, life after three terrible days. At the moment, it was immaterial what country it was. Land—land, firm ground. That was the main thing. We then saw a dark strip to both the left and the right. We hoped we had arrived at the Swedish coast, and feared that it could be Kurland. A lighthouse appeared n the distance. We talked it over and decided that we had to be between Öland138 and the Swedish east coast. We steered a course for the lighthouse, due north. The sea was not as wild in the vicinity of the land; perhaps, we just didn’t notice it so much at that point. Land—land. That was our only thought. We saw a buoy. We went around it three times, but we did not se anything that would allow us to determine what country was in front of us. We moved closer to the lighthouse. There were cliffs everywhere. We steered a course to the other side. A seaman in a silvertrimmed uniform was standing there. That was so wonderful to see another human standing on firm ground. He signaled us, but we did not understand what he meant. Although we did not understand his language, we knew it was not Russian. We breathed easier. A motorboat rapidly approached us from the mainland. There were men in blue uniforms in it. They did not look like Russians, either. Based on their appearance, they looked like Swedish police. We tried to make ourselves understood. But it didn’t work so well. We were able to determine that the city on front of us was Kalmar. The police boat wanted to escort us to land. The men in the boat did not seem too friendly. It was especially the two oldest ones who had a very official look on their faces. We certainly

weren’t expecting any help and understanding from those two. We struggled to come up with a decision. At that point, having seen land, we had gained new strength and hope; we had gotten our courage back. There was a pretty, green country in front of us, but it was not Germany. We were farther from our homeland at that point than we had been when we started. We thought we might be interned there in the bay, confiscation of our boat and even extradition to Russia. When and how would we get home? Or—And the thought choked us. Go back out to the open sea, but in the direction of our homeland. Then one of the younger policemen waved to us behind the back of his older colleague. He pointed to the mainland and crossed his hands. He was giving us a signal to take off. He had an open, honest face, and we thought we saw that he meant well by us. We thereupon turned about, opened the throttle on the engine and headed out to open sea. The Swedish boat hesitated for a moment, then declined to follow us. We remained in sight of the mainland. The sight of the coast made us feel better. The storm appeared to be gradually dying out. We felt secure in our decision and did not regret it. Fir forests and green meadows smiled at us and wooded spits of land jutted far out into the water. We wanted to land on an uninhabited island so as to be able to walk on firm ground again. But we did not find any places that seemed suitable. The land and the water seemed to be extinct of all life forms. We saw no people, no ships. We steered south, then southeast and then back to the southwest. That was the course that picked up our spirits. One of the men from the Seeadler had brought along a map of Europe, a page form a school atlas. Although all of the Baltic was no larger than a child’s fist on the map, it was a welcome source of information. By then, it had turned evening. The swells were bearable. We moved along the Swedish coast to the southwest. Everyone was in a good mood; everyone was full of hope. The Oberleutnant zur See, whom we had “inherited” from the Seeadler, turned out to be a bust. He puked his guts out on the Zander and lay apathetically on the bottom of the boat. Our helmsman, the truck driver, was relieved by the seaman. Oberst Hoffmann sent me to get some sleep. But there was nothing doing with sleep. I was too agitated. Midnight—The swells continued die down. We thought we had to be even with Karlskrona by then. The radiant light of a lighthouse circled silently in the far distance. We headed due west. We finally slept well for the first time. 0400 hours, 12 May—Sunrise. Nature presented a wonderful spectacle. The Baltic was a flat as a board. The Swedish coast appeared to the north out of the foggy mists. We crossed Ystadt Bay in a straight line. The lime white houses, which were draped on the mountain like nests of swallows, had to be the houses of Trelleborg. A light blue heaven laughed above us. It was a wonderful, peaceful May day; a day like the ones we had dreamed of for years. 0900 hours—Despite it being overloaded, the Zander ran well and quickly. It cut through the waves like butter, like a pleasure yacht. We left the Swedish mainland and set sail to the southwest, crossed the Sund and steered towards the Danish island of Mön, at least as much as you could tell by our map. 1800 hours—High, white chalk cliffs appeared in front of us. We stared at the coast,

horrified. Based on knowledge from postcards, that was Rügen.139 We sailed along the coast to try to find some point of reference. We didn’t want to be there under any circumstances. The Russians were already there. The paymaster swore a thousand oaths that it was the island of Rügen. He claimed to recognize the coastline, since he had spent his honeymoon there. After all of the hardships, after the successful journey through a thousand dangers, we did not want to wind up in Russian captivity. We could have done that easily enough on the Vistula Spit. According to our map, according to all of our calculations and considerations, it had to be the Danish island of Mön. Why couldn’t Mön also have white cliffs? Others thought that the white cliffs of Rügen were unique. What should we do? If it was Mön, we needed to sail past it to the south. If it was Rügen, it was high time to steer a course for the northwest and disappear. We saw a few aircraft land on the island. We didn’t like that. We decided to be safe and headed off to the northwest. Islands and groups of islands started popping up everywhere. Lighthouses were on the high ground; there were buoys everywhere. We no longer knew where we were. We had hopelessly “misoriented,” as the tankers would say. A fishing cutter appeared in front of us. We waved. It raced away at full speed, indicating it did not want to have anything to do with us. We were wearing the black Panzer uniforms. Who knows what they thought? But we did see that it was flying the Danish flag. By then, we had used up almost all of our fuel, even the fuel we had taken from the Seeadler. We could not afford a whole lot of “bad turns.” We had to know where we were, no matter what it cost. We followed the fishing cutter at full speed, pulled up to it and jumped on deck. There was only a single man on board, and he was very upset. He was stubborn and acted like he did not understand us. But after pleading a long time and a lot of cigarettes, he told us that we were at the entrance to the port of Copenhagen. That meant that the island with the white cliffs had been Mön, after all. The paymaster quickly disappeared below deck to avoid our looks of reproach. We went back the way we had come and slowly regained our feelings of confidence. Midnight—We turned off the motor when it turned dark. As far as we could tell, there was no more big danger. Everyone was sleeping. The waves lapped lightly, the moon was ghostlike through the thin layer of fog. It was deathly quiet on board the boat. 0330 hours, 13 May—The engine was started, and it woke me. We continued on; course south-southeast. We went back the way we had gone the previous day. We had to take the most direct route if we wanted to reach our objective with the remaining fuel. 0600 hours—Falster Island came into view. We steered south. The German cities of Warnemünde and Rostock had to be out there in front of us in the gray fog. But the Russians were said to be there. That meant we needed to watch out. 1200 hours—We passed the southern tip of Falster. Calm sea, magnificent sun and blissful hope surround us. We moved on with a western course along the south coast of Laaland. 1500 hours—We left Danish waters and steered to the southwest in the direction of Fehmarn. We soon encountered a German sailboat that was sailing under a white flag. We

discovered a lot of useful knowledge about the current state of Germany from the crew. We went up to a German coastal watch boat, which had been abandoned by its crew and was swaying dreamily on the waves. We found soup noodles and canned goods and, with the help of a camp stove we had “procured,” we prepared a delicious warm meal. Everyone was in the best of moods. There were only a few kilometers separating us from our homeland. We were all filled with only one thought: To see Germany again. Some of the men had not been home for more than two years. A storm was on the horizon. The sea turned rough. But we were doing it. We were heading home and to peace with jubilant hearts after a war of nearly six years. 1648 hours, 13 May—Fehmarn in sight! German land! German soil, where there were no Russians. A feeling of unspeakable joy rose in us. The eyes started to mist. Everyone was on deck. The boat threatened to capsize, but no one was paying attention. Germany, our homeland was in front of us! The first thing we saw were destroyed fighter beacons. Then, on the beach, sailors and Landser washing up without a worry. We sailed very close to the coast, since we could not see enough of everything. Our enthusiasm was so great that we considered landing in Fehmarn. But then we remembered the great plans we had hammered out during the lonely nights. We wanted to get bicycles and civilian clothes and attempt to make our way through to our home towns. We wanted to get home, nothing more than to get home. For that reason, an island was not the right place to dock. So we continued on into the Kiel bay. We knew that we would not have too much more patience to look for the right moment. We decided to land at the first village on the mainland. In the distance, a narrow church tower jutted out above tall trees. We saw people on the shore. We waved. We steered the boat in that direction. We were so impatient, we almost wanted to jump into the water and swim the last stretch to shore. While we rapidly approached shore, I thought back to recent events. Five days. Five nights. Two unforgettable, horrible nights and two gray days bereft of much hope. Water, nothing but surging, greedy water. Then Sweden. Denmark. All-consuming uncertainty initially, followed by cautious hope. And then Germany. Freedom. Future. Life! We ran aground near shore. A fisherman, who could sense our impatience, approached us in a small boat. He helped us free up the Zander with the help of a pole. I jumped into his boat and hugged him. I waded the last little bit to the shore through the water. 1816 hours, 13 May—Finally, finally, I had firm ground under my feet. I wanted to shout, to laugh, to cry. German soil, German country, German people all around me. No rounds were being fired; no trench lines; no bunkers; no shattered tree crowns; no fighterbombers—peace! I could not understand why the people next to me, all of whom I wanted to throw my arms around, were not laughing and happy. Why did they look at me silently and with fearful eyes? I gradually found my way back into reality. We were nothing more than the

flotsam and jetsam of a lost war. We split apart in individual groups. We all shook each other’s hands silently and wished each other luck and a quick return home. My radio crew waited for me in a fisherman’s house. Using the excuse that I wanted to find out where we were, I slipped out of the house, tears in my eyes. I needed to be all alone for a few minutes. I discovered that we were in the large interment center for Schleswig-Holstein. So much for the dream of bicycles and civilian clothes. We had wound up in a mousetrap again. What would the next few days bring? I finished my diary sitting on a tree stump. I wanted to entrust it for safekeeping to someone in the village, since it would certainly be taken away from me in captivity. We were informed we needed to report in to the English. Then, after everything was over, the question arose in me: Why had we fought? Why did we have to suffer everything? Why and for what had so many terrific young German soldiers fallen? I looked for a meaning and found none. Was it all in vain? A world, my former world, collapsed around me like a house of cards. Or was that world, which we had been taught to believe in, only a deception? And if that were the case, had we earned our end? I didn’t know. When, in history, had a generation fought so honestly, so courageously and so faithfully? When had people ever had to bear such a heavy burden? Millions of Germans died for their homeland. And that was the end? (Written in a fishing village on the Baltic at 1930 hours on 13 May 1945.)

The Stars Also Shined over Grjasowez: A Christmas Story from Russian Captivity Hermann Hoss High in the northern part of European Russia in the middle of gigantic fir forests is the city of Wologda. In the old days of religious faith and Tsarist rule, it was known as the “city of a hundred churches in the land of the white woods.” Nowadays, most of those houses of worship have deteriorated or are being used as warehouses. Only the golden crosses continue to gleam off the old roofs and shine far out into the northern woods. Not too far from that former blessed city is the village of Grjasowez, which in plain English means “mud hole.” According to tradition, The former Tsarina Catherine took a rest break there during one of her extensive journeys and sank up to her ankles in the autumn mud. Full of rage, she decreed that the village would forever be known as “Mudhole.” During the Middle Ages, pious monks had established a lonely monastery there. Since the creek by the monastery was imputed to have healing powers for some sicknesses, the men of God ran a therapeutic spa. In addition, Russian “frankincense” was produced there. The leaves of the balsam poplars were collected and dried. They burned and, more or less, smelled similar to the true incense from the Orient. Nowadays, there are only pitiable remnants of the formerly proud monastery structures and the expansive spa facilities. The church was blown up during the revolution of 1918. The peasants used the bricks to build ovens. Whatever was left was collected by the Russians during the war and turned into a prisoner-of-war camp. German soldiers eked out a miserable existence there ever since the days of Stalingrad. Many of those who expired from enfeeblement were interred at the camp cemetery without fanfare or ceremony. But the war was over in 1945. The guards called out to us over to the barbed wire one May morning: “Woina kuput—skora damoi! The war is over! Home soon!” More and more prisoners came to the camp; there was no sign of a return home. There was, however, a lot of talk about work, about meeting goals and reparations. The short summer passed and winter drew over the land, winter, which, in that country, meant hunger, need and misery for those who did not enjoy a preferred position and were given special provisions. That all-too-typical Russian way was especially true for the very last on the scale in that state; the prisoners-of-war. Instead of the barley soup we received every day in the summer, we received a meager cabbage and carrot soup. There were frozen potatoes in it that tasted of rot and sweetness. There weren’t more than two or three spoonfuls of them, anyway. The biting cold and the icy north wind whipped through the shabby overcoats and the felt boots with the holes in them. Huddled tightly together, we spent the time in the dark and moist barracks and only left them to due the most elemental things. But winter also meant some good things. The short days and the raging snowstorms often made it impossible to work outside, and so we had time to catch up on sleep and be to ourselves. Whenever we had the polar summer with its nearly 24 hours of light, we were driven to work constantly.

Only a few primitive homemade oil lamps lit up the darkness. The prisoners dozed their way towards Christmas. In the camp, preparations were made for a communal celebration of the season. A few fir trees were brought in from work, some furtively, others tolerated. Although forbidden to do so, the cooks had saved up some foodstuffs so as to provide a better meal for the holidays. Chorals and music groups practiced a program; a draftsman recorded the program events lovingly on paper. It might have been that our camp commander had a weakness for this holiday, since it was considered an effrontery against Communism in other camps and suppressed with all sorts of chicanery. But in the camp hospital, which was solely under Russian administration, the preparations for the celebration of Christmas were bound up with all sorts of difficulties. Although the German camp administration had succeeded in getting permission from the camp commander to have a Christmas celebration in the hospital, there were other forces at work that did not like to see such festivities. It was primarily the Russian doctor, who had been reared and grown up wholly in the spirit of the “new age.” She observed people only as material and objects for the fulfillment of plans and, in the process, forgot and scorned all humanity. She had released some extremely sick prisoners from the hospital, only because the poor men did not have the required temperature. The standard in Russia of whether a person is sick or not is the temperature. Her medical profession was window dressing, just like the red on her full lips. As a result, there was little in the way of a holiday mood in our hospital room when Christmas Eve arrived. Our dear comrades had provided us with a decorated little tree; folded paper stars, painted with iodine, and strips of paper decorated the evergreen. A light was burning to remind us of loved ones at home. We were very proud of our tree and excited about it, but we were even more concerned about what would happen if the doctor came in. And she came. She didn’t ask us about our temperature, appetite and stools, as she did every day. Instead, she turned her gaze in an inscrutable manner towards our Christmas tree. The eyes of the sick men followed her with a beseeching, almost hypnotic expression. In the silent room, the tension between the two sets of wills was almost palpable. The eyes of the Russian were full of reproach, and she started to raise her foot to kick over the tree. Our eyes forced her to turn around, however, and the same eyes apparently took the will out of her to kick. Her face twitched a bit, and she drew back her made-up lips into a scowl, and she rushed out of the room. A heavy burden fell from our hearts. None of the sick comrades was chased out of the hospital that day. The fir tree remained standing, and it became out Christmas tree. All of a sudden, we were filled with a deeply festive mood, which was further enhanced by the fact that we had received permission to write our first Red Cross postcards home that Christmas Eve. We were finally allowed to tell our loved ones at home that we were still alive. Full of happiness, we scribbled out the few permissible words with homemade pens and ink made from potassium. That evening in the hospital, we celebrated our Christmas in the hospital. A chaplain came from the camp with two violin players, and he heralded the birth of Christ. Two thin violin voices floated through the Spartan room and allowed us to escape our sad reality. Because of all that, we hadn’t noticed that a white doctor’s smock had entered the room.

But it was not the red-lipped friend. It was the wife of the director of the nearby flax mill. We called her the “flax woman.” She was a good soul with a humane heart, which had already been used to help many a comrade, at least within her limited means. She was older and had lived through a religious Russia. Practically unnoticed by us, she stood there in our midst. Her eyes first viewed the modestly decorated Christmas tree and the lips of the chaplain, who was giving us the Christmas message, with curiosity. They then turned misty. Although she barely understood a word of German, it could be seen in her eyes how the memories of her childhood started to well up in her and then take hold powerfully. When the violins started the melody to “Silent Night” and we started to sing, she covered her dear eyes with both hands and a torrent of tears streamed between her fingers. She staggered sobbing and deeply moved from one man to the next and pressed a kiss on the hollowed-out cheeks of us foreign, pitiful and hated prisoners-of-war, standing there in shirts and underwear. Just as it had been the custom in the days of old. Deeply moved, we did nothing to stop her. We thought we were experiencing a Christmas miracle in that foreign land. After the song had died out, the “flax woman” scurried out of the room, somewhat embarrassed but with beaming eyes. Over the next few hours, we did not feel the cold that penetrated through the cracks. We did not feel our miserable situation or our unspeakable sense of being forlorn. We sent our glances and our thoughts through the windows iced over with flower-shaped frost to the west and in the direction of home. The stars had never shone so brightly and in such a friendly manner over Grjasowez as they did on that Christmas Eve.

Afterword Hans Christern, the Last Commander of Panzer-Regiment 35 Panzer-Regiment 35 was committed in the hot spots of the fighting—always and everywhere—and, despite that, it never failed in any mission given it, since it was imbued with a sense of selfless comradeship. Whoever reads this book with a feeling heart and without preconceived notions cannot avoid taking a bow of respect to our brave dead, who departed us without blemish, and to admire the few survivors, who did their duties in good conscience. This book is not intended to boast of our successes or excuse our deeds to our sons. Instead, it only wishes to state that there was a Panzer-Regiment 35 at one time that fought, as duty required, which held together through thick and thin, which bled and went hungry and which, in the end, was reduced to a handful of men, but which never fell apart —not even to the present day.



Leutnant Hans Schäufler, the driving force behind this book, was with the 4. PanzerDivision continuously since 1938. In 1944 and 1945, he was the signals officer of the regiment. Harald Neles served as a war correspondent/illustrator in the tanks of the regiment form the beginning of 1942 until the final ceasefire. A portion of his artistic endeavors are presented here. The originals were buried on the Frische Nehrung, near Danzig. It was fortunate happenstance that these reproductions of his illustrations were found in the ashes of a bombed-out house in Munich. Neles was able to capture the subjects so well because of his close proximity to the fighting. They portray unforgettable personal experiences on the part of the men of the regiment.

The tank commander, as the crew saw him. In this case, Oberleutnant Müller, the commander of the 4./PR 35. The crew can gauge what is happening on the battlefield by the expression on the commander’s face.

Winter 1941/1942: Panje-Regiment 35. Crouching down on sleds they had procured, the tankers of the regiment performed security duties in the Shisdra-Brjansk area.

Spring 1943: A self-propelled gun of the 2./PR 35—this Marder was outfitted with a 7.5cm Pak 40. Other Marder variants were fitted with captured Russian 7.6-cm cannon.

Bunched up behind, the grenadiers follow the tanks.

March 1944: Attack on Kovel along the railway line.

March 1944: The ring was broken. The brave defenders of the city greet the first tanks of the 4th Company.

Tank duel with T-34’s and Shermans.

Memorial to the 4. Panzer-Division in a classroom at the armor school in Münster. The large photo is of General von Saucken, the 27th and last recipient of the Diamonds to the Swords of the Knight’s Cross. Below him are the 11 Oak Leaves recipients of the division. The 71 recipients of the Knight’s Cross of the division are contained in a photo album in a cabinet. The writing on the left of the memorial: From the first day of the war in Poland until the last hours in Danzig, it was in the center of the fighting. It never failed to accomplish a mission it was given, because a firm bond of mutual trust and a comradeship born of fighting and suffering joined the command and its soldiers through thick and thin. The awards presented to it made it the most highly decorated armor division in the Army. In the last days of the war, the division’s men faced death and Soviet captivity so as to allow half a million Germans—women, children and wounded—to escape over the Baltic to freedom. After the war, French and American veterans’ associations sought out and cultivated contact with the veterans’ associations of the 4. Panzer-Division. Out of enemies, friends.

APPENDIX A

Rank Comparisons



APPENDIX B Panzer-Regiment 35 Knight’s Cross to the Iron Cross Recipients



APPENDIX C

Details of Some of the Contributors Heinrich Eberbach (24 November 1895-13 July 1992) Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross on 4 July 1940 as an Oberstleutnant and commander of Panzer-Regiment 35. 42nd Oak Leaves on 31 December 1941 as an Oberst and commander of 5. PanzerBrigade. Final rank: General der Panzertruppe. Dietrich von Sauken (16 May 1892-27 September 1980) Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross on 6 January 1942 as a Generalmajor and acting commander 4. Panzer-Division. 281st Oak Leaves on 22 August 1943 as a Generalleutnant and commander of 4. Panzer-Division. 46th Swords on 31 January 1944 as a Generalleutnant and commander 4. Panzer-Division . 27th Diamonds on 8 May 1945 as General der Panzertruppe and commander in chief of AOK Ostpreussen. Hans Christern (24 January 1900-17 July 1966) Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross on 31 January 1941 as a Major and commander of II./Panzer-Regiment 31/5. Panzer-Division. Final rank: Oberst. Meinrad von Lauchert (29 August 1905-4 December 1987) German Cross in Gold on 5 September 1943 as a Major and commander of PanzerRegiment “von Lauchert”. Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross on 8 September 1941 as a Major and commander of I. /Panzer-Regiment 35. 396th Oak Leaves on 12 February 1944 as Oberstleutnant and commander of PanzerRegiment 15/11. Panzer Division.

Final rank: Generalmajor. Fritz Fessman (25 December 1913-11 October 1944) Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross on 27 October 1941 as Leutnant der Reserve and Zugführer 1./Panzer-Auklarungs-Abteilung 7. 170th Oak Leaves on 4 January 1943 as an Oberleutnant der Reserve and commander of 1./Kradschutzen-Bataillon 64. 103rd Swords on 23 October 1944 as a Hauptmann der Reserve and commander PanzerAufklarungs-Abteilung 5. Final rank: Major der Reserve—posthumous. Hermann Bix (10 October 1914-31 July 1986) German Cross in Gold on 5 November 1942 as a Feldwebel and Zugführer of 8./ PanzerRegiment 15/11. Panzer-Division. Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross on 22 March 1945 as an Oberfeldwebel and Zugführer 3./Panzer-Regiment 35/35. Infanterie-Division. Final rank: Fahnenjunker-Oberfeldwebel. Artur Wollschlaeger (21 May 1916-1 June 1987) Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross on 12 January 1942 as an Oberleutnant and commander of 2./Panzer-Regiment 35. Final rank: Major. Erich Schneider (12 August 1894-3 October 1980) Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross on 5 May 1943 as a Generalmajor and commander 4. Panzer-Division. 768th Oak Leaves on 6 March 1945 as a Generalleutnant and commander 14. InfanterieDivision. Reinhard Peters (13 January 1922-14 April 1992) German Cross in Gold on 11 February 1945 as an Oberleutnant der Reserve of II./PanzerRegiment 35. Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross on 20 February 1944 as a Leutnant der Reserve and acting commander of 4./Panzer-Regiment 35. Final rank: Oberleutnant der Reserve.

Dr. Hans-Joachim Schulz-Merkel (6 April 1913-2 September 2000) German Cross in Gold on 21 October 1943 as a Stabartz and Artz I./Panzer-Regiment 35. Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross on 23 December 1943 as a Stabartz and Artz I./PanzerRegiment 35. Final rank: Oberstabartz. Ernst- Wilhelm Hoffman (27 September 1904-27 August 1994) German Cross in Gold on 8 February 1942 as a Major and commander of I./ SchützenRegiment 12. Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross on 4 September 1940 as Hauptmann and commander of 1./Schützen-Regiment 12. 494th Oak Leaves on 9 June 1944 as an Oberstleutnant and commander of PanzerGrenadier-Regiment 12. Final rank: Oberst.

APPENDIX D

The Establishment of Panzer-Regiment 35 in Bamberg Bamberg, 3 November 1938 Panzer-Regiment 35 Operations Log 1⅓8 SUBJECT: Establishment of Panzer-Regiment 35

I. Organization and Duty Position Roster of the Regiment A) Regimental Headquarters a. Headquarters: Commander: Oberstleutnant Eberbach Regimental Adjutant: Oberleutnant Guderian Garrison Administrative officer: Hauptmann (E) Hühn Weapons Officer: Leutnant (W) Huhn Regimental Engineer: Regierungs-Baurat Dyke Maintenance Officer (Equipment): Beamtenanwärter Arneth Maintenance Officer (Signals): Inspektor Petersen Regimental Armorer: Waffenmeister Ostendorp Paymaster: Stabszahlmeister Mennel b. Headquarters Company Commander (simultaneously Regimental Signals Officer): Leutnant Rachfall 1 )Signals Platoon: 2)Light Platoon: 3)Messenger Section: 4)Regimental Band: Oberfeldwebel Kraft B) 1st Battalion a. Headquarters Commander: Oberstleutnant Dipl. Ing. Stenglein Adjutant: Leutnant Herre Battalion Engineer: Heeresbaumeister Gieseler Maintenance Officer (Equipment): Beamtenanwärter Arneth Maintenance Sergeant: Hauptwerkmeister Reichelt Battalion Armorer: Waffenmeister Ostendorp

Armorer: Unteroffizier Klomp, Unteroffizier Novotny Paymasters: Stabszahlmeister Mennel, Zahlmeister Schnelle b. Headquarters Company Commander (simultaneously Battalion Signals Officer): Leutnant Pflügel 1. Signals Platoon: 2. Light Platoon: 3. Messenger Platoon: Leutnant Becker 4. Engineer Platoon: c. 1st Company (Former Unit: 1. /Panzer-Regiment 7) Commander: Hauptmann Schnell Company Officer: Leutnant Claaß d. 2nd Company (Former Unit: 3./Panzer-Abwehr-Abteilung 5) Commander: Hauptmann von Lauchert Company Officers: Leutnant Rosshirt, Feldwebel der Reserve Lange e. 3rd Company (Former Unit: 3./Panzer-Abwehr-Abteilung 25) Commander: Hauptmann Mast Company Officers: Leutnant Krebs, Leutnant Esser f. 4th Company (Former Unit: 3./Panzer-Regiment 2) Commander: Oberleutnant Behrens Company Officers: Leutnant Pfister, Leutnant Rauschenbach B) 2nd Battalion a. Headquarters Commander: Major Hochbaum Adjutant: Leutnant Berger

Battalion Engineers: Regierungs-Baurat Horstman, Heeresbaumeister Müllner Maintenance Officer (Equipment): Inspektor Strohmeyer Maintenance Sergeant: Werkmeister Sextl Battalion Armorer: Waffenfeldwebel Friedrich Paymaster: Zahlmeister Schnelle b. Headquarters Company Commander (simultaneously Platoon Leader of the Messenger Platoon): Leutnant Malguth 1. Signals Platoon (simultaneously Battalion Signals officer): Leutnant Königstein: 2. Light Platoon: 3. Messenger Platoon: 4. Engineer Platoon: c. 5th Company (Former Unit: 2./Panzer-Regiment 2) Commander: Oberleutnant Sznahovich Company Officers: Leutnant Lohr, Feldwebel der Reserve Euler d. 6th Company (Former Unit: 3./Panzer-Regiment 25) Commander: Hauptmann Butz Company Officers: Leutnant von Cossel, Leutnant Wollschläger e. 7th Company (Former Unit: 2./Panzer-Regiment 2) Commander: Hauptmann Dr. Günther Company Officer: Leutnant Lekschat f. 8th Company (Former Unit: 3./Panzer-Abwehr-Abteilung 9) Commander: Oberleutnant Morgenroth Company Officers: Leutnant Willers, Leutnant Kästner



II. Civilian Officials Use of Civilian Officials: Civilian officials, not only of the regimental staff but also of the staff of the 1st Battalion, report directly to the regiment for all missions that affect the entire regiment or the regimental headquarters. With regard to those missions, they report directly to the regimental commander and sign for him by proxy.

III. Armorers Waffenmeister Ostendorps oversees all of the armorers of the regiment for the time being. In each battalion, one of the armorers is to be charged with supporting the 4th Company.

IV. Messengers Platoons 1 ) The messenger sections of the battalions and the companies are to be consolidated into messenger platoons at battalion level. The cadres for the messenger platoons are to be pulled out of the units immediately. Under the supervision of the leaders of the Headquarters Company, they are to immediately start with the training of the instructional personnel for the recruits [for the messenger platoon]. Recruits directed to the battalions that are suitable for the messenger platoons are to be transferred there. Quarters, if not available within the headquarters building proper, is to be done as a block in a neighboring company building. 2) Strength of the Messenger Platoons: 1 Feldwebel; 4 Unteroffiziere; 12 Gefreite or enlisted personnel in their second year of service; 17 enlisted personnel in their first year of service. Splitting the personnel into experienced enlisted personnel and recruits is a guidepost. The designated strength of each headquarters and company is 1 Unteroffizier and 5 enlisted personnel, with 4 additional personnel going to the headquarters for the battle staff. 3) The Messenger section of the Regimental headquarters is attached to the 1st Battalion administratively for training purposes. They will be quartered with the regimental headquarters.

V. Engineer Platoons The regiment retains the right to consolidate and train the engineer sections of the companies. The companies are to designate [to this end] 1 Unteroffizier, 2 Gefreite or enlisted soldiers in their second year of service and 5 recruits. Strong personnel (preferably lumberjacks) are to be selected. Two men are to be trained [to this end] as truck drivers.

VI. Instructor Personnel The cadres transferred to the regiment will remain together in their entirety. The battalions will seek to make up training personnel, where there are gaps in the companies. It is especially important to ensure an even distribution of tank instructor personnel. Transfers of experienced tank noncommissioned officers to the former Antitank Company will be necessary.

VII. Radio operators At the start of recruit training, each company is to detail 2 recruits to the battalion signals platoons, who are to be trained as radio operators for the company commanders. Personnel are to be sought who appear to be suitable for future employment as radio instructors or as radio specialists. /signed/ Eberbach DISTRIBUTION: Commander-1 Adjutant-1 1st Battalion-1 2nd Battalion-1

APPENDIX E

Listing of Reserve Officers and Reserve Officer Candidates of the Regiment Bamberg, 24 March 1939 Panzer-Regiment 35

1. The gap in the running order is in the original text, no reason was given.

APPENDIX F

Register of Commanders of the 5. Panzer-Brigade and Panzer-Regiment 35 (Starting 1 October 1938)

5. Panzer-Brigade 1 October 1938 to 31 December 1939: Generalmajor von Hartlieb 1 December 1940 to 15 December 1940: Oberst Breith 16 December 1940 to 25 July 1941: Oberst Linnerz (The brigade headquarters was attached to the 3. Panzer-Division at the time.) 26 July 19 41 to 31 December 1941: Oberst Eberbach

Panzer-Regiment 35 1 October 1938 to 26 July 1941: Oberst Eberbach (promoted to Oberst on 1 August 1940) 26 July 1941 to 31 August 1941: Oberst Wagner 1 September 1941 to 30 October 1941: Oberst Olbrich 1 November 1941 to 31 January 1942: Oberstleutnant Hochbaum (acting commander) 1 February 1942 to 31 October 1942: Oberst von Oppeln-Bronikowski 1 November 1942 to 28 February 1944: Oberst d.R. Freiherr von Jungenfeld (just the headquarters, with the additional designation of Stab von Jungenfeld) 1 March 1944 to 24 March 1945: Oberst Christern

I./Panzer-Regiment 35 1 October 1938 to 1 September 1939: Oberstleutnant Stenglein 2 September 1939 to 30 March 1942: Hauptmann von Lauchert (acting commander; later promoted to Major and given official command) 1 April 1942 to 22 July 1943: Hauptmann von Cossel (later promoted to Major) 23 July 1943 to 30 November 1944: Hauptmann d.R. Schultz (later promoted to Major d.R.)

I. /Panzer-Regiment 35 (redesignated as II. /Panzer-Regiment 35) 1 December 1944 to 31 March 1945: Hauptmann Küspert 1 April 1945 to May 1945: Hauptmann d.R. Lange

II./Panzer-Regiment 35 1 October 1938 to 30 April 1940: Major Hochbaum 1 May 1940 to 30 June 1940: Hauptmann d.R. Freiherr von Jungenfeld (acting commander) 1 July 1940 to 30 September 1940: Major Schlothane 1 October 1940 to 31 October 1940: Oberstleutnant Hochbaum 1 November 1941 to 31 January 1942: Oberleutnant Ehrenberg (acting commander) 1 February 1942 to 30 April 1942: Oberstleutnant Hochbaum

II./Panzer-Regiment 35 (redesignated as III./Panzer-Regiment 15) 1942: Major von Berstin (killed in action) 1942 to 1943: Hauptmann Schmidt 1943: Hauptmann Piontek (killed in action) 1943: Hauptmann la Rocha-Schmitt (killed in action) 1943: Hauptmann von Bülow

Reversion of III. /Panzer-Regiment 15 to II./Panzer-Regiment 35 1 September 1943 to 30 June 1944: Hauptmann d.R. Schaeffer

Redesignation of II./Panzer-Regiment 35 to I./Panzer-Regiment 35 1 July 1944 to 30 September 1944: Hauptmann Grohe 1 October 1944 to 30 November 1944: Hauptmann Küspert 1 December 1944 to 8 May 1945: Hauptmann Kästner

APPENDIX G

Reorganization of Panzer-Regiment 35 (Effective 1 May 1942) On 30 April 1942, the following was directed regarding Panzer-Regiment 35: 1. The headquarters of Panzer-Regiment 35 is directly attached to the XXXXVII. Korps effective 1 May 1942 and receives the supplemental designation of KORÜK 447. The headquarters will move from Briansk to Shisdra on 5 May 1942 and, starting 20 June 1942, to Djatkowo. 2. The I. /Panzer-Regiment 35 reports directly to the 4. Panzer-Division effective 1 May 1942 and moves to Orel. 3. The II. /Panzer-Regiment 35 is detached from the 4. Panzer-Division and attached to the 11. Panzer-Division as the III. /Panzer-Regiment 15. The following should be noted concerning the additional course of events for PanzerRegiment 35: 1. The attachment of the headquarters of Panzer-Regiment 35 to the XXXXVII. Korps ended on 31 October 1942. As part of the movements of the 4. Panzer-Division , the headquarters went to Nowgorod Swersk. 2. On 1 April 1943, the Headquarters of Panzer-Regiment 35 was moved to the St. Pölten Training Area (Austria). Oberst d.R. assumed command of the headquarters element, which was then also referred to as Stab von Jungenfeld. The following formations and elements were attached to the headquarters: schwere PanzerjägerAbteilung 653 and schwere Panzerjäger-Abteilung 654, each with 45 Ferdinand tank destroyers. In addition, Sturmpanzer-Abteilung 216 was also attached to the headquarters. It had 45 Sturmpanzer IV, which was a modified version of the Panzer IV with a fixed, armored and enclosed superstructure housing a 15centimeter assault howitzer. The entire formation, officially referred to as schweres Panzerjäger-Regiment 656, was officially disbanded on 31 December 1943. The Headquarters of Panzer-Regiment 35 returned to Bamberg on 1 February 1944, where Oberst Christern assumed command. 3. On 24 March 1945, when Oberst Christern was designated to command the 7. Panzer-Division, the headquarters of Panzer-regiment 35 was disbanded, with the personnel going to the Supply Company of the I. /Panzer-Regiment 35. 4. The II./Panzer-Regiment 35 left the 11. Panzer-Division on 31 August 1943 and moved to Bamberg. On 14 October 1943, the battalion was moved to northern France and then, on 1 February 1944, to the Mailly Training Area.

The battalion received new-equipment training on the Panther there. After the training area was bombed by the English, the battalion was moved to Grafenwöhr Training Area on 29 May 1944. There it received its final equipment for the field and was sent back to its parent regiment at Sokol as the I./Panzer-Regiment 35 on 15 June 1944.

APPENDIX H

Battles, Engagements, and Operations of Panzer-Regiment 35 Based on the officials designations provided by the German Army High Command for the 4. Panzer-Division

Campaign in Poland 1 to 2 September 1939: Fighting for the Liswarta 2 September 1939: Fighting in wooded terrain north of Klobuck 5 to 6 September 1939: Fighting for the Widawka Position 8 September 1939: Advance through Mazconow into the suburbs of Warsaw 9 to 14 September 1939: Fighting in and around Warsaw 15 to 19 September 1939: Attack and pursuit to the Vistula 16 to 19 September 1939: Fighting to eliminate the enemy south of Wyszogrod

Breakthrough to the English Channel as Part of the 6. Armee 10 to 12 May 1940: Battle at Maastricht 10 May 1940: Crossing the Meuse 11 May 1940: Breakthrough across the Albert Canal west of Maastricht 12 to 16 May 1950: Armored battle of Hannut-Gembloux 12 to 13 May 1940: Armored battle of Hannut 14 to 16 May 1940: Breakthrough through the Dyle Position 18 to 19 May 1940: Pursuit through Seneff and Dendre 17 to 18 May 1940: Pursuit from the Dyle as far as the Charleroi Canal

Breakthrough to the English Channel as Part of the 4. Armee 19 to 22 May 1940: Fighting for the Mormal Woods

Fighting in Flanders and in the Artois as Part of the 6. Armee 23 to 26 May 1940: Fighting between Arras and St. Omer 23 to 26 May 1940: Fighting for the La Bassee Canal at Bethune 24 May to 1 June 1940: Fighting at La Bassee and Lille 27 May 1940: Breakthrough across the La Bassee Canal at Bethune 28 to 29 May 1940: Fighting at Armentieres and Bailleul

Fighting in France as Part of the 6. Armee 5 to 8 June 1940: Breakthrough battle along the Somme and the Oise 5 to 6 June 1940: Breakthrough through the Weygand Line at Peronne 7 to 9 June 1940: Fighting for the Avre on both sides of Roye

Fighting in France as Part of the 9. Armee 11 to 14 June 1940: Fighting for the Marne and pursuit to the Seine 12 to 13 June 1940: Fighting on the Petit Morin near Mont Mirail 13 to 14 June 1940: Pursuit over the Petit Morin to the Seine 13 June 1940: Capture of the bridges over the Seine in the Romilly sur Seine area 15 to 17 June 1940: Pursuit from the Seine to the Côte d’Or 17 June 1940: Capture of Dijon and Beaune

Fighting in France as Part of the 12. Armee 18 to 22 June 1940: Fighting during the pursuit on both sides of the Côte d’Or 18 to 20 June 1940: Blocking of the Belfort Gap; crossing over Saône and Doubs 23 to 25 June 1940: Offensive fighting along the Isère 23 to 25 June 1940: Offensive fighting in the area of Valence and Grenoble

Occupation of France as Part of the 12. Armee 25 to 5 July 1940: Screening the demarcation line 6 July to 9 December 1940: Occupation duties in France 10 December 1940 to 8 February 1941: Employment in the homeland 10 February to 5 April 1941: Occupation duties in France 24 April to 21 June 1941: Occupation duties in the East

Fighting in the East as Part of the XXIV. Armee-Korps (mot.) 22 to 9 July 1941: The dual battles of Bialystok and Minsk 22 June 1941: Breakthrough through the frontier positions (Crossing of the Bug) 23 to 28 June 1941: Fighting in the Pripjet area east of Brest (Pursuit as far as the Beresina) 29 June to 9 July 1941: Advance against and through Swislotsch and Beresina 29 June to 1 July 1941: Crossing of the Beresina at Bobruisk 2 to 9 July 1941: Fighting at Rogatschew and Shlobin 10 to 31 July 1941: Battle of Smolensk 10 to 14 July 1941: Breakthrough through the Dnjepr Position (Dnjepr crossing at Stary Bychow and breakthrough through the Stalin Line) 15 to 31 July 1941: Defensive fighting along the Ssosh (fighting at Propoisk) 1 to 8 August 1941: Battle of Roslawl 9 to 20 August 1941: Battles at Kritschew and Gomel (Battle to eliminate the enemy at Klinowitschi-Miloslawitschi) 21 August to 26 September 1941: Battle of Kiev 21 August to 5 September 1941: Fighting during the pursuit to the Dessna (penetration of the Dessna Position; envelopment of the enemy forces in the Gomel area) 6 to 26 September 1941: Fighting during the pursuit in the Battle of Kiev 6 to 15 September 1941: Battles at Konotop, Romny and Lochwiza; closing of the ring around Kiev 16 to 26 September 1941: Defensive fighting at Romny 27 September to 3 October 1941: The dual battles of Wjasma and Bryjansk 27 September to 3 October 1941: Battle at Brjansk (breakthrough to Orel) 4 October to 5 December 1941: Advance on Moscow and Woronesch 4 to 31 October 1941: Advance on Tula 1 to 17 November 1941: Fighting for Jefremow and Tula 18 November to 5 December 1941: Battle for Tula and advance on Rjasan and Kaschira 6 December 1941 to 28 January 1942: Defensive fighting outside of Moscow 6 to 20 December 1941: Defensive fighting in the areas of Jefremow and Tula 21 to 25 December 1941: Defensive fighting along the Oka 26 December 1941 to 5 January 1942: Defensive fighting northeast of Orel

6 to 28 January 1942: Defensive fighting for Szuchinitischi (relief of Szuchinitischi) 29 January to 18 February 1942: Defensive fighting northwest of Orel 19 April to 24 May 1942: Defensive fighting north of Shisdra 25 April 1942 to 27 December 1943: Operations and positional warfare in the sector of Heeresgruppe Mitte during the defensive fighting in White Russia 28 December 1943 to 7 January 1944: Defensive fighting between Pripjet and Beresina 8 to 29 January 1944: Defensive fighting for Kalinkowitschi 30 January to 9 March 1944: Defensive fighting between Pripjet and Beresina 10 to 26 March 1944: Employment in the rear area of Heeresgruppe Mitte during the defensive fighting in White Russia 27 March to 19 April 1944: Battle for Kowel 20 April to 30 May 1944: Positional warfare in the sector of Heeresgruppe Mitte 31 May to 8 June 1944: Positional warfare in the sector of Heeresgruppe Nordukraine 9 to 13 June 1944: Employment in the rear area of Heeresgruppe Nordukraine 14 to 16 June 1944: Fighting against partisans in the area of Hrubieszow 17 to 30 June 1944: Employment in the rear area of Heeresgruppe Nordukraine 1 to 27 July 1944: Summer battle in White Ruthenia 1 to 4 July 1944: Defensive fighting in the Ssluzk-Kleck-Snow area 5 to 9 July 1944: Defensive fighting at Baranowitschi; withdrawal to the Schara 10 to 13 July 1944: Fighting for Slonim; withdrawal to the Zelwa 14 to 19 July 1944: Fighting for the Zelwa crossings; withdrawal to the Narew 20 to 22 July 1944: Fighting for the Narew bridgehead 23 to 25 July 1944: Offensive operations at Bielsk-Podlask 26 to 27 July 1944: Withdrawal from the Bialystock area 28 July to 12 August 1944: Battle outside of Warsaw 28 July to 4 August 1944: Offensive operations at Radzymin 5 to 9 August 1944: Destruction of the Soviet III Tank Corps outside of Warsaw 10 to 12 August 1944: Employment in the rear area of Heeresgruppe Mitte 13 August to 13 October 1944: Offensive and defensive operations in the Baltic area 13 to 24 August 1944: Defensive fighting in the Schagarren area 25 August to 2 September 1944: Offensive operations and the capture of Autz 3 to 15 September 1944: Positional warfare east of Autz 16 to 21 September 1944: Offensive operations west of Doblen

22 September to 5 October 1944: Positional warfare west of Doblen 6 to 13 October 1944: Defensive fighting along the Venta 14 October 1944 to 22 January 1945: Defensive fighting in the Kurland Bridgehead 14 to 25 October 1944: Positional warfare southeast of Libau 26 October to 11 November 1944: 1st Battle of Kurland (defensive fighting southeast of Libau) 12 to 24 November 1944: Positional warfare southeast of Libau 25 November to 2 December 1944: 2nd Battle of Kurland (defensive fighting between Preekuln and the Venta) 3 to 7 December 1944: Positional warfare at Schrunden 8 to 21 December 1944: Employment in the rear area; fighting against partisans in the area south of Windau 22 December 1944 to 4 January 1945: 3rd Battle of Kurland 22 to 26 December 1944: Defensive fighting south of Schrunden and Frauenburg 27 to 30 December 1944: Offensive and defensive operations south of Tuckum 31 December 1944 to 4 January 1945: Defensive fighting west of Doblen 5 to 8 January 1945: Offensive operations at Dzukste 9 to 22 January 1945: Employment in the rear operational area 23 January to 8 March 1945: Winter fighting in West Prussia 23 to 26 January 1945: Employment in the rear operational area 27 January to 9 February 1945: Delaying actions between Schwetz and southwest of Tuchel 10 to 23 February 1945: Defensive fighting on the Tuchel Heath 25 February to 4 March 1945: Defensive fighting in the area of Heiderode 4 to 8 March 1945: Defensive fighting in the Bütow area; elements in the DramburgKöslin area 9 March to 8 May 1945: Fighting for the Bay of Danzig 9 to 12 March 1945: Defensive fighting in the Karthaus area 13 to 26 March 1945: Defensive fighting outside of Gotenhafen and Danzig 9 to 26 March 1945: Elements employed in the Preußisch Stargard-Dirschau area 27 to 31 March 1945: Battle for Danzig 1 to 25 April 1945: Positional warfare along the Vistula flood plain 25 April to 8 May 1945: Defensive fighting on the Vistula Spit

APPENDIX I

Battles, Engagements, and Operations of the II./Panzer-Regiment 35 when Redesignated as the III./Panzer-Regiment 15 Based on the officials designations provided by the German Army High Command for the 4. Panzer-Division. 28 June to 10 August 1942: Offensive in the East 28 June to 8 July 1942: Breakthrough and pursuit in the direction of the Upper Don 9 July to 10 August 1942: Defensive fighting in the area of Woronesch-Liwny 11 August to 25 September 1942: Positional warfare in the sector of Heeresgruppe Mitte 11 August to 25 September 1942: Offensive and defensive operations in the area south of Belew-Mogelselsk-Szuchinitischi 26 September to 1 November 1942: Defensive fighting in the Woronesch- Liwny area 2 to 22 November 1942: Positional warfare in the sector of Heeresgruppe Mitte 23 November 1942 to 31 March 1943: Winter fighting of 1942/1943 23 November to 31 December 1942: Defensive fighting along the Don and on the Kalmuck Steppes 1 to 21 January 1943: Defensive fighting between the Don and the Donez 22 January to 2 February 1943: Offensive and defensive fighting east and south of the Lower Don and along the Manytsch 3 February to 4 March 1943: Defensive fighting in the Donez area 5 to 31 March 1943: Offensive fighting in the Kharkov area 1 April to 3 July 1943: Positional warfare in the sector of Heeresgruppe Süd 4 July to 31 August 1943: Defensive fighting in the East 4 to 12 July 1943: Offensive operations in the Kursk area 13 July to 31 August 1943: Defensive fighting in southern Russia and withdrawal to the Dnjepr 3 to 31 August 1943: Defensive fighting in the area west of Kharkov 1 to 16 October 1943: Employment in the homeland 17 October 1943 to 31 May 1944: Occupation duties in France 1 to 13 June 1944: Employment in the homeland

14 to 30 June 1944: Employment in the rear area of Heeresgruppe Nordukraine























1 The reader will come to be well acquainted with the author of this introduction to the book. Eberbach not only served as the first commander of the regiment, he went on successively to command the division’s tank brigade and then the division itself. By the time of his capture in Normandy, in August 1944, he was the commander of a field army. 2 Translator’s Note: The reader is reminded that this book was first written at a time when most of the members of the regiment and division who had survived the war were still alive. The book was originally published by the veterans’ association of Panzer-Regiment 35 and was never in wide circulation in Germany. It was written by and intended for members of the regiment. 3 Translator’s Note: The regiment was ordered to give up its 2nd Battalion to the other regiment—part of the 11. Panzer-Division—after the latter had been brutally battered in the fighting outside of Moscow. The II./Panzer-Regiment 35 was redesignated as the III./Panzer-Regiment 15 and fought with that division through December 1943— eventually receiving the Panther tank as its main fighting vehicle—before it was returned to its original “parent.” 4 Translator’s Note: Eberbach is undoubtedly referring to the strong bonds that were formed in postwar Bamberg, the home base of the regiment, with its former enemies. By a twist of fate, the U.S namesake of Panzer-Regiment 35, the 3-35 Armor, was also based in Bamberg, used the same officer’s club and enjoyed occasional get-togethers with the veterans of the regiment. 5 Translator’s Note: In addition to having been one of the commanders of the division, von Saucken was also one of the most highly decorated German military personnel of the war. In the end, he was awarded the Diamonds to the Swords to the Oak Leaves to the Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross. He was the 27th and final recipient of that award (8 May 1945). 6 Translator’s Note: This sort of individual justification is prevalent in any number of postwar accounts written by veterans because of the unfortunate associations between their service years and the Nazi regime. Many of the veterans reared their children in households where the war was never mentioned, and those same veterans of the war were often looked upon in a fashion similar to U.S. veterans returning home after service in Vietnam. 7 Translator’s Note: In addition to being the last commander of the regiment, Christern was also a highly decorated officer, He received the Knight’s Cross to the Iron Cross on 31 January 1941 while serving as a Major and commander of the II./Panzer-Regiment 31.

8 Translator’s Note: A Fahnenjunker was a special rank denoting an officer candidate. Generally speaking, an officer candidate went through the NCO ranks at an accelerated pace for several years, bearing both the title Fahnenjunker and the temporary rank he was given at the time. At the end of a successful trial, he was promoted to Leutnant. In the case of Eberbach, as discussed here, that process was considerably accelerated. 9 Translator’s Note: Meant here is the displacement of some 12 million Germans after the end of the war, primarily by the advance of the Soviets from the east and their refusal to return German territory to the German government, resulting in the permanent loss of Prussia, Silesia, Thuringia and other former eastern regions of the Reich, which were either confiscated by the Soviets (e.g., the port of Königsberg, know referred to as Kaliningrad) and ceded to the Poles in return for the loss of their territory to the Soviets. 10 Translator’s Note: As was common military practice, a formation was unofficially also known by its commander’s name. In this case, the 10. Armee was commanded by Generalfeldmarschall von Reichenau. 11 Translator’s Note: As is common in military narratives of this type, the individual writing the account often refers to himself in the 3rd person as much as possible. 12 Translator’s Note: The reader is reminded that the German Army—indeed, most of the major armies of the world at the time—still insisted upon a great deal of formality, especially among its officer corps, even in the field. To this end, it would normally be expected that von Lauchert would continue to wear his heavy wool tanker’s jacket with tie! This accounts for Eberbach’s comment. 13 Translator’s Note: Machine-gun ammunition did not come pre-belted at the time and one of the highest priorities after an action was to belt additional ammunition, whenever it became available. 14 Translator’s Note: This was the son of Heinz Guderian, Heinz-Günther. He went on to serve in positions of greater responsibility during the war, becoming a recipient of the Knight’s Cross on 5 October 1944 while serving as the operations officer—he was a general-staff officer—of the 116. Panzer-Division. He later went on to become a division commander in the postwar Bundeswehr. 15 Translator’s Note: The Leibstandarte was Hitler’s personal bodyguard formation, which was committed in Poland for the first time and would remain a combat formation until the end of the war, later becoming a full armored division and redesignated as the 1. SS-

Panzer-Division “Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler.” In Poland it was roughly a reinforced regiment in size and fully motorized. 16 Translator’s Note: This regiment was not officially added to the division, and redesignated as a Schützen-Regiment, until after the campaign in Poland. At this point, it was still referred to as an infantry regiment. 17 Translator’s Note: The Brandenburg Regiment was a special forces element. 18 Translator’s Note: Perhaps more familiar to English readers as Liege. German place names will normally be retained throughout the text since the maps are based on German sources. 19 Translator’s Note: Advance Guard Battalion Eberbach. 20 Editor’s Note: These iron bars were embedded in concrete at an angle and were an effective antitank obstacle. They could only be removed by demolition charges as artillery was unable to completely destroy them. However, obstacles like these have to be covered by machine guns, artillery and antitank guns to be truly effective. 21 Translator’s Note: The designation is a specialty rank for medical professionals. SchulzMerkel, who was a battalion surgeon, would go on to become a legendary figure in the regiment in his own right, as the reader will see later. 22 Translator’s Note: The original German refers to the vehicle as a Sanitätspanzer, which leaves it open for discussion as to what type of vehicle he was actually using. Although there were purpose-built armored ambulances built on the Sd.Kfz. 251 half-track vehicle, there are many images of the regiment and division showing that regular battle tanks were pressed into duty for that purpose as well. They were then painted with standard Red Cross markings. 23 Translator’s Note: “Bucket” Wagon. The Kübelwagen was the ubiquitous German staff car, very similar in purpose to the U.S. military’s “jeep.” There was also an amphibious version, known as the Schwimmwagen. 24 Translator’s Note: Landser was the German term for the equivalent of “GI” in the U.S. Army or “Tommy” in the British. 25

Translator’s Note: The Panzer I, still the main combat vehicle of the regiment and most of the armored forces of the German Army, was referred to by the tankers as the Krupp sportster, since it was made by the famous armaments firm and was also not much bigger than a sports car. 26 Translator’s Note: The use of the term “armored” in this context is somewhat misleading, inasmuch as the motorized infantry regiment had only one battalion, at most, of truly armored vehicles during the war, with some notable exceptions. The same holds true of the engineers. Occasionally, they were outfitted with specially modified tanks, but usually the “armor” consisted of half-tracks, or Schützenpanzerwagen (SPW), and then only in one company. They were armored in the sense that they were completely motorized and thus generally able to keep up with the tanks (in theory). 27 Editor’s Note: In German tanks, the transmission, incorporating the final drive unit, was at the front of the vehicle. 28 Translator’s Note: Baron. 29 Editor’s Note: he was later killed in Russia in 1942. Translator’s Note: The general’s full name was Willibald Freiherr von Langermann und Erlencamp. In addition to receiving the Knight’s Cross on 15 August 1940 for service performed while commanding the 29. Infanterie-Division (mot.), he was also the 75th recipient of the Oak Leaves to the Knight’s Cross on 17 February 1942, while serving as the division commander and in the same rank. He was killed on 3 October 1942 at Storoshewoje in the Soviet Union, while serving as a corps commander and having achieved the rank of General der Panzertruppen. 30 Translator’s Note: This left the division with only one tank regiment, Panzer-Regiment 35. In the course of the rapid expansion of the armored forces after the fall of France, it was standard practice to reassign one of the division’s two tank regiments to form the cadre for a newly forming armor division. 31 Editor’s Note: This was the Panzer III Ausf. G or H. The supplemental armor consisted of 30mm plates bolted to the front of the hull and superstructure. 32 Translator’s Note: Burgenland is the easternmost province of Austria. 33 Translator’s Note: The “G” stood for Guderian, the commander-in-chief of the field army named after him, Panzergruppe Guderian.

34 Translator’s Note: A battle group, or Kampfgruppe, was an ad hoc formation, generally purposely organized to accomplish a specific mission at hand and consisted of forces from a number of different branches. Unlike the U.S. Army, which uses different terminology for essentially the same concept but based the name on the size of the element involved, the Germans were less strict in that regard, and anything from a company on up could be configured into a Kampfgruppe. The battle group usually bore the name of the man commanding all of the elements that reported to him. 35 Translator’s Note: As was customary within the Army, so too within the Luftwaffe. Formations were often referred to by the names of their commanders. In this case, Jagdgeschwader Mölders was actually Jagdgeschwader 51 or the 51st Fighter Wing. The wing boasts of having had more Knight’s Cross recipients than any other German fighter wing of the war. 36 Translator’s Note: The “Stork” was a single-engine utility aircraft that filled a number of roles for the Luftwaffe and in support of the ground forces. The Storch had the ability to take off and land in very short distances. 37 Translator’s Note: The Germans consistently used continental German time in official reports. This explains Schäufler’s concern about getting to Swislotsch before sunrise, since the local time was 0430 hours, and it was still summer. 38 Translator’s Note: A rocket launcher, literally “smoke thrower.” 39 Translator’s Note: The Germans referred to artillery shells and bombs colloquially as “suitcases.” 40 Translator’s Note: The Ratsch-Bumm was soldier slang for the 7.62-centimeter antitank gun of the Soviets. It had a high muzzle velocity. According to soldier lore, the sound of the firing (Ratsch) and the impact (Bumm) were simultaneous. 41 Translator’s Note: Oberfunkmeister was a specialty rank denoting the equivalent of an Oberfeldwebel in the signals branch. 42 Editor’s Note: The Kampfgruppe consisted of the II./Panzer-Regiment 35, the 1./ Kradschützen-Bataillon 34, the 1./Schützen-Regiment 12 (SPW company), the II./Artil lerie-Regiment 103, the 1. and 3./Panzer-Pionier-Bataillon 79, elements of the division bridging column, one heavy Flak battery and one light Flak battery.

43 Translator’s Note: The 324th Armored Observation Battery, which was a flash-ranging unit. 44 Translator’s Note: Meini was Eberbach’s nickname for Meinrad von Lauchert, the 1st Battalion’s commander. It’s a typical diminutive form used in southern Germany. 45 Translator’s Note: Presumably another nickname by Eberbach for von Lauchert. 46 Editor’s note: These aircraft would have been the IL-2 Sturmovik, a single-engine, heavily armored ground-attack aircraft that was seemingly impervious to battle damage. The most-produced Soviet aircraft of World War II—and the most shot down! 47 Translator’s Note: This decoration (Panzerkampfabzeichen) was awarded to tank crews for participation in at least 3 tank assaults on 3 separate days. 48 Translator’s Note: The author identifies the T-34’s as being heavy tanks. They were actually medium tanks weighing about 28 tons, but they were larger, more agile, better armed and better protected than the Panzer III—22 tons—that the author was riding in at the time. Correspondingly, it can be seen how the Germans considered these as heavy tanks when they first appeared. 49 Translator’s Note: The Panzergranate 40 was the main armor-defeating round used by the 5-centimeter main gun of the Panzer III. 50 Translator’s Notes: The author was attempting to portray the “translator’s” imperfect command of German. 51 Translator’s Notes: The panje cart was a ubiquitous horse-drawn wagon used by the Russian peasants to transport material. It was frequently impressed into German service as well, usually in trains elements, as the war progressed, especially during the winter months when it was often the only reliable means of transportation. 52 Editor’s Note: A P08 pistol, i.e., a Luger. 53 Translator’s Note: “Hands up!” 54

Translator’s Note: Halsschmerzen was the derogatory euphemism used by soldiers concerning a superior whom they thought was angling for a Knight’s Cross. 55 Editor’s Note: From page 221 of his memoirs. 56 Translator’s Note: In Soviet military usage, a “front” was roughly the equivalent of a field army. 57 Editor’s Note: Rudolf Volker has provided some commentary on the above: 1. It was not 13 tanks that had taken Orel and held it for three hours. It was only four. 2. Following those four tanks of the 6./Panzer-Regiment 35 was the II./Panzer-Regiment 35, with its 5th, 7th and 8th Companies, as well as the regiment’s 1st Battalion and, in turn, the entire 4. Panzer-Division. 3. The Russians fought bravely at the lower and middle levels, up to regimental command. Those that had run away in Orel were party personnel and the NKVD. Orel could not have been defended with those people. 58 Translator’s Note: Of course, the verse rhymes in the original German. It is writ- ten in standard high German, with the exception of the last line of each strophe, which replicates Swabian dialect and is a gentle poke at the Swabian commander of the brigade, Oberst Eberbach. In the original German, the last line of the first strophe reads: “Des Städtle ischt wichig, des müsse mer habe!” In standard high Ger- man, it would be rendered as: “Das Städtchen ist wichtig, wir müssen es haben!” 59 Editor’s Note: The main gun of the Panzer III models G, H and some J was a 50mm L/42 that could not penetrate the frontal armor of either the T-34 or KV I and II. In April 1941 Hitler insisted on the fitting of the 50mm L/60, a higher velocity weapon. This helped the situation somewhat but it was only with the introduction of the 75mm L43/48 on the Panzer IV F2, and other vehicles, that Russian main battle tanks could be defeated at normal combat ranges. 60 Translator’s Note: The author is referring to the 3.7-centimeter antitank gun, which had effectively been obsolete for a long time. Introduced before the war, it was no match for the T-34, let alone the KV I’s and II’s that are most likely the types of tanks the authors are referring to when they say that they were attacked by “heavy” tanks. 61 Translator’s Note: Presumably, the houses had shutters, which then had to be closed against the elements and also to afford greater concealment to the defenders. 62 Translator’s Note: The elite “Greater Germany” formation, which later was expanded to a

Panzergrenadier division and, at the very end, a nominal corps, was officially known as Infanterie-Regiment (mot.) “Großdeutschland” and is occasionally misidentified as a Waffen-SS formation due to its distinctive insignia and status. 63 Translator’s Note: The German Army formed its elements regionally, with the 3. PanzerDivision being based primarily in and around Berlin. 64 Editor’s Note: This was a KV II that mounted a 152mm howitzer in a massive slab-sided turret. 65 Translator’s Note: When tanks were converted to command and control vehicles, they had the main guns removed to allow for more personnel and radio equipment in the vehicle. A dummy gun was mounted on the mantlet, in an effort to give the appearance of a normal tank. There were generally machine guns still on board for close-in defense, but the author here is obviously referring to the lack of a main gun. 66 Translator’s Note: The author is undoubtedly referring to the side hatches on the turret of the tank, which could be opened for loading ammunition or communicating with personnel on the ground. 67 Editor’s Note: Probably this was a tungsten-cored AP40 round. 68 Translator’s Note: Some of Neles’s paintings are contained in the illustrated portions of this book. 69 Editor’s Note: The T-26 was a light tank of 10 tons that mounted a 45mm main gun. It was no match for a Panzer III G/H. 70 Translator’s Note: The author is referring to the 10. Infanterie-Division (mot.), the 25. Infanterie-Division (mot.) and the 29. Infanterie-Division (mot.). 71 Translator’s Note: That corresponds to -4 Fahrenheit. Celsius temperatures will hereafter be entered with the Fahrenheit equivalents in brackets. 72 Translator’s Note: Italics in the original. 73 Translator’s Note: A literary reference to a ballad by Gustav Schwab, in which a rider

mistakenly crosses frozen Lake Constance in the winter on horseback. 74 Author’s Note: Georg Heymer provided the supplemental information. He was a member of the 7./Panzer-Regiment 35 at the time. Translator’s Note: After the war, Heymer served for many years as the chair of the Panzer-Regiment 35 veteran’s association. It was thanks to him that permission was obtained to translate this book into English. 75 Translator’s Note: Cuno was the commander of Panzer-Regiment 39 of the 17. PanzerDivision . He would later receive the Knight’s Cross to the Iron Cross for his actions in this sector on 18 January 1942. 76 Translator’s Note: Volhynia is an area of northwestern Ukraine, which was one of many areas that attracted ethnic Germans for settlement in Czarist Russia. Shitomir is the main city of the region. 77 Translator’s Note: Communist agitator of mixed Polish and German heritage, who became a martyr for the German Communist cause after her capture and death following the Spartacist uprising in Berlin in 1919. 78 Translator’s Note: This is a play on words of the German saying Hals- und Beinbruch, which is the equivalent of the English expression “Break a leg!” The original German goes one step further in wishing both a broken neck and a broken leg. Here, with the phrase modified, it literally means “Get shot in the neck and stomach!” 79 Editor’s Note: This means that the tanks were employed in the infantry-support role. 80 Translator’s Note: The strophe rhymes in the original German: Soll Heimkehr uns beschieden sein, wir feiern sie beim Frankenwein! Bamberg, the home base of the regiment, is in the middle of Franconia (Franken). 81 Editor’s Note: Usually these aircraft were Polikarpov Po 2s, single-engine biplanes. So successful were these nocturnal raids in disrupting the German front lines that the Luftwaffe set up its own night-attack units utilizing mainly obsolescent biplanes such as the Hs 123. 82 Translator’s Note: As is typical with many first-person accounts from Germany, the person is not identified by name, only by an initial. Obviously, the full name was used in the original exchange. As will become obvious, many times this was done to avoid additional

grief to loved ones. 83 Editor’s Note: These were probably of the Marder I or II type based on either the Panzer II or the Pz.Kpfw. 38t chassis. 84 Translator’s Note: Presumably, this was written during the war, since the narrative starts out in the past tense and ends up in the present tense. 85 Editor’s Note: The excellent 7.5-cm Pak 40/KwK 40 finally gave the German forces a weapon capable of defeating the T-34 and KV tanks at long range. 86 Author’s Note: 1st Lieutenant Nowikoff was killed on 18 March 1943 ay Byki, 12 kilometers south of Ssewsk. The signals instructions that he had on him were evaluated and an intercept mission was set up. His diary was translated by the intelligence section of the division. He was buried at Byki. 87 Editor’s Note: The Franco-Prussian War. 88 Author’s Note: That was the last entry for 2nd Lieutenant Popoff from Partisan Detachment “Kotowskij.” The diary was found in an abandoned bunker in the woods. It is unknown whether he was killed or managed to break out. 89 Translator’s Note: Schwere Panzer-Abteilung 505. 90 Translator’s Note: The Tank Assault Badge in Silver—Panzerkampfabzeichen in Silber — was awarded to a tanker after three separate engagements in a tank. Later on, numbered awards were also introduced—25, 50, 75 and 100—which were intended to be awarded after the corresponding number of engagements was reached. Although many tankers qualified for the 75 and 100 awards by war’s end, few actually received the badge due to more pressing needs as the Reich collapsed around them. There was also a corresponding badge struck in bronze that was awarded to armored reconnaissance personnel and mechanized infantry. 91 Translator’s Note: Diminutive form of Oberfeldwebel. 92 Translator’s Note: The German Cross in Gold, introduced in 1941, was designed to be an intermediate award between the Iron Cross, First Class, and the Knight’s Cross.

93 Translator’s Note: Field Army Groups Center and South. 94 Translator’s Note: The Luchs (Lynx) was a purpose-built fully tracked reconnaissance vehicle armed with a 2-centimeter rapid-fire cannon. Very few were produced (about 100) and the 4. Panzer-Division was one of the few major formations to receive a complement of them. (See the photo section for more information.) 95 Editor’s Note: These were Sd.Kfz. 234/3 armored cars mounting the 7.5-cm KwK51 L/24 cannon. 96 Translator’s Note: A rank of nobility equivalent to a count. 97 Translator’s Note: Schulz-Merkel is referring to himself, in this instance. 98 Editor’s Note: The Soviet forces received shipments of Valentine, Matilda and Churchill tanks from Britain and Canada. The heavy armor of these infantry support tanks was appreciated by the Russians but the 2- and 6-pounder guns were considered totally inadequate. 99 Translator’s Note: As the war progressed and more and more Luftwaffe personnel became superfluous to the air readiness of the air force, ground divisions were formed. Well equipped but hastily trained and poorly led, they generally suffered inordinate casualties when initially committed. As the war continued, they improved, of course, aided by the decision to use senior and experienced Army personnel impressed into the ranks and leadership positions. 100 Translator’s Note: It is standard German practice to place both academic titles in front of the name, if the degrees were in different disciplines. 101 Editor’s Note: The Bomber Command raid on Mailly le Camp was very costly, with 42 Avro Lancasters shot down—over 11% of the raiding force. 102 Translator’s Note: Although it would seem an isolated occurrence based on what Schäufler writes, most of the “new” Panther battalions were redesignated as the regimental 1st Battalion whenever they returned to their parent organizations. 103

Translator’s Note: Schäufler’s narrative is somewhat confusing here. What had happened was that the regimental staff of Panzer-Regiment 35 was employed as cadre for the regimental headquarters of schwere Panzerjäger-Regiment 656 under the command of von Jungenfeld. The regiment was formed expressly as a command and control element for two battalions of the new Porsche-built Elefant tank destroyer and an additional battalion of assault tanks, the Sturmpanzer IV. The regiment was used during Operation “Citadel” and in the subsequent fighting around Orel. Eventually, the constituent battalions of the regiment were broken out for separate employment, obviating the need for that regimental headquarters. The headquarters was then redesignated and used to form Panzer-Brigade 101, with most of the original personnel from Panzer-Regiment 35 returning to their old formation. 104 Translator’s Note: The Panzerfaust was a one-shot self-propelled antitank rocket on which the world-famous RPG-7 was later based. Introduced in 1944, it had an effective range of about 100 meters. Since it used a shaped chemical charge to render its destructive effect, it was capable of penetrating the thickest armor on the battlefield, if it struck its intended target properly. 105 Translator’s Note: The Panzervernichtungsabzeichen was an award created to recognize individuals who knocked out a tank with close-combat methods: Panzerfaust, shaped charges, etc. 106 Editor’s Note: On 22 June 1944 the Soviet Forces launched the largest military operation in history—“Bagration.” One and a half million men, 31,000 artillery pieces, 5,200 tanks and 5,000 aircraft were hurled against Army Group Center. The German defenders were quickly shattered and largely destroyed. Seventeen divisions were annihilated and over fifty reduced to half strength in probably Germany’s worst defeat of the war. 107 Author’s Note: Written for a field-army newspaper after the summer fighting of 1944. 108 Editor’s Note: The JS 2 Stalin was in many ways comparable to the Panther, weighing about the same at 46 tons. The Stalin was more heavily armored but slower and less maneuverable than the Panther. Both main guns had similar anti-armor capabilities but the Stalin fired a massive 25-kilogram high-explosive round. One significant shortcoming of the Stalin was that it only carried 28 main gun rounds whereas the Panther carried 81. 109 Translator’s Note: Armored Fortification Details. 110 Editor’s Note: These tanks were actually T-34/85s, an up-gunned version of the T-34 mounting a 85mm main-gun. Although an improvement, the T-34/85 was no match for the

Panther. However, the venerable Panzer IV could be knocked-out at long range. 111 Translator’s Note: Kurland was the German term for Courland, a western province of Latvia. 112 Translator’s Note: Members of the National Socialist Party, given that nickname because of their brown uniforms. Party officials were universally held in contempt by the combat troops. 113 Translator’s Note: Blocking Brigade I. More information can be found at: http://forum.panzer-archiv.de/viewtopic.php?p=103472#1 03472. 114 Editor’s Note: These were Sd.Kfz. 234/1 heavy eight-wheeled armored cars powered by an air-cooled 12-cylinder Tatra 103 diesel engine. This superb engine was designed to operate either in the heat of North Africa or the steppes of Russia. 115 Editor’s Note: The Sd.Kfz. 234/2 “Puma” mounted a 5-cm KwK 39/1 cannon in a fully enclosed rotating turret and was arguably one of the best armored car designs of the war. The main gun was the same as that of the late model Panzer III. 116 Editor’s Note: Sd.Kfz. 234/3 mounting the 7.5-cm L/24 cannon. Firing a specially designed hollow-charge round, this gun was quite effective against Russian tanks at close range. 117 Editor’s note: Due to a shortage of tanks, one company in each battalion often consisted of assault guns—usually StuG IV or III. The 1 st Battalion was fortunate in receiving the Jagdpanther as it was heavily armored and mounted the superb 8.8-cm L/71 cannon that was capable of knocking out all Soviet tanks at long-range. 118 Editor’s Note: This tank was most likely the massive 68-ton “King Tiger” or Tiger II, Germany’s heaviest operational tank. 119 Translator’s Note: Paraphrased from the Wikipedia entry (http://en.wikipedia. org/wiki/MV_Wilhelm_Gustloff): The MV Wilhelm Gustloff was a passenger ship constructed by the Blohm and Voss shipyards. It sank after being hit by three torpedoes (one marked “For Leningrad”) fired by the Soviet submarine S-13 on 30 January 1945 with the loss of more than 7,000 lives, the greatest loss of life in a maritime disaster in history. 120

Translator’s Note: Neue Welt was a part of Ohra (near Danzig) and translates as “New World.” 121 Translator’s Note: The fusilier battalion was the divisional reconnaissance battalion for a late-war infantry division. Although not specified here, it may have had some armored vehicles integral to its organization. It may have also been partially or completely motorized. 122 Editor’s Note: Inexperienced (and often veteran) infantry tended to congregate around and behind tanks thinking that their bulk would shield them from fire. In reality, tanks are a veritable magnet for attracting artillery, mortar, machine-gun and rifle fire. Infantry are better off giving tanks a reasonably wide berth and finding their own cover. 123 Translator’s Note: The name of a hill, meaning “Dead Head.” 124 Translator’s Note: Home guard forces composed of youths and elderly men who were not qualified for military service. They were sent to the front line barely trained and inadequately armed and subsequently slaughtered in their thousands. 125 Editor’s Note: The much-maligned surface units of the Kriegsmarine performed heroically during the evacuations from East Prussia. In an epic operation, master-minded by Admiral Karl Dönitz, over two million people were evacuated with less than 1% of them lost at sea. This was the largest seaborne evacuation in history. 126 Translator’s Note: The original German: Höher hebt die alten Fahnen, / Fahnen, die vom Sturm zerfetzt, / daß sie in allen Müden mahnen, / treu zu sein bis ganz zuletzt! Hebt sie hoch bis zu den Sternen, / daß sie jeder Deutsche sieht, / Mahnung in die grauen Fernen, / wenn die Schar zum Stermben zieht! Hebt sie in den düstern Himmel, / daß der Treu’ste sie noch sieht, / wenn im heißen Schlachtgetümmel, / aus dem Leib das Leben flieht! Hebt sie über Schimpf und Schand, / Laßt sie nicht der Ehrfurcht missen! / Männer braucht jetzt unser Land, / die um Treu und Ehre wissen! Haltet jetzt an Deutschland fest, / das vom Unheil heimgesucht! / Wer es jetzt im Stiche läßt, / sei in Ewigkeit verflucht! 127 Translator’s Note: The original German:

Verraten selbst von unseren Freunden, / gehaßt, verfemt in aller Welt, // gejagt, verwundet von den Feinden, / im Kampfe ganz allein gestellt, / so suchen wir den Weg der Pflicht. / Herrgott, verlasse Deutschland nicht! Wir bitten nicht um unser Leben, / um Wohlergehn, um Geld und Gut, / wir wollen alles gerne geben, / wenn Du es willst, nimm unser Blut! / Nur führe unser Vok zum Licht. / Herrgott, verlasse Deutschland nicht! Ein blutend Volk ist angetreten, / es kämpft vom Knaben bis zum Greis. / Gedrückt, gequält von tausend Nöten, / hofft es auf einen Gunstbeweis. / Wir bitten Dich, Herr, halt Gericht. / Herrgott, verlasse Deutschland nicht! 128 Translator’s Note: Ich hatte einen Kameraden (I had a comrade), which has the same emotional tug for the average German soldier of the time as does Taps for U.S. soldiers. 129 Editor’s Note: Probably the superlative, and very advanced, MP 44/STUG 44, which was the precursor of the modern assault rifle. 130 Translator’s Note: As the war progressed and manpower needs became more pressing, the Germans allowed Hilswillige to supplement the manpower authorizations for organizations. They performed services similar to those discussed in the main text. Most remained loyal to the Germans until the very end, and many were issued with fake Wehrpässe and other documents to allow them to escape capture by Russian forces, which usually meant summary execution. 131 Translator’s Note: The reader is reminded that when this book was originally written in the early 1970s, there was still no extensive rapprochement between the Soviet Union and Germany and any type of contact between the citizenry of the two countries, especially under circumstances as described here, was exceedingly difficult. Of course, at the time the incident took place, in 1951, it was completely impossible. 132 Author’s Note: The following is based on a statement prepared by a Hauptmann Stegmann, who was a member of the personnel collection point in the citadel of Copenhagen, where Moser eventually landed after shipping out from Danzig. 133 Translator’s Note: Known in German as the Frische Nehrung. This is a strip of land that connects Danzig in the west and Pillau to the east. It also separates the Baltic from the Vistula Lagoon (Frisches Haff). 134 Editor’s Note: The Goya was sunk by the Soviet mine-laying submarine L-3. This was second only to the sinking of the Wilhelm Gustloff as history’s worst maritime disaster.

135 Editor’s Note: The Russian vehicle was most likely a JSU (ISU) 152 assault gun. The frontal armor was actually only 9 centimeters thick, not 20, and could be easily penetrated by the Jagdpanther’s gun at almost any range. However, the armored mantlet around the gun mounting was very thick. The 15.2-cm main gun did not have particularly good armor penetration but the kinetic impact of such a massive round could cause considerable damage—as in this instance. 136 Translator’s Note: The region to the northwest of Königsberg. 137 Translator’s Note: This is a slight play on words in the original German, with trenches (Gräbe) being close to graves (Gräber). 138 Translator’s Note: Öland is a Swedish island off the east coast of Sweden. 139 Translator’s Note: Rügen is in the northeastern corner of the former German Democratic Republic, placing it not too far west of Danzig and the areas where the Soviets had already advanced and occupied.