Thus it seemed to be a fact that the Russians were listening in to our field telephone conversations by means of earth lines. The listening lines were nothing more than wires fixed into the earth by an iron rod. They were brought up as close as possible to the line to which they were to listen in, that is, as close as possible to our trenches. At the other end crouched a Russian, listening in on his listening set. Despite the fact that code names were constantly changed, for instance I was ‘Rucksack’ for the first week in July, the listener must have been able to learn enough from the conversations to which he listened. More than anything, the tone of military respect could not be hidden. It was true that you were supposed to leave out service ranks, but habit and drill often made you embarrassed when, instead of Jawohl Herr Major, you were supposed to answer with a straight civilian Ja or Nein. If the Russian could hear clearly and understood German well, he could soon draw his conclusions from the unabatedly obedient tone of the one participant in the conversation, and the commanding tone of the other.
One night I tripped over a wire in the area in front of the lines. Shocked, I thought at first that an S-mine laid by us had had a Russian line attached to it. It could have gone ‘sky-high’ together with me. But, thank God, that was not the case. It must obviously have been a listening wire. We reeled it gently in, which was not an easy job with a total length of 600 metres of wire. Particularly at the start, you could feel resistance. Perhaps a listener was sitting at the other end. As Grimmig said, ‘the eyes must have popped out of his head’ when his listening set began to move!
On the night of 5/6 July, a battalion from our neighbouring division attacked the ‘Ascension heights’ that lay in front of their sector. The attack took place after ten minutes’ preparatory fire. Nemers in particular was fully ‘covered’ with 80 Do-Geschosse, the mysterious devices I had seen from a distance a few days previously near to the battalion command post. They looked like angled wooden frames resembling easels, half the height of a man. The projectiles were ignited like rockets, and when they were fired gave a loud screaming sound. The success of the operation must in any event have been nil.
Through the regiment we heard that, of the total of eight men in the Russian outpost on the heights, only a single man had been captured. He was an eighteen years old Uzbek who could not speak Russian. The nearest interpreter for Uzbek was at Army HQ. The interpreter thought that the lad was feeble-minded, since he was not even able to say when he came into the position, nor did he say to which unit he belonged. Perhaps he decided not to say!
The one subordinate with whom I had problems was Unteroffizier Brinkmann, leader of the 8th section. He did not keep his trench in order. Sometimes a duck-board was not mended, or a piece of camouflage or cover was not put right, despite the fact that I had complained about it. Those were the ‘little things which made Prussia great’. Brinkmann was a ‘watersider’ with the walk and the look of a seaman, who used to smoke his pipe reflectively. I did not dislike him, but I had obviously not handled him properly. I had a good understanding with the Silesians and Sudeten Germans. However, I just did not have that understanding with Brinkmann. Perhaps I was too young for him.
In 1943 a lot was already being said about the new weapons that were supposed to decide the war. But they were taking a long time to come. The MG 42, which the Russians called the ‘electric’, and of which there were a few in the company, was only a modest foretaste. Certainly, compared to the MG 34 it was a considerable improvement. The rate of fire was markedly higher and it had hardly any recoil. So there were many sarcastic remarks and mischievous jokes when at that time we received a mitrailleuse, a French machine-gun from the First World War. The monster was several times heavier and also more complicated to operate than our own machine-guns. The only thing ‘fine’ about it was the shining golden brass handle. The machine-gun had cartridge packs of 20 rounds each. When you inserted them and pressed the trigger, it went tack-tack-tack and pounded away, in a leisurely fashion, out into the world.
On Sundays the food was better and there was even a small ration of schnapps. It was simple hooch, often sweetened with artificial honey. When the commander had been drinking, in the afternoon he ordered me to the company bunker. Part of the equipment of the company troops was a field wireless receiver, usually carried on the back. It was possible to listen on Sunday afternoons to the popular Volkskonzert. Requests from the front were featured on it. As I was missing music very much, on those visits to the company command post I felt myself to be on a higher cultural level.
Oberleutnant Hentschel enjoyed Sunday as much as he could by having his horse brought with the food vehicle. He rode to the baggage area, going into the sauna there and in that way ‘having a nice day’ on the lines of communication. Of course, it was quite right and proper if the commander went to the rear now and again. Except that things did not go too smoothly for the workmen and clerks. He had cognac sent up from the canteen stock for Patige and me, and that made us very merry.
One time, Patige and I had a bit of a binge together which led us to be giddy enough to walk up and down, with no cover, outside the trench along the parapet as if on an esplanade. It set a bad example to everyone and was against all orders. Obviously the Russians must have been drunk too, or at least asleep, because they let slip the chance of some competition shooting, with us as two targets. As the high point of the lark, towards evening we fired off red and green flares. Red usually meant ‘Defensive fire, enemy attack’, and green ‘Lift artillery fire’. Of course the flares had been noticed and we had a hard time pacifying the questioners on the other end of the line. To this day I am still amazed that we got away with it. A letter from Father at the beginning of July read:
Now I am able at least to imagine a little of your daily and nightly life. Your description reminds me very much of my own experiences from 1915 to 1918. A quiet position is a first prize, only I think that especially in Russia you will never be able to rely on it staying that way. Build a wall around us so that the enemy will look at it in horror. What your former section leader said, that a decent soldier always carries his field hymn-book in his breast pocket, is something I shall tell to some people here. Here in the West things are not easy. In most cases I am dealing with really indolent sensualists for whom things are going far too well for them to think of anything serious. If my health would stand it, I would far rather be serving in the East than here.
5
Summer/Autumn 1943: Trench construction and positional warfare