In the first four days of May 1945, the surviving operational units of the Göring Divisions 1 and 2 fought their last engagements north of Dresden. After that they retreated toward the northern border of Bohemia.
I remember driving through Dresden on what was the last day of war, 7 May 1945. We no longer carried ammunition; there was none left to fetch and nowhere to bring it. Instead, we took refugees on board and hoped that we would be able to get them to safety. I had never been to Dresden before its destruction and what I expected to see was the usual sight of the shattered buildings of a bombed city. What I saw instead was a desert. As we drove along streets cleared of debris I could see for miles across mounds of rubble. Little remained of the buildings to obstruct my view from where I sat on the back of our truck.
I don’t know what part of Dresden we drove through, but there was not a soul on the roads and what would they have been doing there anyway? It is not surprising that I got the impression I was travelling through some strange stone formations in the middle of the Sahara Desert. Terrible as the destruction was, I had then no idea of just how horrible a death the citizens had suffered. During my months on the Russian Front I had often come across the sickly, sweet smell of corpses; I do not know if it was my imagination, but I was sure I got the same smell of decay hanging over the city twelve weeks after the air-raid.
After leaving Dresden behind us we heard rumours that the war was over, but they remained rumours and we began driving southwards on a road that became more and more clogged with military trucks and cars as well as fleeing civilians. I knew that the Russians could not be far away to the north and the east and was convinced that the western Allies must also be quite near to us, but I saw no sign of either.
In fact, the nearest Western Allies were the 3rd US Army which was then still over seventy-five miles to the west of us, about fifteen miles the other side of Karlsbad and about thirty miles inside Bohemia. At the same time Russian tank forces under Marshal Konjiew were closing fast on us from a northern direction as they headed for Prague.
Despite the rumble of traffic on the road, I was very conscious of the absence of any noise of warfare and it gave me the strange feeling that there was something unnatural and wrong about this day. I did not seem to be glad that the war must now finally be over, nor was I conscious of any feelings of sadness that Germany had lost – there was only an emptiness in me. However, just because the war was over, there was no reason to relax; in the confused situation, into which I was heading, I had to be extra vigilant and my future remained as uncertain as ever.
17
ESCAPING CAPTURE
We were approaching the town of Glashütte, 15 miles west of Dresden, in mid-afternoon on 7 May, when our slow-moving column came to a halt. An officer standing in a jeep at the side of the road used a loud-hailer to announce that Germany had signed capitulation documents early that morning. He said that all soldiers were to stay with their units and these would be surrendering to American forces. No arms or vehicles must be destroyed and everything had to be handed over intact.
When our column moved on again shortly, I noticed that a couple of soldiers on my truck had not returned after ostensibly slipping off to “spend a penny.” The reason was obvious and who could blame them? The war was over; fighting had ceased and vows of allegiance no longer had a practical meaning. The biggest danger now was that we might end up as prisoners of the Russians and not the Americans.
So far, Gerkens and I had shied away from making any plans about how we would get to Rotenburg. This may have been because we felt that such discussion was disloyal or impractical at too early a stage, but now it was high time to have a plan of action. Rotenburg was a long way off in the north of Germany, but Karlsbad, where my Aunt Hella lived, was no more than seventy-five miles west. Karlsbad was obviously our first destination. Once there, we would be able to get civilian clothing, food and other useful items for our onward journey. Getting there quickly also meant putting a bigger distance between us and the Russians.
It was lucky for us that the town of Werdau, where Erika had last been living, and Mücheln, the home town of my guardian, were roughly en route between Karlsbad and Rotenburg. A decision on our immediate action was more tricky. Slipping off our truck now meant a three-day tramp to Karlsbad which was too long for safety. The Russians were probably not far off and there were bound to be Czech partisans in the area. On the other hand, if we waited too long, we might suddenly find ourselves in a prisoner-of-war camp with no opportunity to escape. We finally decided to stay with the truck for the time being, because it was averaging ten to twelve miles an hour and going roughly in the direction of Karlsbad. At the same time we would keep an extra sharp look-out in case of problems so that we could still make a get-away.
Soon after making our decision we saw two young and attractive female cyclists waving to our driver and begging for a lift. We now had more room on the truck, so the driver obligingly stopped and willing hands pulled the girls and their bicycles aboard. I would have thought cycling under prevailing traffic conditions to be quicker, but it may have been too much for the girls who looked more as if they were out for a Sunday jaunt than that they were refugees in flight.
It was not long before the girls found they could do even better for themselves. Once again we had landed in a traffic jam and were crawling along at a snail’s pace when an army VW jeep with two young German officers, travelling in the same direction, began to squeeze past us. Our two friends were on their feet in an instant, waving down to the officers and entreating them to give them a lift. It took only one look at the pretty faces for the officers to give a nod before the girls were off the truck and in the jeep, showing amazing agility.
I had been watching these events in an absent-minded sort of a way when I suddenly became aware of Gerkens hissing and whistling at me from another part of the truck. When I turned my head to look at him, I saw a rather funny sight. Gerkens was down on his knees, crouching low, with his arms stretched out on each side, reminding me of an Oriental about to pray. The reason for his urgent hissing was obvious. Each of his hands was clutching one handlebar of a bicycle which the girls had left behind, and he was afraid somebody might claim them. Gerkens had been more quick-witted than I and thanks to him we now had our own transport. Getting to Karlsbad would be much easier and we also had the means to cover the long distance to Rotenburg. How lucky can you get? Yet again good fortune had smiled on me.
Every now and then I noticed another soldier disappear from a truck or from among the marching men, but, as nobody in charge made any attempt to stop them, it seemed unlikely that Gerkens and I would be prevented from leaving. I must pay a sincere tribute to the common sense of the officers and NCOs. To date, strict discipline had been maintained because it mattered, but now that soldiers felt they had a better chance of reaching safety on their own, those in charge turned a blind eye and ignored their orders. I did not have any guilty feelings that I myself would soon be leaving the truck, because my departure could only be of benefit to a soldier or civilian who could then get a ride in my place.
When dusk approached, our column came to a halt near the town of Altenberg, just a few miles short of the Czech border. We did not know if this was in order to stop for the night or whether we were about to be handed over to the Americans, so we decided there and then to make a break. The bicycles were in good condition; barring major difficulties we could easily get to Karlsbad before daybreak. No eyebrows were raised when we nodded good-bye and slipped off the truck with our bicycles. We also kept our rifles, because we might still have to defend our lives. Little more than an hour later we found ourselves on a direct road to Karlsbad. By now it was quite dark, but I saw from a road sign that we had only another 65 miles to go.