3 September: Always waiting, waiting! We are not allowed to attack, but have to hold the line against increasing pressure from the Russians.
4 September: The Red artillery has been hammering our positions with calibers of all sizes for hours now. I hope we make it. Pressed flat on the floors of our holes, we await attack orders or the end to all this suffering—a nice direct hit. Scheisse, it’s all scheisse!
5 September: Today is again a big day for the Soviet air force, which comes somewhat as a change. Budenny’s swallows arrive in flocks from Kiev. Out of politeness, they initially hand us their business cards in the form of thousands of pamphlets. Eventually, dozens of large, long, tin drums drop from the sky.
My first thought is, “Firebombs!” But since they released their bombs right over our heads, there is no immediate threat for us. We look curiously above the hedges and down into the valley, where these damned things crash down. Strange, there are no detonations. The tin drums just burst open. Hundreds of small bearings fly through the air; they are shimmering like tin cans. About ten minutes later, the valley is in flames. Small yellowish violet flames are everywhere. An observer from B-position comes to us shortly after. His group witnessed the whole spectacle in close proximity. The 6- to 8-meter-long cylinders were filled with small cans. After the cylinders exploded, the cans inside swirled about and burst open. Flames were everywhere a few minutes later. Phosphorus bombs—another evil trick!
Despite this, we should be thankful to the Red devils. They have transformed the valley and its heaps of dead bodies into a crematorium. No stench of decay will turn our stomachs upside down tomorrow. What would have happened if Budenny’s swallows had aimed better? “Ribs, Kassel style” [Kassel, a city in Germany], well smoked as someone has remarked.
6 September: Changing guard at B-position at 0300 hours. Six men move into the lonely position. It is quiet despite our expectations. Well, at least what we call quiet: sporadic shell fire and the rattling of a single machine gun. Wet fog hangs over our positions, it is abysmally cold. At least it provides good cover; the enemy is unable to see us walking through the barbed wire barriers as we carefully and slowly crawl through the minefield. Thirty minutes later we reach the forward trenches of B-position. The fog lies in thick banks in the valley. The enemy might attempt to breach our position’s front line under the cover of this fog. We are the eyes of our division and as such, we see the first waves of enemy fighters approach within half an hour.
Our protective artillery fire lands well and eliminates the first two waves, but more masses are clashing against our section of the front. If it continues like this, we may have to retreat to the primary position. No one says this aloud, however; German soldiers do not retreat that quickly. Our observation post is quickly altered into a defensive position. The camouflage tarp is removed and a step is dug into the wall in order to bring the machine gun into place. Hand grenades are lined up, ready to be used. The bayonet is attached to the rifle to prepare for one-on-one battle.
The Reds have managed to break through to the right of our position. Quite a few are torn apart by the mines, but the Red devils don’t mind a few hundred casualties. The Bolsheviks have understood the importance of our defensive position and bring more and more reinforcement troops. Their masses attack non-stop. Their artillery fires without a break, and from a great distance, directly into our trenches.
The fog is long gone. The sun is beating down on us and driving us crazy. Terrible one-on-one fights have erupted in several sections around us. It means nothing to ask for heroic individual actions. Everyone is a hero here; everyone simply fulfills his duty to the best of his ability.
The Bolsheviks are finally pushed back and retreat around noon. The Russian artillery takes its angry revenge. One fire attack after another rains down on us. The wall of enemy shellfire lies approximately 100 meters to our rear by about 1700 hours, and moves slowly toward us. Explosions are coming closer and closer to us. Just now it almost got us. Loud sounds similar to an organ approach above our heads, three times, four times.… At once we throw ourselves onto the floor of the trench. Again, there is a crashing as if the world itself were exploding. Dirt is flying around our ears and rains down on our helmets.
A fist-sized chunk of shell slams into the ground no further than a meter from me. What good luck! Luck is what one needs in a war! Casualties appear small when measured against the successes. Piles of dead Russian soldiers are lying in front of our section and in the most forward trenches. The worst thing is that we will be sick to our stomachs tomorrow from the stench of the decaying bodies. Once again, we will be running around like nurses with our handkerchiefs over our faces. But there is an unexpected change of events: we receive orders to be replaced in the evening. No one can understand what this message does to the emotions of a soldier on the front. There were probably some guys who even cried… it’s an issue of nerves.
The messenger, the bearer of good news, is celebrated like a demigod. He receives our last cigarettes and alcohol. The exchange is done at midnight, without any major incident. We reach the supply troops in Barachty in the early hours of the morning. Now it is about sleeping, sleeping, and more sleeping.
7 September: The heat is unbearable. The moist, hot air makes every move torturous. Flies, thousands of fat flies, make our lives a living hell. Day and night, they are everywhere. In thick masses, they land on anything edible. I lose my appetite every time I think about where these flies started… on the piles of dead flesh and in the latrines. A part of the occasionally severe consequences of this situation are the gastro-intestinal and stomach illnesses.
There can be no talk of rest or sleep. Since partisan movement has increased behind the front, thus making the area unsafe, the dreaded watch patrols are implemented, which are meant to bring back partisans and defectors captured near the front. This time they are not young and fresh girls, but fanatical Bolsheviks. They look at us with their empty faces and smile. A body search discovers many interesting things: Russian maps, thousands of Rubles, and brand new passports. Since we are already tense and irritable from the brutal heat, their stupid smiles push us over the edge.
The interrogations are appropriately stormy and “effective” [the original schlagkraeftig is a play on words. Schlag means heating, and schlagkraeftig means effective, forceful, or punchy]. One of the partisans has a pistol aimed at his head and just says with a smile “karasho!” After this, they leave him to the translator, who beats him black and blue. The boy is now moaning on the ground and confesses everything: he lists the orders and the people who gave them. We learn from this that one can threaten a Russian with taking his life; put a rope around his neck and he will simply smile in your face. However, if you beat them up, you will be able to see the fear in their eyes and they will confess whatever you want to know.
8 September: It started to rain lightly during the night, and is now raining cats and dogs. The ground turns into black mud within hours. What were once roads and streets yesterday have turned into creeks of mud today. Muddy water shoots through the gulches into the valley. Within hours the bottom of the valley has been transformed into a lake. You can’t get anywhere by vehicle, not even a kilometer. Our boots act like filters, though unfortunately in the opposite direction—mud goes in, water goes out, and the dirt stays inside.
I think of the brave comrades in their trenches and holes on the front. These poor schweine! They will not have a single dry thread on their bodies in this weather. Their holes will be half-filled with dirty water. Nevertheless, the artillery is barking today. Damn, when will this terrible trench war be over!
9 September: Rain and still more rain. I hope it won’t continue like this for the next 14 days; otherwise, the attack on Kiev is down the drain.
10 September: The same gray soup. We will be going to the front again tomorrow. Everything is even gray and dull inside of me. The past few days have not brought us the rest that we so well deserve. We are even more tired and jaded than
before, and we are ordered back to the front, into the dreadful muddy holes and in all this miserable weather.
We receive final orders at noon. We have a difficult task ahead of us: infantry support in the Saporoshje. Of all sectors, we are ordered to this terrible one. This part of the front has tasted even more blood than the Potschtowaja sector. It is one of the most complex sectors of the entire western Kiev front. The area is covered in thick woods, expansive swamps, and is very difficult to oversee, which allows the Russians to pull all kinds of dirty tricks. Well, we’ll see. I’m not at all happy about this entire situation. At least we have one joy today—the rain has stopped. Thank God!
11 September: The sun hangs hot and bright in the sky. One is surprised by how fast the roads and paths dry out. Where does all this mud soup come from? Nevertheless, the heavy vehicles get stuck more than once or twice. They are stuck in the mud up to their frames. Hurray! With much effort and sweat they have been pulled out.
The way to Saporoshje indicates to us how important the tasks are at the edge of the front. There is nothing, absolutely nothing for approximately 20 kilometers to the rear of the units fighting on the front. It is unbelievable that this thick line extends for some thousand kilometers, withstands the pressure, and eats its way east. This is different than France. There, the military units were organized five kilometers deep. First there were the combat units, next the regiments for rotation and replacement, then the reserves (the marching battalions), and finally a division for emergencies.
Yes, dear gentlemen at home, every little shooter-ass here is a hero. Everyone, even the weakest guy, needs to be a real man on the Eastern Front, otherwise he will encounter misfortune. Then the Russians will break through and there will be nobody behind us to stop them.
It is nice to hear the special announcements. Father Krause smiles silently (well, well, how was it back there at Chemin des Dames?) [Reference to the three Battles of the Aisne in World War I France.] Dear Father Krause, let it be told, we have already gone through a dozen or more “Chemin de Dames,” and who knows how many “Doumamonts” are still in front of us. Father Krause, it has always been the same guys who have been giving their blood on the front lines since 22 June! And Mother Krause is also happy, but in a different way. Where is my boy? Is he still alive? Is he healthy or…. Even if he gave his life for the victory, the mourning mother’s heart would still feel joy for the victory and glory of the German flag. She would be proud of her boy who is lying somewhere in the vast lands of Russia, with his eyes wide open. Oh you wives and mothers back in the homeland, we are aware of your bravery. We are no longer your sons and husbands, but your comrade fighters. In our own way, every one of us gives his or her all.
We reach Saporoshje in the afternoon and prepare for the replacements at night. We are replacing a group from Knight’s Cross recipient Major [Albrecht] Lanz’s [396th Infantry Regiment]. They fought bravely. I envy the men under this wonderful leader and person. He’s a man who has intelligence written all over his tanned face, which is full of humor. He has a kind word or a joke for everyone.
Here is the task our infantry has received: form reconnaissance troops and complete an aggressive investigation of the area up to Kiev. It is typical for this campaign that soldiers from all branches take on infantry duties as needed. There are no designated headquarters anymore. The higher ranks are no longer giving orders from secure locations. Now, everyone, officer or secretary, carries a weapon at all times, and uses it at least a dozen times a day.
12 September: The Russians must have noticed something. The replacement turns out to be an evil undertaking with many casualties. They hammer us with spiral mines [spiralminen], insidious hand grenades, and artillery shells of considerable caliber.
It quiets down around noon. The Russians did not use their opportunity for an attack; it would have created chaos and cost many casualties. A scout troop with two prisoners returns in the morning. An especially tough and fanatic enemy lies on the opposite side—handpicked members of the Bolshevik Party, like a “Red SS.”
There is heavy shellfire all day. If the Russians only knew how small their opponent’s unit actually was. Yes, if…. It is good that they often do not have an overall understanding of the situation. We are beating them at their own game: we build bogus positions with large oven pipes pointed skyward, and work on the fortifications all day.
13 September: Russian scouts are patrolling the front line. Breitung and little Horung are taken by surprise and mutilated by hand grenades and bayonets. I move forward with a few men to free them from their miserable situation. The Russians are throwing egg grenades [Flaschen Eisminenzünder (Fl.Es.Mi.Z.)] at our feet on our way back; it is a shitty situation if you are transporting seriously wounded men. We take cover in a bomb crater, as a two hundred kilo shell approaches with a roar and slams right in between us. I think every single hair on my body stood straight up at that moment. The glowing hot projectile is sticking out of the mud no more than a meter from me. A dud! This is a rare occasion for the otherwise good Russian ammunition. I don’t need to mention that we had never before left a cover faster than that before. Boy oh boy [junge, junge], if that grenade had actually worked, a tin would have sufficed for an official funeral of our ten-man group.
We are leaving our trenches for a very risky reconnaissance task in the evening. According to intelligence, the Russians placed a high-voltage barbed wire barrier into operation yesterday. Our assignment is to discover its path and locate the power station. This time, however, we are unable to fulfill our task, because the Russians commence a heavy surprise attack. It all goes so fast that we do not have time to retreat behind our lines. We are in a terrible situation. We lie in the deep ditch of a small creek no more than 80 meters in front of the enemy lines. We see the Bolsheviks storming left and right, sometimes so close we could touch them. We hear the commissars giving their orders. We are lucky that it is a dark night. We would meet our end if they were to detect us. German and Russian tracers are crisscrossing over our ditch. Minutes weigh like years. The Russians flood back after about an hour. We immediately offer flank protection; our machine gun rattles until the barrel overheats. And then, our comrades arrive and everything is good again.
14 September: A terrible crashing raises us from our uneasy sleep. The Bolsheviks are placing heavy artillery on our sector. Except for the combat positions, everyone takes cover in the bunker, because shells exploding in the trees is not to everyone’s liking. I am on guard in the most forward trench near the woods. There are explosions, one after another, in the swampy meadows. A majestic beech tree stands approximately 100 meters from me. The other guys have named it the “blood-beech.” This is the only dry spot and is surrounded by swamps. The Red dogs continuously attempt to break through this location. The tree will be blown up tomorrow, for it is assumed that it is used by Russian artillery as a marker on the landscape. What a pity for such a beautifully grown tree.
It is crazy—one is lying here under fire and observes a tree, the sunlight, and anything that plays in the light. Man, Hannes, doesn’t this make you long for your beloved forest in the Taunus [German mountain range], and beautiful Sunday walks with Rosel? Instead, you should be thinking about the shells that are slamming into the ground in front of you.
A few large calibers start to arrive at this moment. It is ridiculous to use such large calibers that are shot from a long distance on a position like this! Damn it! What is that? Where is our beech tree? A cloud of menacing black smoke has engulfed it. As the smoke rises, the tree starts to tilt, at first slowly, then faster and faster, until it slams to the ground. The first thing I hear is the thunder of the impact and then the crashing of the tree branches hitting the ground. Now you see, Hannes, your dreams about your Taunus forest are really not well suited here.
Lunch does not taste too good today because we are too nervous. An ass approaches us with news, which is now being hotly discussed in the trenches. First, there is the replacement order; w
e will get out of here today. But when it rains it pours—we are going back to our old positions in Potschtowaja-Weta. This is the horrible sector where we lost our best! Second, the general attack on Kiev will start in two days. Finally, finally! One could shed tears of joy. This terrible trench war will be over. It is unbelievable; I finally get to know why we had to be engaged in this nasty trench war for weeks. [Colonel General Heinz] Guderian from the north, and [Field Marshal Ewald von] Kleist from the south, have encircled a large area. An enormous encirclement has been achieved which is unprecedented in the history of war.
There will be a battle of encirclement and annihilation that people will probably still be talking about in a hundred years. Man, imagine that; when, in a couple of years, you’re helping your kids with their history homework, and the topic for the next lesson will be the “annihilating battle of Kiev.” You can then tell your kids all the things that are not mentioned in the history books—your experiences! Man, Paul, you, myself, and the rest of us, we’re all part of this! No matter what has happened so far, is it not amazing that we are allowed to participate in this? Who’s thinking about the fact we have not yet ended it and that the next few hours could bring death to anyone of us! But today, today.… Tomorrow we are going to roll and who knows, the day after tomorrow we might attack. Which one of us “frontschweine” [frontline pigs] is thinking about death? We wouldn’t be able to fight with all of this thinking going on.
15 September: This time the replacement was without hassle, and the weather is great! Everybody is in an excellent mood. There are no grumpy faces anywhere. The news has trickled through: the attack will start tomorrow. We now hate the city that has been lying before us for weeks without permission to enter. But just wait, Kiev, proud city full of weapons. Things are going to change soon! Our mouths hang open in amazement during our march; a lot of work has been done during these past three days.
Eastern Inferno Page 9