After a while we took a walk around the wood, keeping just inside the perimeter. We could hardly have been more lucky; within minutes we came across a German unit of reconnaissance vehicles parked in the wood. Once again I used my “Hummel, Hummel” as a hailing call which had worked so well the last time I had to overcome the suspicion of a German soldier on guard duty. Again it was a success and we were accepted. Before long we were sipping hot coffee that the men of the reconnaissance unit shared with us. In answer to our anxious questions they told us that units of the Division Göring had driven into Lask late in the previous night and could be expected to move out any time now.
Wilkens and I immediately set off and as soon as we got to Lask we were thrilled to come upon vehicles with the distinctive markings of our unit. Our mates had not given up hope of seeing us again and congratulated us on managing to rejoin them so quickly. We were saddened to hear that in a skirmish with Russian armour during the previous evening they had suffered a number of dead and wounded.
It was now 21 January and our next destination was the town of Sieradz on the west side of the river Warthe. I was made to think of Napoleon’s retreat from Moscow as I watched the columns of German troops, sometimes interspersed with refugees, flooding westwards. Late that evening we crossed the Warthe and arrived south-west of Sieradz, where we joined up with the Panzer-Corps Grossdeutschland. I felt heartened by the presence of this trusted Panzer-Corps and even more so the next day when the elite Division Brandenburg also joined us. We were now a formidable force and were all part of a significant unit in the final stages of the Russian Campaign. In German, we were known as “Der wandernde Kessel,” loosely translated this could be called a wandering pocket of troops.
Our “pocket” was made up of many fragmented divisions and splinter-groups which joined under the command of General Walther K. Nehring, commander of the 24th Panzer-Corps. It gradually swelled to a force of almost 100,000 men. Short of ammunition and first-aid supplies, and critically short of fuel, it nevertheless presented an impressive army which the Russians were reluctant to attack.
Although we suffered mainly harassment at the hands of Russian forces, there were many occasions when German units found themselves cut off, or encircled, and had to fight their way out again. We ourselves became encircled at the towns of Kalisch and Ostrowo and had to break out through the Russian lines, partly under the cover of darkness.
In contrast to Pabianice, where Polish mobs had wreaked vengeance on German civilians, it was very different in Kalisch, where the Polish population watched us depart with dread in their eyes, knowing what could befall them when the Russians moved in. Sadly, the fears of the Poles in situations like these were only too often well-founded. It has also been recorded that there were countless incidents when Polish civilians gladly helped German soldiers by giving them information about the Russians. They also gave them food and sometimes hid them without being coerced to do so. By doing this they put themselves in great danger when they could just as well have refused to give any assistance.
On 31 January we approached the German border and, once again, Russian forces blocked our path to the west, but this time they seemed to be less strong. By breaking through the Russian lines at night, we finally escaped through the main ring around the “pocket” and the road to the river Oder, some twenty-five miles away, was clear.
My battery had suffered no further casualties, but day by day I saw a steadily mounting number of wounded soldiers, who marched heavily bandaged or rode on vehicles. It was not that the daily skirmishes took such a great toll on the troops, but, as there were no field-hospitals to take the wounded, they had to be brought along and every day there were more.
Riding on my self-propelled gun I was one of the lucky ones, but enormous physical endurance was required from those on foot who were exhausted from long days of marching, often across very rough terrain. Weak from lack of food and sleep, on top of their wounds, they struggled on gamely and, as if that was not enough, they still had to fight off the Russians when the need arose. As trucks and armoured vehicles were disabled by Russian fire, broke down, or just ran out of fuel and had to be abandoned, more and more troops swelled the number of marchers on the road.
By successfully leading such a large conglomerate of troops from diverse divisions over 200 miles and under appalling conditions of cold and deprivation, General Nehring achieved an extraordinary feat. Much has been written about this retreat from Lodz via Sieradz and Kalisch to the river Oder and it has become a classic of military history.
At last the semblance of a more stable front had been reached where the army General Nehring had saved would be able to help stem the headlong surge of the Russians. This was going to be all the more important since, once again, German refugees were suffering the consequences of the blind stubbornness of Party functionaries who had refused to accept the possibility of a German defeat and had delayed evacuation. Handicapped by their late start, any breathing space that could be achieved was of vital help to refugees in giving them time to get away.
Gauleiter Greiser of the Wartheland had forbidden the preparation of evacuation plans until the Russians arrived; burning, murdering and raping. Houses were going up in flames everywhere and on 20 January, Greiser finally gave his consent for evacuation. For most civilians the order had come much too late, but, true to form, the Gauleiter was the first to flee. For the refugees there was only panic and chaos with cold, hunger and death accompanying them everywhere on the roads. Children who had frozen to death were taken along wrapped in sheets. Over a three-day period in late January 20,000–24,000 farm wagons were estimated to have crossed the river Oder.
After witnessing many distressing sights of refugees and retreating army units, I came across another scene that affected me deeply. It was that of dead tank crews whose tank had been on fire. The first time that I experienced this was when I saw what looked like large, black dolls scattered on top of burnt out Russian tanks. It was only a moment later that I realised to my horror that these were the charred remains of men who had been incinerated when their tanks went on fire. Although death must have come very quickly, their last seconds, when they realised that they were faced with a horrible death and scrambled desperately to get their burning bodies out through the turret, must have been terrible beyond description.
It is thought by many people that being a member of a tank crew must be one of the most fascinating activities in an army. Tank men are certainly a special breed and very proud of their job. In reality, theirs is one of the most uncomfortable and stressful jobs in the army. Cooped up in a space in which they have hardly any room to move, they are tossed around violently when their tank negotiates a difficult terrain. The temperature inside the tank becomes stiflingly hot, especially if the turret has to be kept closed, and the deafening noise from its engine makes all communication impossible except by way of microphones and headsets. To this must be added the crashing noise of the gun when it is fired.
Tanks usually required a lot of maintenance and this had to be carried out by their crew during the evening. It took about three hours, most of which came off time for sleeping. Sometimes the crew had to sleep for weeks in their tank and this became a nightmare with men wedged into impossible contortions as they tried to accommodate themselves in the irregular spaces available.