Siege of Küstrin, 1945

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]