Movement to, and over the bridge, took place in separate fast bursts with army units awaiting their turn under cover of a group of trees. A pattern began to emerge which was to be repeated over many hours to come. Russian planes attempted to bomb and strafe the pontoon bridge and the approach road as well as the troop movements. They flew in circles until they had unloaded their bombs and fired all their rockets. Sometimes they stayed for a few circuits and then resorted to machine-gun and cannon fire before returning to base to load up with more rockets and bombs.
For their part, groups of German tanks, troop-carriers, trucks and infantry gauged the time to make their crossing with a minimum of interference from Russian planes. I could hear gunfire from German Flak east of the river and, between us, we gave the Russian planes quite a roasting. Every now and then the bridge was damaged when hit by a bomb or a rocket, but men from a sapper unit were ready for this. In no time at all, a temporary repair was carried out and traffic could roll again. Damage was never so bad that infantry could no longer cross the bridge. Many of the retreating units were infantry battalions with their bicycles. Although the German army was very sophisticated in many ways, the bicycle was in common use. Likewise, the horse still had an important role to play transporting artillery and pulling supply carts. A major problem arose in winter when large amounts of fodder had to be carried for the horses.
I cannot say that we gun-crews were continually in danger since the destruction of the bridge was the first priority of the Russian pilots, but sometimes a plane would attack us in suicidal fashion as if making a last desperate attempt to silence us. There were few pauses as my gun spat out its shells and I worked feverishly to keep up a supply of full magazines.
Our policy of retaining mobility paid off. We had no casualties and suffered from no more than the sometimes intemperate language of the gunner trying to get a sight on a plane while our driver reversed or swerved to make us a more difficult target.
During the day the maddening absence of German planes continued. I thought that a few of the fast and highly manoeuvrable Messerschmitt-109s would have quickly dealt with the Russian planes, but none showed up and our Flak had to take responsibility on its shoulders for the whole defence. We certainly gave no thought to saving ammunition and I think my ears soon adopted a permanent ringing as the guns discharged their shells hour after hour.
What does it feel like to be in this sort of a situation? To a certain degree one is an automaton. My actions were purely instinctive, and after surviving some heavy fire from Russian planes I found it difficult to remember details of preceding happenings. Though the mind is numbed and the ears are deafened, a subconscious alertness continues to operate and reaction to real danger is instant.
As usual, the attacking planes had all been Il-2’s and were very difficult to bring down. It was not easy to quantify our success rate. Concentrating on one target at a time and continually shifting to another target, as it came within range, meant there was no time to stand back and review the results. In some cases it was obvious that a plane was in trouble, at other times one could not be sure. We were lucky to suffer no deaths or injuries. There were some unnerving moments when shots from machine-guns or cannons ricocheted off our gun-carriers, but no serious damage was done.
I was glad whenever we put a plane out of action, but also experienced satisfaction that no pilots seemed to get killed. No plane was “shot down in flames” and I believed that disabled planes either got back to base or their pilots bailed out in time. My main concern was that attacks should be beaten off and that the lives of German soldiers were protected.
Our task in hand continued for the best part of the day with a number of pauses while waiting for more German units to reach the bridge. I was fairly sure that not a single German tank had been lost. A few trucks were hit while crossing the river and I saw one troop-carrier plunge into the water when a bomb blew a hole in the bridge just in front of it. Some German soldiers had certainly been killed and a number wounded, but I was surprised that, when all was over, there seemed to have been so few casualties or loss of equipment and the pontoon bridge was still serviceable.
Between concentrating on our shooting and watching out for the next attack, I think we had all forgotten about food even though it was now mid-afternoon and we had probably been on our feet for the last ten hours. Once all German units had completed the crossing, the Russians ceased their attacks on the bridge, but I could hear the sound of continuing activity as they harassed the units during their further retreat. I expected the sappers to dismantle the bridge in order to save the components, but, instead, they blew it up and the reason for this became clear to me soon afterwards.
We were given instructions to get ready to pull out and were told that the farmhouse and its tower would be blown up after we left to prevent the Russians making use of them. Having collected my belongings, I made the decision to do something that contravened one of the strictest army rules.
It so happened that food supplies had not been getting through in the last few days; what we got was well below the basic ration and we were all beginning to feel the pinch. I had seen apples stored on racks in the cellar of the farmhouse and I thought it such a waste for them to be destroyed while I went hungry.
So far, I had scrupulously observed army regulations, despite my pangs of hunger, and had not considered taking any of the apples. Now that the building was to be reduced to a heap of rubble I said to myself, “what the hell, anyway does the army not want me to be fit so that I can defend the Fatherland?” Without more ado I dashed down to the cellar, quickly put a few small apples into my pockets and hurried up again.
Just as I stepped out of the house, a BMW motor-cycle and sidecar carrying two military policemen pulled up. It was only a moment before their eagle eyes had noticed the bulges in my pockets and their suspicions were instantly aroused. The man in the sidecar got out and strode up to me. “What have you got in your pockets?” he demanded. I told him that I had apples in them. “Where did you get them?” was the next question fired at me. There was no point in bluffing. He would soon find out that we had received no ration of apples, so I went for a fast and honest answer. “I saw them in the cellar of this house which is about to be demolished. We have gone hungry for days and I have just helped to save the lives of many soldiers crossing the river while we held off the Russians.” The policeman was momentarily taken aback by my audacity, but he quickly recovered and snapped, “This is looting, you will have to face a court-martial!” He pulled out a notebook and pencil and demanded to know my name and number.
I made one further attempt and now interrupted him, saying: “If I don’t get food, what use will I be…” This time I was not allowed to get away with any more and was interrupted. “That does not matter a damn, you are guilty of…” At that moment there was a WHEEEH! and an earth-shattering crash as a heavy shell exploded about fifty yards from us. The sound of a gun told me that the shell had come from a Russian T-34 tank. The brave policeman uttered a startled, “What was that?” Savouring the moment, and speaking with calculated indifference, I replied, “Oh, those will be Russian tanks, we are expecting them any moment now.” “What, Russian tanks?” cried the policeman and, before you could say Heil Hitler he was back in the sidecar and the motor-cycle disappeared in a cloud of dust.
This was the only incident on the Russian Front that I thought was really funny, but it also had a serious aspect. On the one hand one might ask, how ridiculous can officiousness become in the enforcement of rules? On the other hand, once discretion is employed, and exceptions are made, this is the thin end of the wedge and how soon is it before standards slip below an acceptable level?