After retreating across the river Oder on 4 February, we had only the barest respite before we were to face the Russians again. True, we were now back to hot meals and normal rations, and were no longer retreating, but a massive Russian build-up was taking place and so our break would be a short one.
When the Russians attacked, the ferocity of their onslaught forced us to move back from our positions and by 9 February my division had retreated six miles. We were lucky that our vehicles had been refuelled and our stock of shells replenished, because we were using far more ammunition than previously.
Our targets were now not so much aeroplanes as tanks and other armoured vehicles. In such a fluid situation, digging in did not arise and our usual action was to fire at stationery or moving targets for a while and then to make a dash to a new vantage point from which we again used our rapid-fire guns to destroy or incapacitate Russian armour. My battery remained lucky and we had no casualties, but it was distressing to see other units carrying their dead and wounded with them as they retreated. I think I was very lucky with my humble job of re-filling shell magazines as it meant keeping my head down while I worked and so missed seeing much of the carnage around me.
There was no sleep for any of us in the night from 9/10 February. Russian forces had already by-passed us on our north and south flanks and we were in danger of being cut off, so we retreated further west. Once again we found ourselves part of a huge trek, marching and driving along a road already partly blocked with units from other divisions, either on the move or waiting for their next orders.
By dawn our progress had deteriorated to a painful crawl and the road was now really jammed solid. Because of varying rates of progress, members of different divisions had begun to intermingle and this resulted in utter chaos. As divisions lost their cohesion, officers tried in vain to retain contact between units separated from each other. On a road already blocked, motor cycle dispatch riders were just about able to worm their way through as they brought information and orders back and forward. I saw many high-ranking officers fuming impotently in their marooned staff cars at a situation which had got out of control. This was the only time I witnessed a breakdown of military organisation and, knowing that Russian tanks could not be far away, it was frightening.
We were not able to progress more than a couple of miles over the next few hours. When we had started off in the morning, my gun group, together with some of our Panther tanks, had brought up the rear of our division in order to give it cover from pursuing Russian forces. But now, due to our snail’s pace, units of other divisions had caught up with us and we became sandwiched in between. The inevitable was bound to happen.
All of a sudden, Russian artillery opened fire from somewhere ahead of us on our left side, scoring hits on the trapped convoys of trucks and armoured vehicles. Although we could not actually see the guns, we had a clear view across the intervening fields and were able to rake their likely position from where we stood.
Suddenly, I noticed a long row of heavy Russian Stalin tanks spread out about half a mile away and heading straight for us from a north-easterly direction. Glancing back to the left, everything looked unchanged to me when, out of the blue, the landscape took on a life of its own. As if appearing out of the ground, huge numbers of Russian tanks and armoured vehicles came to view in the distance and bore down on us from a westerly direction. Moments later we were under fire from both sides and the drivers of my battery had to use all their skill to get our self-propelled guns off the road in order to have more room for manoeuvring.
I do not know how anybody in overall command could have decided in this chaotic situation which units should take on the tanks to the north-east and which would go for the huge assault force to the west. However, my unit was among the self-propelled guns and tanks which took on the larger force. Within moments we had driven onto the field on our left and were racing for a good vantage point from which to protect the almost defenceless columns of troops.
We fired as fast as we could at the semi-circle of Russian armour heading towards us, but, whatever success we had made little or no impression on the unstoppable forces. Our Panther tanks had moved on ahead and were successfully picking off Russian tanks one by one, but every now and then one of the Panthers was itself put out of action.
I saw that two of our four self-propelled guns had stopped firing, but in the crescendo of bursting shells and gun discharges, I had not noticed what happened to them. I never did find out and the last thing I remembered was the violent bouncing of my own self-propelled gun as we raced across the field to take up a new position, when suddenly the whole sky caved in on me.
15
GIANT “DODGEMS” GONE MAD
When I regained consciousness, I found myself lying on my back on the ground. I was deafened by the noise of vehicles travelling at high speed and the tortured sounds of engines being over-revved, all intermingling with the cacophony of guns firing and a myriad of explosions. Galvanized into action by the danger all around, I quickly checked whether my limbs were intact while trying to decide what to do next.
Apart from a spell of unconsciousness, I seemed to have come to no harm, but when I looked about me an incredible sight met my eyes. As far as my eyes could see, vehicles of every description, tanks, armoured cars, troop-carriers and many others, were hurtling around as if in a frenzy. There seemed to be no pattern to what was happening. German and Russian motorised armour, all mixed up higgledy-piggledy, were dashing around firing at each other for all they were worth.
It was as if I was lying in a huge field of giant dodgems which had all gone completely mad, but this field was about a square mile in area and skirmishes were going on everywhere. The din was incredible and, dazed as I still was, it took all my will-power to force my brain to start functioning again. Already I was in danger of being crushed by the next set of wheels and tracks bearing down on me, but where could I go?
If only I could float up over the battle area or instantly burrow deep into the ground, but whatever I did I had to get moving quickly. Rolling over, I jumped up into a crouching position and started to run even as I looked around desperately searching for inspiration. It was obvious that I could not keep on running through the line of fire and it seemed that the only place of relative safety lay in the actual shelter of the vehicles that were a danger to me. As I ducked and dodged I caught sight of my self-propelled gun about fifty yards away with a big hole in its side, but no sign of the crew; just a stationery Russian armoured car drawn up beside it.
I also saw that there was more action going on in the half mile between me and the road still packed with German units than there was to the west of me. It would have been suicidal to try to get back to the road on my right and I did not even have my rifle, as if that would have been any help. There was no time to lose, I had to get out of this mêlée superfast if I wanted to stay alive.
What happened next was one of the most bizarre episodes in my army career. Seeing a nearby Russian tank driving in a northerly direction I raced to it, bending low, and managed to take cover on its west side which I thought was not exposed to German fire at that moment. Running alongside the tank I had to watch out for fire coming from my side while looking out for “traffic” going west that I could latch onto. Since the road that I had been on ran in a northerly direction and could be clearly seen by the concentration of vehicles, I could easily tell in which direction I was going. Soon I became quite proficient at “changing horses” and began to feel more confident. Sometimes it was Russian vehicles that I tagged onto and sometimes they were German and there were also times when I had to accept going in the wrong direction, because it was safer to do so. Unfortunately, the German vehicles I used were invariably tanks which could not have taken me on board because of shortage of space and the danger of stopping, so I was left to fend for myself.