Our combat engineers prepared to blow the bridge as soon as the last of the German troops crossed it. Because we were in close proximity, we promptly took cover in the cellar. Suddenly the explosion was deafening. The dark cellar suddenly became a hall of light and the floor shook. The candles flickered so violently that they were almost extinguished. We held our breath as it rained chunks of brick and roof tiles. We heard it all hitting the house, as well as the sound of splintering glass. The cellar then filled with clouds of dust particles and the biting stench of gunpowder. It was so intense that it robbed you of your breath. We nearly choked. Our lungs full, we all started to cough and splutter as we rubbed the dust from our eyes.
We left the cellar and went outside. It looked as if a hurricane had hit the houses. None had roof tiles anymore. They lay on the cobbles, strewn together with glass splinters and other rubble. A large part of the bridge had disappeared, the large blocks sinki ng into the river. But other parts remained. They would all be used in a rebuild. The Russians were experts. They began to rebuild the bridge the same night.
The whole time, of course, they worked under fire from our infantry, and paid a very high price for their bridge. They worked away with death-defying stubbornness. Many Russian engineers fell screaming into the dark waters of the Weistritz, having been hit as they worked to repair the bridge. The loss in men for the Russians must have been enormous. But they only had themselves to blame, for they had begun the work without prior safeguards. Naturally we had everything under fire that was in close proximity to the approach of the bridge. However, I have to admit that an efficient defence was not possible. We then had a surprise ‘cease-fire’ order from a Leutnant of the combat engineers. He was giving continual progress reports to the Festung commander. “Let the ‘Ivans’ alone to build their bridge”, he told us. That was bewildering to say the least. He was going to have the pleasure of destroying the bridge, when finished, with his Goliath tank. That was news to us, and yes, it was a tank, of a sort, but not in the usual sense of the word.
This tank was no more than 67cm high and had a length of 160cm. It could carry however 75 kilos of high explosives and was remote-controlled. It was a mini-tank and not sensitive to infantry fire. It was a piece of equipment developed to save lives in situations where large obstructions, be it bridges or other obstacles, needed a solut ion, other than manpower. Radio-controlled by radio waves or a wire connection, it could strike from a distance of 600 to 1,000 metres and was controlled by specially trained soldiers. We couldn’t wait to see what this wonder-weapon could pull out of the hat! They were indeed ‘wonder-weapons’, for there were three. With the eyes of a engineer and the instinct of a hunter, the Leutnant observed the progress of the rebuilding. As soon as the bridge flooring was laid with planks, the Goliaths, at all of 20 kilometres an hour, drove into position.
It was six o’clock in the morning on 18 February. With one almighty thunderous crash, the Goliaths spewed their 225 kilos of explosives at the bridge. The thick black cloud over the bridge slowly disappeared to reveal the devastation our little ‘giants’ had caused. Two spans of the bridge and a pillar lay in pieces in the Weistritz. It was all over in the blink of a Russian eye. We had only one wounded engineer.
That action however, only gave us a short pause. A little further along the riverbank from the bridge or what remained of it, 24 Russian soldiers had crossed the river in a rubber boat. They had landed on our side, unnoticed by our neighbours on the left flank. Our friend Domke, who had freed us from Peiskerwitz, then formed an assault detachment. In engaging in close combat with those Russians, he lost his life. In a dawn mist and in clouds of dust from hand-grenades, plus a little nervousness from one of his own men, he received a bullet through the heart, from the said soldier. Domke was posthumously awarded the German Cross in Gold.
In order to ward off surprise attacks of this nature in future, we organised ‘listening posts ‘. Near the river in no-man’s land, one man kept guard in a dug-out. Armed with pistol and hand-grenade, his duty was to report, without a fight, and give the alarm the moment that he recognised enemy movement. The guards were relieved at hourly intervals and were accompanied by the commander, so that he could inspect the situation at the same time. On a nightly inspect ion I lost my way through thick shrubs. The well-camouflaged guard could not be found. I ordered the relieving guard to lie low and wait. In absolute darkness, I made my way through the gardens to find myself at the water’s edge. I turned round to go back.
Suddenly a blinding flash hit me, a detonation threw me to the ground and my pistol flew out of my hand. Dazed, I felt myself from top to toe in order to see that I was still in one piece. On hands and knees I felt around for my pistol and called the pass words several times, before I received an answer. The guard who had thought that I was a Russian soldier, then answered. He was dismayed when finding that I was not Russian. I had splinters from his hand-grenade in my thigh. With blood staining my trousers, I limped back to our positions, hanging on to my two companions. I was given a tetanus injection. Then I slept for some hours in the cellar, with a provisional dressing on my wounds. De spite this I had to stay put, the criteria being that I had not bro ken a bone and could walk, albeit in a lot of pain, for every man was needed.
The guard, a Hungarian-German, would not admit that he had slept on duty. He had thrown the grenade in panic on being woken, without asking for the passwords. He had certainly slept at his post. I did not accuse him of doing it on purpose, for he was shaken to the core at what had happened. After all, I had escaped without serious consequences, but I still had parts of his hand-grenade in my thigh. He felt very guilty over the whole affair. Thereafter he ‘spoiled’ me with bottled eggs and pickled pork that he organised from the pantries of the other houses. We then received our marching orders.
We left the river. As we marched, we reviewed the situation of being constantly in combat for the previous few weeks, without a break. Our combat in flat terrain was bound together with high losses in men. The constant changing of positions had delayed the advance of the Russians to the Silesian capital, Breslau. While we were busy with such delaying tactics, other units were able to organise defensive measures. But only just in time, at least, so we were told.
The march for me be came unbearable with the splinters boring into my flesh. I had a stick and the support of two comrades who never left my side. They supported me in every way they could. We reached Schmiedefeld in the early morning hours. It lay to the west of Gandau aerodrome. It could not then be very far to Breslau.
We secured our positions between the greenhouses of nurseries, dug our trenches and set up machine-gun positions. My squad settled into a newly-built house on a new housing estate. The pantry was very well stocked. But no sooner had we cooked a warm meal for ourselves on a coal-heated cooker, and were looking forward to a couple of hours’ sleep, than the guards gave the alarm. Thick dark smoke was to be seen over Neukirch and we were bitter that the ‘Ivans’ were so close on our heels and could not give us a moment’s peace. It was only a couple of hours later that their shells started to hit us. The shattered greenhouses and their broken glass lay all around. Some of my men cut themselves very badly when hitting the ground amongst the shards of glass. Around the same evening the Russian advanced units reached our positions, trying to break through our lines in various places. Each and every time we drove them back. I lost one of my men, my best machine-gunner, in the bitter fighting. He had that day prophesied his own death. His prophesy became reality when he died from a bullet in the stomach. We also lost Leo Habr in the dawn hours. It pained us that we could not recover his body, for the Russians were too far advanced into the grounds of the nursery.