At about midday on 24 March I received orders for our relief. We were to return to the tank field workshops, while our position would be taken over by another unit.
Once the relieving commander had been briefed on the details of the hand-over, I drove back to Division, where the Intelligence Officer (Ia) told me of two Russian radio transmissions that had been intercepted. In the first the commander of the sector opposite the orchard had been rebuked for not pressing home his attack. In the second the sector commander reported that he had counted eight dug-in Königstigers in the orchard, against which he could make no progress. This was too much of an honour for us for, firstly, we only had five tanks in that position, and secondly, we had absolutely no Königstigers with us, and we were certainly not dug-in! But we often got similarly nice confirmations of success from Ivan over the radio.
Zobel lost his 2nd Squadron to the Küstrin Garrison. On 16 April he had his two remaining squadrons deployed behind the Hauptgraben water obstacle east of Seelow, where his battalion claimed over 50 Soviet tanks destroyed that day for a loss of four; the four that he had sent forward to support the infantry being knocked out in error by the German anti-tank gun screen. Having been outflanked on his right he withdrew his battalion that night to replenish in the woods behind the Stein-Stellung. Again on the third day of battle the battalion claimed to have destroyed another 50 Soviet tanks caught in the flank advancing north of Trebnitz. The battalion then covered the retreat to Berlin, where it became involved in the defence. Zobel was promoted major on 20 April and then led the breakout to the west over the Charlotten Bridge into Spandau (see With Our Backs to Berlin) on the night of 1/2 May. When the last vehicles ran out of fuel, they abandoned them and continued on foot. Unable to swim, Zobel nevertheless got across two rivers, ending up naked on the west bank of the Elbe, where he persuaded a mayor to provide him with civilian clothing and a pass stating that he was ‘visiting his pregnant wife in the next village’. Armed with this, he traversed American-occupied territory until he found his wife working for the British in Braunschweig, where he joined her as an interpreter, never having been taken prisoner.
In due course he received an invitation to join a German team to help train the Egyptian Army, which he did until another letter arrived inviting him to help found the Bundeswehr. On his way home he learnt of the defeat of the Egyptian Army in the Six Days War with Israel, in which virtually all the armoured troops he had helped train had been wiped out.
Zobel subsequently became a full colonel and Inspector of Panzer Troops in the Bundeswehr and, after his retirement from active service, went on to edit a technical journal on armoured subjects.
SIX
The Defence of Seelow
KARL-HERMANN TAMS
I met Karl-Hermann Tams at the reunions of the 20th Panzergrenadier Division’s ‘Mook wie’ old comrades’ association held on the anniversary of the battle for the Seelow Heights, which were held at the Seelow Museum each year after the reunification of Germany made such events possible. He was always the life and soul of the party, a great raconteur, and his death on 16 April 1995 was a great loss to all his friends there.
My thoughts go back to March 1945 when the situation on all fronts was relatively stable and the feeling among us young soldiers could still be described as confident. We had not been brought up to political contemplation. The situation appeared different at home in the now surrounded remains of the Reich, where there was already a widespread feeling of defeat, although the transport system was intact and food supplies still reaching the population.
I was already 21 years old and had passed a company commanders’ course at the Boehm-Kaserne in Hamburg-Rahlstedt, when on Good Friday, 30 March 1945, I received my orders to join the troops on the Eastern Front. I said farewell to my family and remaining circle of friends with truly mixed feelings; as, the longer the war lasted, the more difficult it was for a soldier to return to the front. I had already been wounded twice in action in Russia. The feeling of parting was, in view of the strange situation, hard to describe, inwardly burdened with the uncertainty of the future, yet outwardly confident nevertheless. For us the collapse of the Reich and of the Wehrmacht was unimaginable and one’s own ignorance about what was happening was deliberately suppressed and played down. So I set off with three other comrades full of inner tension on the adventurous route to Berlin, a city which, even in the sixth year of the war, had not lost its appeal and radiance as a metropolis.
Naturally we had a night out ‘on the town’ in Berlin at a small bar on the Kurfürstendamm. Next morning, Easter Saturday, 31 March 1945, we continued our journey to Fürstenwalde, until then still a delightful little town. It made a great impression on us, being accustomed to living in one destroyed city after another. (Just three weeks later I came through here again freshly wounded and found only a dead town of smoking rubble.) At the Movement Office in Fürstenwalde we were directed to exactly where our unit was at the moment, namely in Seelow and in positions in the Oderbruch eastwards of there opposite Küstrin. Our destination was Seelow.
There was a train laden with supplies for our unit (20th Panzergrenadier Division) at the railway station. Departure was expected at dusk, as Seelow already lay in the combat zone. The designation HKL (Hauptkampflinie = Main fighting line) had been given up at the end of the war and replaced by a new term ‘Kampfraum’ (combat zone) covering an area about 3 kilometres deep. Thus Seelow was in the front line and the population had been evacuated.
Our train moved off and groped its way, fully blacked out and without any lights at all, almost step by step through the night; part of the route being visible to the enemy. Familiar flares stood in the sky above the front; single tank gunshots bellowed through the night, and heavier gun barrels boomed and thundered their greetings from here and there and all around, while machine guns rattled sporadically in the distance. Although the train rolled on, the front had already bypassed us, and our senses adjusted once more to a different reality from that to which we were otherwise normally accustomed.
Finally the train drew up at a siding, a branch line to an agricultural barn on a small slope on the southwestern edge of Seelow, where we were cheerfully welcomed by our comrades. Suddenly we were hearing our Hamburg dialect again and the odd familiar smiling face with the right jokes on their lips. After my frightful experience in the bombing of Dresden and having avoided the general rounding up of those heroes that had been grabbed and commandeered for a wild, emergency unit raised on the spot, I was happy to be back in one piece, with my unit at last. We used to call it ‘our gang’. People today would hardly credit it, but we young soldiers felt at home being back in our unit.
The reception and disembarkation went quite quietly, briskly, without noise or excitement. We were quickly briefed and told to report to our Commanding Officer, Colonel Reinhold Stammerjohann, at the regimental command post on Easter Sunday morning. Father Stammerjohann was no stranger to me and I was delighted at the prospect of seeing him again. Assigned to him as a second lieutenant, of course I immediately requested a combat command. With a grin, he clapped me warmly on the shoulder and said: “Son, you have only just got here from the slaughter-house, stay here with me for a while!”
Naturally I thought this was an excellent Easter present. The staff officers greeted us young second lieutenants with vodka, as was the custom.
The next few days were full and passed quickly, although the front remained quiet. I was assigned to the regimental combat reserve, i.e. as a general dogsbody. The days were filled with inspection visits, ground familiarisation and looking at the possibilities open to us, and to infantry close combat training of the sailors in our Field Replacement Battalion. One would hardly believe it, but these men had been assigned to us because of the lack of ships for them to man, there being no other alternative for them. They were all experienced in naval warfare, many of them having had their ships sunk under them, and I should stress that these sailors generally made an outstanding im
pression on us. They were a very likeable lot, as were our own soldiers, who were all up to Ivan’s cunning tricks and knew how to turn them to their own advantage. In a short time, however, all of them were killed in action. I still maintain that our regiment in Seelow was undermined by the faulty assessment of these men’s ability to convert into infantry. That applies above all to the employment of two Volkssturm companies in our sector. Their losses were devastating. Certainly we could never have foreseen the stubborn doggedness of those troops facing us. We were to lose our last optimistic assumptions pretty quickly.
If I can quote from a report in ‘Stern’ magazine of April 1975 – thirty years after – the scale of the differing force strengths in this battle can be properly evaluated.
…it became clear with a visit to the socialist shrine[24] on the Seelow Heights, where the decisive battle for Berlin began on the 16th April 1945. 33,000 Red soldiers fell in the attack on the strongly fortified German positions. 10,000 alone are buried in the main Soviet cemetery. How many German soldiers fell cannot allegedly be established.
We survivors can give our own troop strength estimates. In the roughly twelve kilometres-wide sector concerned, there were certainly not more than 5,000 German soldiers lined up for the defence, of which apparently only five to ten individuals survived. So we can calculate troop strengths of twenty to one confronting each other on the Seelow Heights in April 1945.
But to return to our experiences and impressions.
On the Friday, 6 April, I was attached to the combat commander of Seelow, Helmut Wandmaker – then Major Wandmaker – i.e. allocated to the Seelow Combat Group. Out task was simple: to defend Seelow, if necessary to let it be surrounded and to tie down enemy forces as long as possible. This was a suicide mission, but Helmut and I survived it.
First I set up quarters with Second Lieutenant Günther Reimers and another comrade in the building of a grocery store right on the market place. Naturally, standing on this market place in the middle of the town, there was also a church with a tower. That this church tower would or could eventually become the aiming point for the Russian artillery we simply ignored in view of what this building offered, with all the amenities in the world. Not only enough food for us three for a whole year, but comfortable furnishings, beginning with the feather beds and the intact bath on the first floor behind on the east side. The building had been left by its inhabitants as if they had just gone off for a short holiday. Certain rooms were locked and sealed and so unavailable to us.
So we first heated the bath water and had a proper bath, one after the other. Günther Reimers willingly took over the kitchen and served us up one luxurious dish after another. For a few days we did not appear at the field kitchen. The wine and spirits supplies were inexhaustible. We became overconfident and shot pigeons off the roof with our pistols for the eventual pleasure of eating them.
One day the Russian artillery opened fire. We noticed during the course of the day that at regular intervals single shots were being aimed at the church tower in the town centre. We first realised that our building lay right in the line of fire late that afternoon, after duty, when we were all sitting in our quarters.
I had already started running my bath water and was standing naked in the bathroom doorway, Günter was busy in the kitchen over our supper, and our third comrade was sorting out his kit for the next day in his bedroom, when we became aware of the familiar noise of a gun firing. Involuntarily we froze, as we tried to determine the direction of flight. Missing the great roar and howling of its passage over us, it suddenly became crystal clear that the hit must occur in our vicinity in the next three or four seconds. The combat experienced soldier recognises this immediately – CRUNCH! We all ran to the centre of the first floor of the building as it landed under the shop. We were completely covered in brick dust, glass splinters and falling plaster. It lasted at least two minutes or longer until the dust settled and we could recognise one another again and see our tensed faces. Although none of us were wounded, we were shocked and released our tension with laughter at our appearance and funny situation. The shell had exploded at the back of the building on the windowsill of the office under the bathroom. The partition wall with the shop, with all its shelves and their contents, lay on the market place in front of the building. All our ‘luxuries’ had been brought to an end with one blow. We had to retire to the cellars, as were the instructions. Once more we had got away scot-free.
A further example of how a soldier took things easy when there was an apparently stable front, we felt fully tactically secure; for, as defenders on the Seelow Heights, we thought we could overcome any attacker through our geographical advantage, especially as they first had to break out of a bridgehead. So it was decided to hold a social evening. I cannot remember who was the host, but it certainly was an excellent party. All the officers and NCOs of the regiment who could get away for the evening were invited, including those of the Field Replacement Battalion of our 20th Panzergrenadier Division. Where exactly in Seelow we then sat down together at table, I cannot remember. Nevertheless, I recall a large banqueting room with tall Roman windows, a table laid for thirty to fifty persons with white tablecloths, place settings for many courses and the same number of glasses for various drinks, and radiant, festive electric lighting.
We felt quite at home in this officers’ club. We talked about the war, and what would happen to Germany after it had lost it. Why couldn’t somebody kill Hitler? Was it right for the oath of loyalty to be made to an individual, and did our building in Hamburg escape the last air attack? Then we discussed politics: how long would the Western Powers continue as unequal partners with the Soviet Union. Would we have to have another go to the east along with the Western Powers? How long can we hold the Russians on the Oder, etc.? Finally, we heard it from our Commanding Officer’s own lips: ‘We shall stay here if necessary until the American tanks drive up our arse! Understood?’
The conversation was cut short suddenly as we found ourselves the target of a Russian artillery salvo. The shellfire brought us back to reality. The electric lights went out. Yet nearly everyone remained seated at the table. We lit the candles that had been laid out for emergencies and the celebration continued unhurriedly, although the prettily coloured Roman windows were now without glass. Fortunately we had already finished our meal and the table had been cleared. Fresh glasses were quickly brought out and the congenial atmosphere was enhanced by the candlelight. It just shows how thick-skinned soldiers can be!
Next morning, 14 April 1945, we were awoken by loud sounds of combat. Heavy fire was falling on our forward positions. Could this be the beginning of a new major offensive? The ‘Hurrah!’ cries of the Ivans were smothered everywhere one after the other by the concentrated defensive fire of our troops. What we could not have expected was that the so-called fortress garrison, a Waffen-SS unit, should have broken out of the Küstrin Fortress. This was in contradiction to the current Führer-Order and greatly astonished us. There was considerable confusion in our forward positions, not knowing whether it was our people or Ivan coming towards them. It could not have been worse, for both were mixed up together, making a truly unfortunate scene for us.
Once things had quietened down a little, came the sober assessment. How were we to interpret the Russian attack? Had the confusion been caused through our Küstrin garrison blowing their encirclement and breaking out, or had it been a ‘reconnaissance in strength’ to discover the locations of our main concentrations and the weaknesses in our positions? The latter seemed the most likely and was later confirmed by Marshal Zhukov. Coupled to this event certain decisions about personnel were made, leading to some changes.
The new battle commander of Seelow was a Captain von Wartenberg, who relieved Major Wandmaker, and I had to take over the company detachment of Sergeant Major Eiskamp and thus became a company commander. I was only 21 years old, with considerable Eastern Front experience, and at least half my men were four to five years older, experienced
sailors but, as already mentioned, totally inexperienced in fighting on land. In order to establish good relations with these men I appointed the senior petty officer Company Sergeant Major in order to keep him close beside me. On 14 April 1945 our company combatant strength was 136 divided into three rifle platoons and a mortar platoon.
The morale of the company was quite good. We were fully aware of our uncompromising situation. The company sector extended from the northern exit of Seelow, where the road forked to Gusow and Werbig, in a wide semi-circle to the east over Reichsstrasse 1 (200 metres in front of us was the main railway line from Frankfurt/Oder to Stettin with Seelow railway station) and then on another 500 metres past a windmill to a farmstead, enclosing a bow-shaped stretch of land about 1500 metres outside the houses on the eastern edge.
With Our Backs to Berlin Page 12