The logic of combat is inexorable; it accepts neither justifications nor plausible excuses if during the fighting the logistical services fail to supply the frontline troops with everything necessary.

We can find any number of valid explanations and excuses why on reaching the walls of Posen we did not have enough heavy guns to pulverise the enemy fortifications. But the fact remains that the assault on Posen dragged out for a whole month instead of the several days allotted for the operation by the Front Command.

It was not a simple matter to adapt the logistical services to the troops’ heightened rate and depth of advance. The Front Commander’s orders and his determination could not solve the problem. Within a few days the advancing troops had considerably outdistanced their supplies. Motor vehicles had to make longer runs. As a result fuel consumption increased. And there was no magic to turn 100 trucks into 300. You’ve got to have them, man them and provide the maintenance for them, which means additional repair shops and whole repair complexes. In a word, combat operations demanded that the logistical services perform their functions faultlessly, for a miscalculation or blunder in the transport operations could cost thousands of lives.

But the closer we approached the Oder, the deeper we penetrated into Germany, the more complex became the supply system.

Here is an example. Railways were a constant source of worry. The absence of a standard railway gauge during the initial stage of our advance into Germany adversely affected the supply of the advancing troops. The oversight was put right eventually, but time was lost.

In order to save fuel, half the motor vehicles making empty runs from the front were towed to their destination. All captured fuel was registered and distributed under strict control. Captured alcohol was mixed with other components and used as fuel, and all serviceable captured guns and ammunition were used against the enemy.[2]

Our tank troops attacked without pause for breath by day and night, in fog and in snow. Only the lack of fuel and ammunition could check our attack. The communication routes had extended to almost 400 kilometres, the supply depots having remained on the east bank of the Vistula. The railways were not functioning and the road bridges over the river had been destroyed. There was petrol for motor vehicles in the captured German camps but no diesel. Often combatant units were stuck for days.[3]

By the same day the tank armies shall gain control of the following areas:

The 2nd Guards Tank Army: Berlinchen, Landsberg, Friedeberg; the 1st Guards Tank Army: Meseritz, Schwiebus, Tirschtiegel.

Upon reaching this line, the formations, particularly the artillery and the logistical establishments, shall halt, supplies be replenished and the combat vehicles put in order. Upon full deployment of the 3rd Shock and 1st Polish Armies, the Front’s entire forces shall continue the advance on the morning of the 2nd February, 1945, with the immediate mission of crossing the Oder in their drive, and shall subsequently strike out at a rapid pace towards Berlin, directing their main effort at enveloping Berlin from the north-east, the north and northwest.[5]

There is evidence that the enemy is hastily bringing up his forces to take up defensive positions on the approaches to the Oder. If we manage to establish ourselves on the western bank of the Oder, the capture of Berlin will be guaranteed.

To carry out this task each army will detail one reinforced rifle corps… and they shall be immediately moved forwards to reinforce the tank armies fighting to secure and retain the position on the west bank of the Oder.[6]

On the evening of the 26th January, the vanguard of the 11th Guards Tank Corps, Colonel Morgonov’s 45th Guards Tank Brigade, reached the town of Tirschtiegel and the former German–Polish border. Before us lay the Obra River, beyond began Germany.

How long we had yearned for this day, and now it was there. We just had to take one more step and we would be standing on German soil. Our spirits rose. The vanguard tried to take the river on the move, but it was not so easy, as the enemy had blown all the bridges in his retreat and offered bitter resistance.

The 45th Guards Tank Brigade attacked Tirschtiegel in vain on the 26th January. On the night leading to the 27th January, Colonel Gussakovski’s 44th Guards Tank Brigade circumvented the town to the north, forced the Odra and thrust on to Hochwalde without encountering any resistance.

At 0300 hours the brigade’s vanguard, Major Karabnov’s 3rd Battalion, came up against a barricade across the road. The engineers made a reconnaissance. To the left and right of the road were ranged anti-tank ditches covered by minefields and concrete obstacles. The engineers pulled out the girders supporting the barricade, and the tanks were able to continue.

Gussakovski had reached the so-called Oder Triangle, the fortified area of Meseritz, a strong and difficult-to-take obstacle on the way to the Oder that began on the west bank of the Obra. This main line of defence strip extended between Schwerin, Meseritz and Schwiebus about 20 kilometres further west.

The Oder Triangle formed a massive defensive installation. It consisted of numerous reinforced concrete bunkers, so-called armoured works, incorporating the latest technical measures and echelonned to a depth of up to 6 kilometres. These armoured works went down two or three storeys into the earth and were mounted with armoured cupolas with artillery pieces and machine guns that could be exposed or retracted. The walls were up to 2.5 metres thick and the cupolas had 350 millimetres of armour. These armoured works were connected by underground passages, had their own power and air filter systems, water and drainage systems, ammunition and food stores. They were further reinforced with field works, anti-tank ditches, barricades, barbed wire and minefields. In front of the main defensive installation was a chain of lakes running from north to south.

As quickly as possible, our corps regrouped north of Schwiebus and entered the fortified area from the rear without encountering strong resistance. Once the enemy realised that he was surrounded, many of the garrisons surrendered to our all-arms armies following up behind.[7]

In 1942 I was badly wounded in an attack in the woods in the Voronesh area east of the Don and lost my lower right arm.

In January 1945 I was a lieutenant commanding a company in an infantry replacement and training battalion under the command of Major Shellack and based on the Strantz Barracks in the East Brandenburg town of Landsberg an der Warthe.

At the end of January there was a sudden alert. I had to see off my wife and little son who were visiting me in the barracks and put them on a truck going west. Then I received orders to form a line of defence against the expected Russians hard east of Landsberg. My sector began on Reichsstrasse 1 at the Oldenburg Experimental Farm (inclusive) and extended some 1.5 to 2 kilometres south to the village of Lorenzdorf. My left-hand neighbour to Irrenanstalt was a unit under Second-Lieutenant Clemens in a situation similar to mine, and my right-hand neighbour an inserted unit of Hungarian Honveds.

I had about 400 recruits at my disposal, some of whom had yet to be sworn in, i.e. mainly youngsters who had just completed their pre-military Hitler Youth training and were at the beginning of their barrack training. Sergeants and NCOs were completely lacking, so these functions were undertaken by recruits with some military knowledge and whose appearance seemed the most suitable. I had no information about our own forces or the enemy.

The temperature on the 28th January was minus 15 degrees Celsius with a thick and frozen blanket of snow. There was great movement to the rear on Reichsstrasse 1 of men on foot and in vehicles. The enemy situation remained quiet, unknown and uncertain, but attacks by advance units could be expected at any time.

A makeshift occupation of the defences was made in and around the farm but there was no infantry for this. However, in front was a twin 20mm flak gun with its crew, its second lieutenant having disappeared. There were also two Hetzers.

That afternoon of the 28th January I administered the oath to those recruits who had not yet been sworn in, in the cover of the farm.

On the morning of the 29th January a sergeant-major of the Waffen-SS reported to me with two Königstigers, two heavy recovery vehicles, a tanker and an amphibious jeep, as well as plenty of ammunition. There was a third Königstiger of his 500 metres from my position that had broken down. My youngsters had to help with the recovery of this vehicle, as the Russians had already probed Lorenzdorf. The recovery succeeded and my escorting infantry were not only highly praised by the tankers, but the sergeant-major decided to support me with his platoon for our cooperation.

Once the vehicles had refuelled in Landsberg, the two recovery vehicles towed the twin 20mm flak gun into a well-covered firing position behind our sector, as well as the two Hetzers and an 88mm flak gun on its trailer that I had acquired from the fleeing columns. Thus all the heavy weapons had taken up secure positions and had good fields of fire in depth in front of our sector and our neighbour’s. My unit was now ready, quietly and confidently awaiting the enemy attack.

During the second half of the 30th January the Russians attacked and took Lorenzdorf. The Hungarians withdrew without concern for us, their left-hand neighbours, without orders or even a ‘good-bye’, but with the fire of our heavy weapons into the flanks of the enemy, we stopped his advance. Then we forced him to withdraw and abandon Lorenzdorf with the reserve and a Königstiger, during which a captured recruit from my company was released.

I still did not know what my superior formation was or who its commander was. Since receiving my orders in the barracks I had not received any further instructions and had no communications with any staff whatsoever. No officer or messenger had sought me out. I only knew that the Russians were attacking and that, since the flight of the Honveds, I now had an almost 3-kilometre-wide open and unprotected flank to the Warthe over which the Russians could renew their attack.

An appreciation of the situation showed that we were surrounded by the enemy, forgotten and lost.

As it was suspected that the town commandant of Landsberg had fled in panic, and that Soviet infantry could infiltrate the town by bypassing us, I decided after consultation with my neighbour and the SS-sergeant-major to withdraw [to] preserve lives and fighting ability…the untrained recruits would also be spared possible house-to-house fighting at night and Landsberg bypassed to the north. This succeeded during the night in deep snow on field and woodland tracks without enemy interference. Clemens’s unit also used the same route to evacuate its position. For the heavy weapons, especially the mechanically incapacitated Königstiger and the recovery vehicles, the only route was by road through Landsberg, if necessary fighting through. The SS, flak and Hetzer crews therefore combined and arranged a rendezvous for the next day between Landsberg and Vietz.

On the morning of the 31st January my unit rejoined the Königstiger SS-sergeant-major about 4 kilometres west of Landsberg in the Wepritz area. As we were still without a superior command or orders, I had us retreat westwards.

Beyond Dühringshof I was met by a car with a general, who received my report. He did not introduce himself, nor did he name his formation. He ordered me to deploy left of the road to Diedersdorf. My left-hand neighbour would be Second-Lieutenant Clemens’s unit.[11]

On the 28th January 1945, my birthday, we were deployed on the northern exit from Kreuz in artillery support of Infantry Battalion ‘Schulz’. As we were about to fire our guns at about 0600 hours, the sentry reported to me that the infantry had already withdrawn. That seemed unbelievable to me, as there had still not been any enemy movement. I thought that they had perhaps seen runners, food carriers and wounded. The sentry was convinced, however, and as it appeared, he was correct.

We opened fire without having any infantry protection in front of us and without having been told of this withdrawal. Naturally the Russians fired back and we had one man wounded.

When the tanks rolled through the rows of houses on the parallel street, we could only beat a hasty retreat. We got away from the Russians, crossed a still intact bridge over the Drage and reached Dragebruch, which consisted of only a few houses. Our vehicles stood on the roadway, while the soldiers looked in the houses for something to eat, but the civilian inhabitants had gone, taking all their food with them.

Our troop leader drove off to re-establish contact with the vanished infantry battalion. Then at about 1000 hours the enemy tanks caught up with us. They were as surprised as we were and did not open fire immediately. They first pulled back a little to open fire from a covered position. Our drivers and some of the men jumped into their vehicles and drove about 200 metres on to the edge of a wood to take cover. The other men who had been searching the houses for food ran across the snow-covered open plain, offering perfect targets, to reach the woods, where there was a prepared position already occupied by our troops.

Among our vehicles was a furniture van, whose driver had not made the dash in time. The tanks fired at our retreat and there were some dead and wounded, of whom the last could not be recovered for hours until the tanks withdrew.

We assembled at a forester’s lodge deep in the woods behind the front line and waited there until evening.

In the darkness some officers of the unit occupying the position gathered and talked quietly among themselves, completely ignoring us. I wondered about this behaviour, which was contrary to normal army conduct. We also discovered that they had been given orders to withdraw towards Woldenberg. The enemy had apparently broken through north of our position, but it must have been far away for we had heard no sounds of combat. The infantry assembled at about 2200 hours and marched off.

We still sat there! Our troop leader was still looking for the Battalion ‘Schulz’. It was possible that he would not return. Russians, military police or an energetic commander could have arrested him. Meanwhile we had recovered the furniture van that had been stuck between the lines with its engine still running. Its radiator was leaking and had to be provisionally repaired. As the forester’s pump was frozen, some snow was melted on a stove.

In front of us were the Russians, our own troops had vanished, and we were in the middle of a wood with no idea of the place or surroundings. Apart from this, when we moved out that morning, our second gun had driven off with its commander, crew and vehicle and had not been seen since.

Our troop leader reappeared at about midnight. We decided to follow the route taken by the infantry, but soon lost our way in the woods in the dark, especially as the infantry had used footpaths and tracks. Following an adventurous journey with the furniture van and other ‘combat vehicles’ through loggers’ and woodland tracks, at dawn we eventually reached a road with a kilometre stone with an arrow pointing towards Woldenberg and, in the opposite direction, to Driesen. At last we had hit the route to Woldenberg. But from there through the morning stillness came the sound of tank guns. It made no sense for our troop to drive into a rolling tank attack with no idea of the place or the situation. We therefore decided to drive towards Driesen, although it could already have been in Russian hands, as from there it was only a few kilometres from Kreuz, which we had abandoned. On the road to Driesen and in the village itself all was dead quiet. Only a few civilians were standing around, apparently foreign labourers awaiting the arrival of the Russians.

We drove on to Friedeberg, hoping to bump into our own troops. The civilian population had almost completely gone and there was no trace of the army. We stayed all day in Friedeberg. Our anti-tank team looked for a garage as their vehicle was not functioning properly, and one of our men tried to bake some bread in an abandoned bakery.

Finally we needed something to eat. Our troop leader was once more away trying to make contact, and returned that evening. Then the Russians rolled into the town from one side while we left from the other. If I remember correctly, the tanks were firing as they entered the town, otherwise we would not have noticed in time and would have been wiped out.

We drove during the night to Landsberg, always with the feeling that we might be overtaken by the tanks at any moment.

At Landsberg we caught up with the Wehrmacht for the first time and drove into a barracks complex. Mounted troops were deployed on the barrack square, all spick and span, feeding their horses. Everything was peaceful with no sense of the Russian spearheads approaching.

We found a headquarters staff in one of the barracks, reported and asked to be allocated. An adjutant wanted to know all about us, especially from where we had come. When our troop leader said that we had belonged to Emergency Battalion ‘Schulz’, the doubts vanished from his face. That is how one can innocently arouse suspicion of lying. He vanished and we had to wait a long time. We had the impression of being unwanted. We still had the feeling that live firing could begin any moment. It was a strange feeling.

Finally the adjutant reappeared with the order: ‘Drive to—and deploy!’ This was naturally as unmilitary as the withdrawal ‘towards Woldenburg’. The order should have read: ‘Drive to—, report to command post X and deploy in support of their troops.’ I still believe that they wanted to get rid of us and were sending us out no matter where. There was no sign of any defensive organisation.

In any case we had the bad experience of Dragebruch behind us, where we had also been left in the dirt. Instead of driving to—, we drove towards Küstrin, and were not the only ones. The road was full of vehicles. That was on the 30th January 1945.

We reached Küstrin on the morning of the 31st January. We immediately got the feeling of a more orderly establishment.[12]

On the 1st January 1945 I was 15½ years old, a pupil in the 5th Class of the Deutsche Heimschule in Birnbaum in the Warthegau. This chain of senior schools educated us up to Arbitur level. We were called ‘Jungmann’, were boarders, and wore Hitler Youth uniform and a narrow armband with the words ‘Deutsche Heimschulen’ on the left forearm. The pupils came mainly from bombed cities or, like me, from the countryside. My parents’ home was in a small village about 30 kilometres east of Birnbaum. Birnbaum itself, a small town of some 15,000 inhabitants, lay 90 kilometres east of Küstrin on the Warthe. From 1919 to 1939 Birnbaum was located just beyond the old Reich boundary on the then Polish side.

The Christmas holidays ended during the first days of January, after which the whole boarding school was back, but only Class 4 and below had school classes. We pupils in the 5th Form and upwards were given warlike organisational tasks in the town. Our 5th Form was still at full strength, but the 6th Form was reduced to half and the 7th Form down to about three pupils, and the 8th Form ceased to exist as they were assigned as Luftwaffe auxiliaries or conscripted into the Wehrmacht.

Our task in the town, equipped with horses and carts, was to do as much as possible for the German people flowing through the town. At first we were dealing with only small and individual groups, but this changed. As helpers for the Red Cross, NSV, Party and other organisations, we distributed food, warm drinks, arranged schools and gymnasiums as overnight accommodation and looked after them. There was much to do from morning to evening, so much that we would gladly have exchanged it for normal school classes. But we had to do our duty.

On about the 20th January the situation became serious and threatening. Russian troops were getting closer and were unstoppable. Wehrmacht units were mixed in with the treks, moving west. There was snow on the ground and the temperature dropped to minus 20 degrees Celsius.

Now schoolwork also ended for the younger classes. A Luftwaffe transport unit moved the school in closed transport, including most of the staff, to Cottbus. From here they went on by train to Thuringia. For us older ones the situation altered for us correspondingly. With the school dissolved, we were attached to the local Volkssturm but still accommodated in the school. The police gave us carbines of all types. In a second issue I acquired one of the desirable short Italian ones. It looked good but often failed later in action. One of my classmates was given among other things a muzzle-loader, possibly from the 1870/71 war, with three rounds of ammunition. We tried it out in a pit behind the school from behind safe cover. From fear of a bursting barrel or false action, we tied the gun to a post and fired it using a long string. A big bang relieved our tension and established that the old weapon still worked.

I was detailed as a messenger and even given a light motorbike. The fuel lasted for three days, long enough in those temperatures. During this time my Volkssturm chief sent me late one evening in an easterly direction to Zirke, some 20 kilo-metres away, to find out where the Russians were. Over snow-covered roads, devoid of humanity and in icy temperatures I rode in total darkness, every so often stopping and restarting. Right on the edge of Zirke I turned round. I had carried out my task and could ride back in an easier frame of mind not having seen anyone.

On the 25th January we left Birnbaum and moved about 2 kilometres west to the Vorheide forester’s lodge. As a messenger I had to maintain contact with the organisations in Birnbaum and travelled to and fro. On one of these trips between the lodge and town, partly by footpath through the woods, I saw the first dead German soldiers. As the Russians had not got so far forward yet, they must have been shot by Polish partisans.

On the 27th January while on duty in the town I saw Russian tanks arrive. The town was cleared virtually without a fight and the bridge over the Warthe leading to the west was blown. On the same day we left the Vorheide lodge and marched about 10 kilometres to Waitze, where we accommodated ourselves in the local school with the veteran Volkssturm men.

On the morning of the 29th January, while being allocated to the defence of an imaginary front line, we received our first artillery or tank fire. Our Volkssturm veterans with their experience of the First World War gave us some very helpful rules that later were life-saving. No one was injured and so we took up our positions along the road to Birnbaum. We could hear the noise of tanks all day and once saw a group of Russians in the distance.

At nightfall our comrades to the west came back to join us bringing the news that the Russians had entered Waitze, and that we were cut off. Led by our old Volkssturm men, who were familiar with the area, we went in single file in a wide curve to the north of Waitze through deeply snowed woods.

Unmolested we came to the Waitze–Schwerin (Warthe) road leading west, which we followed all night. Dead tired, with blisters on our feet, we reached Schwerin at dawn. There the barracks offered us the chance of having a shower, breakfast, a change of clothing and sleep. We felt safe, let the relief overcome us, but were hardly asleep before we were woken up again at noon by enemy artillery fire.

The whole, but nevertheless meagre garrison appeared to have been completely taken by surprise. Disorganised, they fled the barracks and town and, from necessity, we joined in this disorder with the proviso of reporting to specific offices in Küstrin, 65 kilometres away. In view of our previous strenuous journey and the varying individual abilities to march, there was no question of marching in formation. We would have to see how we would get to Küstrin. So, we were on the move once more, now on crowded roads among the fleeing civilian population with and without horses and carts, and among them groups of Wehrmacht stragglers, some with vehicles. The clear thunder of the guns drove us forward.

Here we lost sight of some of the Birnbaum schoolboys. I only met five of them again. Whether the remainder reached Küstrin or were overrun by the Russian armoured spearheads, I cannot say. I have not heard of any of them, and the same applies to the old Volkssturm men. I never saw them again.

After marching a few kilometres, there came an opportunity of riding on the back of a slowly moving Wehrmacht truck for my fellow schoolboy Manni Roeder from the 6th Form and me, as we were marching along together. At first the crew tried to stop us jumping on, but then saw how young we were and let us on. Unfortunately this truck only went as far as Kriescht, 30 kilometres from Küstrin. There we were able to obtain some food. Looking for another means of continuing we found a train about to leave Kriescht station. Although it was packed with refugees, we managed to find places to sit and reached Küstrin late in the afternoon.[13]

I had been in communication with both [the village mayor] Habermann and [Ortsgruppenleiter Fritz] Lorenz about the evacuation until the last moment. I was also in communication with the young commandant during the German occupation. All three said that the civilian population would get the news in time. When asked about the alleged or actual Russian presence near Bärwalde all three were uncomfortable and said that the departure of the population was only possible with their permission. No information or instructions then resulted, as both the Ortsgruppenleiter and the mayor fell into the hands of the Russians.[14]

About six days before the end of the month our basic training was interrupted and we were sent to various locations to build defences. Our platoon had to go to Schlageterstrasse, beyond the entrance to Zeppelinstrasse, to dig foxholes near the GEWOBA buildings, one section to the left and one section to the right of the street. The distance between foxholes was about 2 metres.

Along the road from Alt Drewitz to Küstrin came an endless stream of refugees, civilians with horse-drawn wagons, hand carts, prams and packed bicycles. Among them were wounded soldiers, often with bloody bandages. Civilians, soldiers, officers, all had one aim, to cross the Warthe and the Oder and reach the west bank.

The people going past constantly asked us to go along with them. Fighting was useless in view of the Soviet superiority. Within us the sense of honour competed with the temptation to clear off. Flight seemed a possibility in this confusion, but one’s sense of honour was stronger.

While we were digging, a squad of Feldgendarmerie [military police] appeared from the town and established a control point in Schlageterstrasse. They began to ruthlessly comb the soldiers out of the stream of refugees, registering them and lining them up and sending them marching off to other destinations. Those who refused were either shot or hanged. Those hanged were given a label: ‘I am a coward’.

These events depressed us. The view of the four hanging soldiers along the street was unbearable. We therefore asked our superiors and the Feldgendarmerie to cut down the bodies of the comrades. The answer from the Feldgendarmerie was: ‘You lads can practise your shooting and shoot through the ropes, but your aim had better be good, or you can watch yourselves being hanged.’

We begged our section leader to agree to this proposal and the sergeant agreed. So we shot our dead comrades down from the trees. It was awful, but much better than having this view in front of our eyes. For the civilians, above all the children, this must have been a terrible sight.

The Feldgendarmerie moved their control point further back into the town. We noticed that from then on soldiers came to us, asking for our company command post. In doing so they remarked that nothing made sense any more. This way we acquired a staff corporal and another corporal in our section. The first wore the ribbons of both Iron Crosses next to his Close Combat Badge. He had got as far as Stalingrad and only being on leave from the front had saved him from encirclement, death or imprisonment there.

We learned a lot from the staff corporal and were always asking him what he made of the situation. He reckoned that there was not much chance of a Russian attack as long as refugees and German soldiers in the present numbers were still coming through.[3]

Following my successful conclusion of a course at the Army NCO School at Arnswalde, I was sent to the front together with some other comrades on 26 January 1945 as an RUB [Potential NCO of the Reserve] corporal. We were driven in open trucks to Küstrin-Neustadt in winter temperatures of minus 15 degrees Celsius.

We were assigned to the 2nd Company of Captain von Oldershausen’s combat team [battalion] in Stülpnagel Barracks. A considerable proportion of my platoon consisted of old soldiers who had been on guard duty in Denmark until then. They made themselves welcome to our group with their rich supplies of butter and cheese, but they were not really suited to the coming fighting.

I recall that there was a Feldgendarmerie company in Stülpnagel Barracks.

There were some garages at the rear of the barrack complex that contained large quantities of spare parts for various handguns, and we were all able to improve our personal arsenal by helping ourselves. I too acquired a 7.65mm pistol and obtained the necessary ammunition from the Feldgendarmerie company in exchange for cigarettes. Later a sentry put an end to this self-service.

Our steel helmets were coated with toothpaste for the winter fighting. On 30 January the 2nd Company deployed. Our platoon was located in deep woods outside the northern boundary of the Neustadt near the railway employees’ convalescent home. The position consisted of a row of rifle pits in which we spent the day and night. The frozen earth made digging in hard work.[4]

I was born in Stettin on the 7th April 1928. I was conscripted as a Luftwaffe auxiliary on the 5th January 1944, and soon afterwards my schooling came to an end. I was sent to the 3rd Battery, Light Flak Battalion 850 in Berlin and received my first training with the simple 20mm and 20mm quadruple flak as a gunlayer.

Following action in Stettin and its surroundings, for instance with 20mm quadruple flak at the goods station, protecting heavy and medium flak against Anglo-American aircraft, I was sent to Anklam to guard a flying field. There I was trained on the 37mm flak, telephone exchange operating and telephone line construction.

At the end of January 1945 there was a rush to load everything on railway wagons. The over-hasty securing of the guns resulted in one case of the gun barrel coming loose and starting to swing, hitting something like five wooden telegraph poles alongside the track. Only after sending a written message forward by a level crossing keeper were we able to stop the train.

The order to stop came beyond Stargard. The train was diverted under light snow showers and in full darkness. On the 30th January we reached our new goal, Küstrin-Neustadt, and had to unload immediately.

The guns were allocated to various positions within the town area. The first took up position in the Neustadt, immediately north of the extension of Plantagenstrasse. This was shortly behind the entrance to Anger Strasse, where Plantagenstrasse turns 90 degrees south-west as Strasse 39 towards the sewage farm and from there 90 degrees north-west to Strasse 42 and the Cellulose Factory. The second gun must have been positioned in the Neustadt between the goods station and the Engineer Barracks. The third gun went across to the Altstadt and was positioned on the Island north of the Mittelhöfel between Lunette B and the weir of the Vorflut Canal. Its forward observer sat on the southern point of the Mittelhöfel not far from the point where the Vorflut Canal and Oder separate. All three guns had wide-ranging fields of fire. The fourth gun was unserviceable after the railway journey.

I moved into the Cellulose Factory with the battery headquarters. Within a short time I was telephonist on a 20-plug switchboard, runner and cable-layer, which entailed maintaining communications to the forward observer.

I can only describe the factory premises sketchily and with some reservations. It formed a rough rectangle next to the Warthe. Its tall chimneystack was a well-known landmark. The only access was opposite the Warthe. Coming along the river from the direction of the Plantage, as one approached the Cellulose Factory one passed two housing blocks on the left-hand side of the road, the first on the premises of a petroleum company and the second already in the Cellulose Factory complex. A wall about 2 metres high began here separating the factory from the road. Here too was the main entrance with the factory gate. Parallel to the road was a long extended building in which I sat as telephonist at my switchboard. Parallel to this was part of the factory yard, then came a hut and behind, parallel to the Warthe, the big factory building. Another part of the factory yard stretched beyond the eastern gable of the already mentioned building on the access road. Between the Cellulose Factory and the neighbouring ground I can remember a drainage ditch and an open pipeline running towards the Warthe, but I cannot recall the exact details. A hut stood to the right facing across the end of the road. Last used to accommodate prisoners of war, the hut now stood empty, as the prisoners had been marched away. In the short time we were there we saw no strangers, either soldiers or civilians, apart from the refugees on the access road.[5]

We were Fortress Gun-Turret Company 12/11 and together with other companies were dispatched from Fallingbostel to the Weichselbogen, Bromberg-Thorn-Graudenz area. Our company consisted of three platoons each of four turrets, each turret having a crew of five men. Our train was stopped at Vietz, as our destinations were no longer attainable with the Russians already operating in these areas, and we were then detailed, a company of twelve turrets each, to Frankfurt, Küstrin and Stettin.

Tank turrets of the Panther series were to be fitted in earthen bunkers with wooden frames and linings previously prepared by the Organisation Todt. The earthen bunkers, however, had first to be built.

One of the turrets had slid off its sledge during the move and had been so badly damaged that it was no longer usable. The remaining eleven turrets went to their allotted positions around Küstrin but even before they could be installed eight fell into the hands of the Russians.

Only three turrets went into action. One was built south-east of the Kietz Gate at the junction of the Chaussees to Göritz and Sonnenburg right on the Oder dyke. The second turret was destined for the Island, between the Artillery Barracks and the road bridge over the Vorflut Canal. The main task of both turrets was to stop enemy tanks that had broken through. I never saw the third turret, so cannot give its exact location, but I think it must have been in the north of the Altstadt.

Following the loss of so many Panther turrets even before going into action, we later received two German 37mm antitank guns and a captured Russian 45mm anti-tank gun.[6]

Having been born in 1926, I was conscripted into Infantry Regiment 29 at Züllichau on the 23rd May 1944. After 14 days of basic training, we were sent to Denmark, from where I returned in November to join an officer-cadet company in Küstrin, where my field post address was ‘Officer-Cadet Company Küstrin, Stülpnagel Barracks’, counterstamped with ‘Panzergrenadier Replacement Battalion 50, HQ Company’.

On the 29th January 1945 runners called us back from a night exercise to our barrack huts in the Stülpnagel Barracks. Next day I received a visit from my mother, who returned to Berlin that night. As we were not allowed to leave the barrack grounds, I could only escort her to the barrack gate. This was a farewell forever, for both she and my father were killed in an air raid on Berlin in April 1945.

If I remember correctly, on the morning of the 31st January we moved to a country road south of Reichsstrasse 1 and northwest of the Warnick position. The east side of the road was lined with tall poplars. We had to dig a hole for a tank behind one of the trees with our field spades. As the ground was frozen rock hard, we could not get down deeper than 10 centimetres. Our platoon and company commanders were not with us. Towards noon a Russian officer, whose battalion was fighting on the German side, appeared with an interpreter and threatened to have us shot if we did not complete our task. When he checked us later, he found that none of us had done so.

For hours disorderly groups of soldiers were streaming along the nearby Reichsstrasse 1 from Landsberg towards Küstrin. They said we were crazy waiting to take on the Russians on open fields with only 1898 carbines and machine guns. That evening we heard that the Russians had forced their way into that part of Küstrin on the right bank of the Warthe.[7]

Duty-bound we reported to the collecting point in one of the two barracks in the Neustadt. Which one it was I can no longer recall. I remember, however, an Army officer taking us in a Volkswagen Jeep with a great 180 degree skid in the snow to a canteen in the Potato Meal Factory in the Neustadt. As we were the first from Birnbaum, we were to wait here for our comrades and orders. For once we felt safe. It was heated and there was food to eat. The whole building had been organised as a reception centre for members of the Wehrmacht and other soldiers. As part of the ‘full pension’ was naturally included the Führer’s speech on the 12th anniversary of his assumption of power on the 30th January 1933.

We both listened reverently, convinced we must give everything asked of us by the Führer and Fatherland. As the only youngsters among the many soldiers we remained exactly like the others after the speech, only our thoughts following a different path. I still believed in final victory, which for me had never been in question.[8]

A sentry directed us to the Stülpnagel Barracks, from where we were sent on by the artillery chief of staff, Captain Langenhahn, to the Fortress Company, which was deployed in the north of the Neustadt in the Reserve Field Hospital area. As we arrived, the last nurses, medical orderlies, etc., were already leaving the hospital. The town’s streets were full of men and vehicles. Our troop leader was off looking for an observation post. Telephone cables were laid out and we deployed our guns in position. At this moment the first enemy tank rolled into Küstrin. I had the impression that the leading Russian tank was racing ahead.

Subsequently we made our observation post on the roof of the empty hospital. From here we had to direct the fire not only of our own mortars, but also that of the two light infantry guns belonging to another unit deployed close to our mortars.[2]

At lunchtime a tank with infantry seated on top raced past us at an incredible speed on the street leading into town. No one could have stopped it. Even our sergeant was struck speechless. It was not long before other tanks, again with infantry aboard, raced past in the same direction. The same thing occurred twice more. That they were not concerned about us came as something of a shock.

When there was a break our sergeant shouted: ‘There are more coming. I am going to take a Panzerfaust and see if I can knock one out.’ With my comrades I had gone behind an almost collapsed wall to find firing positions for our rifles. This was necessary as our whole bodies were shaking with excitement.

It was not long before another tank with infantry sitting on it followed and stopped near us. The Russians jumped off and went to the foxholes of our neighbouring section on the far side of the street. Their sergeant opened fire and shot one of the attackers. We were petrified when we saw the sergeant fall to a burst of machine-gun fire and our ten comrades fall to shots in the neck.

When the tank was about to move off, there was an explosion and a track came off. Our sergeant had made good what he had said. However, he was unlucky, as he had been standing in a doorway between two doorposts and the blast from the Panzerfaust had rebounded off the doorposts behind him and burnt his back. The Russians jumped off and fled towards the town, but a brave machine-gunner cut them down.

An ambulance came and took away our wounded sergeant. We laid him down on a stretcher on his stomach. The medical orderly thought that it was a wound that would get him discharged from the service. Our section was then taken over by the staff corporal.

When we wanted to cross the road to the dead on the other side, we could not believe our eyes when the tank turret turned and a shot came from the gun. The shell went through the wall behind which I was standing with my comrade from Guben. Our staff corporal jumped on the tank, pulled out a hand grenade and threw it in the turret. After the explosion it was quiet.

We buried our fallen comrades. It was our first mass grave. A simple cross with a steel helmet indicated that here a sergeant and his Panzergrenadiers had found eternal peace. So that was a hero’s grave!

On the company commander’s orders we all received a cup of schnapps. This was to calm us and let us think about other things. We all became tipsy from it.[3]

A group of enemy tanks drove along the Drewitzer Unterweg towards the town. I cannot remember the exact number, but believe it was between 10 and 15. We could see them quite clearly across the open terrain. Some of the tanks drove into the town while the others stood still. Several tanks turned their turrets with their guns in our direction, but only fired with their machine guns.

The firing was not directed at us in the Cellulose Factory, where we remained hidden and quiet, but at the area in front of the premises where some of the fleeing civilians with their horses and carts fell victim to the enemy fire.

Our section leader, an experienced Austrian sergeant, radiated confidence, conveying it to us and showing us how to behave cleverly.

As one of the enemy tanks left the rest of the group on the Drewitzer Unterweg and steered across the meadows towards the factory gate we withdrew to another industrial property and the Warthe goods station. In this hurried, short retreat we left our packs and personal belongings behind in the Cellulose Factory. Even I was almost forgotten as I was sitting at my switchboard again.

It was grotesque as the tank climbed the rising exit from the meadows to the road in a curve and tipped over sideways. Two Russians climbed out and ran safely back across the meadows, leaving the tank lying there. We did not fire so as not to betray our position and because the stationary tanks on the Drewitzer Unterweg had a good field of fire in our direction.

At the Warthe goods station we took cover among the installations and goods wagons standing there. More important, however, was the presence of a small but experienced infantry unit who accepted us with kindness. Under their protection we felt able to sleep deeply and securely that night while they, unnoticed by us, repelled a Russian attack from the Cellulose Factory.[4]

Next morning, the 31st January, two close friends from my class, Fred Chmilewski and Helmut Blauberg, appeared, as well as two other students from the 5th and 6th Forms, Erdmann and Specht. It was a great pleasure, but sadly none of them returned from the war.

After lunch we six were sitting together at the table when suddenly firing was heard. Startled, we ran out on to the factory yard and saw Russian tanks going past the factory gate. We quickly left our quarters and headed towards the Warthe. Which road we took I no longer know, but our way took us over one of the Warthe bridges, through the Altstadt and over the Oder. On the streets a column of pedestrians, some with handcarts, refugee treks with horse-drawn wagons, as well as soldiers with and without vehicles, rolled forward.

In this confusion we lost our school comrade Erdmann. Finally the shooting died down. The Russian armoured thrust ended between the Warthe bridges and the Stern in the Neustadt. Four tanks were destroyed. One of them on Plantagenstrasse directly under the railway bridge was smoking all day long, emitting a frightful stench.[5]

We were attached to Engineer Replacement and Training Battalion 68 in Lieutenant Schröder’s company, in which I remained in Second-Lieutenant Schröter’s platoon. The company command post was at the Küstrin Rowing Club.

On the morning of the 31st January we were supposed to take up positions in the Neustadt. In the late morning Second-Lieutenant Schröter called out to us: ‘Gentlemen, it’s getting serious. Take up positions in the cellar window pits immediately!’

At this juncture I was standing with a comrade on Adolf-Hitler-Strasse between the Warthe bridge and the Stern crossroads. In front of a bicycle shop, about 70 metres from the Stern, we went into a cellar window pit as ordered. A woman saw us out of a window and called out to us: ‘You can’t get in there! We have valuable things in there!’

Meanwhile the artillery fire had increased. The street was still full of refugees when I saw the first tank. Mad confusion reigned. The refugees were whipping up their horses to get forward faster. Only when a senior paymaster was hit by a burst of machine-gun fire did I realise that enemy tanks were involved.

My comrade had vanished. I sought cover behind the nearest building. I then realised that I had an Italian rifle but German ammunition. This example shows how bad our hasty equipping had been.[8]

Thus upon the arrival of the train carrying the 1st Battalion of the 25th Artillery Regiment, the first in action was an anti-tank section, which under Sergeant Sommer shot up three Soviet tanks with Panzerfausts before unloading could begin. There was general chaos in the station area. The guns had to be off-loaded from the wagons by hand. They then went straight into action. Once the German resistance had stiffened, the Russians withdrew to the north-eastern edge of the town. That evening the elements of the division that had detrained in Küstrin withdrew in accordance with orders to the west bank of the Oder.[9]

I reached Küstrin ahead of the Russian spearheads and remained there for the whole of the siege from the first to the last day, apart from a courier trip to the OKH.

At first I was on the fortress commandant’s staff as an ADC. Once I had to take orders to retreat to Küstrin to a major commanding an infantry battalion on the approaches to the town between the Oder and Warthe rivers. I believe it was a motorised unit. I do not recall the date, but there was snow on the ground when I reached them by car.

On the 31st January Soviet tanks penetrated Küstrin-Neustadt as far as the Stern. Among the damage inflicted there by tank shells, I recollect a hit on a shop and a refugees’ horse-drawn wagon that was shot up towards the Warthe bridge; there were two dead horses. Under the railway overpass in Plantagenstrasse was an enemy tank that had fallen victim to a German Panzerfaust. During the course of this day I was deployed with some men to counter this Soviet penetration and the crew of a shot-up tank surrendered to me in a garden area. I cannot recall the exact place.[10]

I cannot remember where we slept in Küstrin, only that we slept the whole night through without being disturbed. In the early morning we drove along Reichsstrasse 1 a bit towards Tamsel, a village on the northern edge of the Warthebruch. We posted sentries inside the place where the road took a bend to the north. It was an unfriendly morning, foggy and cold, with poor visibility. We had orders to wait for a Königstiger unit reported to be coming from the direction of Landsberg and provide the tanks with infantry support.

We waited for hours, straining our ears listening out for the tanks and frozen to the core. The traffic from Landsberg gradually dried up and there were no Königstigers. Those of us not on sentry duty disappeared into a house north of the road where an old man lived. He was friendly and took us in and put a jar of honey on the table. Real bee honey! I don’t think the man was oversupplied with it, either.

If I recall rightly, it was about noon when we heard sounds of combat from the north or north-west, rifle fire. Somewhat later a man on a bicycle arrived in a hurry and told us excitedly that a swarm of Russian tanks had driven through his village. We asked him if he was not mistaken? Perhaps they were the expected Königstigers? But no, he assured us that he had seen the Russian tanks with infantry sitting on them from his window. There had been half a dozen tanks passing quickly through his home village, and the place was only a little north of Tamsel.

Somewhat later we heard renewed sounds of fighting from behind us to the south-west. This time it was not only rifle fire. Now flak, anti-tank or tank guns were firing.

We reported to Lieutenant Kühnel, our chief. But he did not take the continuing noise of combat as important. He believed we should remain quiet and tried to tell us that Hitler Youth or Volkssturm were undergoing training on the Panzerfaust. We were of a different opinion. We could easily distinguish between the explosions of Panzerfausts and the hard crack of tank guns. We were angry that our chief failed to react and would have preferred to return to Küstrin, but Kühnel kept us waiting for the Königstigers.

Meanwhile the sounds of fighting from the direction of Küstrin had become weaker and finally died out. We were convinced that the Soviet tanks had been able to penetrate the town and had raised hell. We puzzled only over whether they had been driven off or wiped out.

At dusk we abandoned our position on Reichsstrasse 1 and drove back to Küstrin. The expected Königstigers had not turned up. Our jeep was the leading vehicle in our little convoy. A few minutes later we reached the town, following the Landsberger Strasse to the centre of town. The street was wide and it was pitch dark. I stood next to the driver looking over the windscreen to see better. This was necessary as along the right-hand side of the street stood a long row of refugee wagons packed together, fully loaded with cushions, baskets, boxes and cartons, with feather beds and bundles of straw. The refugees seemed to have found accommodation.

We had no maps. None of us knew the town. The road took a turn to the right and became considerably narrower. It occurred to me that the line of wagons here appeared more disorderly. Wagons stood in the roadway or across it with baggage lying on the ground, bundles of clothing and bedding covering the pavements. We followed a street of shops and approached a crossing point of several streets, the Stern. The shop doorways and windows were shattered. Dark figures flitted quickly out of the insecure businesses taking things away. Glass splinters crackled under their feet. We saw that the windows of the buildings, even on the upper storeys, were broken. Roof slates lay in the roadway and the wheels of our vehicles rolled with a crunching sound over shards of glass.

It was obvious to us that Russian tanks had caused this damage. Although the event had taken place hours ago, apart from obvious plunderers there were no people about, either soldiers or civilians. Küstrin was in a state of shock. The people had either been wiped out or were in hiding. It was now early evening, perhaps 1800 or 1900 hours. One would have expected the refugees to be seeing to their wagons or putting them somewhere safe, but no one was attending to them.

We crossed the Stern, which looked especially bad, although the place had been made passable. We went along Plantagenstrasse, where the destruction continued. A little later we drove up to a railway bridge across the street. A few paces from it our vehicle drove over a large obstacle that we had not seen in the dark. It looked like a bundle of clothing. A torch was switched on. A dead Russian soldier was lying on the ground. On the shoulder straps of his brown field blouse was a narrow red stripe. A second lieutenant of the Red Army?

We left our vehicles behind and walked on. Under the bridge we came across more dead Ivans on the left-hand side, about ten men. All seemed to be unwounded, as if asleep. Some lay noticeably one over another. A few paces further on we came across a shot-up tank. It stood on the right-hand side of the street, right against the embankment with its rear to us. When it was hit it was already through the underpass and had stopped a few metres beyond. I could not quite identify the tank. We had had nothing to do with this type before. Then it slowly came to me. It was an American Sherman from the Lend-Lease pact of the western Allies with the Soviet Union. The strongly rounded turret bore a five-pointed star, and a long-barrelled 76.2mm gun projected from the turret.

We went back to our vehicles and I reported the situation at the underpass to my chief. He immediately gave our company the order: ‘Anti-tank section get ready!’ I was to take my section along the high railway embankment to the left of the underpass, i.e. to the south-west, reconnoitre and possibly clear and occupy it. We took our hand weapons, our machine gun and quite a few Panzerfausts, and set off, leaving our jeep behind at the underpass.

We climbed up the railway embankment and tiptoed along the southern track south-westwards. If only we had had a map! We did not know that we were approaching the Warthe. Every few steps one of us stumbled swearing over some wire or other. We also did not know that our legs catching in the shot-up tensioned signal or points wires caused them to ring. These were real foot traps.

We were unable to go along quietly. We were shot at, at first individually then en masse, the shots zipping past uncomfortably close to our heads. They came from a northerly direction and the firers could not have been far off.

I directed my men down from the embankment and we trudged along the foot of it, safe from the firing. We had not taken the noise seriously at first and cursed the Volkssturm whom we thought must have mistaken us for Russians. After we had gone about 500 metres the steel structure of a railway bridge over the Warthe appeared. I stumbled on a sapper sergeant-major preparing the demolition of the bridge with a few men. He was pleased to see us and even more so when I assured him that we would provide him with cover for his work. As we talked in the lee of a steel girder, sparks flew around us from the structure every few seconds. The sergeant-major took the firers to be Russians who had crept forwards to try to secure the bridge.

I went across to the north side of the bridge to take up position with my men immediately behind the northernmost track of the many-tracked station area. We had to lie flat and keep our heads down as the firing intensified with sub-machine guns. It was raining lightly. We lay on the railway gravel, which was covered with the remains of snow.

Perhaps five or ten minutes had passed since our arrival at the bridge when immediately in front of us a green Very light whistled up, spreading a pale light for two or three seconds. The weak light was enough to show some 25 Russians or more forming up to attack the bridge. They were no more than 20 or 30 paces away from us, right in front of the embankment. They gave a shout and ran to the embankment firing their sub-machine guns. We immediately fired back and fired some Panzerfausts at them. Unfortunately, we had no grenades.

While we were quelling the Russians’ surprise attack, train after train rolled past behind us southwards over the Warthe bridge, taking numerous wagons, mainly goods wagons, to safety. The engine cylinders hissed barely a metre from our boots. The trains left Küstrin close together, without lights and almost without sound. We could not concern ourselves with them and did not know what they were taking: wounded, refugees, military or civilian goods?

We fired wildly from the embankment for about a quarter of an hour without being able to recognise a precise target. Finally I shouted my order above the noise: ‘Hold fire!’ Once I was heard, peace was restored, but it was several minutes before we could hear properly again. From the other side of the embankment individual shots could still be heard but at a great distance. The attackers had disappeared. We had urgently needed Very lights!

I checked my group; none had been wounded. We had been very lucky. We had lacked hand grenades to reach the dead corner of the embankment. Had the Russians had some, they would have had the advantage, and none of us would have survived the attack. We did not know how many trains had got away safely during the fight. The sappers emerged from their shelter with relief, and the company sent us reinforcements.

We checked out the ground in front of us. To our right, about 50 paces from the bridge, there was a building at the foot of the embankment. We carefully examined the ground on this side. The Russians had in fact withdrawn under cover of darkness. We found neither dead nor wounded. Had the Russians taken their comrades with them? Only a Maxim machine gun recalled the event. It stood on a flat bit of land in front of the embankment and the Russians had not been able to bring it into action. With its outdated two-wheeled carriage it looked like a toy. We found no ammunition near it. Presumably the Russians had taken shelter in the dead corner of the embankment and had then pulled out along the Warthe.

The Russians had certainly pulled out but we suspected they were still close. At the moment they would be busy reassembling, seeing to the wounded and reloading their sub-machine guns. We had to prepare for a second attack in case they came again.

Our chief wanted to do something about the Russians. He ordered Sergeant Max Langheinrich to form a storm troop to track down and destroy them. I was included with my section. We numbered about 20 men. Langheinrich took the lead and I was to cover the rear with René and Hans Hof to prevent the Russians finishing us off. As a base, as well as the start and return point for the enterprise, we had picked a primitive, empty, corrugated-iron hut at the foot of the north side of the embankment. It was 4 x 4 metres in size, with a man-high shrapnel-proof wall around it, and it lay within 100 metres of the bridge. Before setting off, we held a short council of war. We would first go a little way towards the street underpass and then turn and comb through the land north of the embankment in a half circle, finishing at the bridge and the corrugated-iron hut.

It could not have been very late, perhaps 2000 or 2100 hours. After a half-hour pause in the hut, we set off towards the underpass. In spread-out file we tramped along the north side of the embankment. It had long since given up raining, but the night was quite dark and one had to take care not to lose sight of the man in front.

After a few minutes Langheinrich gathered the storm troop together. We left the embankment and began circling round to the north. We came to some railway sidings. Were these factory sidings or a goods station? We stumbled over heaps of coal, then knee-high points control wires again. Every few minutes someone fell flat on his face, every time with much noise and swearing.

On the left-hand side, still near the embankment, a large black cube appeared out of the darkness. It was a corrugated-iron hall, a store about 20 metres long. I told René that I would check the hall and that he should wait for me. Inside it was completely dark. I found a large store of empty petrol barrels. I carefully climbed over the barrels and found no Russians, but at the far end of the hall in a small room between the barrels and the corrugated iron I found some stacks of books. I took some with me with the intention of returning to the hall in daylight if I could.

René and I then hastened to rejoin the group. We could not see our comrades, only hear them. They were not creeping across but trampling through the terrain. Before we could join up with them there was a sudden burst of sub-machine-gun fire from up ahead. Russians! I saw sparks of fire apparently ricocheting off a roadway.

I pulled my head in and waited about ten minutes until the Russians quietened down. When I got up again, my comrades had vanished. I carefully crept on towards the Warthe. It was lighter near the river with weak light reflected from the west. I caught sight of a small railway hut in front of which several men were standing. I took them for Russians at first as they were wearing Russian steel helmets, but as I got closer I could hear German being spoken loud and clear.

I quickly made myself known. I had stumbled across a group of Volkssturm men, old men unaware of their careless behaviour. They could not answer my question about my comrades. They had not seen them. Then they recounted the events of the day to me, the shock of which they had yet to overcome.

While we were talking, about 1 or 2 kilometres off to our right a Russian tank fired across the Warthe and the Oder and scored a direct hit on an electricity transformer or high voltage cable. There was a fantastic blue-yellow arc of light and then the few lights on in that part of the town west of the Oder went out as one. A little later a Stalin-Organ to the north of us fired a salvo to the west. I saw the fire trails, heard the well-known howling, and clearly heard the aftermath.

There were four or five Volkssturm men that I had met in front of the little corrugated-iron hut. They were wearing dark overcoats and had rifles dangling from their shoulders. Why they of all people should have been stationed at this position remained unclear to me. They had not taken cover, despite the firing nearby.

They told me that during the day the Russians had overrun a 37mm flak position and killed the crew of Luftwaffe auxiliaries. I asked about the penetration by Russian tanks into the town centre. Everyone had been surprised and it had happened without warning. Several tanks carrying infantry had taken part and three of these tanks had been destroyed by Panzerfausts.

In the opinion of the Volkssturm men, the Russians had withdrawn to the Cellulose Factory, which lay a bit to the north of here. I could see the buildings as dark shadows. With this new information I carefully made my way back to the Warthe bridge without encountering either Russians or Germans. About an hour after the exchange of fire I returned to our base. I was greeted with ‘Hello’ by my comrades. After me appeared ‘Max’ [Walter Schulz]. He too was unwounded.

But our storm troop undertaking had cost some wounded, including René. He had already been taken to a dressing station. No one could tell me what kind of wound he had, nor could I discover where he had been taken. I was angry and sad. My best friend! I would miss him a lot. I did not know then that I would never see him again.[11]

When Russian tanks reached Küstrin on the 31st January 1945, my father, Johannes Dawidowski, and his brother Otto had to follow orders and do their duty with the Küstrin Volkssturm. Until then both men had been free of military obligations. They were rated as ‘exempt’, as both of them worked in an important war industry, the Küstrin Oder-Hütte iron foundry.

Until the first penetration of the Neustadt by enemy tanks only a few measures had been taken to prepare for an effective defence, so the Volkssturm were first put to the construction of defences of every kind. While the Wehrmacht dug in and fought along the curve around the Neustadt and near Alt Bleyen, the work of the Volkssturm was in the Altstadt, digging foxholes on the old Oder fortifications from Bastion Philipp to Bastion König. Other Volkssturm dug positions on the Gorin and on the edge of the glacis. A deep anti-tank ditch with bulwarks was constructed at the crossroads in front of the Kietz Gate. At the southern exit of Kietz anti-tank barriers were erected out of all kinds of agricultural machinery driven together and felled trees.[12]

In January 1945 came the order to pack up and we moved to the Alt Drewitz sector of Küstrin. The front line lay only 40 metres in front of us. The place formed a half circle around a large meadow. Opposite us were the Russians. They must have had an observation post in the church, as they kept going in and out. We could watch them and occasionally raise a hand in greeting to each other.

The whole time in this Drewitz position we could hear German music and were called upon by fellow Germans to desert to them. It seemed very strange to us that the Russians or their German assistants knew the names of our superior officers.

There were several cows still wandering in the meadow and bellowing loudly to be milked. Our anti-tank guns stood between two houses. If I remember correctly, the row of houses opposite was of newer construction. We kept close to one house in which we ate and slept and in which the owners still lived. They did not want to leave their old and very sick mother behind and had made an encampment in the cellar out of a lot of bedding. The other houses were already abandoned and many of them had a notice attached to the door bearing the request not to plunder the house.

Once I was a witness when three ragged figures, whom we took to be Russians, came to plunder. However, they were expected by our headquarters and went into the house next door. I then discovered that they were in fact our own people who spoke Russian and had been spying behind the enemy lines in Russian uniform.

Enemy soldiers also took cover behind dead animals. Sometimes we received shots from the houses behind us, an indication that Russians or their German allies must have got through.

The occupier of our house asked us to bury her husband’s corpse. He still had all his documents and papers with him. The Russians had shot him on the street from part of the village opposite.[14]

Upon promotion to captain at the beginning of 1944, my father was posted to Küstrin, where he commanded a company of Territorial Rifle Battalion 513, which was responsible for the security of the bridges in Frankfurt/Oder and Küstrin, as well as the canal ship lift at Niederfinow. In July 1944 I took my annual leave as a flak auxiliary [and went] with my mother to stay with my father in the Engineer Barracks in Küstrin and got to know a little about the town as a visitor. Due to the increasing air raids, my mother moved residence from Dinslaken to Küstrin, while I did my Reichsarbeitsdienst in the Pfalz Mountains. My father suggested in a letter that when I finished my labour service I should check out with the police in Dinslaken and reregister in Küstrin. This was possible as I could defer my military service for the first month and we were able to be together as a family for a short while.

So at the end of October 1944 I travelled to Küstrin as my labour service came to an end, registered with the police and was conscripted and posted to Engineer Replacement & Training Battalion 68, which was in the same Engineer Barracks as my father’s company. I could thus visit my parents almost daily during my training without having to leave the barracks. However, on the 30th January 1945 my mother left Küstrin at my father’s insistence and went to stay with her sister-in-law in central Germany.

The soldiers in my company were split up and sent to various places, but this did not apply to the 21 officer cadets of the reserve, of which I was one. We remained in the barracks for the time being and came directly under the Army High Command, as I heard.

On the 31st January tank shells suddenly burst on the parade ground; the Russians were there. That night we 21 young soldiers received orders to go to the village of Tamsel, where a nervous second lieutenant had lost his gun. We tried in vain to drive back the suddenly attacking enemy and recover the gun. After the attack, we gathered alongside a building. I went into the building, saw someone standing there and asked: ‘What unit are you?’ He said something that I did not understand. It sounded like: ‘Ruki werch!’ I saw in the darkness that he had no steel helmet, but a fur hat, and thought for a minute that he might be one of the Vlassov soldiers that were fighting alongside us in Küstrin. Then I suddenly realised that he was a Soviet soldier, that he had a sub-machine gun pointed at me and was calling on me in his language to put my hands up.

We were at the most 5 metres apart. I had my rifle slung over my shoulder and knew that I had no chance of getting out of this situation scot-free. So I was to become a Soviet prisoner, something that we all feared. I therefore had to do something unexpected. I slowly turned around and without a word slowly strode to the corner of the building. The Russian’s killer instinct matched mine. He shot first as I rounded the corner. Under cover of darkness, all of us got away from this first brush with the enemy. Only one had a shot right through the heel of his boot that did not hurt him and raised the astonishment of the others in the barracks next morning.[18]

A certain confusion began to prevail both within the Front commands and at the centre. There were unmistakable signs that the Stavka [the supreme high command], was no longer entirely abreast of the pace and extent of the Soviet advance: Koniev’s 1st Ukrainian Front had speedily outstripped its Stavka directives, while Zhukov’s Front was almost five days ahead of schedule when it reached the Kutno–Lodz line, yet no great thought seems to have been given to re-examining rates of advance and possible objectives. As they outran the Stavka directives, so also the Soviet armies overreached themselves in terms of supplies of food and ammunition; in the onward armoured rush, Soviet tank crews would fill up from one or two vehicles, leave them stranded and press on with the remainder of the battalion or company, but this could not solve the problem of ammunition. At the same time Marshal Zhukov was looking with growing anxiety at his northern flank–and yet again at his southern flank, where he depended upon Marshal Koniev.

On 31 January he sent an urgent signal to Stalin stressing that the frontage of the 1st Byelorussian Front had now reached 500 kilometres, that Rokossovsky’s left flank was lagging appreciably behind the right flank of the 1st Byelorussian Front–Rokossovsky must push his 70th Army forward–and Marshal Koniev should gain the Oder line as soon as possible. Marshal Zhukov received no reply to this urgent signal, and thus was faced with the dilemma of buttressing his outstretched right flank and at the same time concentrating all his armies for the advance on Berlin.[1]

Initially, the task of routing the enemy in East Pomerania was supposed to be the sole responsibility of the forces of the 2nd Byelorussian Front. However, their strength proved to be totally insufficient. The offensive of that Front, begun on the 10th February, proceeded very slowly; its troops covered only 50 to 70 kilometres in ten days.

At that moment the enemy launched a counterattack south of Stargard and even succeeded in pressing our troops back, gaining some 12 kilometres southward.

In view of the situation, the Supreme Command decided to move four field and two tank armies from the 1st Byelorussian Front in order to liquidate the East Pomeranian grouping, whose strength by then had grown to forty divisions.

As is known, joint operations by the two Fronts to knock out the East Pomeranian grouping were completed only towards the end of March. You can see what a hard nut that grouping was.[2]

On the 30th January 1945 I received orders from Himmler to take command of the ‘Woldenberg’ Division without being given any orientation on the subject, nor the division’s task. I had to find the division. I found the division’s command post east of Friedeberg. It had no signals unit and there were no communications with a superior headquarters. I took over command at about midday as I found this recently established ‘division’ in the course of disintegration as it retreated to Landsberg. While I was busy in Landsberg on the morning of the 31st January with the organisation and deployment of the available units, I discovered that the ‘division’ had no anti-tank weapons, no ammunition or food supply arrangements and no signals unit. Neither was there a divisional medical officer. The artillery consisted of two horse-drawn batteries. The ‘division’ was not a ‘strong battle group’ nor were the troops battle-worthy.

The population of 45,000 inhabitants were still in the town and no preparations had been made for evacuation.

I received Himmler’s orders from the commander-in-chief of the 9th Army to defend Landsberg as a fortress over the telephone. Russian tanks were already north of the Warthe–Netze sector. I had the Warthe Bridge demolished. After some conscientious consideration, I decided to disobey this order [to defend Landsberg], which I considered senseless and whose compliance would serve no purpose other than great loss in human life.[7]

On the morning of the 31st January my unit rejoined the Königstiger SS-sergeant-major about 4 kilometres west of Landsberg in the Wepritz area. As we were still without a superior command or orders, I had us retreat westwards.

Beyond Dühringshof I was met by a car with a general, who received my report, did not introduce himself nor did he name his formation. He ordered me to deploy left of the road to Diedersdorf. My left-hand neighbour would be Second-Lieutenant Clemens’s unit.

When we stopped a Russian armoured reconnaissance vehicle with infantry fire, the soldiers jumped over the sides with a blanket that was supposed to protect them from our fire. That night the first Russian attack occurred with more on the 1st, 2nd and 3rd February. Small enemy breaches were driven back with counterattacks by the exemplary fighting recruits.

On the 3rd February I was summoned to a conference by the divisional staff in Vietz town hall. Here for the first time I discovered that my unit belonged to the ‘Woldenberg’ Division. The divisional commander, Major-General Kegler, described the situation.

The division was surrounded by Russian troops. Vietz station on the south-eastern edge of the town was in enemy hands. Blumberg was also occupied by the Russians. Two enemy infantry regiments were at Gross Cammin. Communication with Küstrin was severed. Re-supply was only possible by air. His decision was to leave.

The orders handed out by the divisional chief of staff for my unit and that of Second-Lieutenant Clemens were not possible of execution or would entail heavy losses. I therefore rose to protest and suggested that we should first disengage ourselves from the attacking enemy so that the immovable heavy weapons and especially our infantry could get out of the difficult terrain and deep snow.

As the general declared to the chief of staff that this was also his opinion, the following radio message arrived from headquarters 9th Army: ‘Report situation and intentions. Hold Vietz.’

Major-General Kegler promptly rescinded his orders for the division’s withdrawal.

Back in my position and after speaking to my left-hand neighbour, both of us fearful of having pointless high casualties among our recruits, I decided to convince the divisional commander that he should stick to his plan to withdraw, and that in any case I would decide according to my conscience. I returned to Vietz.

I had to overcome the resistance of the staff officers to get through to the general. Major-General Kegler was astounded but open to my arguments:

1. Once an order had been given it must be adhered to in order to keep up the morale of the troops.

2. The Army Headquarters’ radio message ‘Report situation and intentions’ unusually left open the decision. If this was not so, the message would have read: ‘Report situation. Hold Vietz.’ While it was expected that the Army would correctly use tactical language and especially stressed ‘Report situation’, it meant that it was holding open the opportunity for us to decide for ourselves in this special situation, and our decision was ‘Withdraw’.

3. There had also been instances in this war in which troops had withdrawn against orders in recognition of their hopeless situation, had upheld the morale of their troops and the officers had received high decorations.

4. The decisive argument, General, is in accordance with one’s own conscience. The responsible officer must, if common sense is to prevail, understand that slavish obedience in a hopeless situation only condemns him to a senseless bloodbath, which he should spare his men.

These arguments, especially the last, visibly moved Major-General Kegler. He then went briefly into an adjoining room. When he returned, he was white in the face. He asked me where I had lost my right arm, praised the discipline and commitment of my youngsters and also my objections at the conference a few hours ago. Finally the following dialogue ensued:

‘Do you think that you can withdraw the division in good order in this situation?’

‘Yes, if I have your support in doing so.’

‘Then I hereby beg you to undertake it on my staff.’

I immediately sent all the staff officers to the units, where they with the sector commanders were to stop the units and individuals retreating and incorporate them into the local defence.

Then I prepared to retake Vietz station with a platoon of my infantry and a Königstiger and while doing so a runner brought me a letter from the general. It read: ‘I have given up command of the division. Kegler, Major-General.’

I then asked a colonel to take over command of the division as a matter of seniority, which he accepted under the condition that I assumed tactical control.

The withdrawal of the division was made ready and all sector commanders summoned to an order group in Vietz at 1500 hours.

After stabilising the situation in the town I made a reconnaissance in the amphibious jeep with the SS-sergeant-major and one of my recruits, using Major-General Kegler’s map. I discovered that:

1. The road to Küstrin was not blocked by the Russians.

2. There were no Russians in Gross Cammin, the nearest enemy movement being in the northerly neighbouring village of Batzlow.

I stuck to the original plan. A radio message was sent to Küstrin fortress about the division’s withdrawal. The order to withdraw was given at 1500 hours and went without problems. When I later went into Vietz with the amphibious jeep to check the enemy situation, the first enemy scouts were already feeling their way forward.[10]

During the night of the 4th February I reached Küstrin on Reichsstrasse 1 as the first of the remainder of the division. The German guard on the town perimeter, the crew of an 88mm gun, were irresponsibly careless.

I reported to the chief of staff at fortress headquarters, Major Witte. When I told him about the lack of security on Reichsstrasse 1 and that I wanted to take it over with my own intact infantry, he regarded this as mutiny and interference in other people’s business. ‘Your general has already been taken by the Judge Advocate and you “mutineers” can expect a similar fate.’ I then handed over the remains of the division to the fortress commandant’s chief of staff.

The heavy weapons and the infantry crossed the Warthe and Oder bridges and were attached to the Küstrin garrison. While I was checking in the arriving elements of the division, a runner brought me the following orders from Major Witte. ‘You and your division are to clear Russian breaches in Warnick suburb.’

I could not fulfil this order, but in several days of house to house fighting I was able to prevent further penetration by the enemy. After several days SS-Captain Machers took over the sector with myself as adjutant.

Shortly afterwards I received orders to leave Küstrin on the nightly convoy and to report to the Motor Sport School in Wriesen, where I was liaison officer to Colonel Danke, chief of staff of CIst Corps. So ended my short encounter with the ‘Woldenberg’ Division.[12]

In the railway hut was an iron stove. The sentry coming in lit it and soon it was warm. There was hardly a minute’s peace in our primitive accommodation. Sentries came and went, weapons clattered, as well as the sounds of boots and men attending the oven. With daybreak I was on my feet again, checking the sentries. I heard their reports. The rest of the night had remained quiet. There had been no sign of the enemy.

At last I could see our surroundings in daylight. I had stood on the bridge without realising how close Küstrin station was. Under me to my left flowed the Warthe. I looked across the factory tracks. About 800 metres away began the prominent Cellulose Factory complex.

We had positioned our machine gun immediately north of the bridge, where there was a ready prepared machine-gun position, a long breast-deep hole from where one had a good field of fire up to the Cellulose Factory. The sappers appeared to have completed their job without a fuss during the night.

Our immediate frontage made me restless. I took a couple of volunteers from my section and went to reconnoitre it. We went a bit towards the Cellulose Factory but kept a respectful distance from the factory premises. In front of us was a long, two-storey building with many pipes and rails leading to it. Its windowed front was facing us, the windows painted blue. This was no place for caution. If the Russians were inside, they could see us through scratches in the paint.

About 150–200 metres from the railway bridge we came across a little half-timbered hut between the railway lines. We took it for a signal box at first, but this turned out to be wrong when we entered it. The building had two storeys with a tiny ground floor. Here the marshalling yard personnel had perhaps formerly taken shelter in bad weather, but lately it had been used for private purposes. Why had this little house been built so lavishly when it was only intended for railway personnel? I was particularly curious.

The entrance door stood half open. As I entered I immediately realised that the Russians had been here. Several drawers from the few bits of furniture had been torn out and the contents barbarically searched. The whole floor was covered in items of female underclothing of the finest quality and dirty soldiers’ boots had trampled all over them. On a low table stood a gramophone in a wooden box such as was to be found in many middle-class homes before the war. Most of the gramophone records were scattered broken on the floor. A narrow spiral staircase led to the upper floor, where there was a square wicker basket, a wash basket secured with a lock with clean labels attached, ready for despatch, also some suitcases. The Russians had not penetrated here. I especially remember the basket in the middle of the room, heavy and undisturbed, waiting for collection.

I went back downstairs and collected some stockings. Fresh underwear, even if dirty, was always useful and the feminine aspect did not worry me. I asked myself what kind of people these were that in the sixth year of war would have such feminine underwear. The owners could easily have taken them with them, but presumably it seemed too dangerous for them.

Meanwhile my men had inspected the gramophone. It was still working. Fortunately the Russians had not touched it. Only two of the records were still largely whole. Triumphantly my comrades carried the box back to the start point at the foot of the railway embankment. While my comrades were returning to our railway hut base, I had another look at the books in the shed with the petrol barrels. I came across wonderful leather-covered books from a German publisher, with a dozen copies of each. Apparently someone had put them there in great haste. Even in daylight the shed was quite dark and I had difficulty making out the book titles. As far as I could make out they consisted of Party-acceptable literature, morally correct novels, the usual lying idylls of a healthy world. For me it was reading material for a week, should I be left in peace.

I could hear the gramophone music at quite some distance from the base. My comrades were happily trying out their acquisition. The gramophone was wound up and soon the steel needle was scratching the tracks in the shellac disc. I think it was Richard Tauber, whose hit ‘Schön ist die Welt’ blared out triumphantly from the walls of our hut. The disc had a small gap and was also lacking a bit from the edge, but that did not bother us much. The second piece that Richard Tauber sang was an evergreen, his unspoilt ‘Sonny Boy’. Tauber’s voice sounded tinny and had a slightly nasal tone through the loudspeaker. The gramophone played all day long. Star tenor Richard Tauber had to keep on singing. The defect in the disc did not matter. Our little Küstrin world was not perfect either.

I took my books with me to the machine-gun position at the bridge. I was able to read and smoke undisturbed. The railway traffic over the Warthe had terminated the night before. Although we were unable to leave our defensive position, an opportunity arose during the day to visit the underpass. I wanted to look over the American Sherman in Russian service.

My impressions of the previous night were confirmed. The American tank in comparison to the trusty Russian T-34 was unusually tall and narrow, despite its rounding on all sides. Especially conspicuous were the narrow tracks. I doubted that they were much good for cross-country work, better for roads and reinforced tracks. The long-barrelled gun with a thick cylindrical front plate I took to be a Russian 76.2mm cannon. The olive-coloured steel colossus had been stopped here abruptly after passing through the underpass. I found the hole caused by a direct hit from a Panzerfaust on the rear of the turret. It was cleanly curved, round, coloured blue by the heat and with lightly frayed edges. The diameter I calculated as 80mm. The tank was closed. The crew had not survived the fatal shot. The escorting infantry seated on the tank had been thrown off by the explosion and the men lay on the far side of the street, all dead.

I went a bit further along Plantagenstrasse. Near the junction with Forststrasse stood the next steel monster on the left-hand side of the street with its turret turned to the right. The fatal shot appeared to have come from a cellar, but I could not be certain. Where the shot had been fired from was a small square bordered by several storeyed buildings.

I was particularly interested in the question of the type of this tank. I could not identify it. A Russian T-70 looked quite different. It was smaller, flat surfaced and with a gun that I calculated as being 75mm. The small entry hatch was on the left side of the tank. One could see the gun layer at the gun with his back to the hatch and the trigger in his right hand. The exploding Panzerfaust had prevented the gun firing by a few seconds. I also noticed that this tank had been travelling without carrying infantry.

However, a few days later the gun did fire a shot. It hit the building it was aimed at and tore a hole through the wall of the first storey. The furniture of a living room could be seen covered in dust and mortar.

I discovered several years after the war that this was a Mark III Valentine. Although we were often engaged against tanks, the tank recognition service had provided us with no material about this type.

The small tank appeared to have driven ahead of the Sherman. It could well have shot the hole in the façade of the building. In order to be able to be mobile in all directions, it had taken no escorting infantry with it.

Several soldiers joined our little battle group, those that had become separated from their units seeking an intact one. They were also seeking shelter from the military police and fanatical SS officers. One of those who joined our group was Bombardier Horn of the artillery, who was a typical old soldier, quiet, calm and reliable. There were also two Waffen-SS soldiers, tall young lads, whom the war had not yet deprived of the joy of living. These two SS men proved to be a stroke of luck for they were real artists at scrounging. Every day they surprised us with fresh bread, but refused to betray their source.

It was quiet at the bridge at first. Although we did not drop our guard, we could not detect change or movement at the Cellulose Factory. But we did not trust this quiet. Instinctively, we regarded the factory as not clean. We would gladly have tackled this uncertainty but our group was too small to search or occupy the factory. There were innumerable places of concealment on the factory premises and with the inability to oversee the ground we could easily fall into a trap.[15]

Beyond the Oder bridge and before the Artillery Barracks, Feldgendarmerie and Wehrmacht officers were filtering all men of military age and soldiers out of the refugee stream fleeing westwards and sending them into the nearby barracks. We five schoolboys from Birnbaum were also filtered out, although with our full approval as we wanted to assist in the defence of Küstrin. Either that day or the next we were attached to an officer-cadet company and incorporated in it. Together with three other soldiers and a sergeant we formed a section. We Birnbaumers received 1898 carbines as weapons and a Panzerfaust each. Our clothing was replaced with field-grey uniforms without insignia. Thus equipped we joined a long marching column of several units and marched along the same way back into the Neustadt.

On the edge of Drewitz, or it might still have been Küstrin, our section moved into a suburban house that had been abandoned by its owners. It lay on the outermost edge of town on the west side of a road leading north and was right forward in the front line. In front of us and westwards towards the Warthe and Oder were snow-covered open spaces providing a clear view to the next village, where the Russians settled down opposite us during the next few days.

The property, almost a small farmhouse, served us nine men well as accommodation. Apart from hens, there were no longer any animals. Thanks to our careful and rich feeding, the flock of hens thrived and enriched our menu with their eggs. We never suffered hunger here, nor did we during my whole time in Küstrin. We could almost live in luxury, using only those parts of our rations that we wanted to.

We catered for ourselves with what we could find in our house and a neighbouring cellar. We calmed our thoughts with the well-known belief that stealing food in emergencies is not punishable. In addition we received front-line fighters’ packets, which also contained cigarettes. No one protested when we youngsters smoked, but I was not interested and would swap my cigarettes for a bar of chocolate.

The civilian population had completely vanished from our sector. We lived as if on an island and learnt very little of what was going on in the town and on our front line. A radio in the house provided us with the daily Wehrmacht Report. Nevertheless it was said that Küstrin had been almost completely surrounded by Russian troops. I only heard about the publication of a Küstrin Fortress newspaper fifty years later. Nothing much came through to us in the front line. Possibly there was little interest in negative information. We hardly left our position at all, as the central area of the Neustadt was under heavier artillery fire than our north-western sector.

As events were to show, we had been extremely lucky with our allocation of sector of the front and had a better chance of survival than most. First, we were hit far less often in the general firing and bombardments than the remaining parts of the Neustadt, and secondly we were able to withdraw towards the railway station and west to the Warthe when the Russians attacked on the 7th March.[16]

In the following days, to give us something to do in the Engineer Barracks, which were right behind the front line, we had to knock rifle firing holes in the walls while rifle bullets whistled through the windows on the east side. Then came engagements on a small scale. Once we lay the whole night in snow water, the thaw having started, without firing a shot, while bullets whistled past. Following this nature cure, a bad cough that had been troubling me for some time vanished completely.

An 88mm flak gun stood not far from the barracks. It controlled large parts of the north-eastern area to the extent that the gunners did not pay much attention to their cover. However, whoever showed himself at a window on the first floor in the building behind the gun position had to reckon with aimed shots from the enemy. It was an idyll for which the Soviet mortars had prepared a quick ending.

Immediately behind the barrack wall was a wood dealer’s yard, where we had to guard the barracks, not knowing where the Russians really were. It was there that I saw the first German dead. On his breast lay a shot-through pay book. I leafed through it and saw my father’s signature. This was the first letter he had to write reporting a hero’s death. Four or five days later I met a sergeant from my father’s company. He told me that my father was fine and that his command post was in the Oder Potato Meal Factory on the riverbank.[17]

The ensuing siege saw me next as a number 2 machine-gunner near the Sparkasse Bank. We were lucky and only came under periodic fire from Soviet mortars, guns and rockets. We ‘Holzmindeners’ were divided into several platoons under Lieutenant Schröder:

1st Platoon: Second-Lieutenant Schröter (later Sergeant Berger), at the Stern.

2nd Platoon: Staff-Sergeant Haubenreiser, at the Warthe.

3rd Platoon: Sergeant-Major Peter Kaiser, Vorflut Canal, command post in the last building before the Altstadt station.

4th Platoon: Battalion Sergeant Major Gleiche, casemate on Friedrichstrasse.

5th Platoon: With demolition squads, Second-Lieutenant Storm, Sergeant-Major Schulz and Staff-Sergeant Kukei for the Oder road bridge, and Second-Lieutenant Lülau for the Oder railway bridge. The latter had a command post in a casemate on the railway.

During the course of the siege, Engineer Replacement and Training Battalion 68 and Territorial Engineer Battalion 513 were combined as the Fortress Engineer Battalion under the command of Captain Fischer. The command post of Captain Dahlmanns’ company was in the Potato Meal Factory. Captain Fischer had his command post in the Law Courts, as did Lieutenant Schröder during the last third of March. (Previously, until the fall of the Neustadt, Schröder’s command post was in a casemate on the Warthe and subsequently in a building on the edge of the Altstadt.) In the Law Courts was also Staff-Sergeant Tewes with his men.[18]

Following my time with the Reichsarbeitsdienst, I began my military service at the end of May 1944. After training as an armoured engineer, I found myself in the officer cadet company of Armoured Engineer Replacement and Training Battalion 19 in Holzminden.

In the second half of January we were entrained for the East. It was very cold. We went in cattle wagons with peat deposits on the floor. The rail journey lasted several days and ended at Frankfurt/Oder, from where buses took us to Küstrin. There we had to dig in on the outer defensive line of the Neustadt. Next day we heard the sound of tanks. We were soon withdrawn and deployed at the Warthe bridges. During the first days of February we received massive artillery fire. At this time there were two Königstigers in our sector, an 88mm flak battery and a 20mm quadruple gun. When these were withdrawn we were left with no heavy weapons apart from Panzerfausts from then on.

The Warthebruch was still frozen over. Russian snipers had concealed themselves on the islands and promontories and gave us a hard time. They fired tracer bullets at the swans standing on the ice from the right bank of the Warthe. Before our 20mm quadruple gun was withdrawn, it managed to destroy several of the snipers’ nests.

Gradually the Soviet artillery fire diminished. At first we had made ourselves at home on a houseboat in the harbour. There was a gramophone on the boat with the record ‘My Golden Baby’. We also found a book, Remarque’s All Quiet on the Western Front. That was the right kind of literature for our situation. But our time on the boat was not long, for the Russians literally shot off the stern.

When shells exploded in the water many dead or stunned fish came to the surface, including enormous pike. The Warthe and Oder must be very rich in fish. Formerly there must also have been sturgeon, for when I saw a photograph of the Küstrin Schloss courtyard, I noticed sturgeon on the surrounding relief.

Groups of refugees were still crossing the bridges in February, moving from the Neustadt to the Altstadt. The Russians deliberately aimed at them and inflicted some casualties. The enemy had drawn the ring tighter around the town. That Küstrin had been declared a fortress meant virtually a death sentence for us soldiers, bringing an enormous emotional strain.

The effect of the Soviet artillery was reinforced by the blanket barrages of Stalin-Organs that we found frightening. For lack of our own heavy weapons, we were practically defenceless against the enemy fire. The Soviet artillery was deployed in open fields near Sonnenburg and fired at us without pause. There were some 30 batteries, including 152mm cannon. At first the enemy fire was directed by an observer on the chimney of a waterworks until our flak destroyed the chimney.

The Russians must have taken considerable casualties from the flak at first. One morning I counted 19 burning trucks on the Sonnenburger Chaussee.

The continuous artillery and mortar fire destroyed all our cover. We thought that every Russian must have a mortar. The calibres ranged from 50 to 120mm. As we were getting direct enemy fire from the Warthe Island and the Sonnenburger Chaussee, we built a screen at night of interwoven textiles and paper, but it was shot away again within a few hours.

I had temporarily dug in with my comrade Franz Jürgens in the front garden of a house standing right next to the railway leading over the Warthe. We moved some railway sleepers from a nearby yard on a wagon and used them to cover our hole with a triple layer. That was just as well for shortly afterwards we received three direct hits from a 120mm mortar without damage.

The Russians had such a good view from the Sonnenburger Chaussee that we dared not let ourselves be seen in daylight. Once when I was attending to a call of nature outside our hole, an anti-tank gun fired at me and I had only a shallow dip in which to take cover. The anti-tank gun fired about ten times at me before I could dive back into the hole.[19]

Our battery commander had been missing since noon on the 31st January. Perhaps he had been visiting a headquarters or another gun and had been surprised by events with another troop. It turned out that he had stood behind a Panzerfaust when it was fired and had been wounded by the back blast and taken to hospital.

Next day, the 1st February, the battery moved to Lunette B on the Island between the Oder and the Vorflut Canal. One or two days later, on the 2nd or 3rd February, I was under way as a runner looking for our packs. My route took me through Plantagenstrasse. Despite the impressive damage caused by the Soviet tank attack, the shot-up tanks were quiet. One could see from the small holes that they had been victims of our Panzerfausts. Beyond Anger Strasse I came across the destroyed position of our 37mm gun. My school friend Ostermann had been killed. A tank shell had penetrated the thin rampart and killed him on the spot. I do not know what happened to the rest of the gun crew.

Our packs that we had laid out in the open at the Cellulose Factory were no longer there, so I took a blanket from a wagon that had belonged to civilians killed in the fire in front of the factory.

On my way back I was shocked to see a German soldier hanging from a pole on the road bridge over the Warthe. The text of the sign hanging on him read: ‘I was a coward’, which upset me more than if it had said: ‘I was a spy’. Everyone was afraid, but I know of none of my comrades who nevertheless did not persevere. Our basic attitude was: Live decently, but not at the cost of your comrades or the people.

In Lunette B I could once more sit at a telephone exchange with a 20-plug switchboard. It was in a room about 1.5 by 2.5 metres immediately right of the narrow footbridge over the moat. One day a shell stuck in the earth above the door. Thank God it was a dud. There were many of them among the Russian 122mm shells.

Our rations were good. We also received fruit drops, biscuits, schnapps, vermouth and plenty of cigarettes. The issues were made in the pub close-by on the Pappelhorst. One of its rooms we used during the day as a rest-room and for cleaning weapons. We slept 500 metres away in the Artillery Barracks, where soldiers of various units slept together in a big, high hall. This gave us an uncomfortable feeling in our stomachs at night, because by day we could see Russian soldiers south of the Island and also when they were fired at by our 88mm flak with tracer shells, and should the enemy retaliate our hall offered a good target.

The position of the 37mm gun between the Vorflut Canal and Lunette B was so arranged that it could engage both low-flying aircraft and ground targets or boats south of the Vorflut Canal. In practice, however, it only fired at aircraft. After one engagement came a strong Russian reply with 122mm shells and our cook fled from the gun position to the pub, being fatally wounded on the way.

The day after the death of our cook, a superior handed me the briefcase of my school friend Dieter Gross with the dry information that he had been killed and asking that, as his friend, I should write to his parents in Hamburg. I did this, but beforehand went to see his last position, which was in the Neustadt somewhere in a commercial area between Warnicker Strasse and Landsberger Strasse. The last 200 metres of the way there were particularly dangerous, and my friend had been killed by well-camouflaged Russian snipers. The last 40 metres were outside the trench and could only be crossed by my escorting Luftwaffe auxiliary and myself under covering fire. A steel helmet raised on a stick above cover as a test immediately brought a shot through it. We were not fired at on our return, probably as a result of the firing of a German ‘Stuka zu Fuss’, which had a devastating effect where it hit.

One day a Tiger–some said it was a Königstiger–took up position near us. It drove from the Artillery Barracks to the road bridge, drove southwards and positioned itself noisily near the road to the alley leading to Lunette B. Its field of fire ranged from Lunette B to the south and south-west, so covering the canal and river approaches as well as the south-eastern boundary of Kietz. It hardly fired at all. At night it took shelter in the Artillery Barracks. This went on for several days.

On the Island we constantly expected an attack by the Russians. This was especially feared by our forward observer on the southern point, who recorded enemy activity either with his own eyes or through binoculars. I could even see this for myself when going yet again to check the telephone cable lying on the ground. Our 37mm gun was so placed as to be able to shoot at the water as well as the ground area.

Sometimes rubber dinghies went along the canal, apparently after specific reports from the forward observer. The paddling was so light and certain that it aroused our wonder. It was said that this was done by selected SS men.

During our Küstrin engagement we flak auxiliaries in our blue-grey uniforms got new photographs in our paybooks and the rank of gunner was stuck over that of Luftwaffe senior auxiliary.[20]

At the beginning of the fighting for Küstrin I was assigned to the Flak unit and dressed in uniform. We were deployed to various places. Our battery had four guns. In the middle of February these stood at the western exit from Kietz. The position was at the Weinbergshof farm. I once got leave from there to see the family off on the last goods train that was leaving Küstrin to take them to safety.

We lost two of our guns when we had to leave the Weinbergshof farm in the middle of February. Dug into the Oderbruch mud and dirt for cover they could not be moved. There were no tractors.[21]

I occupied the machine-gun position with my section from 0700 to 0900 hours. Visibility was good and the temperature comfortable. Only the sun was lacking. We only lay down in the position when Ivan showed himself. First a couple of shots whistled past my ears, and then a Russian machine gun joined in. We could hear the whip of the rounds. Without doubt they were coming from the factory but we could not see the firers.

I reported this to Lieutenant Kühnel, who quickly made up his mind and gave the order to clear the Russians out of the factory complex. It was obvious to me that this was a difficult task. I had the feeling that the Russians wanted to lure us into the factory premises. Certainly they thought they could eliminate us more easily there, as their positions were far more effective than ours.

On the 4th February we received a Front HQ directive setting the date for the offensive. It said: ‘The Front’s troops shall consolidate their success by active operations in the next six days, bring up all units that have fallen behind, replenish fuel to two allowances per vehicle and ammunition to two establishments, and in a swift assault take Berlin on the 15th–16th February.

In the consolidation period, i.e. 4th–8th February, it is necessary that:

a) The 5th, 8th, 69th and 33rd Armies should capture bridgeheads on the west bank of the Oder. It is desirable for the 8th Guards and 69th Armies to have a common bridgehead between Küstrin and Frankfurt. If all goes well, the 5th and 8th Armies should link their bridgeheads;

b) The 1st Polish and the 47th and 61st Armies, the 2nd Tank Army and the 2nd Cavalry Corps should hurl the enemy back behind the line Ratzebuhr–Falkenburg–Stargard–Altdamm– Oder. Following this, they should leave a covering force pending the arrival of the armies of the 2nd Byelorussian Front, and regroup on the Oder for a breakthrough;

c) Between the 7th and 8th February it is necessary to complete the elimination of the enemy grouping in Posen and Schneidemühl;

d) The means of reinforcement for a breakthrough shall in the main be the same as those available at present;

e) By the 10th February the tank forces and self-propelled artillery shall complete repairs and maintenance so as to put all available resources back into action;

f) The Air Force shall complete deployment and have fuel on the airfields for not fewer than six allowances per aircraft;

g) The Front’s logistical services and the Army rear units shall be fully prepared by the 9th–10th February for the decisive phase of the operation.’[3]

For his immediate purposes Zhukov could count on four rifle armies and two tank armies drawn up along ‘the Berlin axis’, but two of the rifle armies–8th Guards and 69th–had detached part of their forces to deal with the fortress of Posen, while Berzarin’s 5th Shock was besieging Küstrin with elements of that army. On the embattled right flank the 1st Polish, 3rd Shock and 61st Armies were forced to leave more divisions to reduce the fortress of Schneidermühl and other strongpoints.

Losses and shortages further denuded Zhukov’s assault forces. Chuikov could only commit 50 per cent of the 8th Guards for the proposed attack on Berlin (the other half of his army was presently held back at Poznan); battle losses had made heavy inroads into Chuikov’s strength, with regiments down to two battalions and the companies reduced to an average strength of 22–45 men. Ammunition was becoming alarmingly scarce and Chuikov had fallen back on using captured German guns with captured ammunition. Berzarin’s 5th Shock Army and the 33rd and 69th Armies also reported growing shortages of ammunition and increasingly depleted ranks. Katukov’s 1st Guards Tank Army mustered 737 tanks and SP guns at the time of breaking through to the Oder, of which 567 were in working order.[4]

At long last our Luftwaffe appeared in the sky. A squadron of Ju 87s made some dashing attacks on targets to the east and south-east of the town. We could watch the dive bombing of the Stukas well from the railway embankment. Their attacks were followed by heavy detonations and mighty clouds of smoke, while our railway hut shook as if in an earthquake. The Ju 87s did not appear to lack for targets.

There was still no sign of the Russian Air Force. Certainly it had not been idle in the meantime. Presumably it had to prepare and occupy airfields nearer to the front line. In my opinion the enemy fighters and bombers would soon be making our life difficult.[8]

Enemy resumed attacks on Küstrin from north, east and southeast. Early morning a company-sized attack on the bucket lift (1 km south-west of southern Küstrin exit). The strongpoint fell with the loss of almost all the garrison in enemy hands. In a battalion-sized attack either side of the Zorndorf–Küstrin road on Height 63, the enemy gained about 100m ground. Enemy breach south-west of Warnick cleared by counterattack. Enemy thrust from a southerly direction on the west bank of the Oder opposite Küstrin.

Enemy thrust in platoon strength south-west of Warnick repelled. Strong enemy reconnaissance activity and lively artillery fire from both sides.

Attack against southern and south-western front of Küstrin west of the Oder. Attack via Gorgast and Alt Bleyen towards Kietz blocked by Oder Corps.

We were sitting down to afternoon coffee, having taken the precaution of going down into the cellar, which I with my war experience considered safer. Suddenly an explosion shook our house, others following shortly after again and again, and whitewash fell from the ceiling. After a short while it was suddenly quiet again, but now there was a frightful sound of burning. We left everything and ran upstairs to be confronted by a horrible sight. Our house on the edge of the Neumarkt, right opposite the water tower, had not been hit, but several neighbouring buildings were ablaze. The tram depot was completely destroyed and there were craters on the market place. Several doors and windows had been torn off their hinges, and the paper was hanging off the wall in strips. All the bottles of conserves in the dining room were broken by the blast. The roof had been torn off and the balcony was only hanging on to the façade as indistinguishable iron rods. The Radio-Helm building was in flames. Except for our house, no building on the Neumarkt had survived the bombardment.

In 1945 I belonged to 6 Company, Transport Battalion 532. In February and March, until the final surrounding of Küstrin, we were stationed in Mühlenstrasse, Seelow, while the battalion was in Müncheberg. We had about 20 tracked vehicles, two-and four-ton Opels, which the soldiers nicknamed ‘Mules’. Our task was conveying supply deliveries from Seelow to Küstrin and bringing back people and materials. We only drove at night in complete darkness.

We collected ammunition and mail from the station in Seelow. Then we followed Reichsstrasse 1 to the crossroads from Alt Tucheband and Golzow, where we turned left and crossed the Berlin–Küstrin railway line, leaving Golzow station to our right. From Golzow we turned right and followed the Oderbruch Chaussee to Gorgast. Here we crossed the Alte Oder and entered the ‘corridor’–a narrow land connection to the beleaguered fortress of Küstrin. The length of our route from Gorgast to the railway bridge over the Vorflut Canal in Kietz was about 6 kilometres. At first the route was along a road and led south-eastwards of the Alt Bleyen manor farm over the fields. From Kuhbrücken we then drove south along the dyke road, passed the track junction and then on to the railway bridge over the Vorflut Canal.

In order to avoid Soviet artillery fire, we drove as follows: Stop before the bridge. Each truck crossed the bridge individually. The interval between vehicles varied from half to two minutes and even longer pauses under heavy fire. Then we were on the Island and often across the Oder to the Altstadt. Mainly we went to two places, the Artillery Barracks and another complex in which equipment was stored. The ammunition was unloaded at a park-like place. Often I had mail to hand over to the fortress commandant’s staff.

On the return journey we took wounded, six to eight men per truck, and ten to twelve light wounded. When there was still room, we took items of equipment and raw materials, such as leather. We unloaded again in Seelow. Except for a few wounded, we had no casualties to complain about.

Our last trip took place on the night of 21/22 March, after which a Soviet offensive shut off the fortress again, this time for good.[21]

Several company-strength attacks north-eastwards of Alt Drewitz repelled. Strong enemy artillery and rocket fire midday on the Altstadt. Lively enemy barrage from heavy weapons on the other sectors. An enemy battery taking up position south of the Bienenhof engaged to good effect.

Soldiers and Inhabitants of Küstrin Fortress!

In the defence of our Fatherland fate has decreed a hard task for the old fortress of Küstrin. So far we have succeeded and have already received recognition. We will also succeed in the future and keep the door to Berlin closed to the Soviets. It is only necessary for everyone to give their utmost and harden themselves against unavoidable losses and damage.

To improve information to the troops and the civilian population about military events and all necessary measures, the emergency newspaper Feste Küstrin will be produced jointly by the commandant and the NSDAP county office. It will soon be extended if possible. Its regular appearance will, however, depend upon the electricity supply.

Help and support each other! We are guarding the home country and allowing our leadership the freedom to determine counterblows. The Soviets will be driven away from Küstrin again soon.

Hail the Führer!

Men and Women, German Boys and Girls of Fortress Küstrin!

In the happy years of peace and the build-up [of Nazi Germany] we have often been able to do beneficial work for our town in conjunction with the Wehrmacht. Today Küstrin has become a front-line town. We have to live through difficult times that have brought much sorrow to our families. However, the Wehrmacht, Party and civil administration must today overcome this serious situation together. It is important that every one of us does their duty to the utmost. Under the thunder of the Soviet cannon at the town boundaries, our spirits are stretched to meet this difficult test. Let us always belong to the strong and true. The men and women of the Party and the administration will do everything possible to lighten the lot of the civilian population. That is why we are here and will remain until the brave soldiers of our Wehrmacht drive the Soviets away.

As so often in Prussian-German history, the old fortresses stand as outposts to the east. Let us show ourselves worthy of our predecessors.

War brings painful scars to this town and individual families, but even if our walls should break, our hearts will remain strong.

Infantry combat took place west of Kietz during the last 24 hours, when a lost group of buildings was regained in a counterattack, as well as both sides of the road to Zorndorf. Increased enemy artillery activity against the Altstadt. Enemy guns were engaged by our own flak and infantry guns. Air activity weak.

We were back in our old position on the railway embankment, where we manned the machine-gun position and lived in the railway hut. The gramophone played practically all day long. Whenever I had a chance I buried myself in a book.

We checked the ground in front of us every day without getting close to the Cellulose Factory. To go in did not seem advisable to us. We knew the ambush that awaited us there and were aware of the covered approach from the north. There was an underground channel that had little water in it at the time and served as a loophole for the Russians.

The weather was fine and the temperature rising.

For two or three days after our attack on the factory the Russians left us in peace. Afterwards they made themselves noticeable once more and fired at our machine-gun position at the bridge. These were only single shots, needle-pricks, in order to disturb us. They wanted to lure us on to the factory premises again, but we were not strong enough for a second attack.

More days went by. It was obvious to us that the Russians were occupying the factory. They had settled down there and presumably received reinforcements through the underground channel. Occasionally the Russians fired harassing fire on the town with mortars.

One day I was sitting with a comrade from my section on the south side of the railway embankment not far from the bridge. The air was unusually mild that evening. My comrade, Heinz Tiedemann, was a few years older than myself, married, and came from Swinemünde. We were looking towards the town, watching the rising Very lights and drinking a bottle of vermouth of the cheapest kind. Heinz was talking about his home, his wife and how much he missed her. I listened. Whenever there was a longish break we could hear the Warthe gurgling. Somewhere or other a Russian machine gun was tacking and a grenade exploded. We sat there a long time with our thoughts. It was good for Tiedemann to have found someone who would listen to him. We did not know that this would be our last evening on the Warthe.

The next day began as usual. We mounted sentries and watched the Russians. In the corrugated-iron hut our tenor sang ‘Schön ist der Welt’ again and again. Who could still believe him? Whenever the spring ran down someone would rewind it. Someone cranked the handle as a metallic crack sounded. The needle was broken. Richard Tauber had sung his last song. A bad omen? Perhaps. Barely an hour later came the order to clear the position. A strange infantry company was relieving us. We set off in the late afternoon with sour faces.

We trotted back to the underpass, where our vehicles were waiting for us. News and words were exchanged. For the first time we heard that Küstrin was completely surrounded. We had already suspected it but had hoped that the Stuka attack would have broken the encirclement.

We left the Küstrin Neustadt by the road bridge. To the damage caused to the buildings by the Russian tanks more had been added by artillery and mortar fire. We crossed the Oder Bridge, drove through the Altstadt and crossed the Oder–Vorflut Canal to reach the south-western suburb of Kietz. We slept while the company commander made a reconnaissance of the new position.

There was an alert before dawn. We went westwards in files. It was very foggy and the damp air made our clothing wet. We stumbled over railway tracks where they crossed the road. The last buildings were passed and we reached open countryside. Our file followed the northern roadside ditch of Reichsstrasse 1. The enemy must be somewhere to the south. Individual shots pinged in our direction and we could hear the slow tacking of Russian machine guns. The road surface offered breast-high protection against shots flying over. Again and again our legs got tangled in the coils of thick wire that had fallen from the telegraph poles alongside the road and lay curled up in the ditch.

About a kilometre west of the level crossing we turned right towards the south. Our guide followed a track. After about 150 to 200 metres the dark shadow of a building appeared. We had reached our destination, the Weinbergshof Farm. The farmyard itself was parallel to the track and alongside a hedge, and we passed by a brick house as the chimes of a Westminster clock struck the hour. Then we passed a duck pond surrounded by old trees and came to a stately building, the manor house. The occupants had fled and the house was empty. Lieutenant Kühnel moved into the cellars with his small staff.

The morning lightened hesitantly. It seemed that the fog would thicken even more. Lieutenant Kühnel ordered me to occupy a position facing south [actually south-east] with my section. We moved off alongside a brick-built barn. Facing the fields, running from east to west, was a breast-high earthen hedge in which we would dig our foxholes. The sandy earth was frozen rock hard. We picked and hacked with our spades. After a quarter of an hour of sweating work we discovered that the fine earthen wall was the covering of a pile of turnips. We could not expect much protection from that.

We had relieved an army unit, whose troops were happy to leave at last. The Russians had given them a hard time. They forecast some uncomfortable days ahead for us.

Our view to the south sank into mist and fog only 200 metres away. The terrain was completely flat without a tree or a house to be seen, and appeared to be devoid of people. We knew, however, that the appearance was false. Therefore, as we dug in, we had several men keeping watch. But nothing unusual happened.

With our morning rations came some bottles of Sekt of a good make. Unfortunately these precious drops were ‘served’ while we were sweating and were hastily consumed to quell our thirst.

Ivan was keeping quiet. We were able to move about freely between the turnip pit and the farmyard. Only occasional shots came out of the milky greyness. A bit to our left we could sometimes see the shadows of two guns, 105mm flak cannon, that for some unaccountable reason had not been brought in to safety.

We did not only use the day for digging in, we found our way around the farmyard, which did not look so grand by daylight. Its dirty grey façade was unpleasant. The house with the Westminster clock was the farm manager’s. It had been damaged. Apparently a shell had ripped off the south-west corner and one could see inside. The clock had not been damaged and could still be heard. Between the manager’s house and the manor itself our predecessors had dug a hip-deep trench, most of which was not flooded by groundwater.

The first day and the following night at the farm passed quietly. The Russians did not show themselves, but we mistrusted this quietness and kept silent ourselves. We crouched in our primitive foxholes and kept our ears alert, but there was nothing to see or hear.

The second day dawned slowly. The fog of the previous day had thinned, but a milky ground mist remained. When the daylight eventually allowed a view of several hundred metres, we were surprised to see that the Russians had made good use of the darkness. About 200–300 metres to the south of the turnip pit was an infantry trench, the light-coloured dug-out earth betraying the line of the trench. The Russians had had the same problem in digging as we had, the high groundwater allowing only a hip-deep trench. Presumably the enemy could move around crouched down without being seen by us.

The enemy position was in a straight line from west to east. It appeared to be only a trench beginning east of the Weinbergshof running at an even distance from our position and ending abruptly a little west of the farm. This was a sudden alteration to our position. The trench was occupied and we could no longer move around freely between the pile of turnips and the farmyard. It was wise to keep under cover. The Russians would fire at every individual. It gradually became more uncomfortable.

We dozed all day in our foxholes so that we would be fit for the night. But our legs quickly became stiff. It was still not spring temperatures. Although we kept an eye on the enemy, we were unable to see any Russians. Once again they had camouflaged their observation posts in a masterly way. In our opinion they must have used quite a lot of men for the construction of their position, and they too must have had to get through the hard crust of frost.

With nightfall we were able to leave our foxholes. At about 2200 hours we received hot food, or rather lukewarm food. With it were cold rations, a few cigarettes and a cigar. Bombardier Horn swapped my cigar for several cigarettes.

The next night was as disturbed as the last. There was some firing to the left of us at about midnight. Some comrades were investigating whether the 105mm guns should be removed or blown up when they surprised some Russian scouts. This skirmish was repeated on the following night. The Russians thus prevented us from either removing or demolishing the guns. Daylight the next day revealed that the Russians had extended their trench to the west. It annoyed us that we could not stop their trench digging, or even interrupt it. Our company was too weak and had not received any reinforcements so far. Apart from this, we lacked a mortar. We did not even have enough ammunition for our machine guns. Especially important would have been a Very pistol, but that was also lacking. We had become a poor lot.

After our third night in the Weinbergshof it appeared that Ivan had extended his trench even further to encompass both sides of the farm. During the night the Russians had dug their trench about level with the manager’s house. The Russians could now watch us, and fire at us from two sides. Our situation was critical and we felt as if we had a noose around our throats.

The weather improved in as much as the sun showed itself timidly. Then we discovered a digging Ivan some 120 to 150 metres from our turnip pile. That is, we did not actually see him, for he was in a hole, but every few seconds the black blade of a spade appeared and earth flew from it. He was digging himself a listening post at least 100 metres in front of the Russian trench.

We watched this Russian mole for a while and fired with our carbines at his spade, but without evoking any reaction. Then we tried with a rifle grenade, but it exploded uselessly on the open ground. Finally the Russian gave up digging. Had we achieved our aim at last? No. He put up a short stovepipe from his hole from which soon after smoke appeared. Such a cheeky rascal! He wanted to show us and tease us. A man from our section went back to the armoury in the manor and fetched a 150-metre range Panzerfaust and fired at the smoking pipe. There was a loud explosion and the stove was out.

Once the Russians had completed their trenches, they started harassing us. Especially at night, we were fired on from the front and from the side. Our primitive foxholes between the turnips offered us little protection and Lieutenant Kühnel ordered the position to be evacuated. We were not sorry. Our new task was the defence of the farm from the west. We were to occupy and improve our predecessors’ trenches.

The allocated sector began in the south at the farm buildings. A closed gate formed the main entrance from the track and a metalled path led to the manor. From the gate a hedge ran northwards on the right of the track to beyond the manager’s house. The trench ran along the east side of the hedge. We occupied the trench to a bit beyond the house. Not much improvement was needed for this trench. One hit groundwater just a few centimetres below the bottom of the trench. The thaw and the rising water level of the Oder were raising the water table. We had no option but to dig small shelter holes against the hedge. Everyone dug out his hole to his own specifications.

Night-times were hellish. Every few minutes the Russians would fire machine-gun bursts at the farm. Rarely did we get so much as half an hour’s peace. The explosive bullets were devilish. They pattered against the asters in the hedge, and we regarded the ensuing splinters as harmless sparks. To protect ourselves from them we turned our holes into little caves. The nights were still cold and the dampness of the earth penetrated our camouflaged uniforms.

Every night was a long one for us. Every quarter or half hour I went along the trench from man to man warning them to be alert. During the hours after midnight we all had to fight against falling asleep. The night was dark and one could only see a few paces. It was important to react to noises. Company headquarters had told us that we would be relieved next evening. It was certainly time!

Early in the morning the sound of heavy fighting came from a north-westerly direction. We looked over the edge of the trench. A German attack! We cheered. At last German troops were trying to break out of the encirclement.

At first the Russians were quiet. I saw a German 20mm self-propelled gun break through a bush and tracer flew southwards. I heard bellowing shots and saw German soldiers charging. German machine guns fired burst after burst. The fight was taking place about one and a half kilometres away. The SPG went along east of the Alte Oder to south of Reichsstrasse 1.

We were unable to trace the events exactly. Unfortunately we soon realised that the sounds of combat were dying down. The attack seemed to have been checked. We had cheered too soon. Our disappointment was great. We could not have supported the German attack ourselves for lack of strength, manpower and weapons.[28]

About halfway through February a shell hit the demolition chamber on the Warthe road bridge, causing part of the bridge to collapse. Afterwards a provisional wooden bridge enabled the passage of pedestrians and light vehicles.

Shortly before the Warthe road bridge collapsed, we had hauled some planks across from the sawmill in the Neustadt with a one-horse cart. But an enemy fighter, an Ilyushin 2, spotted us there and chased us like hares among the stacks of wood, firing its heavy machine guns at us. As he was unsuccessful, he broke off the chase. We used the planks to prop up our position, which kept collapsing in the sandy soil. During this work a shell burst near me and buried me for a short while. However, my comrades quickly pulled me out again. Our losses meanwhile were so high that the number of soldiers was halved within a week by death or wounding.

During the first weeks we could still wash regularly. There was a point at the Warthe–Vorflut Canal railway bridge that was hidden from enemy view, where we could enter the water. Later we had the opportunity to have a proper bath. It was curious. One section was detailed for the preparation. They had to carry water in buckets and fill a boiler on the second floor of a half-destroyed house. The boiler was heated with wood and coal. Eventually each of us in our sector enjoyed a hot bath. It was a strange feeling sitting in a bathtub under artillery fire. I can recall not wanting to get out and thinking a direct hit would put an end to this misery. After the bath we were given fresh socks and underclothes.

Sometimes we had to parade briefly for a head count. These were clearly measures to raise our morale, for we were somewhat depressed.

From our positions on the Warthe bridges we could see how the Neustadt was being systematically destroyed by artillery fire. There were fires everywhere. The biggest blaze came when the railway sleeper depot caught fire, giving the dying town a ghostly light.

We had become used to dead comrades, but it was different when women or children were hit. I had to experience a shell splinter hitting a baby in its mother’s arms. I was also strongly moved when a soldier was hanged from an A-mast for plundering. His girlfriend was shot in front of the Catholic church.

Our provisions were becoming more meagre. There was hardly any warm food any more and a loaf had now to be shared between eight of us. The last meat I remember was strips of raw, albeit briefly smoked horsemeat. (When long after the war I read in reports about the siege of Küstrin that the rations were sufficient and assured, I could not understand it.) That is why we sometimes searched the cellars of abandoned houses for food; but always in great fear of being punished for looting.

When American Red Cross parcels from an evacuated prisoner-of-war camp were removed from the Altstadt, I was able to steal one from a passing truck. It contained cigarettes, conserves and other foodstuffs. The most important item was a bar of Lux soap. It was snow white and smelled unbelievably good, and each of us had one wash with it at the Warthe Vorflut bridge. Only those who experienced German wartime soap can understand what this luxury meant to us.

At night we had to prepare the lower Warthe railway bridge for heavy vehicles, that is, for tanks. For this we had to extract the sleepers from the rails. I was so exhausted that I collapsed several times. Afterwards we were given a full day to sleep it off. Usually we had to be awake for four hours and then could have four hours’ rest. We immediately fell asleep once our guard duty was over. Often I fell asleep on duty, but was able to report half-asleep whenever a superior checked. A comrade who had been found asleep at his post several times was brought before a court martial. The experience was unpleasant. We were also soon split up and I had to go to help fill another section at the Warthe road bridge that had taken high casualties.

Meanwhile the Soviet Air Force ruled the skies. Their bombers came almost every day and strangely always along the river. They aimed poorly and had many duds–something that also occurred with their artillery. We frequently saw fighter-bombers and fighters overhead. The apparently slow-flying IL-2 fighter-bombers were immune to our infantry weapons with their armour.

At night the PO-2 ‘Sewing Machines’ would appear. Predominantly built of wood and stretched material, these slow, single-engined aircraft were powered by a 110hp engine that sounded like a sewing machine. They dropped parachute flares, switched off the engine and glided while dropping small bombs on us. While we were reinforcing the Warthe railway bridge with sleepers for tank traffic, which went on until the dawn, our sentries were able to shoot down one of these aircraft.[29]

On 19 February we received the order to leave Küstrin immediately. We left our cellar in the Neustadt under fire and reached the Altstadt over an almost completely destroyed bridge. We arrived in a hail of fire. It seemed as if the heavens were in flames. We thought it was the end, but it could not be. It became quieter again and we went to the collecting point where the vehicles were standing. Only old and sick people could be taken. The Wiese family, my mother and I obtained a place on a truck that had brought ammunition into the town. We were all squeezed up together, but were happy to get away. The driver drove in such a way as to dodge enemy fire.

We arrived unharmed in Gusow from where in the morning a train took us on to Erkner and then to Woltersdorf.[2]

The night was exciting and we remained alert until dawn. Should the Russians have risked a second attack, we would have given them a hot reception. Our machine gun was back in its old position. In the trenches the men chatted about the Russian surprise attack and our counterattack. They spoke concernedly about Hans Hof and thought about the fallen. In the cellar of the manor Lieutenant Kühnel went over the events of the previous hours with his platoon commanders. What had gone wrong? In my opinion we should have provided cover for the minelayers, and they should not have been working in the open ground without protection.

We thought that the Russians had made a spontaneous surprise attack when they discovered the minelayers. We calculated the attackers at about one or two dozen. They had gone forward without preparation and counted on surprise. I think they must have asked for reinforcements but had set off before they arrived. Support from the mortar had come at the right time, and its blocking fire had enabled their rapid withdrawal. The Russians had only been able to hold the Weinbergshof for an hour, but this had been enough to reconnoitre our positions. They now knew the exact situation of our trenches, the company command post and the weakness of our defence. Their opportune attack had proved a valuable reconnaissance.

We had hardly sat back in our shelter holes when the Russians started shooting at us again with their machine guns. We noticed their nervousness and irritation. They were angry. They put the hedge and my section of the trench under particularly intensive fire, and the mortar went on firing with the hits crashing down between the buildings, and at daybreak the 76.2mm gun joined in too. We ducked down in our primitive holes. The barrage increased and lasted longer. The Russians wanted to keep us awake. We urgently needed a breathing space, for we were frightfully tired.

Towards midday we came under an especially bitter barrage from the 76.2mm gun, most of the shells exploding in the area of our communications trench. I crouched down in my hole. All hell was being let loose around me. I began mechanically counting the explosions to get through it.

It gradually quietened down. My ears were drumming. Dazed, I crept out of my hole. As I stood up I saw a dud shell lying on the barely 30-centimetre-thick cover of my shelter hole. The shell was right in front of my eyes. For seconds I stared at it like a mouse at a snake. I was unable to react or move. I looked at this plain piece of slightly rusted iron lying crossways. I saw the badly dented detonator, the fine threads and the blackened copper ring that the rifling of the barrel had caused.

Eventually I overcame my shock and quickly left that dangerous spot. I called out to Tiedemann and crept into his hole. He gave me my next shock. Tiedemann was kneeling propped on his carbine with his back to me. He was not wearing his steel helmet and a shell splinter no bigger than a fingernail had gone into the back of his head. There was a thin trickle of blood from the wound. Tiedemann’s face was totally altered and I could hardly recognise him. His face was unnaturally yellow, waxen and completely relaxed. He seemed to be asleep. Heinz Tiedemann, the unwarlike soldier, was dead. Why wasn’t he wearing his helmet and lying flat on the ground?

Sadness and anger overcame me. Yesterday Tiedemann had passed his 31st birthday unnoticed by us all. That evening Tiedemann’s body was taken back to Kietz by two men of my section, carried in a tent-half. We stood sad and depressed in the trench and saw him taken away without a word. We were not allowed to bury him ourselves.

Like a bombshell came a radio message from the 23rd Flak Division that the company commander passed on immediately to the men in the trenches. All members of the division were to be withdrawn from Küstrin.

At first we took the order for a latrine rumour. Why should we be selected to leave the fortress? It took a while for us to begin to believe the authenticity of the news. The company command post announced that we would be leaving the position that night. But what would happen to the Army members of our company? We were actually a Luftwaffe battery, but without our guns. Could we take the comrades that had joined us with us? I thought of Bombardier Horn. Could we leave him behind? We were completely confused.

It became dark early that evening. Our relief appeared, a mixed bunch. Many young soldiers and with them old corporals with Iron Cross ribbons. Their arms were not much, just carbines and a few machine guns. Then things began to happen quickly. We briefed our successors quickly as the company commander was calling for us to hurry. Saying farewell to our brave Bombardier Horn was particularly hard. I stood before him and gave him my hand and wished him well. Both of us tried to smile, but it did not come right. We knew that we would never see each other again.

I did not look back. Even before we reached the Chaussee I was overcome with weariness. I did not register that vehicles were waiting for us in Kietz, that we climbed on to the trucks, drove to the Alt Bleyen manor farm and left the fortress area from there in a bumping, rocking night journey. I slept on the truck like a dead man. It was daylight when I awoke from my exhausted sleep. I tried to remember what had happened but was unable to. My comrades had also slept through it. The air was fresh and my legs were stiff. I got up from the bench and pushed the tailgate of our little truck down and saw two pairs of boots hanging in front of my eyes. I jumped down from the truck and found two soldiers hanging from telephone wires with cardboard notices around their necks on which was written: ‘I was a coward!’ The sight was shocking. The soldiers’ boots almost touched the garden fence alongside which we had stopped. Everyone found this barbaric, disgusting and idiotic. On the roadside was a shield that read: ‘Anyone who is encountered west of the Oder as a straggler has forfeited his life. Any soldier that has become separated from his unit must immediately join the nearest front-line unit. There is no going back from here. The Russian avalanche must be finally stopped at the Oder!’

We were in Seelow. Our truck was alongside a small cottage. A group of men were standing near the hanged men, cursing and swearing at the SS and Feldgendarmerie; they would not be quiet.

In Fürstenwalde we went to a hutted camp. We thought that we had landed in another world, it was so clean and orderly. Signs showed that there was even a canteen. The barrack rooms were large and everyone got a freshly made bed. We could at last have a wash, a shower to scrub away the earth of the Weinbergshof trenches. And we got fresh underwear. What a luxury! A little later we were given a good lunch.[4]

I was placed under Captain Langenhahn, who was a liaison officer between the artillery and flak units and the staff, under Major Fenske of the fortress commandant’s staff. Captain Langenhahn was a soldier through and through and carried out his oath of duty until his death. He was not especially liked by the simple soldiery, because he sought to be hard and thorough in sticking to orders. I knew him for many years and can personally only speak well of him.

Mostly I was deployed as an observer on the tower of the Marienkirche in the Altstadt. I remember three special events from this time. First, a Stuka attack by part of Rudel’s squadron. Secondly, a Soviet bridge downriver on the Oder. Once I called down our heavy artillery fire on it from behind the German front line. Direct hits broke the bridge, but within hours the Russian engineers had repaired the damage. Thirdly, Major Fenske. He had been in the First World War and came from Dresden. When I was on duty as observer on the church tower of the Marienkirche he would sometimes join me. As he was a heavy smoker, I gave him my cigarettes. He would set himself at the periscope and ask: ‘Bölke, where are the cigarettes?’ and smoke one after another. Major Fenske possessed good military knowledge and also a cooperative attitude. Between ourselves, he said to me: ‘Bölke, we are not going to win the war any more. Don’t put yourself so much at risk. Let Langenhahn do it. You have to survive.’ I believe that his main thought was how to survive this engagement and come out of this shitty situation.

The fortress had two reactive mortars. They were not mobile but fired from racks. Their chief had been promoted from Second-Lieutenant to Major in the course of the events of 20 July 1944 and fell during the siege. One day a war correspondent appeared in Küstrin and wanted to take pictures of the reactive mortars being fired. He misunderstood the instructions by the officer responsible about the danger from the rocket-like tail blast, got too close and scorched his forehead. He then complained to the staff about his destroyed camera and damaged uniform.[6]

Towards the end of February the enemy brought many tanks and trucks into Alt Drewitz, the noise of which came over to us. Observers established the presence of Stalin-Organs and guns. We expected a Russian attack. Instead, one lunchtime a Stuka squadron appeared, Rudel’s squadron, and bombarded the enemy positions.

Although this meant that a Soviet offensive was now unlikely, enemy pressure on the Cellulose Factory increased. It was less quiet in our position on the north-west side of the factory premises. The firing of mortars and Stalin-Organs increased. Since we were not visible from the front, I sometimes had the impression that an enemy observer was located on the chimney behind us and was directing the fire.

When a returning Soviet bomber squadron flew over us, our anti-aircraft gun shot down the leading aircraft, whose tail plane hit a second bomber and the remainder hit a third. All three enemy bombers fell from the one direct hit.

I was wounded by a shell splinter in the right arm while taking a message to the firing position. Nils Fauck brought me back. The dressing station was on the first floor in one of the housing blocks opposite our company command post. It was in the charge of a corporal with a glass eye. He had tended the wounded during a mortar barrage. There was a rumour that he was a degraded doctor. He operated on me straight away. During the night I awoke from my drugged sleep when a 105mm flak gun fired not far from my window. This gun which we had found in the Cellulose Factory had an alternative firing position in front of our dressing station and was tended by former Luftwaffe auxiliaries of our company. While I was detained at the dressing station I saw it shoot up two enemy tanks that advanced over the open land between the Cellulose Factory and the Drewitzer Unterweg at night camouflaged as haystacks.

I was still at the dressing station when I was wounded for a second time. French civilian workers were digging an anti-tank ditch in front of the buildings. The Russians laid down mortar fire on them and a splinter hit my back when I looked out of the window. Until I was fully recovered I was detailed to work in the company’s radio position, but this did not happen, as I had a confrontation with the quartermaster-sergeant, who sent me back into the front line. When I arrived at the Cellulose Factory, Second-Lieutenant Thom had already been informed by a runner and told me: ‘I’ve already heard. However, you will remain as a runner as before. The quartermaster-sergeant can come here and see me if he doesn’t like it.’

That same evening our company commander, Lieutenant Schellenberg, organised a night fighting patrol as ordered. Nils Fauck, who during my absence had been manning the radio and telephone, went of his own accord. The attack took place on 23 February, supported by flame-throwers, artillery and mortars, the latter firing from the Cellulose Factory. (Whether the mortars had been moved here for this reason, I do not know.) In our opinion the undertaking was senseless and costly. My friend Wolfgang Warner was wounded in it. Nils Fauck was brought back to the dressing station with a shot through the arm. I did not see him again, nor did I find him again after the war. I met Wolfgang Warner again in Munich and we are still in contact.[11]

Enemy artillery fire especially on the Cellulose Factory and the Oder Vorflut bridges. Lively activity by our own artillery with good success. Our own patrols active against positions northwards of Alt Drewitz and south of Kietz.

Another reconnaissance in an easterly direction was made towards the end of February. This time we got stuck in no-man’s-land with a similar enemy undertaking. No one attained their goal. Here the greater firepower of the enemy showed itself. This was the first time I had had an assault rifle and experienced a blockage. Nevertheless it ended well.

Our position was in open country east of the Zorndorfer Chaussee. In front of us was a low, lightly wooded hill that was in Russian hands. We lay in partly covered foxholes. Our weapons consisted of carbines, some assault rifles and hand grenades. The enemy was at times only about 100 metres away. Apart from occasional shell bursts, it was quiet all day long, as snipers prevented all movement. At night Soviet double-deckers (‘Sewing Machines’) flew over us and dropped small explosive charges. A three-man team in a hole 20 metres from us received a direct hit.

One day as we were celebrating the shooting down of a fighter with a lot of noise, the Russian side reacted with a long-lasting hail of shells.

Notices displayed in the town announced the Fortress Commandant’s order that coal and potatoes could be taken from abandoned buildings. Everything else was considered as looting and would be severely punished with death. This almost included me, as I took a half-filled bottle of paraffin from the cellar of Siedler’s Waldgastätte pub. I wanted to soak the damp wood in our bunker stove with it, but I was caught by Captain von Oldershausen, who was accompanying my company commander. The battalion commander wanted to make an example of me and demanded a statement as the basis for a court martial. Second-Lieutenant Fleischer was able to prevent this, but was himself given a severe reprimand at the battalion command post next day.

While on a reconnaissance of the area at the beginning of February, we had come across some cans of sausage in the cellars of the abandoned hospital in the woods. Each of us three soldiers took a full box of cans. Speed was needed to cross the railway embankment, which was under enemy observation. Anyone moving attracted at least Russian mortar fire. When we returned next day, the cellars had been emptied.

By the end of February our rations were even more reduced. Apart from this, the warm rations were cold by the time they reached us, and our displeasure could be seen on our faces. The paymaster responsible appeared with a drawn pistol, being concerned for his own safety while the food was being handed out.

After four weeks in action our platoon had earned a rest in the von Stülpnagel Barracks. Meanwhile a heavy machine gun was deployed in support of our position in the Kohlenweg-Zorndorfer Chaussee crossing, its crew being Waffen-SS.[14]

The focus of attention is on the Bienenhof. An officer commanding there considers Monte Cassino, where he was from the beginning until it was abandoned, as child’s play in comparison to what our men at the Bienenhof have to put up with! Perhaps a bit overstated, but it is certainly violent.

From Russian field post letters taken by us from them, it seems that the Russians have had enough of the war. Further, they have become anxious, for they write that they have come against an especially strong position that they cannot do anything about. They can be hit by a bullet at any moment!

Things are still all right for us now that I know where you are! The rations are very good. We also have water now, only the power has given up. Of course it does not come from main grid any more, but from one of the big plants. Yesterday a few cables were hit but are now working again.[18]

Anyone who deserts now will not be saving his life… We must free ourselves from all peacetime ideas to pursue this war. We have done everything to raise the soldier from the mass of the people as a warrior. We have simplified his life. He gets even more to eat than has to be worked hard for at home. We have made separation from their families back home easier with generous welfare measures. Now is the time for soldiers to show themselves worthy of their homeland…If we don’t do it, it will be all over for us.

The heavy weight of the encirclement around the fortress has moved during the course of this month from the daily and nightly skirmishing with enemy infantry and armoured forces to the battle with the heavy weapons, as shown during the course of today. [The garrison’s measurable value in weaponry had virtually been eliminated, as the latest information in the last official statistics published showed only one tank and three aircraft destroyed in eleven days.] Meanwhile the Soviets have carried out a vast planned deployment of their artillery and engaged important targets in the fortress. On separate days they have increased their fire capacity quite considerably without revealing special objectives or using their whole firepower together.

On 7 March the Russians opened their long-awaited offensive on our position. Heavy artillery fire opened the attack. We could hardly see out of our cover. There were bangs and explosions everywhere. Along the road from the north-west came tanks and infantry towards us, almost moving into their own fire. From this point on I cannot remember what happened during the rest of that day. Apparently we quit the position in fear and fled in panic to south of the Warthe. I can still see a Russian who saw me around the corner of a building and, like me, pulled back in shock.

My memory returns that evening as we entered an industrial complex in the dark. It was the Cellulose Factory, already enclosed on three sides by the Russians that evening. Only the west side, the Warthe bank, was still clear and offered possible salvation. Nevertheless, we would have to swim across the Warthe.

Although we were still delighted to be defending the Fatherland and believed in final victory, none of us was looking for a hero’s death. The possibility of imprisonment hardly occurred to us, as we had often heard from people in the front line how the Russians killed prisoners. There only remained the high risk and unpleasantness connected with crossing the Warthe. Various possibilities were discussed among the stragglers and those thrown together. Above all, the crossing of the Warthe could only be done under cover of darkness, as the sector concerned was under enemy observation and fire in daylight. Even in the darkness there was the danger of being seen through the light of fires and flares.

Together with my classmates Blauberg and Chmilewski, I decided to swim across the Warthe. Salvation before our eyes and the danger behind us gave us unusual strength to overcome the cold and wet. Staying together so as to be able to help one another if necessary, we reached the bank of the Altstadt peninsula. Two others from our school, Roeder and Specht, must also have swum across, for we met up with them again in the Altstadt in our next job. How the last two got across I have no idea, nor do I know what happened to our officer-cadet comrades. I don’t remember what clothing we wore to swim across. I only know that we reached the far bank and walked on a few steps. Then my strength must have deserted me. I awoke in a cellar of the Boys’ Senior School in front of the Oder bridge in the Altstadt. I was lying on a double-decker bunk under several water pipes and had no idea where I was for quite a long time.[4]

On 7 March the long-expected offensive from Alt Drewitz began. The Russians broke through to the southern end of Drewitzer Strasse and reached the railway embankment. On the morning of the 8th, Lieutenant Schellenberg took two sections from the north-western position and made a front facing southeast with them and the headquarters troop. As we in the Cellulose Factory did not know the reasons for this, we first thought the company commander wanted to go this way over the nearest railway bridge across the Warthe into the Altstadt. From the factory premises we established that the Russians were pressing from the three landward sides and only the fourth side bordering the Warthe was free.

Surrounded by the Russians, Lieutenant Schellenberg surrendered with both sections and the company headquarters troop. As all the others put their hands up, my barrack room comrade, Heinrich von Kölichen, wearing his steel helmet and overcoat, jumped into the Warthe. The Russians shot at him and hit him in the head. When he went under we all thought he was dead. But I met him about eight years later in Münich and worked with him in his business until his death 30 years later.[5]

From mid-February we were in the Neustadt Schützenstrasse with our two guns. At about the beginning of March, I was assigned to an infantry role in my battery. An anti-tank ditch was dug right across Schützenstrasse at about the level of the Apollo Cinema. Russian tanks breaking through were supposed to be stopped there.

When the Russians attacked the Neustadt they came from an unexpected direction and we had to withdraw. I was able to get over the Warthe railway bridge to the Altstadt. The swinging part of the bridge had already been pulled aside. We laid a wooden plank across to the swinging part to get across. As the plank was not very secure, some comrades slipped and fell into the water. No one could pull them out under the enemy fire. I crept across on all fours.

We were immediately sent into the trenches on the Gorin at the Böhmerwald Restaurant to prevent possible Russian attempts to cross.[6]

Meanwhile my troop leader had been killed and I had to take over the role of observer myself. That was not the worst part. The artillery chief of staff had let it be known that the heavy weapons would be firing at a gap-free system of target areas, and thus not from the map. The whole thing had the air of a desk-bound illusion. It was hard to believe that two light infantry guns and a heavy mortar would be able to shoot on these lines, which took no account of their slow rate of fire, and depended upon numerous guns being available, which was not the case. Apart from that, we had not only one but several target areas to cover. The impossibility was clear to me as a mere NCO laden with a false responsibility.

In fact my superior, Second-Lieutenant Pfeiffer, had to take over the observation post. I asked him to come to the observation post, in order to see him at least once, as there was only an NCO on duty. He came. It was 7 March 1945. We climbed up the air raid observation tower, but when the second lieutenant saw the big hole in the roof made by the Russian anti-tank gun, the blood on the floor and the splintered map board of the artillery observer who had been killed here, he took a quick look at the landscape and we climbed back down into the cellar, where I was accommodated with my signalmen and had prepared a little breakfast with the motto: Always hopeful!

We had hardly taken our first bite when the dreadful din of the Russian barrage broke over us. It was proper drumfire–perhaps like the First World War in Flanders. I do not know how long it lasted. Who was watching the clock? We all knew that Ivan was attacking. It was also obvious that no one could survive the drumfire on the front line. Through the cellar window we could see big chunks of the upper storeys of the field hospital falling. The hospital doctors’ quarters and the housing estate houses through which the front line ran were being smashed to the ground. I stood at the cellar gable exit and waited for the fire to ease off. When it did so, I could hear the tanks moving and the firing of sub-machine guns. The attack was under way.

When the firing of tank guns and handguns had about reached the level of the field hospital, the second lieutenant, his sergeant and I ran out of the cellar and behind the building. The signalmen and most of the infantry remained in the cellars. The first barrage had destroyed our communications. It was hoped that some of those remaining in the buildings would get out, but those that remained were all lost.

During the first day of the attack the Russians had taken half of the Neustadt as I saw it. Of the leadership on our side in the Neustadt nothing can be said, they had all gone.[7]

There were some quiet and warm days at the beginning of March that we enjoyed in front of the casemate on our sheltered peninsula. We had three or four hens, whose eggs were shared among the men. Things changed when the Soviet troops reached the east bank of the Warthe and attacked over the river.

My company commander was extremely concerned when the ordered demolition of the damaged road bridge for which he was responsible failed to work at first, as he imagined himself being put in front of a court martial. The delay, however, was advantageous, for several people were able to get back safely before the bridge finally blew up.

Four or five members of my company were captured by the Russians at the engineers’ water training place on the east bank of the Warthe. One of them, whose mother tongue was Polish, was able to understand the Soviet soldiers. They argued as to who should take the prisoners back and then, as no one wanted to, they switched their sub-machine guns to single shots and shot them one after the other. Only the witness was able to save himself as, thanks to his knowledge of the language, he realised early enough what was going to happen. Knowing the area well from his training time, he threw himself desperately into the water and swam across the Oder to us. He told us everything.

There was a problem with the swing bridge. It had been swung open and so stood crossways, but this was not secure enough. A sergeant carrying a demolition charge crept out at night in his stockinged feet to the middle of the stream, prepared the bridge for demolition and ignited the charge. The required aim was achieved as the western part of the bridge flew into the air. This bridge had carried a single-track railway line from Kietzerbusch station in an almost northerly direction to Küstrin main station. Following the damage to the road bridge, it had been made usable for motor vehicles by laying railway sleepers on it. The traffic was controlled by allowing movement in one direction for half an hour at a time.

One day we received orders to erect a gallows on this road, as a sergeant was to be hanged for ‘organising’ bedclothes with his girlfriend. The penalty for looting was death. In accordance with our orders, we built a gallows on the substitute road, but the SS team responsible for carrying out the execution preferred to use an A-shaped telephone pole at the spot where the traffic waited for its turn to cross. It took the SS team 20 minutes to hang the man there where the substitute road began and the rails crossed the road leading across the Warthe to the Neustadt. Consequently we were spared having to watch the execution itself. The sergeant was stripped of his insignia and had a notice on his breast reading ‘I am hanging here because I looted’. He was right in front of our position.

Two soldiers of my own company were executed in February or March. One had ‘organised’ a typewriter from a private house, which counted as plundering. The other, in deadly fear, had shot himself in the arm in an effort to get into the relative safety of a hospital, but such self-mutilation also merited the death sentence. The doctor bandaged the wound, which possibly saved his life, and then reported in accordance with orders that he had found traces of powder in the wound. This report cost the man his life. He was not even eighteen years old.[8]

On the evening of 8 March I was sentry on the middle Warthe bridge. Its centre section was swung aside. Russians suddenly appeared in the darkness on the part of the bridge opposite. The glowing face of a soldier lit by the moon appeared in my carbine sights. But I could not shoot him, firing a warning shot instead. Shortly afterwards I was posted with a railway sapper directly on the Warthe road bridge. The sapper was withdrawn that same night and I was left completely alone with our machine-gun team exactly 100 metres behind me. It also had to cover the flooded land up to the Sonnenburger Chaussee and could not keep observation on the bridge.

All night of 8/9 March I held on to a German bridgehead in front of the road bridge. Then it was abandoned and the bridge blown. From the other bank I could hear busy vehicle movement and also tank engines.[10]

The main enemy attack began at the beginning of March with a strong artillery preparation. When it quietened down again, we got up and moved our gun to a new position, which I believe was already in the Neustadt. At night the ‘Sewing Machines’ flew over and threw their bombs at us. We now lay with comrades of another unit, who had survived the bombardment together. We could hear sounds of battle coming from the Cellulose Factory.

There was another heavy bombardment next day. It was terrible. We received orders to render the gun unserviceable and to withdraw taking the machine guns with us. Chaos reigned. There were many dead and wounded crying for help. Of my gun crew only one other survived, a comrade from the Siebenbürgen who was carrying the machine gun, and myself with the ammunition box. The din was hellish. Suddenly a T-34 appeared in front of us. Dead scared we dived into a bomb crater in which live and dead German soldiers were lying. The tank swung its turret round with its gun barrel pointing towards us, but could not reach us because of the dead angle. As it turned away we could hear the ‘Urrah!’ of Soviet infantry. We left the machine gun and ammunition box behind in the crater and joined the others running away. The Russians pressed hard behind us. Suddenly it was back to the Warthe and over the railway bridge to the Altstadt. We crossed a park where, to our horror, snipers sitting in the trees fired at us. Many comrades fell dead or were left behind wounded.

We were unable to get across the bridge, for it was under heavy fire, apart from which several wagons on our side hindered the approaches. Further back behind us was a church in whose tower there must have been an enemy observer concealed and directing fire on us while firing himself. We found shelter in a trench. Many German soldiers were lying wounded outside the trench. Some kept calling: ‘Help me, comrades!’ Others were crying out aloud. More than a few of us wanted to help them, but those who dared to leave the shelter of the trench received deadly head shots from the Russians. Those comrades who risked their lives to help others are owed deep respect. It was horrible lying there as a little group listening to the ever weakening whimpering of the dying.

The way to the bridge from the trench had meanwhile been blocked by Soviet tanks that fired at anyone trying to get out of it. Several comrades tried to dispose of the tanks in the dark with hollow charges or Panzerfausts. They succeeded but it cost them their lives. Some of us, including myself, finally managed to crawl under the wagons. We were lucky and got across the bridge but were almost shot by the German sentries. They asked for the password, but of course we did not know it. Our appearance was hardly encouraging: filthy, bloody and unwashed. Finally they believed us and took us to their headquarters, which was in a building near the town hall.

Apart from myself, I found two comrades from my unit that came from Kiel, Karsten Christiansen and Paul-Werner Schwark. Karsten had fought alongside his twin brother, but he must have been either killed or taken prisoner. (Both the boys from Kiel were released after one year’s imprisonment and died in 1997 and 1998.)[11]

We five Birnbaumers had crossed the Warthe without catching colds or other health problems and were given a new task. We had to keep the road bridge under observation from the highest point of Bastion König on the east bank of the Oder. We had to keep an eye out for drifting mines, boats carrying explosives or any other forms of attack. We no longer had an enemy directly in front of us because of the proximity of the bridge, but they were often over us. During the frequent air attacks the firing of the Russian aircraft flying close over our heads towards Kietz was always fascinating. We could watch the show from the zigzag trenches when we wanted.

We were accommodated in the casemates below. I can still remember a room there filled with Red Cross packages for now unreachable Western Allied prisoners. We only took these packages for things we coveted and thanks to these supplementary supplies we were well fed.

Artillery fire and air attacks were intense throughout the day. From our high position on Bastion König, where the Russian memorial obelisk and anti-tank gun stand today, we had a unique view over the badly damaged and severely marked town. A short excursion into the Altstadt during a pause in the firing and our duties confirmed this impression. We found no building undamaged, the streets stacked high with rubble, and in one ruined building we saw a thick dud shell, altogether a sad sight.

In a wholly destroyed shoe shop, which may have been in Berliner Strasse, a pair of spikes attracted my attention. I took them, seeing myself having an advantage in future races.

My best friends and classmates, Blauberg and Chmilewski, lost their young lives in an air attack. A bomb crushed them in a foxhole in front of a building immediately in front of the north-eastern approach to the road bridge over the Oder. Attempts to dig them out after the attack and save them were unsuccessful.

Until now I had regarded my involvement in the war as a unique adventure, but now the full tragedy, cruelty and sorrow of this war gradually became apparent. Hidden in my own corner of the casemate, I cried, trying to get a grip of and understand my situation. The desire to get out of this witches’ cauldron that arose from this was soon to be fulfilled.[12]

Once more there were no infantry to secure our guns, and so it happened that during the morning of 8 March the Russians were suddenly in among them. The gun crews, who were in a nearby cellar, were able to keep the attackers at bay with hand grenades until it was possible to flee into the maze of ruins. We reached the road bridge over the Warthe through piles of debris and completely destroyed streets escorted by artillery fire and ground-attack aircraft.

I lay under fire from the ground-attack aircraft, three of them constantly flying around in a circle, and firing at the bridge as they flew at it. As soon as each aircraft started firing, I ran behind the hits as fast as my feet would carry me. As bursts of fire from the next aircraft hit the road surface behind me I jumped into a doorway, thus reaching the Altstadt.[13]

On the evening of 8 March I was sitting with Second-Lieutenant Thom in the bunker. It was getting dark. It was obvious to us that our end as a German strongpoint was imminent. As Berliners we chatted about pubs and the bands on the Kurfürstendamm. Suddenly Private Koch came in and reported: ‘Sir, the Russians are in the trench!’ Second-Lieutenant Thom ordered the position to be cleared and a withdrawal to the factory. We left. At the end of the factory road we tried to make floats on the embankment to cross over the Warthe. The biplanes dropped parachute flares and watched us.

Remarkably, the Russians did not shoot, although they had closed in around us. At about midnight came the order to launch the floats. The current drew them into the fire of the Russian machine guns. We could hear the men on the floats shouting: ‘Keep back!’

My attempt to cross failed from the very beginning. The float tilted through overloading and I was up to my stomach in the water. I met other stragglers on the riverbank. As I was still carrying my pack, I was ordered by Second-Lieutenant Metz to establish radio contact. It failed to work. The second lieutenant then ordered: ‘Everyone to the air raid shelter!’ Before we could cross the factory road a Soviet tank fired a shell into the factory wall in front of us. A splinter hit Second-Lieutenant Metz in the right breast, came out of his back and hit me in the lower jaw, splitting my lip and ripping out three teeth by the roots. We carried Second-Lieutenant Metz to the air-raid shelter, where he was given our individual tetanus injections. He was very brave.

Meanwhile Second-Lieutenant Thom had reappeared. As I was very wet, I was allowed to take dry underwear, socks, riding socks and boots from his suitcase. My nose was full of blood too, but I drank some orange liquor out of a jar and jammed some canned meat past my wound into my mouth. Second-Lieutenant Thom went on without me. (I later saw him at the entrance to the prisoner-of-war camp at Landsberg-ander-Warthe wearing a postman’s uniform.)

During the night I suggested we lay our weapons outside the bunker door and stick up a white flag. Second-Lieutenant Metz agreed. On the bunker steps sat four young German-Brazilians, who had come by a neutral ship via Portugal, Spain and southern France and reached Küstrin in December 1944. They were very proud and said that they would not go into Soviet captivity but would shoot themselves. Although I could only speak with difficulty, I tried to get them to change their minds: ‘The Russians can shoot us, but perhaps we will survive.’ It did not help. As we were leaving the bunker, they shot themselves.

Meanwhile I was wearing a blood-soaked bandage over my mouth. One of my Berlin comrades said: ‘Half your mouth is gone.’ On the morning of 9 March the first Russian came down the bunker steps and said: ‘All comrades out!’ and aimed his sub-machine gun going backwards. As I was sitting next to the steps, I went first.[14]

We were relieved on 9 March and had two days in the von Stülpnagel Barracks to sleep it off, clean ourselves up and change our underwear. Although this was necessary, we found little peace as the situation became worse and we were surrounded.[16]

All hell broke loose at daybreak on 9 March. Ceaseless drumfire of all calibres covered our sector. Machine guns were also firing. Suddenly I saw how the Russians were launching long thin boats on the opposite embankment. I began firing at them, causing them to give up their attempt to cross, but they resumed after a while. Again I was able to prevent them. Excitedly, I fired without interruption. Meanwhile my carbine became hot. I was standing in a well-camouflaged position in the embankment immediately off the western end of the bridge. Suddenly two machine guns were firing at me. The enemy had found me.

Then a belt of machine-gun fire caught me. I felt a hard blow on my left shoulder and could not lift my arm any more. Blood was running out of my sleeve. I thought I had been shot in the lungs, for I started breathing hard, but this could later be attributed to fear and overstress. In panic I ran back to our machine-gun position. At last I reached the end of this short stretch. It was without cover and the dam in front looked as if it had been ploughed up, but thank God my comrades were still alive. I reported the situation at the Warthe and took myself to the company command post. The machine-gun team was immediately sent to the road bridge. From the bursts of fire from their MG 42 that I could hear, I gathered that they were dealing with the rest of the enemy boats.

Once more I crossed the fully exposed Vorflut bridge. Again I ran for my life with bullets whistling past my ears, and rolled down the embankment. A sergeant was lying there with a frightfully shot-through foot, who had bandaged himself. We gathered up the shreds together and stumbled off with him on my back through the enemy fire to the command post. There the cellar windows were covered with iron plating so I had to bang hard until we were let in. Once inside both of us lost consciousness.

Later I was sent to a dressing station. Here, to my great surprise, there was warm barley soup, of which I gulped down two ladlefuls. Here I was shown that I must have had a guardian angel, for there were two holes in my steel helmet. One bullet had, without wounding me, gone twice over the top of my forehead, and I had not noticed it. The medical orderly thought my arm would have to be amputated, as a result of which I was given a wound chit to leave the fortress and was taken by night in a supply convoy to the hinterland.

Following a doctor’s intermediary check, I landed next morning in a little field hospital in Strausberg, where I fell into a two-day sleep. When two young nurses woke me up, I thought they were angels and that I was in heaven. The glaring contrast between the hell of Küstrin and the peace in the field hospital had given my fantasy wings. Next day I was transferred to a big Strausberg school overfilled with wounded. Freshly wounded were being constantly brought in and the dead taken out. Here one could see what victims the Oder Front was demanding.[17]

As we no longer had a gun, I became a runner and saw how the destruction of Küstrin Altstadt continued daily. From my time as a runner, I recall the Alt Bleyen manor farm, a view of the enemy-occupied paper mill, and the Russians moving across the flooded land between the Oder and Warthe.

Next came action in the casemates opposite Kietz at the far end of the bridge [Lunette D]. If I remember correctly, there was an old cannon standing on the left-hand side. There was a field dressing station there where the wounded were given first aid. There were many dead in a little wooden hut in the inner courtyard. There was talk of a remote-controlled Goliath having been used in Kietz, and I believe I saw one.

Then we experienced the second main Soviet attack on Küstrin. After a strong artillery preparation, the Soviets attacked again somewhere. In the end we were down to one Panzerfaust. We reached the Altstadt by the railway bridge under enemy fire and over dead comrades. The church north of the Schloss and the buildings on the market place were on fire, with dead lying around.

I became a runner to Fortress Commandant Reinefarth, whose command post was in the Schloss behind the gate in the forward left corner. The thick walls of the Schloss had been breached to allow access to the communication trenches. A field hospital for badly wounded had been set up in the cellars. If I remember correctly, all the wounded lay on plank beds, only one of the worst injured was on a camp bed under a gauze tent. A doctor and a Red Cross nurse did what they could, but I believe there was a shortage of medical supplies.

The runners’ route led me to a weapon that I had never seen before. It stood on the north-east edge of the Altstadt outside the casemate. At first I thought it was a V1 rocket until someone told me it was a ‘Stuka zu Fuss’–a large projectile in a wooden case that also served as its launcher.[18]

About 10 March I was ordered to take up quarters in the courthouse. I could find nobody there, but found a cellar filled with camp beds and lit by a petroleum lamp, and had a long chat with a young second lieutenant. I believe his name was Schröter and he was about two years older than me. His idealism influenced me greatly. His brother had fallen for Germany and he too would give his life for his country. There was no such thing as a meaningful death for a young man. The second lieutenant said this without any fanaticism and completely calmly. And his simplicity impressed me immensely, although I knew that I would never think this way myself.[20]

Then came 11 March. In the early morning we moved to our last position in the Wald Cemetery. It was a Sunday and also Heroes’ Memorial Day. The red sunrise reminded me of the words of the song ‘Morgenroth, Morgenroth, leuchest mir sum frühen Tod’ [‘Red dawn, red dawn, light me to an early death’]. In view of the ever-decreasing encirclement of the von Stülpnagel Barracks, this thought was not without significance in my state of mind.

After several air attacks and especially after their mortar fire, the Russian pressure from the west and north became ever stronger. Somewhere in the cemetery complex I lost my way. Somehow I became separated from my platoon and suddenly found myself opposite two Soviet soldiers in a trench; they had sub-machine guns in their hands but not aimed at me. Like lightning I threw aside the two hand grenades stuck in my belt and ran off to find my comrades, who had noticed my mistake and called me back. At first they thought that I was deserting, as I had not heard them shouting over the din of battle.

An SS man was calling from outside the cemetery fence: ‘Comrades, I am wounded and from the SS! Shoot me!’ His voice became more appealing, then weaker and soon could not be heard any longer.

In the late afternoon we withdrew to the von Stülpnagel Barracks. Some white flags could be seen hanging from one of the barrack blocks alongside the street. Bullets from Soviet sub-machine guns hunted us as we darted across the chaussee. Some officers with drawn pistols met us close to the barrack gate, south of the ranges.

With a shot-through bread bag and scarred water bottle, but without any damage to my body, I found shelter with other comrades in the cellars of the barracks.

About 25 to 30 men had managed to leave the cemetery. No one could or would say who had fallen there or had been wounded and left behind. The company strength had been about 70 men that morning. In this situation, and with the knowledge that in the end we were trapped in Küstrin Fortress, it was all the same to us. Latrine rumours began to circulate.

Further it was said that the enemy had already penetrated the northernmost of the second row of barrack blocks from the chaussee. Covered pathways connected all the buildings in this row. As our building was immediately next to it, I crouched in one corner of the cellar and imagined a flame-thrower directed at me.

A Soviet tank had driven on to the parade ground. The T-34 kept a safe distance from attacks by German soldiers armed with Panzerfausts.

Finally the order was given to pick up ammunition. Were we going to defend ourselves and fight back? Although I obeyed the order unwillingly, I collected 120 carbine rounds, then we were each given a loaf of bread and a tin of sausage meat.

Thoughts of various kinds, depression and the hope of staying alive, changed in this situation for many of us. Even the thought of eating until one’s stomach was full once more before dying was understandable with our hunger rations.

We assembled to break out on the night of 11/12 March. Noisy items such as gasmasks and water bottles were set aside and our helmets were exchanged for forage caps so as to confuse the Red Army soldiers for at least a short time.[21]

Today is Sunday, and this morning I received your letter of 6 March with great delight. Fantastic! A courier brought it. He had spent a good two hours in the town looking for our quarters.

I am pleased and happy that you are relatively all right and that you have not had any bomb damage. According to yesterday’s Wehrmacht Report the situation where you are seems a bit better. Let us hope it improves or at least remains that way. My concern for you, you can understand. Now I am feeling a bit better. I now have seven letters from you. I keep reading them. That is my comfort and my support.

The situation is not exactly rosy here. The Russians are creeping forward doggedly and unwaveringly closer. We have not been able to stop them. They have plenty of artillery and in good weather the bombers come too in rolling waves. Naturally there are fires burning all over the place. There are also no longer any buildings that have not been hit, but ours has got off lightly so far. We have not been able to get out for eight days now, but that does not matter. We on the staff were on maximum alert throughout the night, but nothing happened. The Russians have pulled back from our positions again.

The day before yesterday was our and my worst day. Continual shells and bombs so that often one could not communicate. But the Russian attack stalled and they cleared out during the night.

Of course the Russians keep on firing even now, but our ‘Stukas zu Fuss’–‘bellowing cows’ or ‘Hitler’s donkeys’ as the Russians call them–are roaring over us comfortingly.

The rations continue to be good. Now we are getting additionally American canned food, raisins, Vitamin C and cigarettes, from which I am sending you the second packet of Camels in a separate envelope. (I will not put the letter in with it so that at least it arrives, while the cigarettes could be stolen.)

I am fine again after a bout of bronchitis eight days ago with 38.7 degrees of fever that I did not mention to you. But this was corrected perfectly by Dr Kordelle, who gave me Elcudron and Siran with three days of bed rest, so that the day before yesterday I was able to stay many hours in the trenches commanding my unit.[22]

During the night of 11/12 March a breakout attempt was made from the encircled Neues Werke/Infantry Barracks. Those driven back to the Infantry Barracks surrendered next morning. We were taken to a large square and relieved of all our things: watches, briefcases, bread bags, eating utensils, washing, shaving and tooth-cleaning items, family photos and handkerchiefs, everything was taken. Finally the vultures had us remove the swastika badges from our uniforms.

We had to parade on the street. A German soldier with a white armband translated the Russian orders: ‘5 by 20 men!’ I finally counted twenty marching blocks, in other words 2,000 men, and wondered how it came to be so many.

We passed German civilians on the road, all refugees. On 15 March we reached a large reception camp in Landsberg. For four days we were given neither food nor drink. We sucked our aluminium identity disks to relieve our thirst. Some prisoners went crazy and were shot. Our numbers were then made up with civilians, either old men or 16-year-old boys.[24]

We left the barracks in a southerly direction at about midnight in rows, bent over, as quietly as possible and alert to all sides. Then we turned to the east and left the Army Supply Depot behind us on our right, where some buildings were burning in the southern part. Shortly afterwards we came under rifle fire from there. We went on in complete darkness, following the man in front, across open ground and through a small depression. We could see burning houses in the background.

Suddenly we came under fire from close by and an attack with ‘Hurrah’ cries that we countered with fire and ‘Urray’ cries. Chaos reigned. What had happened? Germans breaking out from the von Stülpnagel Barracks had clashed with German sappers breaking out from the Engineer Barracks, where they had been trapped since the beginning of the enemy attack, without recognising each other. This was because we had tried to disguise ourselves as Russians and were unaware that further German troops were breaking out towards us from the south. The sappers recognised us but too late because of the shouting. We had lost the element of surprise and alerted the Russians.

An uncanny silence surrounded me. Hardly anything was recognisable. Any sound raised the question: friend or foe? Suddenly I bumped into three sappers and stayed with them. Later I discovered that one was a sergeant with Eastern Front experience and some knowledge of the Russian language, one a corporal and one a private. The sergeant immediately took command. Without local knowledge or a map, and only armed with a compass, he had to keep going east for safety. We marched until dawn and then hid in a little wood. Once during the day an enemy column passed within 100 metres of us but did not discover us.

But 300 metres further to the west of our hiding place the Russians successfully searched a wood for German soldiers, and the cries that we heard I have never forgotten.

While two men remained on watch, the other two slept. With nightfall we set off north towards Stettin, hoping to reach the front line and German troops within six days, wanting to avoid Soviet captivity at all costs. We checked the provisions we were carrying and divided them up to cover this period.

During the following nights we sought to avoid inhabited areas, roads, tracks, bridges and enemy movement, although it did not always work. Sentries challenging us were answered by our sergeant with a well-known Russian swearword, as our hands grasped our carbines in wary reaction.

Our second worst enemy was the countryside, the Neumark. It continually forced us to make diversions and wade through knee-deep water channels. Whenever the situation allowed, we hid ourselves in daylight in barns and haystacks, where we were able to dry off our clothing a bit.

In one wooded area we found ourselves in an expansive Russian bunker system. Too late we recognised the freshly laid path in the sand as a noise reducer. The sentries must have heard something. We could hear their voices and some shots. We lay still between the rows of bunkers. We erected a small screen out of the undergrowth with our bare hands and had to remain there until dark. A cold day lay ahead of us, only the fear of being discovered keeping us warm.

The strain up to now had weakened me and now hunger was bringing on brief signs of exhaustion. Once the bread and sausage had been consumed, coffee beans that the sappers had brought with them were shared out. About half a handful of chewed coffee beans had to serve as a stimulant. Water for rinsing them down and for thirst there was ample. Only its drinkability was open to doubt from the animal bodies found in the streams.

On the sixth day we stumbled unexpectedly on wide, flowing water that could only be the Oder. We reached a bridge under construction that was about 2 metres high. It was unguarded and we went along it until coming to an abrupt end that obliged us to turn back. Upon leaving the bridge, we suddenly found ourselves standing in front of a T-34 beside a shell store. We could not stay here, and as we could find no boat, we looked for a convenient hiding place near the river.

The building site came to life at daybreak. German farm carts and Russian panje wagons delivered tree trunks. This work continued for about 15 hours. My engineer comrades considered the construction of a raft and we started to work on one in the dark. Careful hammering was done some distance from the unguarded bridge and a raft was constructed out of tree trunks and planks. Despite the noise, we remained undisturbed. When we then poled ourselves off from the east bank, we were only able to avoid capsizing by constant balancing. This journey was to last two nights.

After the first night’s journey we first had to check the raft, which was driving a bit downriver. We punted for hours until a pontoon bridge offered a place to halt, as it was supported by a tree trunk rammed upright between two pontoons. After a careful landing and reconnaissance, we discovered a sentry sleeping in a large metal drum. We did not disturb his sleep, but noted that there was a boat fastened to the bridge that we could use the following night.

This time we sought accommodation in a barn. Here we were not alone, for from time to time one could hear Morse code-like sounds. This did not disturb us, but increased our alertness.

Next night we took possession of the boat, despite the sleeping sentry, and were able to move faster on the Oder. Our attempt to go over to the left bank immediately failed, as sentries were posted at regular intervals, who fortunately revealed themselves with the lighting or glow of cigarettes. Actually we wanted to go north as far as possible to reach the front line, which showed itself even more clearly before dawn with flares and the noise of fighting.

At this juncture we approached a bridge that was still under construction in the middle of the stream. It was higher, presumably to take greater weights, and partly lit. [This was the 60-ton capacity bridge at Zellin.] The alert sentries opened fire on us at long range. In order to get out of enemy sight we had to turn around and thus reached the west bank. There was little cover on the flanks and it could not be far from the front line.

The decisive moment now lay before us. With our last strength and an inner surge we had to break through to our lines. The coming daylight drove us on. Haystacks, barns or woods for hiding in were not to be seen.

From a geographical point of view, we were in the Oderbruch. Our way on land led us directly past an enemy mortar position. Our sergeant said to the Russian sentry: ‘Come with us to Berlin!’ We breathed out as we were allowed past. Next we crossed an unoccupied communication trench, but in the next, the foremost in the Soviet system, were two shaven-headed soldiers occupied in trench construction, who recognised us as Germans, hurried for their weapons and immediately fired at us.

The distance between the Soviet and German trenches was about 500 metres. We raced in zigzags like hares, crossed another water ditch, running bent over and stumbling forwards. The ground was as flat as a plate, and the last running sapper was caught by the Russian bullets. We others dropped as soon as the fire behind us stopped.

In front of the German trenches, the sergeant noticed that we were lying in a minefield, and shots were coming from the trenches. Then came abuse: ‘Traitors!’ ‘Pigs’ ‘Seydlitz-Troops!’ A machine gun was brought up and aimed at us. At the same time rifle bullets whistled close to us. Then we were ordered one by one and with raised hands and well apart to approach the German trenches. We stood up with our carbines slung and carefully watched every step on the earth in front of us.

Pistols were aimed at our breasts. We were taken to be members of the ‘Free Germany’ National Committee, which we later discovered was active here. This dangerous situation first altered when a corporal in the group occupying the trench identified me. We had qualified together at the NCO School in Arnswalde. An odyssey of over nine days and nights ended at about 0700 hours on 21 March 1945.

We had not eaten for days, only chewed coffee beans. The bread offered us was too hard and so we held it in our hands on the way to the platoon command post, during which we came under close bombardment from enemy mortar salvoes, after which the tightly-held bread of a bluish-grey colour tasted better than cake.

After our first interview we were taken under guard to the company command post. The same again, but now more thorough. With our physical condition, our appearance and the description of our experiences and observations, all doubts were put aside. After our first food and warm drinks we were able to climb into bed in the company command post. Although completely exhausted, I could not sleep. My feet hurt under the covers and my stomach rebelled.

On the afternoon of the day we broke through, German sentries saw the punishment of two Russian soldiers at gunpoint, presumably the two that three of us had escaped from that morning.

Wearing only socks on my feet, next morning I was sent to the main dressing station at Wriezen with badly swollen feet and a skin infection. From there I went to the field hospital for lightly wounded at Tiefensee, near Strausberg, and thus became separated from my sapper comrades.[25]

When the Soviet troops reached the east bank of the Warthe, the situation on the peninsula became very dangerous. The way in, following the railway line, led in full enemy sight over an about 50-metre-long railway bridge spanning across the flooded land to our peninsula. Anyone moving on it could expect heavy machine-gun and mortar fire.

One of the two officer cadets that had come with me to the peninsula lay in a small dugout just a few paces from the bridge. He was wounded by a mortar bomb splinter in the upper thigh and had to wait until darkness before he could be extracted. He was in great pain, which he bore bravely. Presumably he got away from Küstrin as the fortress was not completely surrounded at this stage. The other officer cadet died from a mortar splinter to the head while delivering a message.

The route to the peninsula was little liked, but had to be managed every day, not least because of the water level report, which had to be read at the risk of one’s life at the foot of the swing bridge and reported to the company command post. Since the Russians had arrived on the Warthe, this had been located in a cellar of the first house on the edge of the Altstadt. If we did not receive the water level report, I had to do the job, something I particularly disliked.

My main task at this point was maintaining contact between the company commander and the individual platoons deployed near the bridge. Apart from this I had to deliver the Warthe water level report daily to the fortress commandant in the Schloss. This message carrying became increasingly dangerous as the fortress area diminished, as firing could come from all sides and there were big stretches offering little cover. More and more often I saw the bodies of soldiers lying on the streets and squares that had been hit by sudden barrages far behind the front line. The Red Army had plenty of ammunition and used it industriously.

On my messenger rounds I regularly came past the Oder Potato Meal Factory, where I could call on my father. From mid-February until the end of March I saw him practically every day.[3]

It must have been between 15 and 18 March that a Führer-Order demanded all the youths be evacuated from Küstrin. Some 40 to 50 youths assembled in a casemate room one evening. We were told that we would leave the town with the nightly supply convoy. We were briefed about the route and the way the convoy operated between the almost completely surrounded town and through the Russian lines. We could put our packs on the tracked vehicles, but would have to walk behind. Meanwhile I had acquired a pack again with some laundry and utensils. All weapons were to be left behind, but I took a small 6.35 pistol and ammunition with me despite the prohibition. As well as our packs, the tracked vehicles took the wounded to the hinterland.

Long thick ropes were attached to the rear of one of the vehicles to enable us to walk behind without losing contact. The convoy set off, left the town over the Oder and Vorflut Canal bridges, and set off into the night as quietly as possible, without any noise and without lights. We three remaining Birnbaumers kept together with others behind an armoured personnel carrier, and during the dangerous section were protected by being in the middle of the tracked vehicles. Hardly ever on proper roads, mainly on tracks and fields, we went stumbling on, but never letting go of the life-saving rope, towards safety and freedom. We reached Seelow in the early morning, recovered our packs and felt saved and at peace.

After a break in a Wehrmacht shelter on the Marktplatz, 30 to 40 of us were ordered to go on by rail to a retraining camp. The train left Seelow at midday. The orders to go to the retraining camp did not apply to us, so when the train stopped at Eberswalde we secretly got off. There was a local train on the track alongside going to Berlin-Bernau, so we stepped straight across from one carriage to the other without using the platform. As both trains set off in opposite directions, we separated from that closed and supervised group.

We knew that the main administration of our Heim Schools was based in Berlin-Spandau, so we reported back there. After three days in Berlin with nightly bombing attacks and the exchange of our fantasy uniforms for civilian clothing, my war service came to an end. With some difficulty we went by train from Berlin to Thuringia at the end of March. In Haubinda, near Hildburghausen, we found our Birnbaum school encamped, and with them my younger brother.[4]

We relieved units of the 25th Panzergrenadier Division and took up positions in the area around Alt Bleyen manor farm, the battalion headquarters and dressing station being set up in the farm. The 2nd Company’s command post was set up in the cellar of one of the few farm labourers’ cottages. The company itself occupied the prepared trenches directly in front of the farm, with a field of fire covering the Schäferei [sheep farm] and Alt Bleyen. The dugouts, however, only provided protection from splinters and light shells. Immediately south-west of the farm were two infantry guns, and two machine guns were positioned about 100 metres south-west from them. From there they could cover the whole western and southern sides with their fire. Another 100 metres further on towards Gorgast was an 88mm flak gun dug in for ground fighting. A communications trench connected these firing points and ended in the trenches we were occupying. The flat terrain started in front of our positions, extending to the Schäferei and Gorgast to the south-west. Far off to the south, towards the railway, a line of trees obstructed our view. The land was completely flat and easy to observe. Behind the labourers’ cottages were three self-propelled guns. The supply route between the hinterland and fortress ran past near the farm. Every night German tracked vehicles went along to the Altstadt and back again.

We obtained our ammunition and food supplies at night, as our supply column was located well behind the main front line. The noise of fighting came from Küstrin and the Gorgast direction all day long. At night fires reddened the sky over the fortress. For us at the Alt Bleyen manor farm Tuesday and Wednesday passed peacefully. We just had to be careful, for the Russian snipers reacted to every movement.[5]

On Wednesday afternoon [21 March] two to three hundred twin-engined Soviet bombers in close formation dropped two bomb carpets on the boundary line near Gorgast. Although the bombing area was 3 kilometres from us, the earth around us shook. This and an otherwise suspicious silence indicated that the next enemy offensive was imminent.[6]

On 20 March my company command post moved into the cellars of the Court House. It was no longer possible to check the Warthe water level and report it to fortress headquarters, but nobody asked for it. I made my rounds as a messenger under fire, visiting my father every day, on the last occasion just a few hours before his death. I believe this was on 24 March.

I remember that I returned to the Court House at dusk and was given the job of mending a shot-though cable providing power from a generator in the town to the courthouse cellar to enable us to hear the news on the radio. It had become dark, but nevertheless I still had to take cover from the ‘Sewing Machines’ flying overhead and dropping flares and incendiary and explosive bombs on anything that moved. Once the aircraft had flown off, I resumed looking for the break in the cable and was suddenly shocked by a tremendous explosion that must have occurred close by. But I had heard no bomb falling, which shocked me, as it was completely unusual. Soon afterwards I found the fault in the cable, repaired it and turned back for the Court House cellar. Then I heard on the radio the news that Allied troops had crossed the Rhine and were fighting around Dinslaken, my home town.

A little later, an NCO of my company came in and told me that my father’s command post at the Oder Potato Meal Factory had been hit by an incendiary bomb that had ignited a stack of shells. After a while the fire had reached the hand grenades stored there, setting off a violent explosion that had destroyed the north-west side of the factory. Second-Lieutenant Schröter had been left hanging head down in the beams, still conscious, but he died soon afterwards. Nothing had happened to my father, however. So I had another quiet night.

The next morning I went to my company commander asking to go to the Oder Potato Meal Factory to see what had happened. The whole way I thought what the worst could be. The previous evening the NCO had said that my father had not been seen. I found the factory mainly destroyed, above all glowing as hot as an oven so that it was impossible to go in. I then went to the nearby Artillery Barracks to ask Captain Fischer about it. On my way I passed a soldier named Müller in a trench who was in my father’s company and asked about him: ‘I cannot say’, he replied and turned away, and at that moment I knew that my father was dead.

I remember the feeling that suddenly overcame me and blanketed out everything else. I felt no sadness or despair, rather a frightful emptiness before a background that was filled with anxiety, an increasing depression and returning anxiety. A strange rigidity gripped me. If I had recognised it, it was as if I had slipped out of myself.

It was in this state that I met Captain Fischer, who officially informed me that my father was dead and expressed his sympathy. My father had personally led the team trying to extinguish the burning ammunition with water from the Oder and wet sacks. The explosion caused the building to partially collapse, burying the firefighters under the debris. They experienced a mercifully swift death, while those who had survived the collapse in the hollow space beyond were behind a wall of fire that no one could penetrate. Their cries for help could be heard but no one could get through and they were burned alive. Between ten and twenty men of my father’s company died with him.

I went back to the command post in the Court House, but cannot remember what I did or felt.[7]

The second Russian offensive on Küstrin began with an artillery preparation on the morning of Thursday, 22 March 1945. The whole front line as far as our horizon, the southern and northwestern parts of the corridor position lay under heavy artillery fire, but no shells fell on us. We had orders to hold our fire. The central part of the corridor was to remain as quiet as possible, but barely 2 kilometres from us was a frightful wall of fire, steel and earth.

As passive spectators, we had to look on as the barrage began to move. Then came the Soviet infantry and, behind the storm troops, enormous columns, including panje wagons.

The self-propelled gun commander sought me out to complain strongly about our battalion commander. Despite orders to the contrary, he had begged Major Quetz for permission to open fire, and having been refused, he said: ‘We will never have the Russians so concentrated in front of us. What losses we could inflict upon them now! All those that we don’t put out of action today we will have to defend ourselves against tomorrow under worse conditions of increased superiority. Apart from that, we would be supporting our comrades on the main front line!’

The sounds of heavy infantry and cannon fire came from Gorgast and the Schäferei that seemed to move a little and then increase into a strong cannonade. Towards noon it changed to short, raging infantry fire, then became weaker and finally ended with a dull explosion.

Since the assault that had gone past us that morning we had seen no one, either Russian or German. At dusk a wounded SS man came towards us unimpeded across the open fields. He belonged to the Leibstandarte ‘Adolf Hitler’ and reported the destruction of his battalion. He now wanted to join the other Leibstandarte battalion that should be somewhere near Berlin. When he realised that he was in an encirclement and had also been heading east, he asked for some bread and water and went back the way he had come.

Later that evening the battalion was redeployed to cover the farm from the south-west. One section took up position every 100 to 150 metres. I had to dig in with my men about 75 metres from the 88mm gun with no communications trench to the rear. The company commander personally gave me my orders: ‘This position is to be held to the last man. Evacuation only on orders!’

Towards midnight Sergeant Hoffmann and I made a reconnaissance towards the railway line. We went forward about a kilometre without seeing or hearing anyone on this dark night. Only from Küstrin was there occasional artillery fire and burning fires.[10]

It must have been one or two days later [after 20 March] that ground-assault aircraft attacked the Court House with heavy bombs. I was about to leave on my messenger rounds, but stayed in the cellar with my back to some steel air-raid shelter doors as both neighbouring cellars had been partly destroyed by direct hits. The company command post was in one of them. When the clouds of dust subsided, the steel doors were completely buckled and two men pulled the company commander out into the open.

The company command post was then established in an earth-covered bunker that was about in line with the Court House, but further north-west near the railway line in quite thick undergrowth. That afternoon or the next day, I was given the task of reconnoitring the area and trenches to the south-east. These stretched from behind the Court House, parallel to the Warthe, to the road leading to the Neustadt, where Soviet troops were expected soon. In an earth bunker I found a Russian soldier who had been wounded in the foot. I ordered him to come with me, but finally I had to put his arm around my neck and support him.

I took him to the wooden bunker and we tried to carry him between four of us to the field hospital, but this did not work, as the Friedrichstrasse that we had to cross was under heavy shellfire and we had to turn back. When we returned to the bunker, the order to retreat arrived together with the news that the railway and road bridges would be blown up behind us.

An NCO saw the wounded man and said: ‘In a fortnight he will be fighting against us again.’ He handed me his pistol and went on: ‘Take him outside and shoot him!’ I refused, as did the others, until the company cook took the pistol, led the wounded man outside and shot him. The whole scene took place in the presence of the company commander, Lieutenant Schröder, who said nothing, as if he was not in charge. I have long thought that I should have left the young Russian soldier in his hole. He would have been in safety next day, and I am convinced that his foot would have taken the rest of the war to heal.[11]

On 22 March we moved our battalion command post from the Law Courts to the Oder Malt Factory, which was not far from the Artillery Barracks on the west bank of the Oder. As I knew the town well, I had to go back over the Oder bridges into the Altstadt. The road bridge had already suffered considerable damage in the meantime. It was often difficult taking messages to the Altstadt.

Once I had to find out at night in complete darkness whether the Warthe bridges had been completely destroyed. This was not the case with the road bridge. For this task I had an escort of several men, one of whom was lost. Upon our return to the command post I had to take some bitter words from his friend.

It must have been on 22 March that Soviet bombs hit the casemate in the Friedrichstrasse. The event was devastating for us. Among those platoon commanders gathered there for a conference were Lieutenant Hagen, Second-Lieutenant Behr, Battalion Sergeant Major Gleiche, and Staff Sergeants Tewes and Kukei.

On or about 20 March the fortress commandant, SS-Gruppenführer and Lieutenant-General of the Waffen-SS Reinefarth, moved his command post out of the Altstadt to the Artillery Barracks. About five days later he gave over command of the fortress to Captain Fischer, who mockingly said: ‘So a little captain will now take over the fortress.’ This fact has not been noted in any book to appear so far. However, I had this from the mouth of Captain Fischer himself![12]

The Russians attacked us on Friday afternoon without any preliminary reconnaissance, artillery or armoured support. They came from the direction of the Gorgast–Kietz railway line in line abreast, widely spaced out and several metres apart, holding rifles or sub-machine guns in their hands. The first row was followed by a second, this by a third, then the fourth, fifth and sixth. Despite orders to the contrary, the two machine guns behind us opened fire at 800 metres and all the other weapons joined in. The Soviet infantry then advanced in bounds as our artillery in the Seelow area joined in the battle. They merely dug themselves in before us as they came under direct fire from the 88mm gun. This position was the turning point of the Russian attack. West of us the attackers stormed further northwards, thus thrusting eastwards and digging in 100 to 200 metres from the heavy machine guns and the rifle trenches west of the farm. This attack was a difficult but precisely executed manoeuvre, assisted by the inaccuracy of the German defensive fire.[14]

During the night leading to Saturday [24 March] more fires flamed in Küstrin. In the south-west German troops sought to break out of the encirclement. They forced the Soviet front back with strong artillery fire and started fighting for Gorgast in the depths of the night. However, they were brought to a halt and shortly afterwards were driven back to the west by the Red Army.

For my comrades and me this failure was a great disappointment. With my section I had marked the south-westerly point of the Küstrin encirclement and seen the fire of our relieving troops about 3 kilometres away.

The noise of combat came from Küstrin all day long. At night, when it was quiet, fires lit up the town. The Russians also shot a building within the farm area into flames practically every night, making the delivery of ammunition and food difficult. Sometimes it took more than two hours for the few hundred metres to be covered, and once it succeeded only at the second attempt. Every night the ‘Orderly Sergeant’, an armoured Soviet biplane, appeared and would switch off its engine near its target then glide over it dropping small shrapnel bombs. During the day several German aircraft flew over Küstrin and dropped supply containers by parachute.

The Russians penetrated a gap in the positions between us and the 3rd Company, and occupied an isolated farm. From there a gun brought us under such uncomfortably direct fire that the battalion’s assault platoon received orders to regain the farm. The badly led attack in the dark, without the support of heavy weapons, failed.

One evening I had a stupid altercation with the 88mm battery commander. He inspected the flak position and then came to my section under cover of darkness. A steel helmet protected the head of this officer. After I had made my report, he told me off for wearing a field cap in the front line. When I told him that we only wore steel helmets under certain conditions, and that my company commander also wore a field cap, the altercation became louder until in the end I had to give way, if only for a few minutes, until he had disappeared in the direction of the manor farm.

The battalion lay under heavy fire on the Saturday and Sunday from infantry weapons, Stalin-Organs and guns. The worst were the often hour-long attacks by ground-attack aircraft, which concentrated on the infantry guns but failed to put them out of action. The battalion’s losses increased, but my section was lucky so far.[16]

On Saturday [24 March] the 3rd Company on our left was thrown out of its positions. Their counterattack on Sunday failed because of the company commander having a nervous breakdown. The immediate enemy response thrust into the company’s departure line, occupied it and closed up to the south-eastern corner of the manor farm complex.[17]

In March I received orders to build and occupy a new position, also on the Oder dyke, but about 100 metres from the infantry bunker. This put us about 500 metres from the Bienenhof, lying on a mound where once a pub had stood. From here I could fire towards the Sonnenburger Chaussee. Far off to the south-west, south and south-east we could sometimes see enemy vehicles, but did not fire at them. Sometimes when we had permission to open fire, we fired at targets on the west bank of the Oder.

In the course of the offensive on the Altstadt we too came under strong artillery fire. The dugout in which I was received two direct hits, causing the entrance to collapse and making a hole in one of the walls. At least the latter served me well, for I was able to crawl out through the hole. The cause of this was a Soviet anti-tank gun on the west bank of the Oder.

My right eye had been hit and was falling out. In addition one nostril had been pierced through and a large wooden splinter was stuck in my upper lip. One of my men suffered a bruised groin from the same shell-burst. There were no other casualties as at the beginning of the barrage the men had spread out so that a direct hit would only get one man. I said good-bye to my men and went back to the Altstadt alone. There were no communication trenches from our position to the rear, only individual foxholes. My route was along the foot of the dyke across the Oder levels, followed for a long time by bursts of enemy machine-gun fire, fortunately too high or too far away.

Because of my sudden reduction to one eye, my progress was uncertain and not very fast. To avoid the enemy fire, I crossed the dyke and went on along the Chaussee. Here, however, the Russian rifle positions were closer, so I crossed back to the Oder levels, where I soon reached the dead angle.

Our company command post was in a casemate near the Kietz Gate, right on the road and a bit north of the big road junction. There was also an infantry command post here, a room for the Panther turret crew and the replacement crew for my gun. I sought out the latter first and was bandaged for the first time. The infantry company commander had me brief him on the events at the Bienenhof. I was able to stop Wolfgang Paul from going forward with his men for the moment, as it made no sense to do so, and also avoided unnecessary injuries.

As the Altstadt was under strong artillery fire, I remained in the casemate. Only at nightfall did the firing reduce to harassing fire. When comrades took me to the Schloss the streets were still burning right and left. The field hospital was in a cellar with the rooms for patients laid out with mattresses. I did not receive the attention of a doctor until the following day, because, in my opinion, the only doctor was expecting many acute cases of badly wounded soldiers. When I asked the doctor about the condition of my eye, he replied that I would have to get used to it for a long time.

How long I was in the field hospital in the Schloss cellars, I do not know. The weak lighting was the same day and night. There was plenty of coming and going, but I lost all sense of time. I lay on my mattress and dozed.[18]

Later I was sent to a flak battery located on the west bank of the Oder near the Reichsgarten pub. There were two guns in the position, and from there we were able to shoot up two Soviet tanks coming up the Sonnenburger Chaussee. Several German dead were buried behind the Artillery Barracks at the Reichsgarten pub.

When we had run out of ammunition for our guns, or the guns had been hit by enemy fire, I was assigned as an infantryman in the Altstadt. We were accommodated in the Girls’ Middle School on Schulstrasse, which received a direct hit one day that buried twenty-eight of our comrades. We could only dig out seven men alive, and the remaining twenty-one could well still be buried under the rubble.[19]

On the night leading to Monday [26 March] we lost our left flank protection about 150 metres away. The leader of the three-man section there was wounded. A warrant officer, who was a bit simple but also very brave, sorted out the men. As the enemy situation was not clear to him as a result of the changed circumstances, he simply crept over alone and orientated himself. All went well while he traced the enemy position, but he was spotted on the way back and shot through the thigh by one of his own men. While his comrades were taking him back to the dressing station, the Russians established themselves in the abandoned trench and took us under uncomfortable fire from the flank.

The infantry guns, the heavy machine guns, the Hoffmann section, the 88mm flak gun and my section still formed a long, narrow finger into the enemy, from which we were connected to the manor farm only by a trench from the flak position. Our battalion position in the manor farm area was itself only a part of a wedge reaching from Kuhbrücken to the north-west.

Night after night the Soviet units moved in closer, spending the day in quickly dug out scoops ready to take another jump forward the following night. With our 42 machine guns and the necessary supply of ammunition we were able to slow down their rate of advance. Nevertheless we were not able to sleep any more. Only during the day, crouched in our foxholes, could we take a short nap or sink into a light half-sleep in which any change in the position would immediately awaken us.

My section received no more cold rations on the last night, only a few canteens of drinking water. The Russians had worked their way forward to less than 100 metres from us and dug foxholes all around us. The night was as disturbed as if daylight had driven off the darkness.[24]

This Monday morning the Red Army units made a concentrated attack on the Alt Bleyen manor farm. Katyuschas opened fire, and were joined by guns and mortars. The opening blow was so strong that we could not see the flak position 75 metres away.

Because of the proximity of the enemy and his overwhelming superiority in numbers, we had no choice but to keep firing during the fire preparation so that he could not get up to attack. Within a short time four of our six machine guns were out of action with ripped barrels from lacquered ammunition. Our lives depended upon these machine guns. Replacements were needed. To get through the barrage only Fischer, Krell and I were available. The machine-gunners could not leave, so I had to go. I jumped out of the trench and dived into the wall of fire. Suddenly I received a blow, was lifted up and lost consciousness. When I came to, I carefully moved my arms and legs and felt my head and body. Nothing. My steel helmet lay several metres away. Now I crawled on until I reached the flak position, where a sentry pulled me into the trench. I sought out my platoon commander and the gun commander. Together we controlled the gun. It was ready to fire. The crew had so far had only a few wounded. The flak machine gun also began to fire. I took two of its four replacement barrels. Then the gun commander pushed me up out of the trench. This time I was scared and crawled back.

Then the storm began on the manor farm. First a Soviet storm troop broke into the trenches of our 1st Platoon, rolled it up and approached the company command post, threatening to split the battalion in two. The company headquarters troop was able to clear this breach in an immediate counterattack using sub-machine guns, hand grenades and Panzerfausts. The troops attacking the flak position were gunned down by the 88mm gun at point-blank range.

The battalion commander also sent the three self-propelled guns to our support. They drove right up to the Soviet rifle pits and turned, squashing all who lay there. Immediately the Soviet fire concentrated on our self-propelled guns. When one of them received a direct hit, the others turned back.

The firing slowly died down. The noise of combat could only be heard from the dyke road to Kuhbrücken. Here, between the parallel dyke roads to the southern hamlet of Alt Bleyen, a panzergrenadier battalion of the ‘Müncheberg’ Panzer Division was defending itself, together with an officer-cadet company and another dug-in 88mm flak gun, against the tank-supported enemy attack from the north. That afternoon the attackers were able to break through to the southern edge of Neu Bleyen. By evening nine destroyed enemy tanks stood in the area, the officer cadets were down to only a few men and the 88mm gun had been rendered unserviceable. The Russians had reached the dyke road between the manor farm and Kuhbrücken.

On this beautiful sunny Monday morning the Soviet artillery resumed firing at us, slowly increasing in intensity. This lasted several hours. Then the ground-assault aircraft appeared flying sometimes in threes, sometimes in sevens. They crossed over our battalion’s positions always in the same order: orientation, dropping bombs, firing with machine guns or rockets. Once one group was finished, another would follow. When the aircraft tipped over to attack, one could only pull one’s head in and trust to luck. The infantry guns were attacked the most. In the afternoon even phosphorus was dropped on them.

I was afraid that the Russians would overrun us when the ground-attack aircraft forced us to take cover. But, despite their superiority, the Soviet infantry did not dare to do so. Apparently they had not recovered from their bloody repulse that morning.

One had to be unbelievably cautious. My field cap was shot through several times when raised to see what would happen.

That afternoon, as the relentless fire from Soviet artillery and ground-attack aircraft continued and it became simply a matter of luck whether my foxhole would suffer a direct hit, I lost my last belief in a higher Being connected with human history. My belief no longer existed, driven out by the fearful development of air attacks on the civilian population and the knowledge that the Christian priests on our side prayed to the same God as the Allies for the success of their weapons.

The enemy attack had cost us a lot of ammunition. I had only two Very light cartridges for the coming night. For supplies we had half an iron ration and half a canteen of water per man. That afternoon supply containers were dropped on Küstrin again.

With darkness a runner from the company appeared. Because of the losses the division into platoons was cancelled and the number of sections reduced. Half an hour later I was shot in the chest during a short exchange of fire. I reported to my platoon commander, whom I found in the flak position, and went on through the trenches of the Hoffmann section over the dead bodies left from that morning. The Russians were dug in here close to our positions.

It was half dark in the dressing station in the cellars of the manor house. In the flickering of the Hindenburg Lights, the doctor told me: ‘That is not a shot in the lungs. You have been lucky. If you can walk, then get away. Alt Bleyen is about to be evacuated. Take the lead with the sergeant over there of all the walking wounded.’

It was pitch dark. We went slowly past the pond to the dyke road and then along the foot of the dyke, even more cautiously, our weapons ready for action in our hands. For a distance of several hundred metres the Russians were on one side of the dyke and on the other side were our men at long intervals. About 100 to 150 metres from the dyke there was a shallow, weakly occupied trench on the other side of the ‘corridor’ connecting the manor farm with Küstrin. This is where I saw out the rest of the evening. We expected hand grenades to come over the dyke at any moment, but everything remained quiet.

The survivors of Fusilier Battalion 303 were able to withdraw to Kuhbrücken during the night, but only by leaving behind the heavy weapons, including the three self-propelled guns. Together with the remains of other units, they took up new positions here as Combat Team ‘Quetz’.

When we reached the spider’s web of tracks in Kuhbrücken that night, we met Volkssturm men in the cottages there who believed the Alt Bleyen manor farm to be surrounded. Together with others they had been ordered to fight open the way back to the farm complex and get us out. They were mightily relieved not to have to clear the complex.

We went over the Kietz railway bridge to the main dressing station that had been set up in the cellars of the Artillery Barracks on the Island. The doctors could hardly keep their eyes open from sheer exhaustion. One instructed me to take the next wounded transport back to hospital, but when I told him where I came from he fell silent.

Then we were sent on into the Altstadt. We passed a large burning building, apparently stacked full of tins of preserves judging from the constant dull explosions emerging, crossed the Oder Bridge and finally reached the auxiliary hospital in the cellars of the Boys’ Middle School. I was allocated the lower bunk of a two-storey air-raid bed and immediately fell asleep.[26]

In the evening darkness of 26 March I noticed in leaving the cellar of the Potato Meal Factory that cartridges were on fire in front of the building between heaps of stick grenades. The culprit was apparently a ‘Sewing Machine’, an enemy aircraft dropping bombs. When I reported this, Captain Fischer ordered the fire to be extinguished using sacks soaked in the Oder. Later I was ordered to fetch some firemen. On my return I had just reached the Artillery Barracks when the stack of munitions blew up. The cellar of the Potato Meal Factory was on fire. A wall of fire prevented every attempt to reach those trapped in and behind the rubble. Several of them were burnt alive. Between twenty and thirty men lay buried in the rubble, among them Captain Dahlmanns, Second-Lieutenant Schröter and Corporal Grosch. Second-Lieutenant Schröter should not actually have been in Küstrin. He had been given the job of taking us to the front, and then should have returned to Armoured Engineer Replacement Battalion 19 in Holzminden, as his wound was not yet fully cured. The already mentioned Corporal Hans Dahlmanns thus lost his father, whom I knew as a good man, who had treated me in a fatherly manner. I was also present when Captain Fischer expressed his condolences to Corporal Dahlmanns upon the death of his father.[27]

On the morning of 27 March we were told to go from our accommodation in Wallstrasse to the company command post for new orders for the next day. One group of four Volkssturm men set off. We had hardly gone 100 metres when a sudden bombardment took us by surprise. The Russians were firing with heavy calibre weapons on the area we were in. At the same time aircraft were dropping bombs. We sought shelter under a high and thick wall where the Zorn firm stored its coal.

The Dawidowski brothers and another comrade from Drewitz sought cover under the third arch of the wall, while the fourth one of our group and other comrades went under another arch and in a somewhat deeper situated building. The coal-yard wall was under particularly heavy fire, and was swaying to and fro from the hits. Suddenly there was a tremendous explosion and a flash of fire. It was a direct hit on the third arch in the wall, exactly where the Dawidowski brothers and the other comrade were standing. This part of the wall collapsed. The men standing under it were buried under the falling masonry and were certainly killed instantly.

The shooting increased. It was no longer possible to get through to the company command post. Although the way back to the platoon accommodation was only about 100 metres, I did not get back until evening. There was no chance of looking for the dead and burying them, as next day the Altstadt was to be evacuated following the Russians coming in through the Kietz Gate. So the dead still lie today under this wall.[32]

Soviet troops from Kietzerbusch penetrated the Altstadt on 28 March 1945. By this time the Altstadt was just one heap of rubble. During the last two weeks the Russians had been attacking two or three times a day with twin-engined dive-bombers. Hardly any of our heavy weapons were serviceable, so there was no longer any air defence, artillery or anti-tank artillery. On this last day in the Altstadt the only heavy weapons available were one 150mm heavy infantry gun with six shells, and two 75mm light infantry guns with about 30 shells left. We all knew that the end in Küstrin would come quickly, but we wanted to fight on as long as possible.

Our three guns were deployed right on the northern edge of the Altstadt. Fire directing was not possible in the Altstadt, as our observation post was in Lunette Dora, west of the Oder-Vorflut Canal, so we could only fire in front of Lunette Dora or at the edge of Kietz. If we remained on the edge of the Altstadt with our guns, there was a danger that the Russians would crush us without our being able to aim a last blast at them. I therefore sought permission to bring my gun–the heavy infantry gun–over the railway bridge to the west bank of the Oder and redeploy it at the abattoir.

By about 1800 hours on 28 March 1945 the Soviet infantry had penetrated about as far as the Schloss in the Altstadt. With the permission of the second lieutenant in charge of the gun’s firing position, I went across to Lunette Dora to get Captain Wüstenhagen’s permission to redeploy. The captain told me that he was not authorised to do so, but agreed that I should take my request to the fortress artillery chief of staff. I went straight back to the firing position and told the second lieutenant before going on to the Schloss, where the staff were still located. On my way I passed through a casemate in which I met Captain Langenhahn coming towards me clad in a steel helmet, camouflage jacket and carrying a sub-machine gun, all brand new. With him were two or three gentlemen of his department, all similarly newly equipped, and a quite deranged prisoner.

Captain Langenhahn gave the impression of being in a very excited state as I made my report. His decision was that Second-Lieutenant Schmitz should fire off the remaining ammunition, blow up the gun and then deploy with his men in a certain Altstadt street. He then disappeared in great haste. The order made no sense: it was too dark for aimed fire and there were no explosives to destroy the gun with. I later understood why the captain had been in such a hurry. Apparently the Oder bridge was about to be blown and he wanted to get across in time.

I turned back again and begged our second lieutenant, who had no front-line experience and had been combed out of Norway, to ignore Captain Langenhahn’s order and carry out the change of position on his own initiative, but he did not feel himself competent to do so. So I went back to Captain Wüstenhagen again to get him to take a personal interest in the matter and give the orders, but he refused. Even if everything fell apart, strict obedience to superior orders applied.

It was at about 2100 or 2200 hours–in any case it was fully dark–when I set off to return to my battery in the Altstadt again. I was just about level with the abattoir where we had another gun in position, although damaged and no longer operational, and approaching the railway bridge to cross the Oder, when I was ordered to take cover as the bridge was about to be blown. As my gun team was still over there, I asked if all the soldiers in the Altstadt had come across, but received no answer and was once more ordered to take cover, so I went back to the cellars in the nearby abattoir.

Once the bridge had been blown, I went to Lunette Dora again to tell the captain that he was now without any guns, but when I returned to the abattoir I met all of my gun team except for one man. Staff-Corporal Macknow had long before, and without informing anyone, acquired a large rubber dinghy from the engineer stores and hidden it on the Oder river bank. Once the line of retreat over the bridge had been cut, he led his comrades to the dinghy, inflated it and crossed the river. Only Corporal Block had refused to come. He could not swim and was afraid of drowning should something happen to the dinghy.[2]

I remained two days in the Middle School. Here were wounded for whom no immediate operation was necessary. Early in the morning and in the evening we were given a thick slice of bread with canned meat and a large glass of cognac. Two of the field hospital personnel stood out on account of their goodness, peacefulness and personalities, one a woman wearing the golden Nazi Party badge on her jacket, and the head of the hospital, a fat lieutenant whom I only saw wearing his steel helmet in the cellar.

There was the constant sound of explosions coming from outside. The building shook, sometimes more, sometimes less. Only at night was it quiet, except for a little artillery fire. I found nobody I knew. News was hard to come by, only rumours. The radio merely gave the Wehrmacht Reports, commenting among other things on the increased attacks on Küstrin and the advance of the Americans on the Lower Main River.

In a small neighbouring room there was a pile of books on the floor. I sought out Apis und Este and Das war das Ende by Bruno Behm, but I could not read. I now realised that I had become nervous and that my hands were trembling a little.

On Wednesday the sounds of battle increased considerably. The Altstadt lay under constant attack from Soviet bombers and ground-attack aircraft and artillery fire. The constant howling, roaring, explosions and crackling broke through the regular discharge of our ‘Stukas zu Fuss’ that must have been stationed in the immediate vicinity of the Middle School. The noise and shuddering was so strong that we failed to notice when a heavy bomb hit the school; fortunately it was a dud that stuck in the ground floor.

A room in the cellars accommodated signallers, and another two engineer platoons guarding the nearby, still intact Oder Bridge. Those guards were happy when they returned to the sheltering cellars without having suffered any losses.

Volkssturm men carried wounded into the Middle School. Their platoon leader needed to use a lot of persuasion to get the men back out into the inferno.

The latest Wehrmacht Report contained nothing good: constant attacks on Küstrin, street-fighting in Gotenhafen and Danzig, further advance by the Americans in the Wetzlar area.

Towards noon and through the afternoon the situation reports worsened. ‘The Schloss is on fire!’ then ‘The Russians are in front of the Law Courts!’ And that was in a wing of the Schloss. The engineers too were restless. They had to keep the Oder Bridge ready for immediate demolition and the enemy were getting closer and closer.

At last came pleasant news. The enemy had been stopped and thrown back. But hardly an hour later darkness had fallen, the noise of fighting had died down, when came: ‘The Altstadt is to be evacuated!’ All the walking wounded were sent back to their units.

The Fusilier Battalion was supposed to be in Kuhbrücken. I set off together with Hans Schmidt, the sergeant from 3rd Company. Half an hour later the Oder and Dammvorstadt were behind us, we had already crossed the railway bridge to Kietz when a mighty explosion sounded behind us. Our engineers had blown the last bridge over the Oder.

First we tried to find accommodation in the lunette, but unsuccessfully. The wounded were lying on the floor there practically on top of each other.

We separated in Kuhbrücken, each seeking his own company. I was directed to a cellar in which Sergeant Manninger lay with the remaining platoon of the 2nd Company and a number of wounded. I was greeted enthusiastically. There was much to relate. The worst news was the destruction of the Thomagk section. In order to keep the attackers away from the dyke road, the section leader had had to dig in with his section on the enemy-facing side of the dyke at night, and without connection to the rear. When the Russians discovered them next day they engaged every foxhole with an anti-tank gun at close range until it was eliminated. Only the section leader was left alive that evening, albeit with a broken jaw bone.[3]

The last day in the Altstadt gradually became confused. The wounded in the Schloss cellars were given hand grenades with which to commit suicide should the Russians break through and start a bloodbath. With three other comrades I was attached to a squad and equipped with Panzerfausts and Panzerschrecks. We were deployed in a still-smouldering ruin on the right side of the Marktplatz, where we were supposed to stop a Russian attack from the Kietz Gate. All around us we could see only ruins. The Schloss was on fire.

Soviet storm troops attacked through the Kietz Gate and from the north-west and took the Marktplatz as far as the Court House that afternoon. There was a desperate German counterattack shortly after dusk that was supported by a Hetzer.

Following the heavy bombardment during the day there came a sudden pause. Some time later we left our position and went through the communication trenches to the Schloss. The fortress commandant and his staff had disappeared. No one was there except the wounded in the field hospital. An uncomfortable feeling crept over us. All we could hear were occasional machine-gun bursts, the cries of the wounded and the crackling of flames. We followed some soldiers who had also realised that we had been left in the lurch. Later I heard that Gruppenführer Reinefarth had left the Altstadt in a Königstiger with many soldiers and had the bridge over the Oder blown once he had crossed it, even though there were still German soldiers on it, who all lost their lives.

Our group, which had meanwhile grown to 28 men, tried to get across the blown bridge to reach the steep west bank of the Oder. We got through soaking wet but only as far as the last pier, where we stayed and waited to see what would happen next.[4]

Suddenly it was announced that all who could walk and wished to do so, should go over to the west side of the Oder. A breakout would be attempted. With the help of some comrades I went along too, having nothing wrong with my feet.

Later I met up with men of my company, including Wolfgang Paul. He had been the gun layer in the Panther turret at the road junction in front of the Kietz Gate. When the Russians attacked, in the exchange of fire he received a sudden blow, opened the hatch and saw a metre-long tear in the gun barrel. An enemy shell must have hit it, putting it out of action.

In fact I first met Wolfgang Paul when we gathered together for the breakthrough west of the Vorflut Canal on the dyke road. We lay down together until the order: ‘All non-wounded to the north!’ and were finally just a few men.

Suddenly there was a mighty barrage from mortars and light infantry weapons, so we went back towards the railway bridge. More Germans joined, both wounded and unwounded, including a sergeant. Under the circumstances, we wanted to wait. By chance we found some dugouts with plank beds. I found a tin of dripping and a can of sardines in oil in my satchel. We lay down on the beds and I fell asleep. My comrades fastened a white cloth to a stick and stuck it in the earth on the roof of our dugout.

In the morning we went into captivity between Soviet soldiers with their sub-machine guns slung. At first I held my arms up, but after passing the first Russians I let them drop again.[5]

When enemy fire put an end to my observation post on the Marien Church, I left the Schloss Barracks. Captain Langenhahn wanted me to stay with him, but I went to my men, about 20 to 30 of them, who were sleeping in the casemates. On the evening of 28 March, a Wednesday, when the Altstadt was abandoned, the last Oder bridge, the railway one, was blown, so my men and I crossed the blown road bridge over the Oder and reached the Island wet, exhausted and only partly clothed. I sent my men to the abattoir and then went to the Artillery Barracks, bathed my feet and had just had my jacket replaced by my men when a colonel unknown to me appeared and wanted to know why I had not reported immediately; he accused me of shirking, and did not want to know when and how I had got there or that I was shaking from the wet, cold and exhaustion. Just as the situation threatened to become dangerous for me, my superior Captain Langenhahn fortunately appeared and immediately engaged the colonel and described me as one of his most reliable and bravest officers. Nevertheless, the colonel took me with him to the blown road bridge over the Oder and left me there to guard it. But one or two hours later Captain Langenhahn had secured my release and brought me back to my men at the abattoir. Thank God, for with the crowd at the bridge it was every man for himself. My men had already constructed a float for us to leave Küstrin by the Oder.

But the situation changed that evening when I discovered from Second-Lieutenant Haug that he had destroyed the radio in the Artillery Barracks immediately after sending the last message from the Küstrin Fortress. We were about to break out.

It had been quiet since dusk. A German voice called from a Soviet loudspeaker: ‘Soldiers, come over! Nothing will happen to you! Let the SS keep on fighting! Everything will end tomorrow anyway!’[6]

On the night of 28/29 March I tried with other comrades to cross over the already blown Oder Bridge. It was an almost impossible undertaking. We climbed over the rubble of the bridge in the darkness. Part of the way we had to slide over the upper works of the bridge as the lower part was under water. The Oder was in flood and had a strong current. A comrade of mine slipped and drowned. I could only hold on with the last of my strength, but on the morning of 29 March I made it, I had crossed the Oder.[7]

The following night [28 March] I spent partly in the Artillery Barracks, partly in provisionally constructed positions behind the Altstadt railway station. The cellars of the barracks were packed with wounded.[8]

It looked bad for us. The enemy occupied the last part of the Altstadt on the morning of 29 March. He had already landed on the Island between the Oder and the Vorflut Canal and was attacking the Artillery Barracks from the south. Our unit now only held a small bridgehead west of the Vorflut Canal. We no longer had any heavy weapons, only hand weapons, machine guns, hand grenades and Panzerfausts. Water for drinking could only be obtained at risk of one’s life from the Oder or from a pump in full view of the enemy. I had not changed my clothes for three weeks.

On the evening of the 29th I escorted Captain Fischer to a conference with an artillery officer, where the breakout from the fortress was discussed: to the west, attacking the Russian positions in three ranks with the Fortress Engineer Battalion in the centre led by Sergeant-Major Schulz.[10]

We left the bunker and moved parallel to the railway towards the Oder. We had two rubber dinghies, one large and one small, but had to leave the big one behind. We simply could not get it out of the undergrowth. The little one was extricated without trouble and quickly inflated. The company picked it up and launched it from the middle of the railway bridge. ‘I’ll come back for you!’ called Lieutenant Schröder from the boat, waved and vanished. Many soldiers were in front of the railway bridge and on its intact part. The noise of combat came clearly from the middle of the Altstadt. Possibly some were able to crawl over the girders to the far bank, but they went so slowly there seemed to be no chance for all those waiting to get across.

Among the men on the east bank I thought I recognised Dr Feldmann in uniform, the former head doctor at Küstrin Hospital. I had once been entertained by him with my father while I was still a civilian. It was obvious that he had given up the attempt to cross to the opposite bank.

With several comrades I went along the road bridge to where two bits of it lay in the water. Now we had to hurry, for the darkness was slowly giving way to the dawn. I crawled along the left upper girder until it sank into the water and dived across with widely spread arms over the strong current to the other upper girder, which led back out of the water. I pulled across a comrade who could not swim with a rope from the other side, and we crawled along until this upper girder also went into the water.

This time the distance across the water was even greater. I took off my uniform jacket and asked my comrade, who had come behind me, to throw my bread sack and jacket–all that I owned–after me when I got across. I would then pull him across with the rope. But my attempt to reach the upper girder on the other side failed. A really strong current grabbed me, drove me away, and I came to the bank at the end of the Oder Potato Meal Factory, only a few metres from where my father lay under the rubble.

Meanwhile the day had begun to dawn. An NCO behind me had stripped himself naked in order to swim more easily. His pale body could be seen from the opposite side and there was some infantry fire, but, God be praised, he was not hit. I then tried to get to the western end of the bridge to help the others, but the first part of the bridge went straight down into the water. It had no handrail, making impossible any attempt to approach the place in the stream where some of the comrades were.

I hung up my clothes to dry in the Artillery Barracks and was given bits of clothing by several people. All I could find for my feet were some rubber boots. Outside it was full daylight. I came out of the cellars and thought over recent events. I knew from the Führer-Order that Küstrin was to be defended to the last man and the last bullet. Some German aircraft came–the first that I had seen for a long time–and I later heard that they had dropped ammunition.

For me this hour, in its short silence as the battle took its breath, was the hour of truth. All my experiences forced me to the certainty that the great majority of Germans, and above all German youth, had been frightfully mishandled by leaders who claimed power and used it ruthlessly to constantly overtax the people, while at the same time being totally cynical about all the consequences. Whoever died was a hero, whoever survived had failed. That was the logic of our damnation.

During the course of the afternoon I looked for the rest of my company and found them in the cellar of another block in the Artillery Barracks. As I wanted to get my dry clothes, for I had nothing else other than trousers and shoes on, and went to get them, the cellar was blocked by SS sentries who would not let anyone out. ‘We are breaking out!’ was the word. A sergeant gave me an assault rifle: ‘Take it, I don’t need it any more.’

Shortly afterwards we marched as quietly as possible over the railway bridge and then turned right on the narrow strip of land between the road and the canal that delineated the front line here. There was no cover apart from a narrow trench in the bank of the chaussee and that was much too small to take the several hundred men moving north-west between the water and the road. Mortar bombs would have caused terrible losses.

Finally the groups of men closed up as the leaders stopped and then we climbed down the bank in complete silence. Of course we were expecting enemy rifle fire to break out but despite our fears, it remained quiet and the men formed into three columns, which moved through the uncertainty of the dark night in single file.[11]

On 29 March 1945 we still held the Artillery Barracks area, the Küstrin-Altstadt railway station and surroundings, the abattoir and the north-western corner of the Island, i.e. everything between the Oder and the Oder-Vorflut Canal. Further on we held Lunette Dora, the causeway from the Oder-Vorflut Canal bridges to Kuhbrücken-Vorstadt and the suburb itself. The enemy had pushed up close to our positions and was said to have advanced from the south to within about 50 metres, breaching distance, of the Artillery Barracks.

This everyone knew would be the last day of ‘Fortress’ Küstrin. My impression of an organised defence was over. Each unit, as far as such organisations still existed, was defending itself wherever it happened to be. Everyone sought an acceptable compromise between their duties as a soldier and self-preservation, for unfortunately, as everyone knew, the Fatherland could not now be saved.

On this last day I moved into Lunette Dora as I was determined not to become a prisoner of the Russians and wanted to get as far west as possible. That afternoon I performed an infantry role for several hours on the Vorflut Canal causeway, as the infantry previously deployed there had abandoned their foxholes, presumably because of the continuous Soviet mortar fire. It was in fact very unpleasant, but we held on until dark, when the Russians ceased fire.

Going back to Lunette Dora, I discovered that the fortress commandant, SS-General Reinefarth, had tried to obtain permission from Führer Headquarters to break out with the remainder of the garrison, but Berlin had refused, having the intention of ‘sending us into the history books’, as it was rather pathetically called when sending victims into last stands. The officers had then gone to the commandant to appeal to him to break out without permission, as it was tactically and strategically the same whether the fortress was abandoned that night or the next day.

That evening the officers returned at something between 1800 and 1900 hours and told us that a breakout would be made, despite the Führer-Order, but participation would be voluntary. This decision released me from my conflict of conscience whether to desert or not. Those wishing to take part got themselves ready. Anything that made a noise was discarded, faces were blackened, radios rendered unserviceable and thrown into the moat surrounding the Lunette. Not all the soldiers in the Lunette were taking part. While I oiled my assault rifle, others lay around sleeping.

We were told that the breakout would be made in four groups. Those from the Lunette and its vicinity would be in the southernmost. As Kietz had long since been in Soviet hands, no one would be breaking out between Kietz and ourselves. We assembled on the causeway and then moved about 200–300 metres north-west along it to reach our start point.[12]

Shortly before the attack on Berlin began, elements of the Küstrin garrison broke out at night. Colonel Scholze (the divisional commander) ordered me to take two vehicles and two or three men to look for the Küstrin garrison men fleeing through our lines and take them to certain collecting points. He came up close and said: ‘Should the commandant of the fortress, an SS officer, be among them, bring him to the divisional command post.’

During the course of the morning a vehicle carrying an SS-General approached and I informed him of my task. He told me: ‘You surely have enough to do,’ and had me show him on the map where the command post was. When I reported back to the command post late that afternoon, I was asked about the SS-General. He had not reported there and Scholze threatened me with court-martial for not fulfilling his orders.[14]

It was a wonder that no shots were fired. Nevertheless, heavy infantry and mortar fire broke out behind us towards Küstrin. I was happy to be away from there, where it must be bad.

There was no sign of any Soviets when my column passed a few metres from an anti-tank gun. I do not know how long we marched silently through the night, but it must have been for some time. Finally an even darker line appeared through the dark night, a road running along a slightly raised embankment. A horse-drawn cart was moving from left to right. We could hear it but not see it. Suddenly the driver began to shout; the horse started galloping and we began running.

At the same time firing broke out from left, right and in front of us and we ran as quickly as we could across the weak ground, up to and across the road, and as we ran we sang: ‘Deutschland, Deutschland, über alles, über alles…’.

It was so exhausting that I had no strength left to sing. We could not do anything but run through the night over the heavy ground through the continuing fire. But the firing was not always intended for us. One could get out of it with a bit of luck. My main thought was to keep going forward. They were not firing at individuals, and I found myself quite alone at one stage. I knelt down until I saw or heard the first man behind me. Then I looked for the lead again and jumped over a trench, seeing in the middle of my leap three or four Russians on my right who were beginning to shoot.

Then it was quiet for a short while, after which machine-gun fire opened up and mortar bombs started exploding. I was so exhausted that I could only run on when a machine gun turned on me. Someone fell close by who had been in the lead with me.

Again it became quieter. I jumped into a stream. The water ran into my rubber boots and cooled my feet and then became uncomfortable. I had to go round a large pond, passing some dead lying in the mud. I recognised the uniforms as Waffen-SS. I went round a shot-up tank with a German cross on it and was shocked when I saw and heard another tank a little later as it slowly moved across my line of march. I got out of the way, as I could not make out whether it was Soviet or German.

Then another dark strip appeared out of the darkness of the night. I thought: ‘If it is another trench, then I will stop and lie down. I can’t go on any more!’ It was a railway embankment, hardly higher than a metre. I let myself fall on the slope. A steel helmet appeared a few metres away. ‘German?’ I asked and received in reply: ‘Man, I nearly shot you!’ Ever after I was grateful that I had come across a man who had inhibitions about killing. I crawled across and embraced him. He was, I believe, no older than myself and appeared very insecure. He told me that the company command post was in a farm behind him. I reached it a few minutes later. Some German soldiers came up to me and said: ‘We have just stopped firing our mortars.’

Trucks arrived at first light, loaded us aboard and drove a while and then we climbed up to a railway line that took us, despite the proximity of the front line, to Fürstenwalde.[16]

The breakout took place at about midnight. It was a purely infantry attack without any preparation or support from heavy weapons. In the darkness of the night there were no orders, no leadership and no general engagement. The whole crowd marched, at first closed-up, simply westwards. After about 300 metres we came to the Nork Ditch (a name I learnt later), which was full of water and too wide to jump across, so we had to wade through and became wet up to our stomachs.

The enemy was alerted as we climbed out of the ditch and the first shots fell about 20 metres from us. We immediately took cover and wanted to wait, but then I said to a captain next to me: ‘If we take cover at the first shot, we will never get out of here!’ That acted like a signal–or so at least I thought–for they all climbed out of the ditch firing blindly into the night and shouting ‘Hurrah!’, storming the first Soviet position.

For a short while I thought that was the main task complete, but it then appeared that this was only the outermost Soviet line that we had broken through. Because of the lack of manpower on our side, we had become accustomed to only having a thinly manned front line and I suspected that it was not very much different with the Soviets, but I was grossly mistaken and we had only overrun one of their forward positions.

After perhaps another 200 metres we came up to the real Soviet front line. They had naturally been alerted and fired flares, in the light of which I could make out our seemingly compact group of some two to three hundred soldiers at most. The Soviets now opened fire on us and we spread out as far as possible, only a few of us dropping to the ground. It was a repeat of the first line, fire and ‘hurrah!’. I had already been wounded in the lower thigh during the attack on the first line, but it was only a flesh wound right through the leg, and I was still able to carry on.

During the course of the night we stormed one Soviet trench after another. No sooner had we crossed one than we came under fire from the next. As I remember it, we crossed six Soviet trenches, three facing Küstrin and three the west.

As the first weak morning light appeared, presumably at about 0500 hours, I saw the outline of several tanks, but could not make out whether they were German or Soviet, not that it made any difference, we had to keep going. The tanks did not fire at us, and today I think that they must have been German tanks that had been shot up or abandoned on 27 March during the attempt to relieve Küstrin.

In any case we also stormed the first German line, and when we reached the second German line we found a few apparently bewildered soldiers, who showed us the way to the first aid post. This was accommodated in a barn on the edge of a village and so far from the front line and so conveniently located that the ambulances could drive right up to it without being shot at. I was driven to Schlagenthin, seen to by a doctor, and then sent off from nearby Müncheberg station to a field hospital in Naumberg on the Sale. My Staff-Corporal Macknow, who had also been wounded in the break-out, was in the bed next to me.[17]

As far as I know, only the middle rank got through. I was one of those that Captain Fischer had told that when we reached the first Russian positions we should quickly cross the first line and run to the west so as not to be cut off by the enemy. Accordingly, I hurried forward, although hampered by rheumatism. I threw my Panzerfaust away after a while as I could not carry it any further. Loud sounds of heavy fighting had broken out behind us. It was a dark night. The only chance of finding one’s way was when a flare went up, then I ran towards where I saw comrades.

After a long time I met a technician who gave me a compass that I still have 50 years later. The technician later trod on a mine and was killed. At that time we were only 20 metres apart as we were disputing which direction to take. From then on I kept to tank tracks, where presumably there were no mines. Finally I was alone.

At dawn I reached a railway embankment with a watery ditch in front of it. There were several dead near a shot-up tank. Here I met a Luftwaffe second lieutenant who had a slight wound in the heel. We discussed whether there could be German or Russian positions behind the embankment. We first quenched our thirst in the ditch, then the second lieutenant went ahead over the low embankment and called me after him. We had made it and reached the German lines.

I was at the end of my strength and could hardly move. I could not climb up on a truck without help. Many hundreds who had broken out of Küstrin were assembled in the Mars-la-Tour Barracks in Fürstenwalde. Among them were Captain Fischer and Corporal Dahlmanns. I was put in the sick bay suffering from severe rheumatism.[18]

On 29 March I was once more deployed as an infantryman on the Island near the Reichsgarten pub, opposite the Kattewall. On the same day came the order to withdraw from Küstrin. I was in the last group that left the positions around the Artillery Barracks late evening in darkness and crossed the Vorflut Canal by the railway bridge. Shortly afterwards the bridge was blown. We had not come very far when we came under heavy fire from all sides and had to flee to the lunette off the dyke leading to Kuhbrücken. As I had had no sleep over the past days, I was totally exhausted. I did not care. I only wanted to sleep. So I stayed the night in this lunette with about 30 comrades. There was also the crew of a Tiger tank that had run out of fuel.

Next morning the Russians appeared and took us prisoner.[19]

On the morning of Maundy Thursday the Soviet firing resumed and lasted until late afternoon. Then followed the Russian attack that we had been waiting for for hours. The dyke road near the spider’s web of tracks was crossed with jubilant cries of ‘Urrah!’ making a breach in the last German lines. But the resistance stiffened, growing more and more like the tension of a spring under frightful pressure. Beyond the dyke road there were only 300 metres to the Vorflut Canal and the Oder. It developed into close-quarter fighting, in which the members of the Küstrin Volkssturm and their District Leader joined in on the German side.

At this point the German ammunition was finished. One went into the cellars and pleaded for every cartridge and hand grenade from the wounded. The forward artillery observer in Kuhbrücken had our heavy ‘fortress artillery’ in the Seelow area firing on the grid, firing within 100 metres. The heavy shells bellowed down on us, but were all duds! A runner panted up from the battalion commander: ‘Hold on until dark; then we will be saved!’

The jubilant ‘Urrahs’ of the Russians had lessened, mixed more and more with rifle and pistol shots and bursts from sub-machine guns, the explosions of hand grenades and Panzerfausts with the cries of the wounded and shouted commands, and above all with the shouts of ‘Hurrah’ from the defence that grew ever louder and finally replaced the others. Yet again the determined German defence was stronger and threw the attackers back, partly even to the other side of the dyke. And then the sounds of fighting broke off as suddenly as they had begun.

Manninger came down the steps with his section and slumped completely exhausted into a corner. The wounded had their wounds dressed as well as was possible. Not much was said for it was clear to everyone that the next attack could not be repelled for lack of ammunition.

Somewhat later a second lieutenant appeared with a doctor. They took Manninger’s section with them and every man that could hold a weapon. Then an SS officer came into the cellar with the same objective. I was one of those that remained in the cellar, together with Heinz Buder, another officer cadet from Wandern who had been wounded that day. Together we waited for nightfall.

Among those wounded that afternoon was my company commander, Lieutenant von Burgsdorf, who had been hit by three bullets. My machine-gunner had been killed. Fischer, the Alsatian, who had always said that he would not fall in this war and that he would not die, had been shot in the head.

Both sides were so exhausted from the close-quarter fighting that they now waited for darkness and did nothing although they were only the width of the dyke apart. At night came suddenly: ‘All out for the breakout!’ It was pitch black. We quickly destroyed all our papers, including our pay-books and removed our officer cadet flashes while others removed their rank insignia and decorations. Everything superfluous was left behind.

Before the still-mobile remains of the fortress garrison had finished assembling behind the Vorflut dyke our engineers blew the Kietz railway bridge and with the explosion we lost the element of surprise. The enemy immediately noticed that the Germans were forming up for a breakout on the dyke road and began a constant barrage, mainly with mortars. At the pond both Heinz Buder and myself were wounded again. Shell splinters hit his shoulder and the back of my left knee. There was no time to bandage them, so we tried forcibly to move shoulder and foot and they worked.

Our first attack had resulted in the Russians becoming aware of the breakout attempt and was beaten back. While the beaten spearheads wanted to go back, those coming from the Kietz bridge and from Kuhbrücken pushed forward. The narrow bank of the Vorflut Canal was limited by a minefield. Only a trench running along the dyke offered any cover for those in it. All the others remained exposed to the murderous fire. When the mortars fired, up to five men lay on top of each other in the trench. The individual units had tried to keep together when they assembled, but now everything was lost. The confusion increased when some of our own mines exploded. The call: ‘Officers forward!’ was answered by only a few.

When Heinz Buder and I reached the breakout assembly point, the second breakout attempt had already failed and increased the panicky confusion on our side. We realised that it was highly dangerous to remain in this leaderless mass. We therefore decided to hide ourselves in the ruins of the Dammvorstadt and to try to reach our main front line 24 hours later, by which time the inner enclosing ring would no longer exist.

We worked our way across the Kietz railway bridge. Several men had already sought shelter behind the bridge pillars. When even more bombs hit the dyke, a rough voice said in the darkness: ‘So perishes the Third Reich with fire and the sword.’ At this moment I too realised that everything was lost.

Once we had completed the necessary bandaging of each other, Heinz Buder and I climbed over the blown bridge to the Dammvorstadt. At the station we encountered the lightly wounded Klaus Kothe, who convinced us that hiding on the peninsula would be more promising than in the buildings. We crossed the mine belt with thumping hearts across the entrance to the peninsula. But it offered no cover. One could hide in the light undergrowth on the riverbank, but there was only enough room for two persons and we were one too many. Heinz Buder decided to return to the Dammvorstadt. We shook hands in parting for the last time.

Heinz Buder had reminded me beforehand that this was Good Friday, 30 March, and that we had now been soldiers for exactly one year.

Meanwhile further German attempts to break out had succeeded. The last one went well and we could hear the fighting some distance away.

Our hiding place was wretched. It was on a sandbank overgrown with bushes on the bank of the peninsula and consisted of a hollow of a man’s length and about 30 centimetres deep. We could get in with our arms either stretched alongside our bodies or tucked under our chests. We dared not move, as the bushes were so meagre that they only offered scanty protection from enemy sight. Apart from this, the hollow was half full of water and we would have to lie in it.

We took our places when it became light. All was quiet for a long time. Only a rising lark sang. Then came the first loud guttural shouts, occasionally broken by a shot or burst of fire. The Red Army was taking over the last German positions in Küstrin, including the important railway and road bridges over the Oder, even if they had been destroyed. All the while the trilling of the larks could be heard.

Russian could be heard everywhere: from the Dammvorstadt, from the other bank of the Vorflut Canal and from Kuhbrücken.

Uninterrupted sounds of work could be heard coming from the Kietz railway bridge. The crossing was being restored and at about noon the first truck slowly crossed the bridge that had been blown the night before.

It was torture lying in that hollow. Only a few times during the day did we dare change the positions of our arms or move our heads from one side to the other. We dared not do more from fear of discovery. If we stayed still, then even if we were seen we would have been taken for dead.

Although we lay in water the whole day, we did not freeze. Our fear of falling into Russian hands, our determination to break through to the German lines and our conviction that within 24 hours at the most we would be lying in a German field hospital and able to rest gave us the strength to remain alert and not freeze. We even hardly felt hungry.

Red Army soldiers fired often at the trees on the peninsula. If we lay directly in the line of fire, the shots went closely over us or crossed over us as ricochets from the water, making us break out into a cold sweat, as everything hung on chance whether we were fired on as targets or were hit unintentionally. We had not counted on this when we selected our hiding place.

We went through an even bigger period of anxiety that afternoon. Shots and explosions went off around our sandbank, sometimes closer and sometimes further away. At first we thought that we had been discovered and were being fired at with light mortars. After some time we recognised the cause: the Russians were firing captured Panzerfausts at the trees behind us. Unfortunately we were lying directly in the line of fire and not far from the trees. Because of the mine belt the Russians did not dare come on to the peninsula. In the late afternoon, however, two of them landed from a rowing boat. They first wandered around on foot, then went around the peninsula and came close to our sandbank. We were lucky. They both rowed past within 5 metres of our hiding place and either did not see us or took us for dead.

At last the darkness came and we could sit up and move around, take some sodden biscuits from our pockets and eat them. But still we could not move off. As it became dark the Red Army soldiers set fire to a house on the railway embankment, illuminating the Vorflut Canal so that we dare not cross it. It took hours before the fire died out and the soldiers went to rest.

My wound was hurting throughout the long lying down and my left knee and right arm would not move properly. Consequently I had great difficulty swimming the canal. The strong current carried me several hundred metres and tore off my boots. Completely soaked through, barefoot and limited in my movement, but still armed with two pistols, two spare magazines and a hand grenade, we set off towards the main front line. We had neither map nor compass and orientated ourselves simply by the noise and lights from the distant front line. Oddly, this night appeared nevertheless quite quiet.

Again and again we had to cross water ditches and twice swam the Alte Oder. We gradually began to feel the effects of exhaustion. As the first signs of dawn were appearing on the horizon we reached the Soviet front line. Unnoticed, we stumbled into a mortar position in a bushy area where Russian soldiers were lying around in unexpected numbers. Further forward the land was flat and uncultivated. Even further on was a little wood from which shots and bursts of fire came from time to time. That was the German front line.

In view of the time and my condition, we decided to leave the breakthrough until the following night and looked for a new hiding place. We wanted to go back to the meadow thicket that we had passed on the way. Suddenly I was overcome with such exhaustion that nothing mattered any more. Instead of going around two cottages that stood about 100 metres apart, we simply walked through between the Soviet sentries. In the firing that followed I became separated from my comrade.

Once more I managed to escape. On the other side of the Alte Oder I reached some shot-up German positions with lots of dead lying around that had not yet started to decay. On one of them I found an open tin of meat that satisfied my great hunger. Then I found a Soviet leaflet calling upon us to surrender, which contained a pass written in several languages, crept into a foxhole, camouflaged myself a little and immediately fell asleep.

When I awoke I found myself looking at the muzzles of Russian rifles. Several men in earth-brown uniforms were standing in front of my hiding place and signalling for me to come out. Once I was out, the rifles were still aimed at me and someone said, ‘Stoj, Gemane!’ I slowly raised my hands over my head. It was Easter Saturday and the sun stood high in the sky. I did not look like a hero. I was barefoot and wore only my underwear, uniform trousers and shirt, all torn. I was wearing blurred Wehrmacht spectacles, and my hair was completely dishevelled. I was also very dirty.[20]

The Russians appeared next morning, climbed on the blown bridge and examined its condition. They did not see us at first as we were below their line of sight, and they did not suspect our presence. I had previously removed my SS uniform jacket and thrown it into the water. Those comrades who did not do so were later to pay for it with their lives. Once we were discovered, we had to clamber back to the east bank of the Oder, where some female Soviet soldiers immediately searched us. About eleven men were either beaten to death or shot. I only had my teeth knocked out.

We survivors were next kept in a ruin near the church. Next day we had to throw all the dead into an anti-tank ditch on the right of the Schloss together with all their military equipment. This also included the dead from the field hospital in the Schloss, who had all committed suicide. The doctor had shot himself and the nurse had taken poison. Both were sitting at a table, where they had opened a photograph album. I will never forget the sight.

We then marched via Zielenzig and Landsberg on the long journey to Posen. The villages we passed through gave the impression of awful wretchedness. There were many dead along the road that had been crushed by tanks. At night came the cries of women being raped and calling for help. From Posen we went by train to Siberia for fully five years.[21]

As I recall, for three days we had special rations, even chocolate in round tins intended for airmen or U-boat crews. I was given new trousers, a summer field jacket, two handkerchiefs, and a set of underwear, a mess tin, a spoon and a knife, a gas mask in a canister and a canvas washing kit, but no boots, no overcoat, no cap, no steel helmet, no fork and no toothbrush. I was given a new pay book on 5 April, my 18th birthday, but without a photograph, which had to be dispensed with at this time. I was then given a few days to recover before I was sent to a company at Wriezen in which no one knew each other.[5]

With others that had broken through, I was taken to the Mars-la-Tour Barracks in Fürstenwalde. Next morning, Easter Saturday, we were issued with new clothing, and in the process I met Captain Langenhahn again and followed him into a room where I saw Captain Wüstenhagen. The Küstrin officers had had to give up their weapons and had been placed under guard. They were in a building with double sentries at the entrance. SS-Gruppenführer Reinefarth’s quarters were somewhere else. When going for a walk he was always escorted by two other SS officers. I often talked with Captain Langenhahn and he said among other things that he would ask the Führer for his officers to be released.

That Easter Saturday, 31 March, we celebrated our reunion with beer and schnapps, as originally it had been said that I had been killed. Other officers took part, including Major Fenske and a captain decorated with the Knight’s Cross. During our celebrations an ADC appeared and informed us that all officers from the former Küstrin fortress were to appear in the officers’ mess next morning at 0900 hours.

If I remember correctly, there were 30 or so officers in the Officers’ Mess on Easter Sunday. There the Führer-Order to continue the fight for the Küstrin fortress was read out to us. Then began the individual interrogations.

I was questioned two or three times. We were asked why we had not complied with the Führer-Order and had taken part in the breakout. When I said that in Küstrin basically we could only bring a few weapons against the Russians and in the end had hardly any ammunition left, the interrogating officer said: ‘It would have been better if you had had an assault knife on your back to slit the throat of a Russian and now lay dead in Küstrin rather than sit here before me.’ I then said that I had received an order to break out. I was not accused by him of other things at the further interrogations, but he upset me by saying that the Führer was disappointed with his officer corps. It went similarly with Captain Langenhahn.

After that we continued to remain under arrest while awaiting the decision of the Führer. Then it was at last said that we all had to serve afresh and should volunteer for front-line duty. Captain Langenhahn volunteered immediately and told me: ‘Bölke, you are coming with me!’ I obeyed his order. Captain Langenhahn had several times telephoned people he knew at a central location during the Fürstenwalde process and kept himself informed of what was going on. His idea was to be posted to the Werwolf in Thuringia, as he came from Friedrichroda, where his father was a priest. But that was not allowed and front-line engagement against the Russians was demanded. Captain Wüstenhagen and Major Fenske remained behind. The latter said to me that I should remain in Fürstenwalde and let Captain Langenhahn go ahead on his own, but I could not do that. Meanwhile several days had passed since our breakout from Küstrin.

We reported back to duty with the artillery in the Mars-la-Tour Barracks. We went to our allocated sector of the front between the Märkischer Schweiz and Wreizen via the Anhalter railway station in Berlin. The officer positions in the new unit were already taken, making us surplus to establishment.

When the Russians started their main offensive on 16 April, my last unit neared its end, in which I survived the following experience. I was supervising the change of position of the artillery train. Captain Langenhahn sent a sergeant as a dispatch rider back from the front that I could meantime send on a short journey. Then he was to report back to me and return immediately to Captain Langenhahn. I waited and waited for him. The sergeant turned up hours later. The Feldgendarmerie had arrested him and some others. Those not carrying weapons were shot in the presence of those carrying them. The latter were then sent into action and their previous orders declared invalid. The sergeant had used a suitable opportunity to escape with the motorcycle. Neither of us understood what was going on any more.

On 19 April 1945 I was captured in Reichenow, near Strausberg. We were surrounded and wanted to break out. Captain Langenhahn fell from a shot in the head during this action. His adjutant and I then occupied the servants’ quarters of a manor. Later the adjutant shot himself.

I met Major Hassler in Soviet captivity in the Posen and Dorpat camps. He had been the flak commander in Küstrin. He had not taken part in the breakout but had been captured. He told me that when he was captured, the Russians had already known his name and rank and even his last appointment.[6]

In the final reckoning, relatively few of the Nazi murder-mongers who had operated in Warsaw met with the retribution that they had earned. SS-Gruppenführer Reinefarth, for example, escaped scot-free. After leaving Warsaw, he was appointed commander of the fortress of Küstrin. But in the chaos of the German collapse in March 1945 he was arrested for leaving his post. This incident no doubt helped his later claim to have been an anti-Nazi Resistance fighter. All attempts to have him extradited to Poland were vetoed by the Americans to whom he had surrendered and for whom he acted as an adviser on Soviet military methods. So he was free to pursue a political career in West Germany. He never stood trial, and publicly denied that he had ever been a member of the SS.[8]

On the night of 17/18 April, just as the work on the railway bridges over the Oder and Warthe was finished, the enemy made a strong air attack and destroyed both bridges. Troops of the 29th Railway Brigade and Moskaliov’s bridge-building unit restored both bridges under continuous bombardment within a week, so that they were ready by 25 April. So the first train carrying heavy artillery was able to make its way to Berlin-Lichtenberg simultaneously with the entry of our troops into Berlin at 1800 hours on 25 April.[15]

I arrived at the goods station in an adventurous manner in the brake cab of a goods wagon. It was said that those caught at the Oder were put into a camp, but those that got across remained unmolested, and so it seemed to be the case. A wide wooden bridge had been erected next to the destroyed Warthe Bridge. It led from the crane on the Warthe quay across to the winter harbour quay. The railway crossing at the GAGFA buildings was guarded by a Soviet Army female soldier, who had made herself comfortable under a sunshade. There were still two allotment huts standing left of the railway. The nave of the Catholic church was only slightly damaged, but the tower had been destroyed. The block of flats opposite the church had been reduced to blackened walls. The Wendrichs’ family home on the corner of Wallstrasse was almost undamaged. Voices coming from there led me to believe that someone was living there, but they might have been looters. I got away from there. All the buildings in Wallstrasse were shot-up or burnt out, the ruins partly collapsed. The law courts on the corner of Friedrichstrasse appeared, but were fully destroyed beyond the first floor, the surrounding walls of rough field stones shot through with several metres missing. The adjacent officers’ block, as we called it, is now only a flattened heap of rubble, revealing only the iron central heating boiler. Scraps of paper waved at me, a page from a children’s songbook. Only the yellow compound walls of the Senior School survived the chaos; the janitor’s house and the gymnasium were destroyed, as well as the nearby petrol station with Pritzel’s Garage. Three vast bombs had completely smashed the youth hostel area. The onetime public air raid shelter, later the Front Cinema, had taken a direct hit on its entrance. In an earthen bunker on the Wallkrone I found boxes with thousands of rounds of rifle ammunition–away from here! On the grass in front of the old prison, the area of the ‘Hohen Kavalier’, stood cars and even guns that had become unserviceable and been towed here during the fighting. Next to them was a double-decker Berlin bus that had brought the flak gun crews here in January and had been used as an anti-tank barrier on Kurzen Dammstrasse. There was no petrol for the return journey. Schulstrasse was a picture of horror. The burnt-out ruins had been ploughed through by bombs and shells, and there were the skeletons of vehicles that had been brought to this narrow street thinking that they would be safer here. The masses of debris from the buildings in Kurzen Dammstrasse had piled up into a hill. Bulldozers or other equipment had flattened it out a little so that the ‘street’ was usable again. The war memorial still stood in the middle of the Marktplatz, only lacking the eagle on top. Only a few metal scraps remained of the telephone box on the tram stop island. The words ‘Town Department of Works’ were still visible on the barely 2-metre-high wall of the Ration Office in the Danziger House. Of the town hall there was still a quite high section of the Kommandantenstrasse façade, otherwise only rubble. The skeletons of burnt-out German armoured personnel carriers stood in the street, distinguishable from the piles of rubble. The buildings here fell relatively early, well before the middle of March’s bombs and shells. The ruined landscape was depressing. Bits of walls threatening to collapse warned me not to go any further. I returned to the Neustadt, where I met a woman who was afraid to go back alone to her former home in the Altstadt, so I escorted her. The building lay next to Pritzel’s Garage, naturally only rubble, but the woman identified a few plates lying around as her property. Who knows who took this crockery out of the apartment before it collapsed. On the way back I stumbled upon a tin of jam and picked it up. My companion also found two cans–both without labels, a little eerie, but later the contents proved to be an expensive pea soup. The woman also found a frying pan, but now we could not stay any longer in this desert that was once our home.[17]