Their own howitzers fired barrages: the shells landed in a wood 5 km away, tearing up trees by the roots. Mortars joined in with suppressive fire while Battalion Wünsdorf, the Regiment’s 1st Battalion, attacked nearby. Stukas in the sky accompanied the ground force; one company attacked frontally while two other companies moved around the flank.
Soon Arno’s Company received new orders. The general theme was advance Beyond the Beyond. Trucks weren’t available so they had to advance by foot as the regular Infantry they were. On the way to the goal a soldier was wounded by shrapnel from a Russian artillery shell. Arno was right beside the man; he looked around for the medic, found him and ordered him to act. The medic took out a dressing from his bag and put it on the wound on the man’s thigh. The wounded man’s name was Phoenix, 3rd Platoon.
“Well,” said Arno who was kneeling next to him, “now we’ll see how this goes. The first time you’ve been hit?” Phoenix nodded, teeth clenched. As mentioned above Arno himself had been wounded by shrapnel in the face during the breakout in February. That was his first real wound.
A whizzing sound was heard overhead, followed by loud engine noise. It was a Junkers 88, coming in to land in a field nearby. The machine was painted in jagged patterns of black and green, with a light blue underside. As soon as it halted, members hastily unloaded boxes of MG ammunition. The MG Squads present rushed to the spot, took the deliveries and went off to fill their ammo belts. Metal belts of 50 rounds were assembled into 250 round belts. The belts were carried in belt boxes.
When the ammo had been unloaded Phoenix was helped inside the plane to be transported to the Battalion’s Medical Platoon. The Junkers plane took off, almost clipping a line of trees before it rose through the hazy sunlight and disappeared into the mist.
Schwartz positioned the Company along a row of poplars. Some hour later the unit was ordered forward again. The Platoons were advancing by instinct with support requested and provided, all part of the advance of the entire Battalion’s. The vegetation was sparse with shrubs, stunted trees and ferns.
Dusk began to fall. It was eight o’clock in the evening. They entered a birch forest. The Battalion was given a section to defend, a line in the forest that would be held together with Battalion Wünsdorf.
The Company defensive line ran through the middle of the murky wood. Company HQ was situated in a hut 500 metres behind the line. Additionally, 2 km behind the line the Ration Team and its field kitchen, transported by a truck, got to work. Pea soup was eventually brought up and Arno had his fill.
A restless night followed. Arno slept on a bed of bracken in a pit; he was awakened by gunfire and explosions every fifteen minutes, caught in the syndrome of micro-sleep.
Morning came, July 16. The lush foliage of the birches was silhouetted against the pink-coloured sky. Schwarz called his Recon Team Leader. He told him to go out and scout, probe the surroundings. The Corporal nodded and went away in a flanking movement, disappearing with his two soldiers between some hazel bushes and a line of trembling poplar.
Arno, for his part, drank some water and ate a crust. He devoted himself to his favourite activity, looking up in the sky searching for portents. He saw pale blue skies, red clouds and a flock of lazily flapping rooks. Arno sent an orderly to report to Tanz: “All quiet.” The other squads reported the same.
30 minutes later the Recon Team Leader returned with the news that the enemy had evacuated the nearest piece of ground. Schwarz nodded and ordered forward. The Company moved in a triangle, with two Platoons at the head, in parallel columns, and a third Platoon behind in reserve. Arno was at the head of his squad, placed in the middle of the forward left column.
Small clouds sailed overhead, but the sun beat down. The sky was almost dark blue at its zenith. Soon they reached a large clearing, littered with the wrecks of Russian tanks and trucks. Dead Russians lay randomly broken and plumes of acrid black smoke drifted over the land. Aircraft droned somewhere in the distance.
Some of the German soldiers began to walk among the corpses and poke, pillaging. Arno yelled at them to stop it. They were advancing and didn’t have time for this.
A few hundred metres were logged without anything happening. They advanced by rushes in the birch forest, glided through greenish yellow high grass. Dramatic thunder clouds now rose on the horizon.
Once during the day it was the turn of Arno’s squad to be advance patrol. And at one point he and his Team waited for his deputy, Zanten, to come by. Zanten was newly attached to the squad. When Zanten had advanced enough he would wave Arno forward. While he waited Arno stood and juggled with a fir cone, a dry, brown thing with a grid pattern reminiscent of the British hand grenades they had learned about in basic training. A lifetime away.
He asked himself whether they would encounter the enemy soon; there could be a Russian unit lying in ambush here somewhere. This you always had to count on when venturing into the unknown.
Arno stood waiting for the other guy to catch up. And while waiting he also asked himself how the attack was going, the operation in general. They had been advancing for over a week, across grassy plains and through dense forests. They had stormed machine gun nests, cleared mines and led Sturmgeschütze against armour. But wasn’t it the case that the Russians, against all odds, persevered…? Moscow in December 1941 had failed, Stalingrad as well. And now this Operation Zitadelle, how indeed would it fare…?
Zanten’s men passed them by. After 150 metres they too halted in fire positions and Zanten waved Arno forward to leapfrog them in turn. Arno rose and got his men going. The rifle team picked their way through the forest, the soldiers walking in line abreast, each soldier constantly looking from side to side to discover anything suspicious.
The sun played through the foliage. Arno ventured into a stand of high grass, seeing nothing but greenery, sky and his feet below him. He stood still and listened. Not a sound was heard, just the rustle of the foliage of the trees.
5
Ukraine
Arno heard the rustling of the branches. He saw the blue sky, he saw reflections of the sun in strange patterns. And there, on the right, he eventually glimpsed Zanten. Green light and forward again.
Wouldn’t they encounter some enemies soon? Maybe, maybe not.
Forward with caution, prepared for anything.
Open meadow, glade, dry grass. Arno led his squad with loose reins. It was so well trained by now that much went by automatically, the battle fought itself.
Arno looked up into the sky. He thought of the words of wisdom he once heard: don’t go to heaven, instead realise heaven on earth…! But this – to create a paradise – was hardly what he did as a soldier at war. Or was it, trying to defeat Godless Bolshevism…? Anyhow, it’s safe to say that Arno wasn’t unhappy right now. He appreciated life in the combat zone, savouring the heightened senses the tension produced.
He served in his people’s army as a German. His father was a German subject, his mother a Swede, but ethnically both were Germanic and thus Arno was a pure German. He was ready to fight in any army, as long as it was Germanic.
He was prepared to lead fire now here, now there, coordinating fire in time and space and fighting the enemy at each coordinate. He pointed with his whole hand and stormed and seized, always ready to support and advance further, Beyond the Beyond. He gave orders and obeyed orders. He had forsaken life and was ready to die. He knew bushido, he was bushido. He was like Arjuna in the Bhagavad-Gîtâ: indifferent to luck or misfortune and, having dharma within himself, he was prepared to fight devotedly.