In the first was General Busse. Busse’s APC was fitted with aerials and large batteries, and manned by six or seven men. I remember Busse as an imposing person wearing the Knight’s Cross. They got out and spread out a map. I offered them some milk, which they drank. I plucked up my courage and asked the generaclass="underline" ‘Where do you want to go to?’ He replied, pointing to the map: ‘Here near Rieben is a large wooded area; we will stop there and break through at night.’ And: ‘We must find out how strongly Dobbrikow is occupied.’ To one of his officers: ‘Find an NCO and a few men for this!’
He had hardly finished speaking when the Soviets fired from the direction of the village. Busse and his people quickly jumped back into the APC and raced off towards the woods that began about a kilometre away from us. Then came several wounded Germans and shortly afterwards the Russians. These were the last of the 9th Army. For days afterwards the Russians were pulling German soldiers out of the woods.[4]
SS-Sergeant-Major Streng also described his experiences here:
Our tanks rolled along the Hennickendorf–Dobbrikow road. Half-way along we came under artillery fire from a copse on the right. Anti-tank guns? We couldn’t tell for certain. Suddenly a heavy blow struck our Tiger and the track mudguards fell to the road with a clatter.
Our gun roared at the copse some 330 to 400 metres away. There were some bright, explosive flashes and branches and treetops whirled into the air.
Like lightning came a second direct hit on the hull of our tank. A shell hit the right side of the hull with enormous force and shot upwards. Then followed another frightful bang. We clenched our fists and gritted our teeth. ‘Hit on right side of turret! Driver, hard left! Quick, go, go!’ I screamed on the intercom. Our tank reared itself up and rolled left into a field sloping down to a small lake. After going several hundred metres, we turned back to the right. Meanwhile the other tanks had overcome the Russian anti-tank guns and the march of thousands continued.
Our fuel ran out. Somehow we got hold of some petrol and drove on. As we were climbing aboard, our tank received a direct hit from half left across the lake from a Russian tank standing there that we had not seen. I was wounded in the left upper arm and left thigh. They laid me down inside the tank, which Läbe took over. The Wenck Army was only a few kilometres away, but here at Wittbrietzen–Rieben–Zauchwitz the Russian cordon seemed impenetrable.
The whole column, including the remains of the 2nd Battalion, Panzergrenadier Regiment Kurmark, moved via Dobbrikow on to Rieben. Russian bombers and ground-attack aircraft kept attacking, each time leaving more dead and wounded.
Rieben was taken by storm, but the break-out group kept coming up against more and more Russian blockades. The mass of German soldiers and civilians, not bound to the roads and tracks like the vehicles, swarmed their way westwards between Zauchwitz and Rieben. Seydlitz-Troops were particularly active in this area, leading unsuspecting splinter groups into Soviet captivity.[5]
Streng then went on to describe the fighting between Rieben and Schönefeld:
Warm spring sunshine was streaming over the land. It was 1000 hours. We moved on. Some wounded emerged from an asparagus field[6] and clung tightly to the exterior of our Königstiger, these unfortunates lying all over the tank from our gun to our stern. Actually we were feeling quite happy, being hopeful of reaching Wenck’s Army during the course of the day.
We rolled along the road to Beelitz. Troops came out of the woods and asparagus fields and marched behind us. We speeded up. If only we had had better communications inside the tank; every order had to be shouted.
The tank stopped again. An anti-tank gun on the road was swept aside with a blast of high explosive. Half left stood a Russian tank. ‘Armour piercing!’ The Tiger’s turret turned slowly left. Fire! Hit! Clouds of smoke obscured the view.
Suddenly there was a metallic crack on the tank’s right side and a long drawn-out hissing. A blinding whiteness sprayed in from outside. There was dead silence for a second. We must have overlooked a Russian tank on our right. A white cloud of smoke filled the interior of the tank and a wave of heat took our breath away.
The tank was on fire. Everyone fumbled for the escape hatches to get to the open air. Tongues of bright flame burned our unprotected hands, upper bodies and faces. Heads and bodies collided with each other as hands unfastened the hot escape hatches. Vital air entered the lungs as racing pulses hammered in the throat and brain. A purplish blackness pierced by green flashes filled my eyes.
I grasped the hatch with flying hands, wriggled and thrust myself through, standing on the breech shield and gun. Two heads met in the hatch. I instinctively pulled Läbe up and pushed him out of the top of the turret with my head and body. I caught my leather jacket on a hook, ripping it off my body and it fell back into the burning tank with a final flash of silver from the Iron Cross.
I let myself fall head over heels from the three-metre high turret, pushing myself away from the sides with my hands as I fell. In falling I saw that the skin of my left forefinger had been torn loose, so I tugged it off, leaving a bloody something.
The burning, reeling figure of the radio-operator jumped right in front of me. Hartinger, Neu and Öls ran past. Was anyone still inside? The tank exploded behind us, the 18-ton turret lifting off and being hurled aside. This was the end.[7]
Rudi Lindner also witnessed this event, as he described in his account of his experiences that day:
We had to cross several open spaces during the night, and each time the infantry and tanks were called forward. There was repeated fighting and shooting. When we had to take cover we tried to make sure that we five stayed together. With this came great fatigue, hunger and thirst. We wanted simply to remain lying there with the consequent danger of falling asleep. It cost us much effort to keep forcing ourselves on and stay awake. We avoided the open spaces and tried to remain in the woods, which was not always possible. I am still amazed today that we managed to maintain contact with the leading tanks in this unholy turmoil.
Everywhere there was gunfire and cries from the wounded. The dead lay around as we overcame several enemy positions and cordons. The 12th Army’s front line should be immediately behind the last Russian cordon, but would we ever reach it alive? Our leading tank drove out of the woods, was immediately engaged by the Russian anti-tank guns, and pulled back again. There was now artillery fire on our edge of the woods and we had to turn south to get away from the road. About 15 minutes later our last two Tigers attacked out of the woods to the north of us and a broad stream of soldiers and refugees poured over the open ground to the west and north-west.
Unfortunately, as we discovered later, that was the most strongly manned sector of the Russian cordon between Schönefeld and Wittbrietzen. The Russians fired flat out with tanks, anti-tank guns, Stalin-Organs, artillery and mortars on the defenceless people in the open ground, and bombers and ground-attack aircraft joined in. Death struck viciously again and reaped a rich harvest. There was no cover for the soldiers and civilians, who were completely exposed to this murderous fire. Mercilessly, the remains of 9th Army were being given their death blow only a few hundred metres from the protection of 12th Army’s front line.
6
The area around Beelitz is famous for its asparagus crops. The asparagus fields with their deep corrugations would provide some measure of cover from fire for the troops sheltering there.