The babies and infants were the first sacrifices. No blankets, no cushions could have given them the body-warmth of life. So they died, ‘sleeping’ in their mothers’ arms. They were carried miles in this belief, many mothers not wanting to accept that their baby had died. The iron will of some of the mothers broke with that bitter realisation. They were to be seen shovelling away the snow with their hands, to make a grave for the little one. Some of those too busy battling against the wind, did not see mothers lying beside their babies delivering them both into the hands of ‘mother nature’. Only later did others see those dark mounds covered in glittering snow, but did not possess the strength to clear their path of the dead or dying. No one counted those from Breslau. The statistics on those who died on that trek have never been recorded. Many were refugees who had sought shelter in the countryside, not knowing that they would meet their death much earlier than those they had left behind in the city.
The Russians had advanced to the Oder and very near to our new location of Kirschberg. The Wehrmacht and Waffen SS units, under the leadership of Rittmeister Speckmann, could not deter their forging of a two kilometre-wide bridgehead on the western side of the river. Despite bitter fighting the Russians widened the bridgehead, until they had reached the forest area south of Peiskerwitz. As the Regiment’s reserve, we had been waiting for orders, just three kilometres from the front line. We had seen how quickly the Russians had increased this bridgehead, with all of the military strength that they possessed. The heavens over Peiskerwitz glowed. From fire and flames, and from the continuous tumult of exploding shells, one could assess the enormous firepower used by both sides. During the moments of a pause in the duel of artillery, red flares provocatively lit the sky heralding the next barrage.
The wounded were brought to us to wait for ambulance transport to field hospitals, and there were those separated from their units who also found their way to us. All told us of the desperate battle on the banks of the river, and that part of our battalion was trapped. They were engaged in close combat in the rubble of the houses. A messenger arrived reporting the hopeless situation in Peiskerwitz, resulting in our combat order. As a company of 120 men, we were be used as shock troops. We were expected to go in, clean up and not only rescue our comrades from the main sector of the front, but push the ‘Ivans’ back over to the other side of the Oder.
It was on the afternoon of 28 January that we left Kirschberg, equipped with the usual firearms, light machine-guns, and very many hand-grenades and Panzerfäuste. We marched cross-country through Wilxen, in the direction of the Trautensee estate. We joked with one another, to relieve a little of the tension that had built up with waiting. Now the waiting was over and we made progress.
The clang of rifle-butts hitting our bayonet-sheaths and the crunch of our boots in the snow, mixed more and more with the noise of battle from the front. Very soon we met the first of the wounded on foot. There was a look of shock on their grey faces. They had staring eyes, blood-smeared uniforms and signs of provisional first aid. Some moaned in pain with every step that they took as they passed us. We, the 11th Company, had nothing more to say or to joke about.
After a short rest in the grounds of the estate, the company hurriedly crossed over open ground, in a line of skirmishers, to the edge of the Peiskerwitz woods. By keeping our heads down, and with long intervals between each man, we raced over the open ground. Miraculously we all reached the protection of the woods. However, our relief was soon shattered, as the Russians discovered us. All hell was then let loose. In seconds, we seemed to be in the middle of a fireball. Artillery spewed at us from all directions, from light and heavy emplacements in the area of the banks of the Oder, who were firing without consideration of their own men in the woods. Many Russian infantry were hidden behind trees and bushes, and all joined in the assault on our detachment.
Apparently unafraid, our company leader Obersturmführer, later Standartenjührer Zizmann, urged his men on with a hand-grenade in his left hand and a sub-machine-gun in his right. My group had the order to stay right behind this calm and experienced officer, who somehow gave us the self-confidence that we needed. We strode forward with fixed bayonets. The enemy too was grim and determined, they were ready for hand-to-hand combat. Lively rifle-fire flew around us from snipers who had waited, hidden in the trees, to fire on us as soon as we were in range. Some were hanging in the trees, apparently dead, but we could not know if they were or not. We had to be damned careful!
Forest fighting was always dangerous, particularly for those entering, not knowing where the enemy lay. The racket from the firing was intense — mortars, uninterrupted firing from the infantry, to say nothing of whistling bullets, as they ‘pranged’ against the trees like messengers of death, and rebounded through the air.
As if they had done nothing else all their lives, our grenadiers crept through the snow-covered wood, to every leaf that gave cover, winning ground, yard by yard. It was now important to keep together and not let the Reds strengthen their defensive line. With a doggedness that surprised the Russians, the 11th Company gradually began to push them back, shooting from behind trees, from kneeling positions or, as they moved forwards, from the hip. We advanced deeper and deeper into the wood. We saw the Reds running in panic, leaving ammunition and equipment behind them, including a very antiquated water-cooled machine gun on wooden wheels. There were the odd one or two ready for close-combat with fixed bayonet, but their retreat continued, until they reached the edge of the wood on the far side. Then they stopped.
Very soon the proportions of the Red Army were visible and we knew that we were at a numerical disadvantage. The Reds had called up fresh reserves, reformed, and were defending their positions in houses and barns, most of which had been set alight. Despite their numbers, this made them very easy targets and we picked them off, as they hopped from house to house in the flickering light of the flames. It also applied to us, as we moved away from the flames and choking smoke. We ourselves then became a sacrifice of the ‘Ivans’, and the losses of the 11th Company, in dead, missing and wounded were very heavy. With the dawn however, we had driven the Russians back to the banks of the Oder. The remnants of Kampfgruppe Speckmann, who had been fighting for days in Peiskerwitz and were now totally scattered, could be relieved.
The Reds still had to be pushed back to the other side of the river. That could only be done after we had stormed the river’s near-side banks, and held them until reinforcements arrived. Part of our detachments had to lie in readiness, in the terrain between the edge of the woods and the bank, waiting for a new order. Scattered shelling kept us pinned down, lying in deep snow, until we no longer felt that biting cold. But, in between the bombardment, cries and moans were to be heard from those who had been hit and wounded. There were also shouts of Vpiröd!Bysstro, bysstro! i.e. “forwards, quicker, quicker!” Presumably some of the political commissioners in the Red Army were a little nervous. Between orders, those with the tempo of a snail were encouraged to quicken their pace, with a shot or two from a pistol.
As our company commander at last gave us our order to attack, he moved forwards a couple of steps, then turned and came back as no one was following him. Few had heard the order and others had hesitated. We knew what was waiting for us over the rise and somehow our limbs had been frozen. We felt our hearts pulsating in our throats and a cold sweat creeping over the back of our necks, but it was not for the first time, and the order came again. Obersturmführer Zizmann shouted at the top of his voice, and the order was followed with a scream of “Hurra!” We rose as one man, to advance as best we could in fresh knee-deep snow. We fired like wild men, without aim, and with only yards separating us from the enemy.