From his account I excerpted the following passage, to complement my own narrative. It gives a vivid sense of how it felt to be an inexperienced soldier, dropped into the hurricane of the materiel battle.
‘“Fall in for the attack!” My platoon commander’s face peered down into our little foxhole. The three men with me ended their conversation and, cursing, got to their feet. I stood up, tightened my steel helmet, and stepped out into the gloaming.
‘The scene had changed; it had grown foggy now, and cool. The bombardment had moved off and its dull thunder was now assailing other parts of the vast battlefield. Planes were droning through the air, calming the anxiously raised eye by displaying large Maltese crosses painted on the undersides of their wings.
‘I went one more time to the spring, which still looked remarkably clean and pure amidst all the rubble and debris, and filled my water-bottle.
‘The company formed up by platoons. Quickly I clipped four hand-grenades on to my belt, and went to my section, from which two men were missing. There was barely time to take down their names before the whole thing was set in motion. The platoons proceeded in single file through the cratered landscape, skirted around bits of timber, pressed against hedges, and jangling and thumping made their way towards the enemy.
‘The attack was to be carried out by two battalions; ours and one battalion from the regiment next to ours. Our orders were short and sharp. British units who had got across the canal were to be repulsed. My role in this undertaking was to remain with my section far forward, to be in position for a British counter-attack.
‘We reached the ruins of a village. Out of the hideously scarred soil of Flanders rose black, splintered trunks of trees, all that was left of what had once been a large forest. Vast swathes of smoke hung around, and dimmed the evening with their heavy, gloomy clouds. Over the naked earth, which had been so pitilessly and repeatedly ripped open, hovered choking yellow or brown gases that drifted sluggishly about.
‘We were ordered to prepare for a gas attack. At that moment, a huge bombardment set in – the British must have been made aware of our advance. The earth leaped up in hissing fountains, and a hail of splinters swept over the land like a shower of rain. For an instant, each man froze motionless, then they started running in all directions. I heard the voice of our battalion commander, Captain Bockelmann, shouting some command at the top of his voice, but I was unable to understand.
‘My men had vanished. I found myself with some other platoon, and together we pressed towards the ruins of a village that the implacable shells had levelled. We broke out our gas masks.
‘Everyone threw themselves to the ground. Next to me on the left knelt Lieutenant Ehlert, an officer whom I’d come across first at the Somme. Next to him was an NCO, lying down, peering into the distance. The force of the barrage was terrific; I confess it exceeded my wildest notions. It was a wall of yellow flame flickering in front of us; a hail of clods of earth, bricks and iron splinters that battered down on our heads, striking sparks from our steel helmets. I had the sensation that it had become harder to breathe, and that whatever air was left in this iron-charged atmosphere was no longer quite sufficient for my lungs.
‘For a long time I stared into that glowing witches’ cauldron, the furthest point of which was the jabbing fire from the mouth of a British machine-gun. The thousandfold bee-swarm of these shells that flowed over us was past hearing. I realized that our attack, which had been prepared by a mere half-hour’s drumfire, was already smashed before it could properly begin by this immense defensive shelling. Twice in quick succession, an incredible din seemed to swallow up all the other noise. Shells of the very largest calibre exploded. Whole fields of rubble took off, revolved in the air and smashed to the ground with an infernal racket.
‘In response to a yell from Ehlert, I looked right. He raised his left hand, gestured to people behind him, and leaped up. I got to my feet cumbersomely, and took off after him. My feet still felt as if they were burning, but the stabbing pain had relented somewhat.
‘I had covered barely twenty yards before, cresting a shell-crater, I was dazzled by a flaring shrapnel that exploded less than ten paces away from me, and about ten feet off the ground. I felt two blows against my chest and shoulder. I let go of my rifle, and staggered backwards, before rolling back into the crater. I could dimly hear Ehlert calling out as he rushed past: “He’s hit!”
‘He was not to see another day. The attack failed, and on his way back, he and all his surviving comrades were killed. A shot through the back of the head ended the life of this brave officer.
‘When I woke up after being unconscious for I don’t know how long, things had quietened down. I tried to pull myself up, as I was lying head down in the crater, but felt violent pain in my shoulder with every move. My breathing was shallow and sporadic, my lungs couldn’t take in enough air for me. Hit in lung and shoulder, I thought, remembering the two buffets I’d received (they hadn’t hurt at all) earlier. I abandoned my pack and belt and, in an access of utter indifference, even my gas mask. I kept my steel helmet on, and hung my water-bottle off a loop on my tunic.
‘I managed to get out of the crater. After no more than about five steps of a laborious crawl, I broke down in another crater. After another hour, I made another attempt, since the battlefield was once more being shaken by light drumfire. That attempt also got me nowhere. I lost my precious water-bottle, and sank into a state of total exhaustion, from which I was woken, much later, by a burning thirst.
‘It started raining gently. I managed to collect some dirty water in my helmet. I was utterly disorientated, with no notion of where the German lines were running. It was one crater next to another, one wider and deeper than the one before, and from the bottom of these deep pits all you could see were clay walls and a grey sky. A storm drew up, its thunders rather stolen by the onset of a new drumfire. I pressed myself tight against the wall of my crater. A lump of clay struck my shoulder; heavy splinters passed over my head. Gradually, I lost all sense of time as well; I didn’t know if it was morning or evening.
‘Two men appeared, crossing the field in great bounds. I shouted out to them in German and English; they vanished into the mist like shadows, without appearing to have heard me. At last, three other men came towards me. I recognized one of them as the NCO who had lain next to me the previous day. They took me with them to a little hut nearby – it was full of wounded men, who were being tended by a couple of medical orderlies. I had lain thirteen hours in the crater.
‘The huge bombardment of the battle was working away like a monstrous hammering and rolling mill. Shell after shell smacked down next to us, often drenching the roof with sand and earth. I was bandaged up, and given a fresh gas mask, a piece of bread and red jam, and a little water. The orderly looked after me as though I’d been his own son.
‘The British were beginning to press forward. They approached with little leaps and bounds, then ducked away in the craters. Shouts and calls were heard from outside.
‘Suddenly, bespattered with mud from his boots to his helmet, a young officer burst in. It was my brother Ernst, who at regimental HQ the day before had been feared dead. We greeted one another and smiled, a little stiffly, with the emotion. He looked about him and then looked at me with concern. His eyes filled with tears. We might both be members of the same regiment, true, but even then this reunion on the battlefield had something rare and wonderful about it, and the recollection of it has remained precious to me. After just a few minutes, he left me, and brought in the last five members of his company. I was laid on a tarpaulin, they stuck a sapling through the straps, and shouldered me off the battlefield.