I offered the mother some valuables I had with me and said: ‘I only want some old clothes such as your husband does not wear any more.’
So she got me some trousers and a jacket from a cupboard. The jacket was a bit too big and the trousers a bit too short, but these suited me fine. I wanted to look like a foreigner, best of all a Pole, since I spoke a bit of Russian and could pass as a Pole speaking it badly.
But I was not quite finished with these two women. I did not want to change my special boots, but I needed something on my head for, like all soldiers, I felt only half dressed without a hat. When I asked her for one, the woman said: ‘I have only one hat and that’s my husband’s best thing.’
‘All right,’ I said, ‘give it here.’
But before she did so, she spotted my wedding ring and said that the Russians would take it off me if they saw it, which was true, finger and all probably. These avaricious women had made me angry so I decided to leave them a ‘present’ that would not please them. I quickly pushed my little pistol behind the kitchen cupboard, thinking that it would do me more harm than good as a civilian. However, I kept the two egg grenades that I still had, and stuffed my knife into my boot.
So I said goodbye to the two women and went down to the street. Two Russians standing in the doorway looked at me curiously. I went straight into the attack, accosting them in Russian with: ‘Instead of gawping at me, give me something to smoke.’
So they gave me a piece of newspaper and some of their strong Machorka tobacco. Although a non-smoker, I knew how to roll a cigarette Russian style, and the Russians’ confidence in me grew as they watched. I then asked them for a light and drew in some smoke. I told them that I had just been visiting my girlfriend, whom I had only been able to see secretly before. As I was about to leave one of them joked that I must have been in my underpants for the last few hours, so we parted on friendly terms.
The street was now empty of victors and their prisoners. I thrust my hands into my pockets and strolled along. I had only gone a little way when I heard a voice from behind me. ‘Willi! Wait a moment!’
I thought that nobody knew me here, but the call was repeated and a hand grabbed my arm. I told them in Russian to leave me alone, but then the familiar voice said: ‘Willi, don’t you speak German any more?’
The two people looking at me, who themselves looked like tramps, were Alfred and his comrade, both now in civilian clothes and no better dressed than myself. We moved aside to avoid drawing attention.
According to Alfred, after we had gone our separate ways, they felt sorry about leaving me alone with Mundt, as they did not think it would turn out well. So they had followed us, but first had to change clothes behind a wall. Both had been carrying haversacks with a civilian jacket and trousers, thinking from the beginning that they would need them at some stage. So they hid their uniforms but in this process lost sight of us. They only found us again when we became involved in the fire fight.
For Mundt they were a minute too late, but firing their sub-machine guns saved me by stopping the Russians. They had then hidden themselves until they could follow the sounds of the chase, which is how they had caught up with me again. Needless to say, we were all delighted to meet up.
Alfred then suggested that we should all go to his home not far away, where he lived with his young wife. I advised against it as he had been seen there in uniform countless times and could easily be betrayed to the Russians, but he insisted that he had no enemies that would do this. I was still sceptical, but it was getting dark and we had better get off the streets, as there was bound to be a curfew. So we set off.
There was a lot of movement on the street. Now that people were no longer confined to their cellars, they were moving around pushing handcarts and carrying parcels. They were also looting the shops, most of which appeared to have no owners present to stop them. The Russians as the occupying power seemed unconcerned and were doing nothing to prevent the looting.
When Alfred announced that his was the next street ahead, I asked him to keep twenty paces behind us and cover our rear in an emergency. He laughed at my cautiousness, but agreed. Looking round the street corner, we saw that it had five-storey buildings on one side, the other being bounded by the two metre brick wall of an industrial site. Parked along the right hand side of the street was a convoy of three-axled American Studebaker trucks, in which ammunition cases could be seen through the partly opened canopies. The trucks were parked closely together with only about two metres between them.
The Russians were so unconcerned that they had made open camp fires alongside about every third truck and were squatting around roasting their delicacies.
Just as Alfred was pointing out which was his apartment, a woman appeared leaning out of the window, her arms held by Russians. She saw us and cried out in distress: ‘Alfred, come quickly! The Russians…’
We heard no more as she was pulled back into the room.
We had arranged that we would remain below to cover him, but the other comrade could not be held back and stormed in with him. I called out to Alfred: ‘Grab your wife and get out over the backyard! I will cover your retreat!’
They had pulled the sub-machine guns out of their bags, and I prepared my grenades. The sound of their sub-machine guns came from upstairs, alerting the Russians squatting beside their fires, who started going across. They did not notice the dirty Gipsy going behind the third truck and throwing a grenade inside, and again into the last-but-one truck, before heading for the street corner. Not that it mattered, for their time was up.
The blast of the explosion blew me to the end of the street and I blacked out. When I recovered consciousness, all I could see was a sea of rubble. The explosion had destroyed the convoy, knocked down the boundary wall and pushed in all the windows and their frames on the other side of the street. My guardian angel had taken care of me again. I had only suffered bruises, but the Russians had been spattered against the walls. Whether Alfred had managed to escape, I could not stay to find out. I limped away.
TO THE LAST MAN
It was now really dark and I had to find somewhere for the night and get off the streets, which were still alive with looters.
I overtook an old woman pulling a fully loaded handcart and offered to help her take it home. She looked at me sideways: ‘I know, you are looking for a place to stay. Unfortunately, not with me. I have two daughters at home and there is coming and going day and night. The Russians just open the door. You know how it is.’
So I had to keep on looking. Eventually I came across an old man coming out of a shop cellar unsuccessfully trying to carry two large boxes on his shoulders. I offered to help. He too saw straight away what I was after. ‘I only have two rooms,’ he said, ‘but my wife is away, so take a box and come along.’
He passed me over a box and we went off like two loaded donkeys. The Russians did not look at us, for people running away do not carry boxes, as those naive lads knew. On our way I discovered what we were carrying. The boxes contained cans of green beans.
‘I’ll prepare something to eat when we get home,’ the old man said, and he did. ‘It would be best if you lay down on the bed with a wet cloth on your head and pretend to be ill. The Russians are bound to look in soon and see who I have brought with me.’