In the Fire of the Eastern Front: The Experiences of a Dutch Waffen-SS Volunteer, 1941-45

CHAPTER 17 The Last Battle

We were approaching Easter and the cold winter weather had disappeared. The layer of white powdery snow, which had covered the rubble of the city, was now a horrible sooty black. The besieged city had been unusually quiet for the last couple of days. It was as if newly wakened ‘Mother Nature’ had called ‘Halt!’ to the madness of the war. It was welcome, but portents hung in the air. Was it the lull before the storm? The Red Army had been forced to alter their opinion that they could take Breslau in ‘passing through’ on their way to Berlin. It had taken far too long and had engaged the whole of their army for weeks. The situation simply had to change. The atmosphere in the palace of the Crown Prince of Oels, the headquarters of the Russian Commander-in-Chief, could be cut with a knife. Stalin was calling for ‘Attrition’ and ordered an immediate ‘end’ to Breslau. That name had become ‘a red rag to a bull’ and Marshall Koniev was made responsible for a ‘decisive battle’.

Once more we were to hear those scratchy loudspeakers spewing verbal poison over the population, promising heavy air raids over the Easter period. Rumours circulated that Breslau was to be the Easter present for the Russian high command. The inhabitants were very uneasy. Our intelligence and reconnaissance reported heavy massing of troops to the west, giving the German General Staff a very clear picture of what was about to happen and fulfilling General Niehoff’s worst fears.

The front to the west was under the command of Lieutenant-Colonel Mohr and his battalion. They had watched the massing of Russian troops for days. Two parachute battalions were hastily called up, as reserves behind the threatened front-line. They were to be a reception committee in case of an eventual breakthrough at that point. They had to stop the enemy advance to the centre of the city.

It was deathly quiet on Easter Saturday. It was still and filled with tension, until 6 o’clock in the evening when the bombardment came. On the stroke of six, the Russians heralded their intentions with a bombardment, the like of which General Niehoff had only experienced at Verdun in the First World War, and then during the Second World War at the Baranov bridgehead. I think that I can speak for everyone, when I say that none of us, but none, from the commanders down to the privates, will ever forget that Easter in Breslau, where we were kept on our toes and in battledress for forty-eight hours. The Soviet artillery regiments pulverised buildings one after the other, with their 28cm shells. At the same time, squadrons of planes showered their bombs over the already-burning city. A glimmer of hope came, but lasted only seconds. We saw German bombers, clearly, with the swastika on their tails. But they too threw a carpet of bombs on us. They were captured war-booty, along with fully-loaded goods trains packed with our bombs. Ash and soot rained down on everything that lived, and of course we were not alone in that experience.

The inhabitants of other large German cities had seen whole residential areas disappear in fire, night after night. But for the people of Breslau it was a ‘hurricane’. There were heavy bombardments from the air, and on the ground, heavy artillery, mortars and ‘Stalin organs’, all firing at once. Our one sense of forewarning had been taken away from us. With so much deafening noise, our ears could not be attuned to the movements of the enemy’s close combat detachments. It was impossible. We could not assess how far they had advanced into the city. Any minute a trigger-happy ‘Ivan’ could jump out at us from the cellars. They came in numbers of ‘ten to one’. We had ‘companies’ consisting of only 25 men. Our Regiment had been reduced by 70%. At West Park and the Institute for the Blind, close combat detachments were at their strongest and were supported by snipers. Our machine-guns showered the attackers without mercy and some who had been hit fell only metres away from us. We threw our last hand-grenades at them, to receive a hail of Soviet grenades as payment in kind. At the harbour a strong group of Red Guards drove a dozen or more German soldiers into the harbour basin. With the courage of the desperate, we gradually moved to where the parat roopers were grouped around the Institute for the Blind, fighting off the approaching Soviet infantry. The pounding of machine-guns was without pause, drowning out the raw cries of “Urrah!” We received the order to counter-attack. I was convinced that the inferno was one that I would not survive. Our platoon leader was the first to fall. We had no other choice but to slowly retreat under enemy superiority. We stumbled over mountains of stone as, metre by metre, we retreated in clouds of biting smoke. Surprisingly, the Soviets did not attempt to follow, the single bullets whipping around our helmets being scattered, did no harm.

Once more we survived. I was whole. I had escaped a final trip to hell once more. Only then did I see that there was no longer a stone standing anywhere amongst the surrounding houses, which in that part of the city, had been spared until now. I looked at skeletons of houses with blazing roofs and beams. I could hear the crackle of flames. From somewhere I heard the ghostly banging of a shop door swinging to and fro in a plateau of soot and ash. Standing with amazing grace, in the middle of that desolation, was a beautiful tree, covered in spring blossom. It was a sight that one rarely saw so early in the year.

A black mushroom-shaped pall of smoke hung over Breslau. It could be seen as far away as Zobten, the mountain to the south-west of the city. Anyone who saw it, and the burning torch of the city, from the darkness to the borders of the Sudeten mountains, could be forgiven for thinking that the city had met its end. It hadn’t, not quite.

It seemed as if the night into Easter Sunday did not want to end. Dawn should have broken, but it couldn’t, for black smoke blanketed the earth, obstructing its path. Early that morning, again on the stroke of six, another firestorm of shellfire was to be heard and lasted for six hours. It was a repeat performance of the day before. Another spring day, when it rained death out of the sky from Soviet bombers that systematically bombed what was left of the residential areas, square metre by square metre. In between, one heard the exploding rounds of the artillery also in that area, combined with the rapid whining of the ‘Stalin Organ’, erasing Breslau from the face of the earth.

One tram, still able to run to the very last minute, from the ring-road to Richthofen Platz, was blown to smithereens. Of all days, it was on Holy Easter Sunday that the Church of Marie on Sand island received a direct hit, the first of the Breslau churches. That was followed by a hit on the Cathedral. It dominated the city with its twin towers that burned like giant candles.

It was around midday that the Soviets ploughed the earth around our positions, and Russian tanks stood in front of the command post of that sector’s commander. By a miracle we kept them at bay, for the time being, in the worst of the fighting. They had warned us via their ‘flying leaflets’ and scratchy tannoy that they would try to force a capitulation of Silesia’s capital.

Easter Monday was also to be a black Monday in the history of Breslau. Air raids started at eight o’clock in the morning and carried on throughout the day, without a pause. Like a forest-fire, flames spread, enveloping the cultural buildings of historical and architectural importance. All of them were destroyed. In Neumarkt there was not one house left standing. The Museum of Art was reduced to a pile of stones. In the Botanical Garden in Lichterloh, not only the conifers gave fuel to the fire, but an ammunition bunker too. Everywhere one looked it burned, making it impossible to stay outside in that inferno for any length of time. Like the blossoming tree, and in spite of the wrath of those Russian invaders, Breslau’s symbol and crest, the City Hall, still stood unmarked. Built in the late Gothic period with resplendent oriel bay windows, it seemed to say “stand fast”! For Breslau was always a German centre. It will always remain German, even when foreign races live within its walls.

This Breslau, late on Easter Monday, was a tragic sight. It was nothing but a ruin. The beautiful river promenade on the banks of the Oder was a maze of trenches. Everywhere one looked, from Gneisenplatz to Lehmann, was a ruin, a ghost of its former self, including the completely burnt-out Grammar School. The lovely facade of the Oberland Courthouse had wounds from heavy artillery shells, the Seminar of the University too. The Church of Elizabeth had grazes from shrapnel in the stonework of its Baroque facade, but still stood tall. A bomb had gutted the inside of the Bartholomew Church, whose graveyard housed the many graves of female members of various institutions. The Exhibitions Halls were also devastated. The “Hundred-Years Hall”, with its giant dome, still stood almost undamaged. It was the largest in the whole of Germany. Within its walls, 10,000 people could be accommodated.

There was an intense and unbearable odour in the air. It came from damaged sewers and drains, and mixed with the stench of decomposing bodies. There was no one who could help, neither workmen to repair the sewers, nor undertakers to bury the thousands of dead. So the dead remained on the streets. The hospitals, full to overflowing, had wounded lying on stretchers, anywhere there was space, even in the cellars and bunkers. On Dome Isl and, uncountable wounded lay on stretchers in the open, under fire.

When we were relieved from our positions at the Institute for the Blind, I made my way from the line of battle and wandered into a cellar. It was filled with civilians, the old, and mothers with their children tightly pressed against them, as if in the thunder and lightning of a storm. All were hunched together, fear engraved into their faces as they sat on ledges around the cellar walls. The cellar was in a large block of rented flats, and as usual supported with wooden posts. There was an older man, who was the air-raid warden. He was in the uniform of the German Railways. I was in the uniform of one of the ‘front-swine’ which awoke a sense of trust and protection in them. I was therefore bombarded with questions. My uniform was not at its best! It was dirty, crumpled and covered in soot and ash, and I was not able to hide the fact that I had just come from the combat-zone. It was natural that I was asked, “how near are the Russians?”

The house swayed and the cellar floor rose and fell under the blast of each explosion. The noise was deafening. After a while we all looked like ghosts, dusted in white distemper from walls and ceiling, like an unwanted shroud. There was no electricity. The only candle giving us light was extinguished time and time again from the air pressure from exploding bombs, as they fell nearer and nearer.

I was the only soldier in the cellar and I had to hide my feelings. Enduring an air raid in such a confined space was not something that I was used to. Such a bombardment as this, even in the main line of resistance was something that I had never experienced. At least when outside, one was armed, and active. Here in this cellar I was not, and so I tried to hide my fear. I made myself useful, as a waiter, handing each one a piece of the traditional crumble and poppy-seed cakes that the women had baked, ready for the Easter celebrations. This action produced weak smiles from starched and stony faces, but didn’t reach the frightened and staring eyes of their distraught owners. I wanted to leave that suffocating place but couldn’t for the crescendo of the falling, whistling bombs was continuous. There was hardly a pause in which I could escape. Spontaneously, loud praying began. “Holy Mary, Mother of God.” Then someone lost his nerve and shouted “Hold your tongues!” The cellar was full of chalk and loosened mortar dust. Mixed with the biting stench of explosives wafting through the cellar ventilators, it was suffocating.

I realised that there seemed to be a lessening in the raid. But still there were a number of low-flying Soviet planes with trigger-happy machine-gunners. I wanted to leave and return to my unit. At last I dared to take a look and saw a dying city, in unending agony, waiting for the next bombardment. It must have been pure unadulterated lust on the part of the Soviet pilots, to fly over the defenceless city as if they owned the sky above Breslau. There was no fighter-bomber resistance, nor any anti-aircraft fire. How long it had all lasted, no one really knew. But it was twilight enhanced with the light from flames.

I made my way back to my unit, with the very strong impression that Breslau was one giant glowing smithy. It was only possible for me to walk in the middle of the road. The houses were licked with flames on both sides of the road. It became a zig-zig obstacle course for me. Then a house suddenly collapsed. The road and I were enveloped in a giant cloud of dust and flying stones which reached to the other side of the street.

Some hours later, a church bell, high in its belfry, was heard to ring out the Easter message over Breslau. But it was not rung by bell-ringers. The sheer waves of heat, from the burning city below, gently nudged the bell into movement. It was no ‘happy Easter’ message, but a death-toll.

The storm of fire would not die, for it was fanned through every glassless window like a giant bellows. The waves of heat blew sparks and glowing particles of wood high into the air, where they nested on the roofs, to create a new fire. There seemed to be no end to Marshall Koniev’s ‘decisive battle’, for during the night, we heard that familiar and unmistakable sound of engines belonging to ‘sewing-machines’. Who could forget those Russian biplanes? They too had the treat of flying over the broken city of Breslau and making sure that it didn’t rise from its knees. They fired tracer ammunition into the already burning buildings.

There was an eerie peacefulness over the city next day, 3 April. The polluted air stank of burning buildings. Gentle rain began to fall. After experiencing the demon in modern explosive techniques, one realised what a God-sent peacefulness was, and how determined nature could be. Here and there, undamaged tulips and hyacinths poked their heads through the rain-washed earth, heralding the spring. They bloomed alongside yellow forsythia, now black, having been burnt to charcoal. At dawn, soldiers and civilians alike, armed with shovels and an assortment of rakes etc, went to work, feverishly looking for the dead and the living under the rubble. The corpses were wrapped in sheets, curtains, even brown packing-paper, without ceremony or consideration of male or female, officer or private. But some were wrapped in flags, for tenting was too costly. What of the usual gun salute? The explosions of time-bombs had to suffice for that.

Crowds of inhabitants who had survived the Easter inferno, went about looking for a new shelter over their heads. Some were overjoyed when, standing in front of a pile of rubble which had been the former home of friends or family, they found a scribbled message in chalk on the stones to say they were alive, and where they could be found.

We were asking ourselves why the Russian high command had used this tactic of attack on Breslau? The answer was easy. It was an example to the Western Allies. The desired result being that when Russian infantry and tanks could not succeed, ‘carpet’ or ‘blanket’ bombing could! Breslau had to be razed from the surface of the earth. It had to be another Stalingrad! The Red Army had sealed Breslau’s escape routes. There was no escape for man nor mouse, and that was the way they wanted it. Attrition, to the last man.

The Russians had reached parts of the centre of the city. But not even with Siberian guards and the enormous numbers of Mongolian sub-machinegun squads could they break the last German defenders. The decisive battle was still not over. General Niehoff reported later that two battalions of the Waffen SS Regiment Besslein had caused the enemy heavy losses, with their excellent performance, and above all their endurance, during that Easter attack. Their commanders were named, being Captains Roge and Zizmann, the same Zizmann for whom I was messenger at the beginning of the fighting. He was wounded during that Easter attack.

The threatened and unavoidable end of the capital was not destined to take place just yet, for through a stroke of ‘luck’, a rather daring Russian officer pushed his ‘luck’ a little too far. He and his tank were captured. One could suppose that the Russian was under orders, just as we were, never to have his combat orders or his map of operations on his person, which could be of help to the enemy or show the secret co-ordination grid-map. This one did, however. As was to be expected the Russians based all their operations on this grid, consisting of numbers and letters of the alphabet. The garrison’s staff could never previously have deciphered messages such as “the attack is to be directed in the direction of F6”, or the operations commander report that “the spearhead has reached lines H3 to B5”. Confirmation came in seconds by quick reference to this map of the Russian commanders themselves — but for our radio-operators who were listening in, without a copy it was a puzzle.

Now our radio-operators and commanders listened in too. They now knew at the same time as their counterparts, of the moves being made. They could take countermeasures and with more than enough time. It was the biggest piece of ‘luck’ that fate could have given us, in our time of need.

Naturally enough, we too used code names for our military operations. They were constantly changed, for we also knew that our radio messages were overheard. We used botanical names, or career, job or profession titles. The sergeant-major was the ‘painter’ and our Regimental commander ‘Mr 22’. The noble residential areas of Breslau equipped us with more than enough exotic and tropical names, or fantasy-based material, not to mention the familiarity of the city’s buildings. The city hall was now the gas-works, the kindergarten the crematorium, or vice-versa. The wounded were called mulatten and the dead, Indianer. The growing numbers of both, mentioned in reports from the front, became more difficult for those working in official departments who wanted to veil the official fighting strength. I was told by one of them, that they adopted the motto, “Even when we lose the war itself, we will have won it on paper!”

The prophesy that “when the Oder flows with blood then the end of Breslau is near” was one well known to every ‘Breslauer,’ having learned it in their schooldays. The river already tainted, flowed with the blood of many. Marshall Koniev still had to wait before he could withdraw his troops from Breslau. He waited for the rest of April and into May.

In his headquarters, General Gluzdovski had not reckoned on the endurance of the soldiers or the civilians in the besieged city, not even after the mercilessness of the Easter bombing raids. As if the Soviets wanted to give us time to consider our plight, for the next few days all was unusually quiet. Unbeknown to us there was also another very grave reason on the Russian side. After the Easter attack, the forces of both the 6th Soviet Army and the 1st Ukrainian Front were so depleted, and the remnants so exhausted, that they were unable to recover from their enormous losses.

In spite of this, our command could not even afford a well-earned rest, for there was a great deal still to do, to think about and to organise. As well as our own losses in soldiers and civilians, there was an extreme shortage of ammunition, so extreme that our artillery were ordered to use their ammunition only in emergency situations. Our legendary FAMO armoured train could only occasionally be used for the same reason.

Not everyone possessed the same threshold for pain or stress, and many of our own changed sides. They deserted. Those deserters exposed the whereabouts of General Niehoff s HQ, at Liebichshohe. It was instantly under continuous bombardment from artillery and bombs. It was engulfed in smoke as if from a slumbering but puffing volcano, which could be seen from a couple of miles away. Even the move of his HQ to the cellars of the State University Library, on 14 April, was known to the Russians twenty-four hours later. There were with certainty other ‘Tanyas’ at work, who were to be found within the walls of the fortress. They infiltrated resistance groups as well, to form small cells of opposition, and kindle the flame of mutiny among the soldiers, or even to plan the assassination of Niehoff. Therefore, when the suspects were found and arrested, their fate was an instant court martial.

We had the bitter experience of Germans fighting against Germans in Breslau. That former comrades could fight against their own, and with Russian weapons, was in sharp contrast to the sacrifices made by those not in uniform. As late as 2 May, 80 men of the ‘National Committee for Free Germany’, in German uniform, crept into western Breslau. Their task ended before it had begun, although they did overwhelm the guards of a battalion command post. Their undoing was coming face to face with Waffen SS who recognised their ruse. A former Leutnant, Leutnant Veith, and his deserter accomplices were arrested and shot. Even a group of former Ukrainian Waffen SS tried their luck, but fled.

After the war, those gullible German hiwis for the Red Army were to receive a short sharp lesson about the Communist character. Radio Moscow reported in a broadcast firstly that the Free Germany Committee had been dissolved, and secondly that the desertion of both Paulus and Seydlitz had been nothing else but ‘war propaganda’ to discredit them. For those who had deserted in following the example of the two ‘gentlemen,’ who had been the epitome of the German soldier for so many men, it brought about the realisation that their sacrifice had been totally worthless.

Who were Paulus and Seydlitz and what was the Committee for a Free Germany? Friedrich Paulus began his career in an infantry regiment. He was an officer of the General Staff in 1918, and captain within various staff and other units until 1931. In 1935 he was Chief of Staff of the 16th Army Corps, Chief of General Staff in 1939 and General and Commander-in-Chief of the 6th Army in the winter crisis of 1941/42. He was captured by the Russians in January 1943. His army career was brilliant until the siege of Stalingrad, which appeared to be his undoing, for various reasons, one being that this situation was one with which he could not cope. He as Field Marshal joined the already existing Committee for a Free Germany whilst in captivity in the camp for officers, in Lunjewo. One must ask why?

Only after his death were the memoirs of Walther von Seydlitz-Kurzbach, known as the ‘Stalingrad General’ published. To this day there is a divided school of thought about this man. Was he a traitor, or a patriot who had ‘changed horses in mid-stream’ to become a resistance-fighter in order to save his own skin? He, like Friedrich Paulus, also had a brilliant military career and was the 54th soldier to receive the Knight’s Cross with Oak-leaves from Hitler. He had fought in France. In February 1942, on orders from Hitler, he released 100,000 German soldiers with four divisions and a mountain infantry brigade from the besieged city of Demyansk. He was captured by the Russians in late February 1943. He spent the next four months in a special camp in Krasnagorsk on the outskirts of Moscow, for reasons only known to the Russians. The Generals were separated and given quarters of their own. At the end of June they were transferred to Voikovo.

On the initiative of the Russian government and German emigrants, the ‘Committee for a Free Germany’ was formed as a propaganda machine on 12 and 13 July 1943. Seydlitz learned of those events from fellow prisoners who could read the Russian newspaper Isvestiya. Reports were read daily about the latest military disasters on the front. Meetings were organised for the Generals to attend. A delegation of officers and men had, at the end of the day, persuaded 12 officers, 13 subordinates and 13 emigrants to be members. The Committee was at first ignored by the German Generals. So on 19 August Seydlitz, together with Generals Korfes and Wulz, was transferred to the same camp as Paulus, which was now overflowing with prisoners, mainly those who had fought in Stalingrad. There were around 70 prisoners in all, officers from General down to Lieutenant.

Was it co-incidence? Was Stalingrad the basis of their association? Perhaps it was in combination with the realisation, at almost the same time as the ‘Committee for a Free Germany’ was founded, that without the prominent names of the highest ranks of German prisoners, there would be very little success for the Russian government in their propaganda campaign.

The seeds of that action had not fallen on totally barren ground. Those accustomed to commanding, and who came from aristocratic houses, had military fore bears and backgrounds, were also accustomed to being part of the ruling forces. Seydlitz was one such. Perhaps there were noble intentions from those who knew that the end of the war was near, and that Germany would lose. Perhaps others wanted to end the misery of thousands. It was suggested that they form their own Association of Officers, the Bundes Deutscher Offiziere, the BDO. But that was not without some protest from the original delegation.

It was founded on 11/12 September. Seydlitz declared that he was prepared to take over the Presidency. The aim of the Association would be to win as many as possible still-loyal soldiers away from Hitler. In other words they would incite desertion. On that day a committee was voted in. 95 officers signed a petition demanding the resignation of Hitler and the German government. During his internment, Paulus was prepared to send a birthday card to Stalin, on his 70th birthday, to thank him, on behalf of the German prisoners, for the good treatment they received. It annoyed Seydlitz who ignored both of those suggestions, saying that Paulus could not know of individual fates and could not therefore speak for the POWs that he did not know. Perhaps with that affront, he prepared his own death sentence. On 23 May Paulus left the camp and Seydlitz never saw him again. For his sins, Seydlitz was accused and tried for war crimes by the Russians and condemned to death. He was already 62 years of age. This was then changed to 25 years’ imprisonment, upon which Seydlitz demanded to be shot, on the spot. To this the Russians replied, “only the SS do that.”

In September 1955 and after the visit of Adenauer to Moscow, Seydlitz was released on 4 October. He found himself in the camp for released Russian prisoners of war in Friedland, where his wife was waiting. They had four daughters. Under pressure from former Nazis, she divorced him some time later. He was ostracised by his former friends and comrades. He stayed silent over his behaviour until his death in the 1970s. Then his memoirs, which he had long since writ ten, were released for publication.

The ancestor of Walther von Seydlitz was none other than Frederick the Great, whose name was a symbol for Prussian soldiery. Seydlitz declared that in his oath he had wasted his faithfulness and his obedience on a ‘criminal’, i.e. Hitler. He became firmly convinced of that after the battle of Stalingrad. Stalingrad was, and still is a name full of meaning, not only to the German and Russian veterans who fought there, but also for every student and would-be student of the Second World War.

In contrast to those German traitors, there were also the stoic and the patriotic, who even as Russian prisoners of war, found ways to support their brothers-in-arms. In our need and shortage of ammunition, we feverishly collected together Russian ‘duds’ for adaptation. We found a puzzle. Many were not filled with the necessary explosive material, but with sand. It remained a puzzle for some time, until one day a scrap of paper was to be found in the sand with a scribbled message, “more than this, comrade, we could not achieve”. It was then clear that German prisoners of war must be working in a munitions factory and it was their way of deactivating the bombs and shells that they made! Somewhere in those unending ‘steppes of Russia’, were heroes, practically powerless, but who quietly worked away for Germany’s cause and were prepared to lay down their lives, in such dangerous acts, for their still-fighting comrades.

The psychological terror and persuasion from the Reds now began in strength, urging desertion with rewards. The usual was offered. Feasts for the stomach and girls for one’s pleasure. Both however were still in plenty within the fortress in Breslau, even then. The Reds even went to the expense of printing extra leaflets for the Waffen SS in which they guaranteed the lives of those members of the Besslein Regiment, after being taken prisoner!

Once more, rumours circulated around Breslau about ‘wonder weapons’ such as the V2 and V3, new planes flying faster than the speed of sound, turbo-jets which rendered Allied bomber flights into scrap metal. It was said that only a few weeks were needed until their usage was possible. Could we hold on until then? It was simply a case that we had to hold on until then, i.e. until the enemy would receive a very nasty surprise.

The small flame of hope that we had, grew with the death of Franklin D. Roosevelt on 12 April. The news spread that there were disagreements in the Allies’ camp. That ill-fated ‘alliance’ it seemed was about to crumble after all, for we had even heard that the British and Americans were about to march together against the Bolsheviks. Added to that, we were elated to know that moves to free us were about to take place. There was a tangible possibility of relief from outside, in the form of Field Marshal Ferdinand Schorner, who knew about the saga within the fortress walls.

However, his plan to release a large portion from his army group to come to our relief did not materialise, despite permissions, plans and radio messages bouncing to and fro. All too often, ‘General Chaos’ had taken command, but the successes from him were few and far between. So our release from Breslau remained a rumour. We still held on to our hope of a ‘miracle’.

We had survived the worst attack on the city, which had not ended in capitulation. We may have taken a beating, but were still in the ring and on our feet. What more would the Reds do? They could still lose many a tooth by biting on the bone called Breslau, the ultimate target being the defence of Silesia’s city until it had earned the name of ‘unconquerable’. In the last few weeks, every soldier had interpreted for himself the term, ‘fighting to the last man’. That expression had its roots in Stalingrad, but Stalingrad was not the only example in the previous few months. General Otto Lasch, had also fought almost to his ‘last man’ in East Prussia, in Königsberg, capitulating only on 9 April. Despite defeat, those actions had deterred the strongest of Russian troops on their advance to the west. Perhaps, unbeknown to us, it had saved the lives of thousands of refugees on the move. We would do the same, come what may.

We lay like a lonely island in the middle of the Russian flood. Each new day ran its course in the fortress, as it had done yesterday and the day before. Daily, thousands suffered physically in military and civilian hospitals. Endless sacrifices were made by the civilians in that bloody warfare. By day and by night, hour upon hour was spent in the cellars, by the old, the women, the children and the sick.

It was 20 April, Hitler’s birthday. As was usual, we received a birthday present from the Führer in the form of a bottle of wine which was presented to us by a NSFO i.e. Nationalsozialistischer Führungs Offizier, responsible for Party propaganda. Even under those circumstances tradition was not for got ten, although the duty of that officer could not have been comfortable for him, or the speech that he gave. One could really not wish to have to perform his duties on that day. The position that he held had been a part of the Nazi structure since 1944. It gave him the duty of administering a psychological dose of patriotism, stoicism and illusion, to keep ‘everyone’s finger on the trigger of his gun’. His speech was a mixture of hollow pathos and words of victory. We listened politely, but with scepticism, because he wore the Gold Close-combat Clasp for ‘over fifty’ recognised actions.

It could not have been easy to uphold the illusion of a still-determined and steadfast Hitler, on the 56th birthday of the man. He was surrounded on all sides, in his bunker deep in the bowels of the Reichskanzlei, in what not only seemed to be a hopeless situation, but would prove to be so. But he did his best. We heard that our commander-in-chief was holding fast in a heroic fight against Bolshevism. Whether or not he won a victory, or if he suffered a defeat, his name would be added to the annals of history. The Russians were not to be left out of the birthday celebrations. They chose their 112th Division to deliver the fireworks against the Wehrmacht Regiment Mohr that was to be found on a small sector of the front.

It was no coincidence that this very small sector was chosen for a victory. It was confirmed by the Polish military historians, Rysyard Majewski and Teresa Sozanska, in the book, The Battle for Breslau. They reported that the ‘Hitlerites’ of this unit, the battalion commander, two company leaders and 70% of the men, paid their penalties inside an hour’s battle. This book written, of course, from the Russian point of view, quoted that Colonel Schavoshkin had taken care that Hitler’s birthday had been a very noisy celebration. Not for the first time, we were sent to relieve the now-depleted Regiment Mohr, for they were transferred to the southern sector, which appeared to be quiet, for the moment.

The weather on 20 April, was ‘royal’ weather which helped the growth of the plants, shrubs and tree blossom in the desecrated gardens of the city. It was 25° in the shade and spring was not going to be deterred from presenting her blooms and blossom, albeit somewhat early in the year. The lilac was in bloom, spreading its perfume into air polluted with smoke and gunpowder. The flowers forced their way through the raped earth together with the weeds. The shrubs in the gardens were now a blaze of colour, red, white and apricot, forcing their faces through the rubble to the sun. It did the soul good to stick one’s nose into the lushness of blossom and perfume, freely offered, forgetting if only for a minute, the odour of war.

Since the middle of April, our battalion had been engaged in the sector of the Andersen, Steinover and West End streets, in very tough fighting. From the Kipke brewery in the south-west, we were ordered to Striegauer Platz. There is a report about the defence of this section of the city, also from a Polish author, from whom we were to learn many years later that our opponent was the Soviet Lieutenant-Colonel Malinin and his unit. The author quoted from Malinin’s own vastly exaggerated description of his engagement with “a very strong company of tough Waffen SS”, who were “equipped with the very best of weapons, i.e. hand-grenades and bazookas”. That version of events appeared in their 6th Army ‘front’ newspaper. Either the exaggeration was deliberate, or his memory a little foggy. I remember very well who the better equipped were. The mass of new equipment, left behind after their withdrawal, showed that for every new and shining brass shell-case, still warm to the touch, there were just as many empty vodka bottles, the backbone of every good Russian soldier. Perhaps one was his. But the well-equipped were most certainly not us. This made the success of our counter-attack even more surprising for us.

Only minutes later, our opponents had re formed once more, just a street further on. They were hiding behind broken walls and in bombed cellars, waiting to ward off a further advance from us. We, the 11th Company were the spearhead for the battalion and we dug in waiting for further orders. Darkness fell, and suddenly the ‘fortress-brides’ appeared with canisters of hot soup and a brew of coffee. They appeared, smiling proudly, their unkempt hair tucked under steel helmets and, far from elegant, dressed in military trousers which were much too wide for most of them. But they were happy that they had found us. At the risk of losing their lives, those Amazons had followed us at a distance and impressed us by their show of guts, loyalty and comradeship. They showed that they were made of much stronger stuff, than being there for a flirt or two. It gave us courage and it pained us at the same time when thinking of their personal fates if or when we suffered defeat.

Composure and endurance had been shown by all the troops in Breslau. Those two human constituents are not innate, they have to be learned. We were spurred on nearly every day with first-hand experiences of personal fates, which brought anger when someone we knew was involved. The personal fate of such as a young comrade from the Rhine, brought us to the edge of frustration, thick-skinned as we had become. Our long-awaited post had been delayed for a long time, not surprising under the circumstances. The joy of receiving a letter from his girlfriend, his bride-to-be, was great indeed. He had proudly shown me a photograph of her. She was fresh, she was pretty and photographed in her labour-service uniform, astride her bicycle. His happiness overflowed at the thought of seeing her again, but three days later he was dead. We had had a night visit from the Bolshevik infantry. The next morning, we found him with his distorted face in the rubble, but he had not died from his splinter-wounds. He had been shot, in the back of the neck. The long-awaited letter, now stained with his blood, was taken by one of his comrades. Whether he outlived the war, to take it to his comrade’s girl friend, and inform her of the last few days of his life, is also unknown.

We had now been under siege for three months. One day, one of the messengers from the supply unit brought us news that our troops were fighting “for Berlin”. No one, but no one in our besieged city, so far away from our capital, had reckoned on this. We simply had not envisaged an end to the war, and most certainly not at the end of the month of April. Our own situation had not given us time for thought of anything outside of the city, except for fleeting moments and then without up-to-date military information. Why should we? We were stunned with this information and alarmed. The Red Army had still not achieved the success of Breslau’s capitulation, after three months of aggressive defence measures from our side. Therefore to hear that in between times they had reached Berlin, after we had engaged, in part, the best of the Red Army troops, was devastating for us. And when Berlin fell?

From the military point of view, we had no cause at the moment to give up the fight. But the situation back home gave us our first serious doubts as the first cracks appeared in our ability to hold on. However, what should we do? Firstly, we had given an oath, one which was ‘holy’ for us. Secondly, we would rather die than be taken prisoners, at least not by the Reds. Added to that, we dare not think of the terrible fate of civilians, such as that they had already faced in East Prussia and Silesia. We dare not give up. However, for most of us this latest news could not be ignored. It was clear to us that the final battle for the fortress was very, very near.

In the military reports of this time, in what was now stereotyped repetition, it was stated that our,

Since Easter we had had cooler weather which, on 27 April, returned to the former beautiful Easter weather of 25° in the shade. We had a balmy, cloudless night with full moonshine. The moonlight and single flashes of muzzle-fire lit the sky. We could see through paneless windows the towering ruins making a bizarre and ghostly scene on that relatively peace fulnight. But it was suddenly and repeatedly shattered, by exploding bombs of a heavy calibre. The enemy artillery took no consideration of their own troops, who were lying on the opposite side of the road to us.

We could not seal off the front-line, broken at Posenerstrasse, the enemy having barricaded themselves into unusual corners. For this particular night, I decided against using double guards here and there, and posted half of our squad with machine-guns and a good stock of hand-grenades, on the main line of resistance. We could determine if Soviet shock-troops were sneaking up on us by using the rays of the searchlights.

We could hear machine-gun fire from somewhere, as well as single shots from a rifle. Both were designed to keep us awake, and to keep us from our well-deserved sleep, meaning that we should not be fit for the next day’s battle. In the diary of the Wehrmacht, the report for 28 April read, “In Breslau, the Soviets were successful in breaking through our front in several sectors”.

It was at dawn that Soviet infantry, supported by a mass of tanks, attacked our front lines. Because of the lack of ammunition, we had no support from our own infantry. We did have local support from a handful of infantry gunners in open positions, who were guarding one of the city’s gates. Their very last shell killed one of the enemy’s forward artillery observers, who obviously wanted to defy death. Our losses on that day were simply horrendous. Our battalion had to retreat to Leuthenstrasse and it was there that I was wounded. It was the third time and only eight days before the end of the war. I cannot say that I saw the end of the war in those seconds, but I re member in my unconscious that I was terrified at the thought that I had not lived to see its end. Our group had been in the ground floor of a block of flats badly damaged by tank-fire but which gave us protection. We had a very good view of the enemy. In fact we had the upper hand, except for a sniper who gave us a bad time. We could not replenish the ammunition badly needed by our grenadiers. So I decided to handle this problem myself, without any thrill of victory or the courage of a hero, but because I was just frustrated and angry.

In a series of jumps and leaps I reached the third floor of the half-destroyed staircase and fired a whole machine-gun magazine into the dark windows opposite, in the direction I thought he was to be found. If this action of mine were to be examined under a military microscope, the first criticism would be that it should have only been carried out by one of our snipers, who had marksman experience. The result was obvious. As if I had received a blow from an iron bar, my rifle fell suddenly from my hand. In reflex, I grasped at thin air for support. I felt absolutely no pain. Perplexed, I watched blood pour from the arm of my jacket and I looked at my lifeless arm, hanging towards the ground, without any strength to move it. I had received a shot through my lower arm.

The phenomenon of not feeling pain for some hours after being wounded, is ‘not unusual’, to quote Dr. Peter Bamm, military doctor and surgeon from the Second World War. “We were to experience this phenomenon time and time again. It is causation. The brain is able to block off the effects from the cause. It blocks the entrance in the middle part of the brain responsible for pain, even during the physical efforts of battle. The pain begins only hours after”. That is exactly what happened with me, but aft er this had happened I was overcome with a dread of dying, almost knotting my throat together.

I found a first aid station in the Andersen School, in the cellar, visible to the outside world with a small white rag with a red cross. It showed us the entrance to which I had been accompanied by a comrade. On the schoolmaster’s desk a towel had been spread, upon which an array of instruments had been laid, scalpel, tweezers etc, but I was only to receive two injections here, one in my upper-arm and one in my buttocks. A Red Cross sister undid my trousers which had been newly issued to me. Without any ado, she administered the injections, hung a card around my neck and sent me packing to the nearest surgeon. The impression I received was one of robots working on an assembly line. The wounded were in the school, where the desks had been piled one on top of the other, along the wall, to give space for them. After being attended to they had to wait for transport. The doctor, the nurses and the medics were oblivious of the shuddering walls and floor, when a shell landed nearby. There then followed an epilogue, the moans of the wounded, echoing the suffering of mankind. I was happy to leave that place. We, for I was accompanied by two other walking wounded, made our way in the direction of Schweidnitzerstrasse, to where we all had to go. On the way, near the main line of resistance, we heard gramophone music which became louder and louder, coming from the ground floor of a bomb-damaged house.

One could not call it a pub, but at first sight we saw soldiers and civilians indulging in a release of feelings, emotion or worry, call it what you will. They were drinking and enjoying themselves and forgetting the war. One can really say that they were dancing on top of the volcano, and not very far away from hell! We could only stand, stare and wonder at the paradox of lustiness that we saw. Perhaps my injections had dulled my senses, for I, together with the other two, indulged in a beer. I had just missed death by a hair’s breadth. I believe that one can understand that I wanted, just for a moment, to switch off from the gruesome daily routine and enjoy the frivolity that we had found in what was a very strange place. It was a ‘dive’, perhaps that would describe it correctly and it might have housed deserters. I did not care about the past, with its examples of composure, or stiff upper-lips. I just did not want to know. The wounded soldier is also a member of mankind, and in the split second that he is wounded, he is thrown from the warrior’s tracks and becomes a helpless creature. A creature who had given his innermost, making his contribution to world history, giving his energy in the direction of the enemy without thinking about himself, until he sees the flow of his own blood. He is then not able to help himself.

We found Medical Centre No.5, between the Church of St Dorothy and the City Theatre, in the ante-room of the wine cellar of the restaurant, “The Hansa Cellar”. A military doctor, two Red Cross sisters, a medic and other auxiliaries attended to about fifty wounded soldiers. My arm by now was really painful and extremely swollen. My dressing was changed and my arm put into a splint. I was then given a bed in the damp cellar, where the wounded slept in bunk beds, three on top of one another and I was allocated one on the top. The cellar ceilings were low and I had to fold myself up in order to climb into it. Those badly wounded slept on the lowest bunks. My neighbour, who had a blood-drenched bandage around his head, offered me as a welcome relief a flask which was against all of our regulations, but which contained brandy.

After a while I could ascertain that we were a very mixed bunch, from the air force, army, and Volkssturm. Two sailors were there, who at the time of the siege had been on holiday in Breslau, and afterwards were conscripted into the infantry. I was the only member of the Waffen SS, despite the fact that we had had very many wounded.

On the whole, I could build a very good picture from the reports of the men from different sectors of the front. It did not look very rosy. I gleaned something else from their reports about mankind. The actions of those men, in their reports of the situation at the front, were tinged with smouldering anger. What could not be ignored was the furious rage of the attacking enemy, always without consideration of their own men, which was confirmation of my own experience. We exchanged experiences in cold facts, almost without emotion and I heard incredible stories, almost unbelievable. That they themselves had been in battle, under primitive conditions for months on end, was spoken in a whisper. It appeared that they had forgotten that they were former labourers, farmers, clerks or students. That was all a long time ago, it seemed. Now they were highly qualified specialists in close-combat. For stratagem, spirit of comradeship and quiet acts of heroism, when mentioned, were without a hint of pathos.

The doctor and his assistants, despite primitive conditions, attended to our needs in the damp rooms of the cellars, twenty-four hours a day. They used their medical know-how and technical guile to save lives, which in another part of the city were being destroyed. Every day the newspaper of the Festung, the Schlesischen Tageszeitung, was still being printed. On the first page of the edition for 28 April 1945, the conditions at the front had been reported in detail. In the edition of the following day, the 29th and the day that I was wounded, one could read, “There was once again bitter fighting, during Friday night, from the Bolsheviks. After strong artillery fire aimed at the northern flank of the west front, penetration by them was achieved on a small scale. They were quickly forced back, almost closing the front once more. Our troops had a success in another sector, winning back in a counter-attack a block of flats which the Bolsheviks had taken the day before, and forcing the enemy back to their original positions”.

On the same page, in large print, were the headlines, “Stronger support measures for Berlin”. Under this heading was the report that our troops had turned their backs on the Americans at the river Elbe to start the battle for the centre of Berlin. “Whilst we in Breslau are busy with the continuation of a successful defence of the fortress, we look, together with the German people and the rest of the world, at the fierce battle in and around Berlin”.

Like an ebb tide, the battle area at the end of April in the rest of Silesia moved backwards and forwards, to and fro. In the region of Bautzen-Meissen, the German counter-attacks were surprisingly successful. We won back our territory of Kamenz and Königsbrück. We won and we lost, and so did the Russians. The Russians lost on 30 April, in Brünn, so heavily that they retreated. The day before, they took Austerlitz, where Napoleon in 1805 had won a victory over Austria and Russia. Despite giving all that we had left to give, rumours of the forthcoming capitulation of Breslau became heated. An ecclesiastical delegation from both persuasions visited the fortress commander on 4 May, for earnest discussion on capitulation. The delegation was headed by the Diocesan assistant bishop, Bishop Ferche, dressed in his bishop’s regalia.

The delegation had made their way through the burning city and were clearly dismayed at the sight of Breslau. They thought that now, as servants of God, and “before God and mankind” that it was their duty to approach the General. They wanted to appeal to him that he search his conscience and assess if he could be responsible for the further defence of the city. In view of the measures that these men of the clergy deemed necessary, and who had supported the defence of the city with their ‘Samaritan’ service, General Niehoff promised them that he would come to a decision, and soon.

It was thought at the time that the bishopric visit was decisive for General Niehoff. When the truth was known that he could have, for his sins, made a confession that he had already made his decision before their appearance, he did not. One does not capitulate with chaos, without thought or a structure for bargaining, in seeking the best from a deal and above all wanting to avoid despotic rule. Only with a front-line still intact, and obedience from both soldiers and the civilian population, was the successful bartering for an honourable capitulation of the city forthcoming. So it had to be kept secret for as long as possible.

The Russians were waiting by the hour. Their bombers still flew their routine sorties. Their artillery still sent their shells precisely according to their grid-map. We were left waiting for the final blow which did not come.

At that time our radio-bugging service overheard a broadcast sent by BBC London, that the British leadership recognised the performance of the de fending troops in Breslau. They were very much impressed and had therefore refused the request from Moscow, that British bombers deliver the final blow to bring Breslau to its knees.

Raw unadulterated reality informed General Niehoff’s plans for the capitulation of Breslau. His experience and his intuition told him that he faced a fait accompli.