Frivolously I had taken my gold pocket watch with me into the field. I carried it in an aluminium container that had a cellophane pane on one side through which you could see the watch face. But every time it was difficult to get it out of the little pocket, sewn into the waistband on the right next the button. Since I could get a waterproof service wristwatch, with luminous figures on a black background, I ventured to send the pocket watch home. It actually arrived. That was by no means certain, for in spite of draconian punishments there were many instances of theft. Even the Feldpost was not proof against thieves. It was the watch that I got as a confirmation present from Rudolf Löhner. It has been for many years on the writing desk in Thussi’s ordination room.
One day the Divisional Commander, Generalleutnant Melzer, toured the positions. He was satisfied with the state they were in, but he reproved me since he believed I was not wearing a collar sash. Actually I did not have one, but instead had a beautiful purple silk scarf. However, in order not to be ‘bawled out’ for wearing it, I had pushed it under my collar. To wear such neckerchiefs in the garrison would have been unthinkable, but here in the field the superiors turned a blind eye. The fact that the General had caught me out irritated me for quite some time.
However, it was a peaceful day with glowing sunshine that prompted me to sunbathe on the grassy sloping back of the bunker. But soon that was too insecure, because I feared I might fall asleep. If a shell had struck, I would have been lying out in the open without cover. Another day the Russians, instead of disturbing us with shells, fired all their infantry weapons for a quarter of an hour, as if possessed, for no apparent reason. The fire could not hurt us in the cover of the bunker or in the trenches. But there was an uninterrupted chirping, buzzing and whistling and, because no shells were exploding, it was a particularly unique sound. When the firing began, the company commander’s Putzer, i.e. batman, was outside his bunker and was wounded in the foot just as he was having a pee.
In such trench warfare, which in itself was quiet, there was the institution of the Zugführer vom Dienst. When it was my turn at night, I had to inspect the entire company sector and the outpost sentries. I had to check the links between our company and the neighbouring companies. Those excursions out in front of the line were exciting and not without danger. At any moment you could bump into a Russian reconnaissance patrol. On dark nights, it was said to have happened that the Ivans captured Landser by throwing a blanket over their head. As far as possible you had to tread quietly, often stopping and listening.
An additional task was assigned to me. I had to develop lectures for ‘military moral support’ on the basis of material supplied to me. Then I had to go round lecturing from bunker to bunker. The subjects were:
1. The soldier and his political mission in the East.
2. The soldier and the woman of a different race.
3. The Feldpost letter – a weapon!
Considering that in the other battalions of the regiment the lectures were considered to be the task of a Hauptmann, whereas I as a mere Leutnant had been selected to deliver them, I felt proud. ‘Only you would have to tear yourself apart’, I wrote on 3 July to my Mother.
Monotony and relative peace were a breeding ground of sometimes endless rumours. In the Ivanowo days the word went round persistently that the Division would be withdrawn and transferred to Greece. As always, the rumour came to the front from the baggage-train. The ‘sarge’ had bet the Kompanietruppenführer a barrel of Smolensk beer and of course had lost. Whether he ever settled his bet with the sceptical Palige, I never found out.
At that time an appeal was suddenly made to the troops to take part in the competition for the formation of a Frontkreuz. The front itself was to make recommendations for the order. It was to take the form of a cross. By small variations it would indicate whether the holder had served with the fighting troops, or in the lines of communication, and how many years he had served. Commander Palige and I industriously drew up our proposals, mostly inspired by a bottle of cognac that the Oberleutnant donated from his own Sunday afternoon supply.
There were many indications that the Russians were planning an offensive. They were firing ‘registration’ fire on our positions, using targeted fire with premature detonation. Such shells exploded while still in the air. In that way it was possible to assess the accuracy of the fire. From our side, a Focke-Wulf twin-fuselage aircraft was in action over the enemy frontlines. It was carrying out close reconnaissance by means of photography. The aircraft flew over in broad daylight and was only moderately troubled by enemy fire. The Russians were asleep at that time of day.
Over Whitsun I went with my platoon on outpost sentry duty. For the men, it meant crouching in the same small hole for ten days and nights. From the outpost sentry position, the ground extending over to the enemy looked like a tightly stretched, flat tarpaulin. To lift a head above the parapet by day would have been suicidal. The position was excellently camouflaged, but the enemy was supposed not to discover it until the last minute. Flat trenches, scarcely knee-deep, connected the individual machine-gun and foxholes of the Igel-Stellung. The movement of a man in the daytime, even if he ducked down, could not be camouflaged. To get to such a foxhole was only possible by creeping or crawling along on your belly. Of the 24 hour period only four or five gave sufficient darkness to be able to stretch our legs and move our limbs. During those hours the units bringing food came up to the lines with rations and post for the men on the line. There was no water for washing. Washing and shaving were impossible. We had to clean our teeth with coffee. In a 2 x 2 metre hole in the ground, as deep as a man’s height, was my command post. It was covered with a layer of beams. Over the entrance was fixed the end of a wire by means of which a T-Mine, twenty metres from the Igel-Stellung in the direction of the enemy, could be set off.
On Whit Sunday night it was as if the Holy Ghost was truly appearing to us. On the stroke of midnight a considerable barrage rumbled off, covering the lines of the 1st and 2nd battalions directly behind us and to the right of us. Multiple mortars, called ‘Stalin Organs’, also joined in. It was a fascinating sight every time the 24 or 42 shells hit, spraying fire. By then it was clear that an attack on the sentry outpost was imminent. Whether it would be my post, or that of the 3rd Battalion placed to one side was not yet clear.
Meanwhile, the sound of tanks was suddenly to be heard. That indicated the Russians intended to attack the neighbouring position. The next night we learned that, in fighting off the attack poor Popovsky got shot in the lung, but had been brought back to the rear in time and otherwise was well. It was said to have been a whole battalion. His platoon had borne itself bravely, but still had all kinds of casualties and lost one wounded man as a prisoner. When the Russians had got hold of him, they withdrew, together with the tanks.
After almost four weeks at the front, I at last got some post from home. But there was nothing from Father in France. Rudi was waiting to be called up, having been accepted into the Panzerkorps Hermann Göring, which made him really proud. Amusingly, he described the chaos in the school. No-one in his class wanted to learn any more, but only play truant and, with their school-leaving certificate in their pockets, go to join up. Something that he had not told me before was that in February some trains with remnants of the 6th Army had passed through Stockerau and had stopped. ‘But that was quite something, a battlefield taken all together, so to speak. Ruins, destroyed tanks, guns, horses and soldiers, and among them the straw everywhere which gave the whole thing even more of a sense of doom’.