‘How did Lissunov get into the cellar?’
The lieutenant looked at me sorrowfully. ‘Vassili asked my permission. He wanted to make his way through the garden to this cellar and silence the gun. What else could I do, comrade brigade commander? Two tanks had already fallen victim to these bandits, so I agreed. Lissunov crawled forward. After about ten minutes someone shouted “Halt!” from the cellar, and then came shots and explosions. Then the gun barrel pointed upwards. We heard another pistol shot and then it was silent.’ Serashimov breathed heavily and went on apologetically: ‘We arrived a few minutes too late. I should have sent Tinda, Golvin and Gavrilko with him. All three were close by. Yes, I handled it badly. When I became aware, it was already too late.’
I did not reprove the lieutenant. In battle one can sometimes do something other than what one wants and not always can one think through every step and every action. Concernedly I answered him: ‘Vassili Lissunov has opened the way for the brigade with his life.’ With this I hoped to calm myself and the platoon leader down. I felt for the lieutenant from the bottom of my heart. The death of this 17-year-old Komsomolz, the darling of the brigade, hit us all badly.
We laid the dead boy on the tank, on which we wrote ‘We will revenge Vassili Lissunov’, and then went on. The fallen scout drove with us into Berlin. He found his last resting place in Berlin–Treptow, together with many other combatants who gave their lives in the fighting for the city.
The sounds of battle distanced themselves ever further from Zehlendorf. Schalunov had gone back to the staff and Leonov to the Rear Services. Once more he demonstrated what a circumspect supply officer he was. When our tank-men spoke of the ‘Red Train’ they meant the three or four ammunition trucks, the five petrol wagons, the vehicles with supplies and equipment and the iron ration of alcohol, which Leonov directed at the right moment to the right place. Now he wanted to know from me where he could set himself up.
I ordered him to stay exactly where he was, whereupon Leonov asked me for at least a tank and a platoon of submachine-gunners to protect him. This request was thoroughly justified, as scattered enemy groups made the surroundings unsafe and our supplies were a god-sent feast for them, but I could not strengthen the Rear Services at the expense of the fighting units. We could not afford such a luxury. Apart from this I was convinced that Leonov really wanted to be self-sufficient. He had several discreet reserves – armed truck drivers, supply clerks, the workshops personnel and other specialists – that had never let him down so far.
In Berlin
Beyond Zehlendorf, woods and lakes opened out among which stood numerous villas and tasteful one-family houses, including some weekend colonies. All this made orientation more difficult. On the map the whole area was shown as woodland, but in reality one came up against massive buildings everywhere. The Fascists had incorporated the geographical features into their defences. In our thrust to the Avus motorway we were met by shells of various calibres.
When I came up to Gulevaty on the southern bank of Krumme Lanke lake, he was already issuing orders to the infantry. The situation was unclear to him and one detected a certain lack of organisation. The enemy was firing but our troops seemed to be replying somewhat lamely. After the hard fighting in Zehlendorf the pace of the attack had slunk to a low ebb by evening.
‘Trofim Jeremjevitsch, at this rate we will reach the Avus in a year’s time, and we can bury our men here. Why don’t you go round this villa?’
‘I have tried to, but once you have one behind you, fire comes from another.’
I should really have given him a reprimand, but before me stood a man showing signs of battle and sleepless nights. To find fault with him would be hard and pointless. From my own experience I knew how important it was to extend a helping hand to people in a difficult situation, and how stimulating a kind word at the right moment could be. In any case it was not the battalion commander’s fault that we were in this predicament.
The tank troops simply lacked the experience of how to fight successfully in so large a city as Berlin prepared for defence. Since 1943, and especially after the battle of Kursk, it was always: ‘Don’t look back!’ ‘Don’t be afraid of open flanks!’ ‘Bypass the enemy!’ ‘Attack him boldly from behind!’
However, in Berlin things looked different. We had to take the whole city. Step by step, every building and every street had to be cleared, that being the only way to victory.
While we were discussing the situation, Schalunov arrived with the staff and two artillery brigades, and the corps’ troops were streaming through the breach into the Zehlendorf area. The corps commander had sent me some direct reinforcements. I was especially pleased about two companies of the neighbouring 23rd Guards Motorised Rifle Brigade, which were like a gift from heaven for us. Gradually I had a considerably larger group assigned to me. They had to be quickly organised and sent off towards the Avus motorway.
‘However, now back to work. We will now be fighting according to all the rules of the art of war,’ I said to Gulevaty.
His face lit up, and Dmitriev also looked happier again. He meant that in Berlin one had to speak of either having a scrap or the art of war. I retorted that we would discuss this after we had won. One hour later we had re-established order in the companies and battalions and the brigade renewed its attack.
Seven artillery and mortar battalions, the tanks and super heavy machine-guns fired for fifteen minutes at the enemy defences in the settlements on the railway and on the Havelberg hill.
During the night we were able to break the desperate resistance of the Fascists in these areas and drive them out of the buildings. They tried to slip away through the surrounding woods, but we stopped them there too. This day the enemy lost a lot of his artillery and heavy weapons. His fighting organisation was destroyed, his physically and morally broken soldiers could not withstand our tank attacks any more. The way to the western edge of Berlin was open.
Once more we had a hard day behind us. When we counted the toll we had to admit numerous losses. However, we were in Zehlendorf and had the Avus, the woods and the Krumme Lanke lake in our hands.
Before dawn on the 26th April I drove to the 1st Battalion in my tank.
‘Why are you stopped here?’ I asked a lieutenant.
He waved towards a column of tanks stopped on the side of the road. I climbed out of my tank and went closer. After a long search I found Gulevaty. He was completely perplexed and studying a Berlin street map.
‘Why aren’t you moving?’
‘I have lost my way, Comrade Colonel. Either the map is lying or the scouts have been leading me by the nose. I sent them ahead to find out where this road leads to.’
‘How could this happen, Jeremjevitsch? Have you forgotten where you are? We are in Berlin. You didn’t think that the Germans would send you a street directory to show the way?’
The battalion commander bent even closer over his map. To the right of us stood some individual houses from which we could hear voices. Shortly afterwards Serashimov’s scout appeared. Quite out of breath, he reported: ‘We were looking for Germans, but came across some Japanese, Swiss and other foreigners.’
Boris Saveliev explained the situation in detail to us. In the settlement were the summer residences of several embassies; when the fighting broke out in Berlin, they had taken refuge here. None of them had thought that our troops would come through these picturesque woods.