The Oder lay behind us and we were approaching the Neisse. We could clearly sense the presence of the front line as we went past field hospitals, bases and field workshops. Even more often we met ammunition transports, tanks and ambulances. In a dense wood we came across the Rear Services of General Gordov’s 3rd Guards Army. By morning on the 21st April we had already learned something about the general situation. We found the staff of the 13th Army and here learned the direction of attack of our armoured units. Several hours later we reached the 3rd Guards Tank Army’s Rear Services. The head of the specialist detachment, the small, thin Colonel Merkuliev, wanted to give a full description of the situation. He would not let the map out of his hands, showing us the front line and the location of our corps.
‘And where is the 55th Guards Tank Brigade?’
‘The day before yesterday it was 30 kilometres from Wünsdorf.’
‘That was the day before yesterday, and where is it today?’
Although already overtaken, Merkuliev’s information was quite correct.
We stayed a few hours with the second echelon to regather ourselves, wash and shave. I could not report to my army and corps commanders in a dishevelled state.
We were lucky. After we had gone back several kilometres, we came across our traffic regulator, Mashenka Sotnik. I jumped out of the vehicle and gave her a hug. Happy to have met this girl, I felt like a young boy. When Mashenka was at her post, one needed neither a map, compass nor orientation point. She knew everything and readily gave information. Before I could ask her, she reported to me where the brigade had gone and where it had been the night before.
‘How do you know that - you weren’t there?’
‘This morning I met the wounded battalion commander Fiodorov here. He told me everything. The fighting was hard. There were men with panzerfausts everywhere hunting our tanks. Battalion commander Safronov has fallen and the deputy corps commander, General Jakubovski, is wounded.’
I had to find out from Mascha where the army headquarters were. Again we were lucky. Mascha had just been relieved. She got into the vehicle with us to show us the way to the headquarters. In one breath the girl told us all the news. Then she stopped and then said: ‘How I would love to come to Berlin too!’
‘This is a promise, Maschenka. We will celebrate our victory there.’
The girl’s eyes gleamed with pleasure.
An officer greeted us at the barrier and led us to the army chief of staff in a cottage. Bachmetiev filled me in on the situation and showed me the area where our corps was located.
‘I do not know exactly where the brigade is,’ said General Bachmetiev frankly. ‘I take it that it is north of Zossen, almost on the Teltow Canal.’ The chief of staff then called the army commander. Rybalko said that he was waiting for me at his command post.
That same day we travelled over worn-out, destroyed streets and tracks to our troops. We had to constantly overtake columns of vehicles and artillery and got through only slowly. Coming towards us were men and women, teenagers, children and old people. Many could hardly stand. These people in their torn clothing and ripped shoes looked at the troops moving towards Berlin. They raised their arms in greeting and raised clenched fists. These former forced labourers and concentration camp inmates had gone through the worst. I looked at them attentively, looking for my brother and sisters. I knew how false these hopes were, but such is mankind, ever hopeful.
How many people had the Fascists moved from their occupied territories to Germany! The march of the prisoners had begun when our attack tore down the gates of the concentration camps and prisons. At that time we were in Poland and liberated those incarcerated in Majdanek, Auschwitz and many other concentration camps. More than four months had passed and this endless stream had still not dried up. Although I had already seen much misfortune and suffering in this war, these helpless people made the saddest and strongest impression. ‘Victory!’, ‘Vive la paix!’, ‘Probeda!’, ‘Frieden!’ As I heard these shouts, and saw the happiness in their emaciated faces, I thought how much sorrow the war had brought. Every front-line soldier had gone through a lot for the liberation, for our victory over Fascism and for the lives of these tortured people.
Our Jeep crawled northwards along the blocked streets. We needed no one to show us the way – the glow of fire on the horizon and the thunder of the artillery indicated it for us. Hundreds of aircraft whizzed over us towards Berlin. The dull detonations of exploding bombs could be heard kilometres away.
With little difficulty we found our way to the headquarters. I met Rybalko in the large room of a villa. Near him stood an unknown general with dark eyes and grey hair. I saluted a bit uncertainly as I did not know who was the highest ranking, both being colonel-generals. I went to the army commander. Rybalko did not let me finish my report, but shook my hand. ‘I have always said that Dragunski arrives punctually. This time too his nose has not let him down.’ Then he turned to the general, who was the Front’s Chief of Artillery, and said: ‘This is the commander of the 55th Guards Tank Brigade. He has just come out of hospital. His greatest fear was not to come to Berlin. If he now is the first to march into Berlin he will get his second golden star; if he doesn’t we will take the first one off him.’
All laughed. The army commander looked me over from head to foot. ‘You look well, just as after taking a cure. Now, however, it is time to get to work.’
He led me to the table, where a city map of Berlin had been laid out. The important streets were clearly marked, squares, stadiums, underground railway stations, as well as the Reichstag and the Reichs Chancellery. The blue lines of the Teltow Canal and the Spree River snaked along the edge of the city, led into the city and lost themselves somehow in the labyrinth of the streets. I read the names of the surrounding areas and suburbs. Thick woods and lakes stretched along the western edge of the city.
‘This has all to be taken. The attack is directed at the southern and western part of the city. The enemy thinks that Marshal Zhukov’s troops will attack from the east. However, we will attack from the south and at the most sensitive place – in the flank.’
Thick arrows showed the line of attack of General Suchov’s 9th Mechanised Corps from eastern Berlin. Two thinner arrows showed the 1st Byelorussian Front opposite – Chuikov’s 8th Guards Army and Katukov’s 1st Tank Army. Mitrofanov’s 6th Tank Corps was to thrust with his brigades directly to the north, to the city centre and into the Tiergarten. Impatiently my eyes went over the map looking for the 7th Corps and our brigade. I had failed to notice the dotted line in the middle of the arrows and crosses. The head of the army’s operational department, my old acquaintance from the academy, Sascha Jeremenko, leaned his powerful arm over my head. ‘Here is your brigade,’ he said, pointing to the map. ‘It reached the Teltow Canal yesterday. The Fascists blew the bridge right in front of your tank troops.’
I did not know what this water obstacle looked like and asked ‘Is there no ford or alternative route?’