Siege of Küstrin, 1945

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The attack started early in the morning. Two MG 42s gave us covering fire from the railway embankment as we set off. Sergeant August Finkler and I took our sections along the Warthe, while Sergeant Werner Gesterding was some distance to my right with his section. As we crossed the railway tracks we came under mortar fire. They must have received supplies. Apparently they were using a covered entrance to the factory from the north.

The firing forced us to split up. Sergeants Martin Intemann and Werner Gesterding went to the right, away from the coverless ground and out of our sight. August Finkler and his men went to the Warthe somewhat to the right of my section. The deployment should have made the Russian mortar concentrate on one individual target, but our calculation did not come off. The Russians were able to observe us clearly. The mortar was under precise direction. We tried at least to advance quickly and reached a gravelled path alongside a row of raised pipelines. The pipes and a shallow hollow beyond them provided us with some cover from view.

We crawled alongside the pipes, escorted by mortar fire. We wanted at least to reach the factory building that was within striking distance, not 50 metres away. A few paces in front of it stood a wooden watchtower, apparently the perch of a hunter, rising about 2 or 3 metres above the ground. We thought that we had seen some movement in it. Bombardier Horn fired a shot with his grenade launcher at the watchtower. A Russian jumped off in a flash and disappeared behind a corner of the factory as angry mortar fire descended on us. The gravelled path disappeared on the left into a little underpass. We reached safety in short spurts. Unfortunately the protection was a bit pathetic as the mortar splinters also flew in there.

After a short breather I ran to the western side of the factory building, closely followed by my men, getting out of the mortar fire. In front of the factory lay a row of dead men in brown uniforms: Hungarians.

I wrenched open the factory door and came into a sort of lobby, but found no Russians. There was some brown material lying around, as well as some rifles, and along the southern wall was a long table. I ran up an open staircase to the first floor and opened the door to a workroom with a jerk. It was pitch dark inside the room and I could only just make out some machinery. I banged the door to behind me.

Suddenly it was obvious that it was impossible to look for Russians inside the workroom. We needed light. The windows would have to be shot through. We set about it and discovered that there were no Russians inside the building, otherwise they would have fired at me when I opened the workroom door. Or were we in an ambush?

We searched the high-ceilinged lobby and looked at the dead in front of the building. A few paces from the doorway some six to ten soldiers lay face down on a curved driveway. All had been killed in the most terrible way with an entrenching tool. They had been executed with blows to the neck. The Russians had removed the boots of some of them. The sight of this made us very angry.

The Russians must have surprised the Hungarians eating. There were the remains of a meal on the long table in the lobby: bread, sausage and cheese. Between them were mess tins and long cutlery.

From about the level of the factory building there was a vast store of wood extending to the north with man-high stacks of 2-metre-long round logs. This was the raw material for the factory. The stacks were precisely arranged, row by row and as far as the eye could see, all evenly spaced. My comrades pulled out a Russian from behind one of the stacks. He had apparently become separated from the others. He was not much older than 16. He shook all over and his dark eyes went uneasily from man to man, thinking that he had reached his last hour. We took him back later and handed him over to our company headquarters. He was the only prisoner from our attack.

What had the Hungarians been doing in the factory? The little watchtower showed that they had supervised and guarded prisoners of war working there. Certainly they thought themselves well clear of the firing and thought that they would survive the end of the war here.

The attack meanwhile continued. A Russian tank fired at the roof of the factory in which we were deployed and shot it to pieces. Our next goal was a small factory building to the east of us. I believe that it stood at an angle to the main building. The Russians were firing like mad from the cellar windows. We took ten minutes’ pause before attacking, but before we could do so an 88m flak gun shot the building to pieces and thick smoke rose up.

Unexpectedly Senior Officer Cadet Noak and Sergeant Langheinrich appeared with their platoons and relieved us. We set off alongside the Warthe towards our accommodation. Astonishingly, none of us had been wounded.

Meanwhile the attack by Noak’s and Langheinrich’s platoon continued. Despite the 88mm fire, the Russians fought on bitterly. Finally their resistance was broken by some hits with Panzerfausts. The situation offered them no way out, but none had surrendered, and at the end all were dead.

This successful attack had cost the company some serious losses. Senior Officer Cadet Noak died during the attack from a stomach wound, Sergeant Gesterding had a leg wound and was taken off to field hospital. Less seriously wounded was Sergeant Fritz Wenzig. These losses meant a serious weakening of our company and no replacements could be expected.[25]

Some of our scouts reconnoitred in a north-westerly direction as far as Drewitz Teerofen. Near these crossroads stood two little houses in which we encountered some worried civilians. However, they did not follow us. The woods were a bit thinner to the left of the crossroads area, and in there was a large building, the Drewitz forester’s house. My comrade, W. Grunbitsch, with whom I had been at the NCO School, was killed by a shot in the head that day.

Immediately afterwards the advancing enemy were fighting in the wood area around the railway employees’ convalescent home. During this we lost all contact with our right-hand neighbour, who had withdrawn. Part of our platoon also left without being ordered to do so. This counted as our first day of close combat.

Looking for other members of the platoon, I went back to the convalescent home again, but without success. Suddenly a bullet struck near me at head level, and through the open doorway I could see the branches of a small tree moving by the fence. That was where my opponent must be. Throwing a hand grenade, I jumped aside, reached the woods and took cover. Quite soon afterwards I was able to meet up with my platoon again. Together we discovered that other members of our platoon, including the platoon commander, were near the level-crossing keeper’s hut at the Kohlenweg Hospital crossing. When we met, the platoon commander shook my hand and said: ‘Thanks for bringing the section back.’ The confidence I had previously had in him crumbled.

Our company commander fell at the beginning of February and Second-Lieutenant Adolf Fleischer took over on 8 February. From about the beginning of February until the beginning of March, our platoon was deployed in the sector south of the Kohlenweg (between the railway and the Zorndorfer Chaussee), and also east of there. Occasionally we could use some earthen bunkers, but these only offered protection from the elements and lacked fresh air. The damp firewood did little in the bunker stoves. Although there was not much trace of warmth, we at least had a roof over our heads in the thaw, and that was worth something.

Even here we had to send out reconnaissance parties of five to six men after first reporting to Captain von Oldershausen. Our task was to bring in prisoners, and three days’ special leave was promised for every prisoner brought in. The battalion commander tried to build up our confidence, to rouse our ambitions and called on us to do our duty. (I also passed my probation as a potential NCO.) Then he gave us an account of his military career and the awards of the Iron Cross 1st and 2nd Class. His attitude from then on resulted in our belief that he had ‘a pain in the throat’–in military slang a yearning to be decorated with the Knights’ Cross–and we had better take care.

In the subsequent patrol we went in the dark northwards through the woods in the direction of the Küstrin forester’s house. We came across a deep Soviet trench system that we were able to cross, but were then caught in their flares and hit by overwhelming firepower. Second-Lieutenant Fleischer sympathised with us over our failed attempt. The same had happened to him on his first attempt, and success only came with a repeat attempt. With this kind of assessment our young company commander won our confidence, something that was not always in evidence.[26]

Enemy attempting to encircle Küstrin from the north and south and to gain river crossings via the main road (railway) with attacks from all sides. The enemy attacked the bridges near the Bienenhof (south of Küstrin) with 5 tanks but were repelled with the loss of 3 tanks. Own counterattack to retake Warnick stalled by heavy enemy fire. Enemy attack from south-west and east on Sonnenburg led to encirclement of garrison. Tschernow in enemy hands.[32]

Half frozen and dead tired, one or two evenings later, we were moved towards Alt Drewitz. The road where we were deployed was only built up on one side. Undeveloped land extended to the south-west and beyond it the Warthe could be seen behind the Cellulose Factory.

That evening a young girl appeared from a nearby farm and asked for our help. She had stayed behind alone with the cattle. We warned her and advised her to go to Küstrin and on to the west, but she went back saying: ‘I simply cannot leave the cattle to their fate!’

Originally we were meant to attack along the road leading in a north-westerly direction, but our company commander, Lieutenant Schellenberg, received a change in orders. In our place a Hungarian infantry battalion from the Stülpnagel Barracks would conduct the counterattack. A few hours later the poor chaps brought their wounded back crying. We sat on the doorsteps of the houses, knowing what we had been spared.

Entering the houses was strongly forbidden but, after three or four days of being out in the open in heavy frost and without proper sleep, I went into a house with my friend Nils Fauck, where we fell on the beds on the first floor without removing our boots and overcoats. We slept until our screaming sergeant woke us with: ‘Stupid! Court martial!’ and other threats. This had no effect, as we were still tired. Our company was given a bottle of almost frozen Sekt per man and then was supposed to attack the Cellulose Factory across open fields in the dark and occupy it. No shots were fired and we encountered no Russians. We stumbled across two dead horses at the factory gates. I was sent as a runner towards the south to establish contact with the forward platoon there as dawn was breaking. In unfamiliar territory I came across 200 unarmed Hungarians sitting behind a plank fence. They pointed the way to the factory for me. Suddenly I saw some motionless men lying in a row. When they failed to react to my call, I took courage and approached them. They were about 20 dead Hungarians. A white rag hung from a stick. By the time I reached the factory both our platoons had already linked up without encountering any Russians.

We occupied a position in front of the factory’s wood store with a field of fire to the north-west across open land between the Warthe and Alt Drewitz. There were two shot-up Soviet tanks of American construction on the factory premises. A Volkssturm man, presumably an engineer from the factory as he appeared here several times, had knocked them out with a Panzerfaust. He showed me the way it had happened. Neither tank was burnt out, nor did they contain corpses, but there was a completely flattened Russian nearby. So we were able to help ourselves to cigars, bread and schnapps from the tanks. Further on we found on the premises a 105mm anti-aircraft gun with all its equipment, including numerous anti-aircraft machine guns on tripods, which were slow-firing but used normal infantry ammunition, so that each section got its own machine guns. Gradually with the help of the unarmed but friendly Hungarians we built up our positions and even received some Panzerfausts. The Hungarians were withdrawn once the construction work was finished, but I do not know where they went.

Once the period of frost was over, the soggy soil of the open terrain between the Cellulose Factory and the Drewitzer Unterweg to Alt Drewitz prevented the construction of any positions there. Consequently we were secured at night by having listening posts. During the daytime the open terrain was fully exposed and within our field of fire, as well as fire from the Cellulose Factory and also the Drewitzer Unterweg. Several times the Russians infiltrated behind us but were always driven back.

The company command post was incomprehensibly located not in the Cellulose Factory but far back on Plantagenstrasse near the Potato Meal Factory in one of the modern three-storey housing blocks. As runner, I was responsible for exchanging our radio batteries. Once I encountered our quartermaster-sergeant in a drunken state with the company headquarters troop shooting at empty Sekt bottles with pistols. I was given a rocket for not saluting him properly.[33]

When the war reached Küstrin, I lived in Warnick.

On the 31st January the first Soviet tanks penetrated as far as the centre of the Neustadt, but were successfully repulsed and things became quiet again for a while. One day later, on the 1st February, at about 2100 hours it started up again and we heard the first shots. We people from Langardesmühlen decided to move into the cellars of an old villa belonging to Max Falckenberg, in front of which was a spacious park, which would later prove useful to us. The sounds of firing diminished at about midnight, and a German NCO appeared in the cellars and told us that the Russians were in Landsberg. As the distance from Küstrin to Landsberg was about 45 kilometres, we felt safe for the moment. But this was an error, for shortly afterwards we heard Russian voices and the firing started up again. The Russians were lying well back in the park and firing at the villa, which had been occupied by our troops. As well as he could, the NCO kept us informed about the situation outside, where there had been many killed on both sides.

Shortly before 0700 hours on the morning of the 2nd February, a German soldier appeared and told us that the NCO had been killed. There was a short truce in the fighting during which we were advised to leave as quickly as possible, which we did. We came to Schiffbauerstrasse. Near the Bennewitz abattoir a man told us that Küstrin had been surrounded and the bridges destroyed, so we stayed in Schiffbauerstrasse and experienced the siege of Küstrin until the end of February with constant shelling, bombing, dead soldiers and even Stalin-Organs one day. We were sitting in the kitchen when there was suddenly an ear-splitting din. The house next door had been pulverised. My mother and other people from Langardesmühlen were trapped in the cellar and had to be released through the cellar windows.

From the middle of February we got a daily newspaper called Feste Küstrin, reporting important events in the town and including the Wehrmacht Report.[34]