‘Our feet sank into the sand and dirt puffing dust into the air so that it rose and clung to us. The horses coughing in the dust produced a pungent odour. The loose sand was nearly as tiring for the horses as deep mud would have been. The men marched in silence, coated with dust, with dry throats and lips.’(9)
Feet already bruised by rutted roads began inexorably to rub on boots. Friction with each step produced blisters and calf-high boots became excruciatingly hot. Such discomfort stymies interest in all but the most immediate issues. Leutnant Heinrich Haape with Infantry Regiment 18 observed white puffs of smoke in the sky – Flak – as Russian aircraft flew overhead.
‘But the marching men had no eyes for something which was not their war. Each man’s war at this stage was circumscribed by the next few steps he would take, the hardness of the road, the soreness of his feet, the dryness of his tongue and the weight of his equipment. Beckoning him on was the thought of the next halt. Just to stop, to have no need to put one foot in front of the other for a few hours, was the dream of every man. There was no singing, no joking, no talking that was not strictly necessary’(10)
After five hours of such exertion, one observer remarked:
‘the repetitious rhythm of the march had produced a mask of monotony on every face; a cigarette would dangle in the corner of the mouth. Smoke would not be inhaled, the aroma would simply waft around the marching soldier.’(11)
During brief halts stabbing pains from disconcertingly soft and malleable blisters now swelling and bursting were apparent. Stiffening limbs began to ache. Friction burns in the crutch of the trouser might necessitate readjustments of equipment and rearrangement of clothing. This left less time to relax or drink. Sweat was everywhere, soaking between arms and legs, streaming down backs and faces, making leather harnesses pinch and rub skin. Shoulders burdened by heavy weapons or containers ached with constant pressure of applied weight. Sticky wet hair caused a clammy itching and irritation if the helmet had to be worn.
Harald Henry declared, ‘the dust covered us all uniformly; blond men had dull-white brilliant hair, black hair made the men look like Frederick the Great’s soldiers with light powdered wigs, others had their hair tousled like negroes.’ Soaking wet uniforms took on a cardboard consistency as they became impregnated with rising dust. Fluid did not come only from sweat, there were ‘sometimes even tears’, Henry confessed. ‘Tears of helpless rage, of doubt and pain over these unbelievable demands placed upon us.’(12) Bayonets irritatingly slapped the hip with each step. The day, even by late morning, was unbelievably long.
With luck, the main company meal appeared at midday, carried on so-called Goulash-kanonen (soup cannon). These horse-drawn mobile kitchens on wagons were the most important company support vehicles in the battalion Trost. It would rumble forward. The cauldron, filled with vegetables and available meat early in the morning, stewed as they marched, with a capacity of either 175 litres of fluid or two smaller 60-litre containers. A glycerine lining prevented the contents from burning. This simple but very functional vehicle developed an unforeseen morale role during long campaigns. It became the accepted collection point for infantry companies, a rallying area where psychological bonding took place. Units which had suffered considerable casualties in retreat or failed attacks were pulled together with difficulty by officers of the Feldgendarmerie (military police). Field cookers provided focal points where fragmented units or dejected survivors would gather for mutual comfort. Letters were handed out here and news or announcements given in its vicinity. Most importantly it catered for the soldiers’ fundamental need to confide in each other, proving a haven in an otherwise hostile environment and one of the few locations offering respite from the normal day’s pressures. The midday meal on the march, invariably the main meal and often the only sustenance, provided the essential respite that kept tired columns moving for yet another half day. An hour’s rest was generally ordered.
‘And then everyone sank into a sleep of total exhaustion. Motorcycles racing by do not disturb the sleepers, one of whom has made a pillow of his helmet, lying so comfortably up on it that it seemed like an eiderdown. Sleeping, even within the background sound of the guns, is a soldierly virtue, because he knows the day is yet long.’(13)
Bodies would have to be reluctantly coaxed to get working again. Company commanders forced columns along in these conditions by the power of their personalities. Pressure was applied to encourage soldiers to close the inevitable gaps that appeared between company columns. Although a young man’s profession, many infantry battalion and company commanders were ex-World War 1 veterans. Despite this, feet reduced to burning raw flesh were kept moving between clenched teeth and wan faces. Oberleutnant Knappe continued to force the pace toward Minsk:
‘As we marched, low hills would emerge from the horizon ahead of us and then slowly sink back into the horizon behind us. It almost seemed that the same hill kept appearing in front of us. Kilometre after kilometre. Everything seemed to blur into uniform grey because of the vastness and sameness of everything… Fields of sunflowers stretched for kilometre after kilometre after weary kilometre.’(14)
An officer with the Potsdam 9th Infantry Regiment recalled that the next days ‘meant marching, marching and again marching and the heat was always unbearable’. They plodded forward in columns of threes.
‘“Come on men, grit your teeth, the gap to the next company is much too big,” announced one company commander, whereupon conversations that had just started died and were replaced by the monotonous clatter of gas mask cases, field spades, hip bayonets and ammunition belts. The view of the marchers sank and remained on the back of the man ahead.’(15)
Few of the fatigued soldiers took much notice of their immediate surroundings. They focused haphazardly on feet, the end of a rifle, swinging equipment and on the back of the man ahead. Losing themselves in personal thoughts or maintaining a psychological vacuum enabled them to endure pain and discomfort more easily. Leutnant Haape remembered how ‘the sun sank slowly through the dense clouds of dust that we left in our wake. And into the darkness our march continued.’
Skirmishes with the enemy might almost be welcomed as a release from the monotony. Adrenaline would surge and after an outpouring of fear and nervous energy there would be a strength-sapping relapse as the steady eastward slog was resumed.
‘We wished that the Russians would make a stand – anything, a battle even, to relieve the painful monotony of this ceaseless, timeless tramping. It was 11p.m. before a halt was called at a big farmhouse. We had covered close on 65km that day!’(16)
There was only about three hours’ sleep before preparation for the next day’s march began. Personal administration or letter-writing could occur only during this period. Some soldiers would have to stand sentry. There was never enough time to rest properly. All along the three army group fronts the infantry strove to catch up with the Panzers. By 1 July the 6th Infantry Division had covered a 260km stretch in Army Group North’s sector from Memel to Riga – 10 days traversing bad roads and fighting en route. The 98th Infantry Division marched 40–50km each day between 9 and 30 July in the central sector.(17) Its official history described the Rollbahn as ‘seemingly endless, no wayside trees and totally devoid of shade. Wide and dead straight, it stretched ahead to the horizon disappearing way into the distance.’(18) Harald Henry wrote home: