The Company had to break out. The field kitchen and the supply truck were rigged with explosives and blown up. The ration team had to become a rifle team. The Company’s other units, the three platoons and their men, loaded themselves up with all the rations and munitions they could carry.
At noon on February 20 Sergeant Kantele went to the head of the platoon, advancing through an area of woods and meadows. It was a good distance from the enemy line ahead, from the encirclement; they didn’t expect a hostile presence here. But, right then Kantele was hit in the head by a sniper’s bullet; he staggered and stood for a few seconds, then he tumbled to the ground and was dead. Arno saw at a glance that he was totally mutilated, half of his head having been torn away by an explosive bullet.
So what to do? Since no one took command, Arno decided to do it. He told the others: “I’m in command of the squad,” removed the magazine pouches from Kantele’s Sturmgepäck, took the man’s MP 40 and gave his own rifle to another soldier. Arno broke off the ID tag that Kantele, like all soldiers, wore around his neck. This oval – rather semi-oval after being broken off – piece of metal was then able to definitely tell the authorities and relatives that he had died. It gave no consolation per se but dispelled the uncertainty.
The corpse was left, being carried away a few metres and placed under a birch tree. This wasn’t ideal, but they were clearly encircled and so other laws applied. Soon the squad continued the march in its place in the platoon column.
So, even though he was a newcomer, Arno had taken command of the squad. The others hadn’t acted. And he didn’t hold that against them. But he thought, appearances are deceptive. I wasn’t so tough when I came to this unit but for that matter it isn’t some way-out elite force.
That’s what he thought. And of Arno at this time it can generally be said that he was only an enlisted man, a simple ranker, but he had quickly adapted to the military life. He had learned to speak German fairly well. And in the combat zone he had noted the behaviour of his superiors and realised what was required to be a leader himself. During the training they had instilled in the soldiers, including in Arno, that you must always assume responsibility, for yourself and others. That included being prepared to step up a notch in the hierarchy if, say, your squad leader was killed. It was the concept of Verantwortungsfreude, embracing responsibility, loving it for its own sake. Now Arno assumed responsibility, he took command of the squad when Kantele fell. And the Platoon Leader Tanz soon confirmed it, appointing Arno acting head of 2nd Squad.
On February 21 the Tanz Platoon took point in the advance. They were approaching the encirclement line proper, the main line of resistance between them and their own. They had spent the night in an abandoned village. Now they hurried along a path through a thicket of young birch, the ground covered by a thin layer of snow. Tanz, himself at the head of the column, saw muzzle flames at a forest edge and ordered rifle smoke grenades fired towards the site.
No sooner said than done. The enemy were blinded by the smoke so the Germans could advance some 20 metres across the open, flat ground overgrown with heather. They passed some of their own wounded, men from 3rd Platoon who had somehow got there before them. Blood and screams, mad staring eyes, yellow and green bile, white bone and black wounds. Tanz turned a blind eye to the wounded and shouted at his men to keep going.
Next, they reached a Russian sentry group in a birch wood. They found the main rifle pits abandoned, advanced some 500 metres through the trees and waited there for the rest of the Company.
The others straggled in. When all units had made it the Company Commander, Captain Schwarz, reorganised the force into a combat column, again with 1st Platoon in the lead. The advance continued with a 100-meter distance between the platoons.
Sometime later they were marching across moorland. Contrails from bombers could be seen in the chill February blue sky. A mysterious light shimmered over the snow, the winter greyness soon to give way to the happy glow of spring. But apart from that promise, these were not reassuring surroundings; in the snow drifts, on bare ground and in the thickets you could spot barbed wire, signal wire, grenade fragments, mine shells, iced blood and frozen corpses. What hell is this? Arno thought where he led his squad. This is probably the main Russian line. They had stumbled right into enemy’s positions. They were marching without guides. They had to figure this out themselves, learning it the hard way.
Arno checked the ammo supply of the group and redistributed it more evenly. Then a cry came from Latorre, head of 3rd Squad, calling for a gauze dressing. Not far off clouds of smoke rose and guns rumbled, Russian 7.62 cm pieces shelling the neighbouring company in the battalion, also about to try to break out. There was the sound of automatic fire, MGs and handguns, both hostile and their own.
An orderly arrived from Tanz. He had orders from Schwarz saying that 1st Platoon would protect one of the flanks. 3rd Platoon would instead take the lead. 2nd Platoon had hitherto always gone last, it consisted of more untrained personnel like baggage train soldiers, but now it would follow in the wake of 3rd. When “forward” was ordered again, 1st Platoon would bring up the rear.
Tanz surveyed the land, peering out through the trees. Flank protection was the task so he called out to his Squad Leaders:
“1st Squad by the stone, 2nd by the felled tree, myself and 3rd taking up the centre!”
3rd Squad was the MG Squad, the ultima ratio regnum of the platoon leader. The MG Squad was headed by Unterfeldwebel Latorre.
They sprinted into position then hit the deck in the snow, spread out over a 300-metre stretch and looking out over the deserted forest while gunfire echoed in the background. 300 metres was in theory way too long a front for a single platoon to hold.
The forward-command was given once more. The advance seemed to be a mix gunfire, slush, murmuring trees, bare branches and scudding clouds. A hole had been torn in the Russian line by 3rd Platoon. Arno and the rest, in the wake of 2nd Platoon, could slip through as well. The Battalion’s other two Companies broke through at another point.
As time moved on, things became a little calmer. It became shânti, peace and Stille in the context of the battle, a paradox fitting the current mood of “movement as a state”. It was about advancing through the birch forest on the heels of the rest, marching in the Company’s rear. For a while automatic fire was heard from the head of the column. Soon they passed raided enemy supply units, saw corpses on the ground and empty brass cartridges en masse, 7.62 projectiles of the short variety, Russian issue. Forward in single file.
The shooting eventually ceased completely. They moved cautiously across fields, through copses and thickets and then realised that they really had made it through. At nightfall the platoon made camp. They had been up and moving since this morning, February 21, and they just had to rest. Tanz posted guards and the men threw themselves on the ground, on such bare and reasonably dry patches as they could find. Arno slept under a spruce tree.
They rested for about an hour. When they continued the march they had lost contact with the rest of the Company. But they didn’t really mind, they just forged ahead through the night, heading for friendly troops to the west.