After Stalingrad

by Albert Holl

  When we arrive at the loading point, the wagon supervisor is ready to instruct the teams. A wood-cutting team is there every day to cut the necessary wood. Often it is not easy to work in this undergrowth, and we have to fight our way through to the tree trunks to be loaded. Once we have loaded the tree trunks, with great difficulty, 1.2 to 3 cubic metres being the norm per cart, then it becomes even more difficult to get out of the woods and back to the track. We have learned that these difficulties can only be overcome by working together as a team. The more we build ourselves up bodily, the more touchy we become. It is very important to work together with similarly tempered comrades.

  The Anti-fascists are opposed to our requests as they regard all our group bearing the number 24 as black sheep. We are at least open among ourselves and no longer have to deal with troublemakers or informers. Our group leader is the army captain Bruno Schäfer from Kassel, who, as a Romanian prisoner of war, belongs to the few who have remained unpolitical and has not broken his oath of allegiance. The remaining members, apart from me, are Captain Wassmann, Lieutenant Haber, Second-Lieutenant Dr Meier, Second-Lieutenant Kommescher, Lieutenant Hax, Pharmacist Wendt, and Senior Paymasters Becker and Neun.

  On our work trips I often think about a book that was left in Block VI. It had the title We Surinam Slaves and concerned the fate of the natives of the Dutch colony of Guyana. How I envy those slaves in comparison to our fate in ‘the most socialist country on earth!’

  Work has begun in the camp on the construction of two wooden barracks that are being built into the earth. We have to haul the necessary wood for them once we have returned from our grand tour, from the afternoon to late evening.

  I have fallen out with my former comrades Sacha and Pfeiffer, who have both joined the Restoration Proposition, the wording of which was composed by the teacher and former flak captain Röckmann. After some hesitation they eventually signed the Restoration List. As I had noticed from their discussions in the last days at Block VI, they regretted having backed the wrong horse and they are now concerned with eradicating this error. They have been moved by Hartmann, the activity leader of Nunnery Camp, to Jelabuga and there joined the League of German Officers. As a reward Pfeiffer is able to work as a laundryman, and Sacha as the leader of the harbour workers. Knackstaedt and Keeler have already been taken back to the main camp because of illness and there are now only Götz and myself from Block VI here. We have become close and are good friends.

  Second-Lieutenant Hax, a naval officer from Berlin, died in the camp from dysentery. The camp doctor, Dr Schulz, the former detachment doctor with Hermann, had not thought it necessary to send him to hospital. In order to imprint his death firmly in my mind, I asked the ambulance nurse to strip the dead man. Shattered and with clenched teeth, I stood before the corpse. Hax too was a Stalingrad prisoner. A few weeks ago we had worked together as ‘white slaves of the twentieth century’ as we ironically described ourselves in the pulling of the cart. He had fortunately survived the spotted fever period, which soon after we were taken prisoner had done away with tens of thousands of our comrades. Now, due to the inhumanity of a German doctor clinging to his post, he has perished miserably! Our indignation is great, even among the members of the League of German Officers, and we want to punish Senior Surgeon Dr Schulz. It is said that he comes from Glogau. The Russians also seem to want Schulz removed from his post. His successor, Staff Surgeon Dr Kunde, appeals to us twice as much because of his humane nature.

  The first ‘Königsbergers’, as we call those captured at Königsberg, have arrived in the camp as reinforcements. This is the first time that we have been able to speak personally to men who were captured shortly before Germany’s collapse. They reported how the Red Army soldiers in East Prussia had played havoc as ‘defenders of culture’, and of the cruelties committed against women and children. Truly worthy Soviet men! Finally we warned these men, who were telling us such unbelievable things: ‘Don’t talk about it, always think about it!’ And this Red Army was praised and cheered on the 9th of May by the traitors as liberators from Hitler’s yoke!

  From one Königsberger prisoner I also discovered that my former platoon leader, Second-Lieutenant Peter, with whom I had wanted to flee shortly before being taken prisoner, had appeared in the Königsberg cauldron as a German lieutenant with the Knight’s Cross under special orders from the Red Army.

  Soon the camp senior, Hermann, will have to go. His position in the camp has become untenable after the death of poor Hax. In addition, a large proportion of the camp inmates are undernourished and have to be brought completely exhausted to Jelabuga. Hermann was even ready to chase the prisoners of war tasked with building rafts stark naked into the Kama in the cold days of October. When finally, trembling all over, they pleaded to return to the camp, he refused them, saying: ‘You must fulfil your norm!’ The craziest incident, however, was that Second-Lieutenant Nöther, a district court lawyer from East Prussia, was shot by the Russians one night. He had crawled through the forbidden area to get some potatoes from the field immediately bordering the camp. Nöther was the father of three children. As my new group leader Hereus said, he unwillingly opened his mouth too wide. Hermann had been warned two days previously by the Russians who had found tracks in the forbidden area, but he did not think it necessary to pass on this warning to the camp inmates. In our eyes he is equally responsible for Nöther’s death because he did not speak up.

  Hermann’s successor is Captain Korff, a Hamburger, who brought a normal human tone back to the camp. The company commanders Hardt and Weiler, who have long been members of the League of German Officers, were angry that Korff had been appointed camp senior, although he was a new prisoner with no political merit. Korff might not have been able to do much for us with the Russians, but by his behaviour he saw to it that the general atmosphere in the camp, especially the tone, was raised. It was agreeable to see that he was sober in every way. For our new political advisers, Ridder and Konsorten, he was naturally an obstacle, but they could not touch him.

  Other elements had also arrived with the Königsbergers. Above all there was Captain Hereus, a lawyer from Bonn, with his divisional comrade. Lutz, as they call him, is a typical opportunist. As he said to me in our first discussion, to which he had invited me one evening, he had been sent here by Hartmann in order to clarify the true situation in Germany. I laughed inwardly as he tried to explain the true events in Germany, as he was too young to have correctly understood the political situation in Germany during the period 1920 to 1933. I was tempted to say: ‘Yes, grandpa, you are right!’

  Meanwhile he has already made progress. As a platoon commander, he goes behind the vehicles with a measuring stick. He has attained his goal. He does not need to do physical work. He likes to politically assess other prisoners and take these written assessments via the Anti-fascists to the Russians. It is disgusting when one hears of such people. God be thanked not all are like Hereus!

  There is Gerhard Schinnerling, a senior naval officer cadet and a son of Chemnitz city. With his poems, which are inspired by the wood trips, he prepares many a happy hour for us. Through our joint love of words we become very close and enjoy talks that enable us to forget the bitter reality for hours. Rilke, Binding, Uhland, Möricke, Eichendorff and others are our companions. We have not forgotten our views of the beauty of nature, despite the difficulties of our existence, and every day there is a new wonder of godly creation to astound us. Although our stomachs are empty, we also take the mushrooms that grow along the way. These are then cooked in the evening and provide a little supplement to our sparse nourishment. This way we also eat all kinds of mushrooms that are not considered poisonous but are known to be inedible. Hunger drives everything in!

  Today the emigrant Maurer came and left a Russian order. We have to remove our badges of rank and decorations. Through Ridder, Weiler and Hardt those prisoners of war who had burnt their decorations were denounced and sent to the punishment company in the main camp, including
the veterinary surgeon Dr Güldenhaupt, who was in the punishment company for three months.

  THE FLOUR AND BRICK TRIP

  The frost has still not won: the sun is still coming through in the daytime. Daily, however, we expect the snowfall to start. Slates are being prepared for our camp bakery that is to be built so that we don’t have to bring the bread from Jelabuga. The brickworks are only a short distance beyond Jelnie.

  Four wagons set off, the crews taking two days’ rations with them. Flour for baking will also be brought back. We have to collect it in Jelnie. I am happy that my sledge crew is with the flour collecting party.

  We set off early in the morning. As the Russian responsible for the expedition, the deputy camp commandant comes, together with the supply administrator Grotthoff and a sergeant, and another Asian, whose face is strongly pockmarked.

  As the Kama is not yet frozen over, we have to use the land route, which is several kilometres longer. It is 18 or 20 kilometres to Jelnie. About halfway along the stretch lies a brook that we have to cross. The journey there goes relatively quickly as the wagons are empty and the track looks good. When we reach our destination we have to wait an inexplicably long time until we get the flour. As we start the return journey it is already long after midday. On the way we catch up with the brick carriers, who had set off straight after lunch. The roads are deteriorating as the sun shines strongly after midday, and the weight of the carts, each carrying four two-hundredweight sacks, is very great. It is not easy either for the wagon drivers; because of the way the carts are made, the loads have to be well forward so that the carts are not broken. It has already happened to one cart. As the wagon driver I take particular care, not wanting to attract the scorn of the whole team, apart from which the strain on my comrades is great enough.

  It is already beginning to become dusk and we are first at the brook. Grotthoff makes a mistake again and lets us stop here. What stupidity! Full of concern, I think of the marshy section ahead of us. I had already considered the return journey and what it would look like now. The little wooden bridge with the steep slope is going to be particularly dangerous.

  The night sinks down around us. We have advanced several hundred metres, but now it is quite impossible to make progress. Again and again a cart sinks fast in a hole. The next cannot overtake as the track is too narrow, and we are obliged to help or to let others help us. Our strength is running out. In order not to run into danger and have the cart overturn – which could have serious consequences for me – I clamp the shaft fast under the axle so that I am lying more on the ground in the mud and dirt as I go along. It is a relief when I swear. I complain about the whole system and the idiot Grotthoff. It is a shame that I cannot speak Russian! But if Grotthoff and his Asian have noticed what is wrong, they remain very quiet – which means that Grotthoff has gone on ahead and is now waiting until we have made our way through the marsh. It is a marvel that none of the carts has fallen from the narrow wooden bridges and landed in the stream, which is four metres deep. It must already be midnight before the last of the carts is finally through. Another short rest and then we drive on. With failing strength we manage the last few hundred metres to our goal. Some prisoners are standing ready to unload the carts in the camp. Incapable of doing anything more, we stumble into our shelters.

  The next day brings us yet another woodland tour. We are not here to recover but to work! There is no plan of action. Care for the people is here a foreign notion, and quite openly misused by the camp commandant for his shady dealings, without us being able to do anything about it. The Germans provide him with odd job services. Korff is also powerless against this. Should he not stay, another will come in his place and our situation will be even worse.

  The men who went to the brickworks are now also back, arriving a day later than us. As the prisoners of war had already eaten their rations – which had been estimated to last two days – on the first day, they have been starving for fifty hours. With the inadequate food, the high expenditure of energy, and another long night in which they were locked in a stable and had no sleep because of the cold, several were so run down that they had to be taken to the sickbay. What we experience here is criminally nonsensical and yet we must remain silent. Germany has capitulated unconditionally and the Russians keep us permanently aware of it. For me, it seems pointless doing anything against it. With all my energy I have to get through this time and drift along with the mass without losing my way. I often discuss the situation with my comrade Otto Götz. We have become good friends during this time. With gritted teeth and fists clenched in our pockets, we look disdainfully upon the events of this ‘Pigs’ Fiddle’, as we call it.

  Schinnerling is ill. Apparently he also took part in the brick trip. The symptoms of his illness are quite unusual. When he moves, he cries out with pain. The doctor thinks it is rheumatism. Hereus is of the opinion that Schinnerling wants to avoid working and convinces the doctor of this too. I am angry that Hereus found it necessary to say such a thing, when his every effort is made in order to get a cushy job. Dr Kunde says that Schinnerling needs to go to hospital. I too should go back to the camp to recuperate and the camp commandant, ‘Jumbo’, agrees.

  WINTER IN XILTAU WOODLAND CAMP, 1945/6

  Now winter has finally won the victory. Wherever one looks there is snow and ice. The Kama is frozen over and it is no longer necessary to bring supplies across the river by barge. But other routes too are closed off by the Kama ice road. Our trips to Jelnie for flour go along the river. Orlovka, too, which is about 10 kilometres downstream on the same side of the Kama bank, becomes ever more frequently our regular destination. Because of the snow, in place of the carts we get sledges that work well for carrying wood and our team is reduced from ten to eight men.

  We now have two regular treks: the woodland route and the Kama route. First we carry to the camp the tree trunks that have been felled in the wood. On other days we go by river back to Orlovka, where the wood for the prisoners of war in Hilweg Woodland Camp is taken over and transported further.

  In the woods we also have to shovel snow by the cubic metre to reach the tree trunks that were felled in the summer, but at least there is no wind here in the woods. The extensive woodlands do not allow through the strong winds that flourish in the river valley. Once we have left the wood and are approaching the river valley, the icy wind picks up, penetrating through all our items of clothing. So that our noses and the other parts of our faces do not freeze, we have prepared nose and face protectors. If a normal central European saw us now he would think that we have come from a masquerade. Felt boots, which we have received in place of our bad footwear, some of it no more than cloth, quickly become useless. Especially when we go along the Kama they often get wet, as there is water in certain places where there is a gap in the ice covered by the snow and the water is unable to freeze. From the sledge driver is demanded a high degree of concentration when we are obliged to go along the embankment by the mass of ice. The sledges are often then crossing a slope of up to 35 degrees and it often happens that they overturn. Fortunately accidents of this kind almost always occur without inflicting injury.

  When we have a trip along the Kama ahead of us, our first task in the morning is to look at the wind. There is relief when it is coming from behind or at least from the side, a feeling of trepidation if it is blowing icily in one’s face. On those days we haul the sledges with our heads bent right forward, our caps pulled down hard over our faces, nose and cheeks covered so that only the eyes are to be seen. It is even more unpleasant for the driver, whose face is more exposed to the wind and who needs his hands in the open, his poor-quality gloves providing little protection. Frequent freezing is the consequence. We keep looking to one side in order to prevent the bare parts of the face from freezing. Water runs down the nose and freezes in the nostrils. If we wipe off the drops from the nose with a glove, it soon becomes sore from the rubbing. Nobody says a word, the icy wind forcing us to keep our mouths shut.

/>   There is a certain place on the return journey where we regularly stop. Here, with our backs to the wind, we talk about all sorts of things with our pulling partners. As we rummage in the memory box, time passes more quickly and the current misery is forgotten for a few minutes. Hardly anyone dares to think about the future for fear of going crazy. No spark of hope is discernible. Even the news that the captain brought us a few weeks ago – that we could send post back home – has proved untrue until now. Even if it were so, I have remained sceptical since my experience in 1943. We can only wait with gritted teeth and ask God that he will make it possible.

  Japan has also capitulated a few weeks ago. There are whispers that the Americans have dropped atomic bombs, which made the Japanese stop resisting immediately. On the last trip to Jelnie we saw a banner on which could be read – as our interpreter translated – ‘After the victory, fasten your helmets tighter! Now the Japanese have been beaten we must arm ourselves against the western capitalists and their bourgeoisie!’ That is the true story of this country! Although the Comintern has been disbanded, we follow as before the goal of world revolution by the proletariat. I believe that the western democracies will wonder again about this Asiatic sphinx.

  The constant sledging work drains the last strength from our bones. New prisoners from the main camp are constantly replacing our sick. Until now about a thousand men have gone through the camp, which has a strength of about four hundred.

  We also have to bring from Bonjuga, some 16 kilometres distant, our food supplies, principally potatoes and white cabbage. The potatoes are so inexpertly stored that we conduct a serious discussion about whether any schnaps factory in Germany would take such muck. Farmers in Germany would not have given these potatoes to the pigs! But we eat them as we have nothing else. Ottel and I are certain that we rejected this rubbish in Block VI, but there is nothing we can do about it here. The informers are too numerous to discuss this subject. We complain a lot, especially about those who find their way to the League of German Officers, but that is as far as it goes.