by Unknown
I thought only briefly that this young Russian, too, had a mother and family. I had to leave him there, as so many were left on both sides, with no one to care about them.
After about 50 kilometers we were out of the wooded area. We encountered no resistance. Before us was a little village, which we ventured slowly to approach. The inhabitants came out of their cottages. They seemed to take us for Russians. When I explained who we were, a little old woman came up to me.
“Is it war?” she asked. “What's our little father doing, the tsar?” It turned out that these people had remained unaware of the Russian Revolution, Stalin, and our war against Russia. Here, time seemed to have stood still. Here, there was no Party functionary. We lingered on in the village for a few hours and tried to explain what had happened in the world since Russia had lost her tsar. As we left, I was given an icon as a present from the village elder, with the words, “Thank you for your understanding. Leave us to live in the future as we have in the past. May God preserve you!” Our advance became ever slower and more difficult, the resistance ever stronger. The Russians were throwing against us their elite divisions from the Moscow area.
Furthermore, the suppl3f situation was also becoming increasingly critical. Everything had to be transported nearly 1,000 kilometers from Reich territory. My supply officer, who had brought up ammunition, rations, and spare parts with his transport column, told me that depots were slowly being set up and that rail links were being restored.
But time was running out. We were still more than 200 kilometers from Moscow, our first objective, not to mention the “major objective,” the Ural Mountains, which lay some 2,000 kilometers further cast. -On a visit to divisional HQ, I learned something about the general situation.
Our entry into Russia had been delayed 6y nearly two months, because Hitler had had to help the Italians in Greece and subsequently deal with growing partisan activity in the Balkans.
To the south of us Guderian was thrusting forward in the direction of Kaluga, barely 200 kilometers south of Moscow, with the aim of cutting the road connecting Moscow and the Crimea at Tula.
The Russian winter was at the door and the Wehrmacht was not prepared for it, let alone equipped. Hitler and the High Command seemed to have made no provision at all for a delay until winter. Moscow, said our divisional commander, should be, had to be, encircled as quickly as possible and its lines of communication to the east cut off.
“This war is going to last longer than we would like,” said our commander, summing up his sober assessment of the situation.
“The days of the blitzkrieg are over.” On either side of the Moscow trail tank units formed up for the attack on Vyazma. Against bitter resistance, the town was enveloped to the north and south, and on its eastern fringe, this pocket too was closed. Losses on both sides were heavy.
My faithful Beck was also wounded. Thank goodness only lightly, but enough for a wound badge.
Once again, the pocket had to be mopped up by the infantry, following slowly and weary from its long marches on foot.
Panzer units provided cover to the east. Reconnaissance was pushed on to the east and northeast. At every point, we came upon heightened resistance. And yet Moscow lay “within reach.” After the mopping up of the Vyazma pocket, we asked ourselves how Stalin kept producing new divisions, when a million Russians, if not more according to our reckoning, had fallen into captivity. And whence came the thousands of tanks and guns? We heard from a captured Russian officer that in a lightning action, Stalin had evacuated the industrial concerns around Moscow and those further south on the Volga to the east as far as Urals. A unique, logistical achievement.
We stuck without change to our plan of taking Moscow. The fall of Moscow, the heart of the vast empire, should and would have a significant psychological effect on the morale of the people and the Russian army.
While in the north Leningrad was being encircled and in the south an attack to the east was being mounted along a wide front toward Kharkov and the Crimea, our panzer corps was supposed to push forward to the northeast into the area between Moscow and Kalinin, a town on the upper reaches of the Volga, with the aim The Russian Campaign, June 1941 to January 1942 77 crossing the Moscow-Volga canal and thrusting into the rear of Moscow from the north.
It was late autumn before we had fought our way forward through trackless terrain and against bitter resistance to Volokolamsk, a town about 100 kilometers from Moscow. There, the terrain formed a natural line of defense which was well-manned by the Russians. Once again, long pauses ensued; fuel and ammunition had to be brought forward. My two battalions received replacements for the casualties. The young ones had first to get used to the hard conditions. At home, all they had heard about was the “tremendous forward drive” and that “Russia would be defeated in the near future.” Meantime, October had come and we formed up anew for the attack, broke the Russian lines near Volokolamsk and advanced on Klin, a town on the important Moscow-Kalinin-Leningrad highway. After heavy fighting, Klin was taken. With that, Moscow was cut off from Leningrad. Another panzer division reached and took Kalinin. The infantry had-moved up, meanwhile, and took over the securing of this critical connecting road.
I was lying just east of Klin. The Moscow-Volga canal was still about 50 kilometers away. I was summoned to division.
“Luck, you will assemble shortly before dawn with both battalions and try to take, intact, the bridge over the canal at Yakhroma. If that comes off, you form erbridgehead on the east bank and wait for the bulk of the division to arrive. You must anticipate powerful counterattacks. Winter is upon us. We must gain our objectives before then.” The divisional adjutant took me aside.
"Luck, strictly between ourselves,. you have been asked for by Rommel to take over the 3rd Panzer Reconnaissance Battalion in North Africa. There's an order to that effect from Personnel.
The General won't release you at this juncture. He will negate the order and not mention it to you. But I wanted you to know about it." I was astonished. How did Rommel come to pick me in particular?
There must have been enough commanders available at home in the so-called “officqr reserve.” To exchang Moscow for Tripoli struck me as breathtaking. But as yet, nothing was official; only one thing was immediately before us: the next arduous attack.
The following morning we assembled while it was still dark. It was already distinctly cold. With masked headlights, which gave only a crack of light so that the men at the front and back could at 78 PANZER COMMANDER least recognize each other, we felt our way forward along byways. Shortly after dawn, we reached the canal; on the east bank lay the little town of Yakhroma. Of the enemy, there was neither sight nor sound. The advance patrols found the bridge intact and at once drove over to the east bank.
Suddenly, we heard some rather haphazard fire from the town and then the sound of motors going away. I followed up immediately with both battalions and occupied the town, which had been abruptly abandoned by the Russians.
I gave out my orders. “The town is to be searched at once; the motorcycle battalion, with the support of scout cars, will see to securing the outskirts of the town. The bridgehead is to be held at all costs.” I asked my adjutant to find a house in the center of the town in which to set up my command post and from where I could report to division.
“Welcome to a Russian breakfast,” said my adjutant, coming up to me and pointing to a house. To my surprise, we found there a table laid with samovar, bread, butter, eggs, and naturally, cured ham.
“What a nice reception!” I cried. At which the proprietor of the little inn appeared and explained that he had laid breakfast there for the Russian commander. But he had had to leave it all behind when we had appeared in the little town so unexpectedly.
Hungry and highly delighted, we sat down to breakfast. That breakfast was to play a surprising role for me later.
Our little bridgehead was not attacked, strangely enough. The division moved up and extended it. Tanks and artillery
were brought into action. The way forward, south and southeast to Moscow, seemed to be open.
In our rear, the infantry closed up and took charge of securing the road connecting Moscow and Leningrad. Much later-in Russian captivity-I met “Kobes” Witthaus and when I saw him again, in 1984, he told me, “I, too, was close to Moscow that winter. Our 35th Infantry Division was thrown into the campaign for that road from Kalinin to Moscow. I managed to penetrate with a patrol right into the suburbs of Moscow. There, I was cut off but we were able to remain hidden for two days until we were forced to withdraw by a Russian counterattack.” That, therefore, was how close the German Wehrmacht came to its first objective. In this, our panzer units in the southwest, which were pressing forward vigorously, helped considerably.
At the end of October, winter set in. From one day to the next, The Russian Campaign, June 1941 to January 1942 79 temperatures sank far below the freezing point. It began to snow in unimaginable quantities. It made life difficult for us. The one advantage was that the muddy and dusty roads were now transformed into hard-frozen pistes. The snow evened out the ruts and ridges.
The Wehrmacht, as mentioned, was quite unprepared for winter.
Along the whole north and central front, almost all troop movements were smothered by the snow. Worst off were the infantry units and our motorcycles, since they were unprotected.
To the dismay of us all, the Russians brought in well-equipped ski divisions from Siberia and the far east. Well camouflaged by their white top suits, Russian infantry filtered almost inaudibly and invisibly through our lines of defense.
We sensed catastrophe and thought of Napoleon's fate. At home, reports from Russia were so alarming that measures were immediately introduced to get winter equipment to the front.
Goebbels called upon the population “to help the brave men at the front by voluntary gifts. German fellow-citizens, give voluntarily your skis, winter clothing, furs, anct warm underwear for your sons and husbands at the front.” As we learned from home, a huge gift campaign began at once.
From collecting points, the gifts were passed on up the line.
As might have been expected, however, the supply offices and depots were managed so bureaucratically, for the most part, that they were not in a position to distribute the gifts speedily to the right addresses. Thus, some of our tanks got sledges and skis, while the valuable furs werl- often grabbed, in the first place, by the services behind the lines who, in any case, sat in warm Russian cottages. We helped ourselves as far as we could and requisitioned warm Russian sheepskins to give to our motorcyclists and grenadiers.
To be unprepared for extreme cold had disastrous effects on our tanks and wheeled vehicles. The summer oil was too thin and the cooling water froze at once. We were soon forced to thaw the water in the morning with blow lamps and procure hot water as soon as we got near a village; or else we had to leave the engines running throughout the night,No western or southera European or American can imagine what it means to fight in temperatures of 40'C below zero and in icy gajes.
Since I, myself, reckoned to be transferred sooner or later to North Africa, I asked Beck to see to the Mercedes, in which we intended to make the journey home of almost 2,000 kilometers. It was two days before Beck came back from a trip to the supply company“The front springs were gone, owing to the bad roads,” he reported. “With the workshop platoon, I forged some others for the time being and mounted them at nearly 40'C below. The car ought to stand up to the journey.” Good old Beck; what would I have done without him?
North of Yakhroma, Russian ski units had filtered through between Klin and Kalinin and were threatening to cut us off.
“The bridgehead must be given up,” said my divisional commander.
“We can't hold the front like this. You will disengage from the enemy in the coming night and cover the withdrawal of the division east of Klin on the main Moscow-Leningrad road. Our infantry units are going back to a new defensive position north and south of Volokolamsk, where the division, after fighting a delaying action, will be taken in.” The General looked at me over his g.
Luck, this was to be expected. Hitler has overreached himself. Now we've am got to pay for it, especially the poor infantry and the grenadiers. Give your men all the support you can. Many of them will get into a panic and try to save themselves at all costs. The disengagementon't talk of retrrat-must and will succeed if we all keep our heads. We will lose a lot of materiel, but the main thing is to get the men back. In the hands of God, Luck." Although catastrophe was looming, I couldn't grasp it. For the first time since the successful blitzkriegs we were going back on disappointing terms. Snow, frost, icy winds, and an opponent who knew this climate and did not give up, had defeated us. The comparison with Napoleon was inescapable. I could see the pictures in my history books, of how the sad remnants of a proud army turned back and crossed the Beresina.
The men, as well as most of our officers, were unaware of the full extent of what was happening. For them other problems took precedence: How can I get my vehicle back in one piece, will enough supplies come up, how can I protect myself against the barbaric cold?
Hitler and Goebbels were still holding forth about the victorious Wehrmacht. My radio operator, who listened to the news now and then on short wave, told me that our retreat was being represented as a straightening of the front.
On 3 December the retreat began. At the rear position at The Russian Campaign, June 1941 to January 1942 81 Volokolamsk, so it was said, feverish preparations were being made by the infantry. Little by little individual units of our division disengaged themselves from the Klin-Yakhroma area.
With my two battalions I stayed on in the little town and around it. The Russians were not very active there. They preferred the way past us to the north and south. Finally, we too gave up the east bank of the Moscow-Volga canal, while a large fan of reconnaissance tanks kept constant guard to the east, as far as the snow and the road conditions allowed.
In great haste two retreat routes had been cleared of snow. As a result vast mountains of snow were piled high on either side of the road and made any divergence impossible.
Except for intense reconnaissance activity, the enemy made no very strong direct pursuit of us. All the fiercer, however, were the attempts of the Russian air force to attack the backward movements with old biplanes and light bombers. Our own air force was hardly to be seen. The advanced air fields had apparently also been moved to the west, or else the cold and the snowstorms prevented their use.
The effect of the enemy air attacks was devastating. Since no one on the retreat routes could escape, and since the Russians always came from the east, hence from behind, the infantry first caught the brunt of them. The next victims were the horse-drawn supply and artillery units. Before long, -the narrow roads were choked with the cadavers of horses and broken-down vehicles.
The men fought their further way,west on foot and were often attacked in the flank by Russian ski patrols.
Since we formed the rear guard, after a long interval, and since we were able to use our light antiaircraft guns, we were not bothered so much. Once, however, we did come under air attack.
Unnoticed and flying very low, some antiquated fighter aircraft crept up on us from behind. Two shots passed between Beck and me and went through the windshield. We were-lucky.
West of the great Moscow-Leningrad highway, we too had to use the cleared routes. Only our tanks had made ;i trail here and there in the deep snow on either side of the roads, by which most of our track and half-track vehicles could circumvent the many obstacles.
It was a grisly sight. Alongside dead horses lay dead and wounded infantrymen. “Take us with you or else shoot us,” they begged. As far as space allowed, we took them on our supply vehi 82 PANZER COMMANDER cles to hastily organized field dressing stations. The poor devils. Protected against the cold with makeshift foot-rags, they were now only a shadow of those who had stormed through Poland and France.
Supplies
got through to us only with difficulty, sometimes not at all. The truck drivers had to make their way against the stream of units flowing back. If they failed, there was suddenly no fuel. The best we could do then was to MI up our most important fighting vehicles; the others we had to destroy and leave behind. “Man, horse, and truck by the Lord were struck.” The saying here became a reality.
Only the will to reach safety in the prepared positions kept the men going. Anything to avoid being left behind and falling into the hands of the Russians.
Our divisional chaplain, Martin Tarnow, in his notes “Last Hours,” has described the suffering and death of so many men.
“Voda, voda (water): Some wounded men lay in a kind of barn, among them a few Russians. In the face of death there were no longer any enemies. Again and again came the penetrating cry of a Russian:”Voda, voda." I gave him my water-bottle; he drained it in one grateful swig. When I raised his blanket, I saw the bloodsoaked bandage. A stomach wound; no hope. We couldn't understand each other, but suddenly he grasped my silver cross.
Perhaps he, too, had a cross at home, hanging on the wall of his parent's house? I thought of Christ on the cross, who had once cried out, “Today shalt thou be with me in paradise.” It was not long before his hand released my cross; he died very quickly.
In dying, I believe he was consoled After weeks, which seemed to us an eternity, marked by shared misfortune and hardships endured, we came at last to the prepared position at Volokolamsk, which lay some 100 kilometers west of Moscow. We passed through the infantry positions to where we were to restore ourselves a few miles further to the rear. The primitive peasant huts seemed like luxury apartments to us. Utterly thankful to have escaped the infemo, we lay down on the oven beside the few remaining old inhabitants and wanted only one thing: sleep, sleep, sleep.