Soviet Conquest: Berlin 1945

Dragunski came from the village of Achmatov near Kalinin. His military career began in the 4th Rifle Regiment. In 1933 he was sent to Saratov for a three-year course on tanks and was then assigned to the 32nd Independent Tank Battalion equipped with the T-26 tank. He first saw action as a tank company commander against the Japanese invasion of Manchuria in 1936. Dragunski, by then a senior lieutenant, started the course at the Frunze Academy in the spring of 1939 and was in his final year as a student and participating in field exercises at the Ossovez Fortress on the western frontier when the Germans invaded the Soviet Union in 1941. By the beginning of 1945 he was a not yet fully recovered thrice-wounded colonel commanding the 55th Guards Tank Brigade of the 3rd Guards Tank Army of Marshal Koniev’s 1st Ukrainian Front. Shortly before the launching of Operation Berlin in April 1945 he was sent back to the Soviet Union on sick leave, taking the opportunity of having a thorough medical examination in Moscow before recuperating at a health resort.

During Dragunski’s absence on sick leave, Koniev’s forces had smashed their way through the German lines to the southern outskirts of Berlin. At the planning conference in Moscow in January it had been decided that Koniev’s forces should meet up with Zhukov’s 1st Byelorussian Front in the Brandenburg–Potsdam area, but Koniev’s initial attack across the Neisse River had been so successful that he had subsequently suggested to Stalin that he be allowed to attack Berlin from the south. Stalin, who was out to enhance his own position by humiliating the nationally popular Zhukov, agreed and even ordered the air force commander for the Berlin operation not to reveal the extent of Koniev’s involvement. Although Zhukov was informed of this change in plan, he was determined to have Berlin to himself and assumed that Koniev’s troops would not approach closer than Potsdam, as had previously been agreed in Moscow.

The Oder lay behind us and we were approaching the Neisse. We could clearly sense the presence of the front line as we went past field hospitals, bases and field workshops. Even more often we met ammunition transports, tanks and ambulances. In a dense wood we came across the Rear Services of General Gordov’s 3rd Guards Army. By morning on the 21st April we had already learned something about the general situation. We found the staff of the 13th Army and here learned the direction of attack of our armoured units. Several hours later we reached the 3rd Guards Tank Army’s Rear Services. The head of the specialist detachment, the small, thin Colonel Merkuliev, wanted to give a full description of the situation. He would not let the map out of his hands, showing us the front line and the location of our corps.

‘And where is the 55th Guards Tank Brigade?’

‘The day before yesterday it was 30 kilometres from Wünsdorf.’

‘That was the day before yesterday, and where is it today?’

Although already overtaken, Merkuliev’s information was quite correct.

We stayed a few hours with the second echelon to regather ourselves, wash and shave. I could not report to my army and corps commanders in a dishevelled state.

We were lucky. After we had gone back several kilometres, we came across our traffic regulator, Mashenka Sotnik. I jumped out of the vehicle and gave her a hug. Happy to have met this girl, I felt like a young boy. When Mashenka was at her post, one needed neither a map, compass nor orientation point. She knew everything and readily gave information. Before I could ask her, she reported to me where the brigade had gone and where it had been the night before.

‘How do you know that - you weren’t there?’

‘This morning I met the wounded battalion commander Fiodorov here. He told me everything. The fighting was hard. There were men with panzerfausts everywhere hunting our tanks. Battalion commander Safronov has fallen and the deputy corps commander, General Jakubovski, is wounded.’

I had to find out from Mascha where the army headquarters were. Again we were lucky. Mascha had just been relieved. She got into the vehicle with us to show us the way to the headquarters. In one breath the girl told us all the news. Then she stopped and then said: ‘How I would love to come to Berlin too!’

‘This is a promise, Maschenka. We will celebrate our victory there.’

The girl’s eyes gleamed with pleasure.

An officer greeted us at the barrier and led us to the army chief of staff in a cottage. Bachmetiev filled me in on the situation and showed me the area where our corps was located.

‘I do not know exactly where the brigade is,’ said General Bachmetiev frankly. ‘I take it that it is north of Zossen, almost on the Teltow Canal.’ The chief of staff then called the army commander. Rybalko said that he was waiting for me at his command post.

That same day we travelled over worn-out, destroyed streets and tracks to our troops. We had to constantly overtake columns of vehicles and artillery and got through only slowly. Coming towards us were men and women, teenagers, children and old people. Many could hardly stand. These people in their torn clothing and ripped shoes looked at the troops moving towards Berlin. They raised their arms in greeting and raised clenched fists. These former forced labourers and concentration camp inmates had gone through the worst. I looked at them attentively, looking for my brother and sisters. I knew how false these hopes were, but such is mankind, ever hopeful.

How many people had the Fascists moved from their occupied territories to Germany! The march of the prisoners had begun when our attack tore down the gates of the concentration camps and prisons. At that time we were in Poland and liberated those incarcerated in Majdanek, Auschwitz and many other concentration camps. More than four months had passed and this endless stream had still not dried up. Although I had already seen much misfortune and suffering in this war, these helpless people made the saddest and strongest impression. ‘Victory!’, ‘Vive la paix!’, ‘Probeda!’, ‘Frieden!’ As I heard these shouts, and saw the happiness in their emaciated faces, I thought how much sorrow the war had brought. Every front-line soldier had gone through a lot for the liberation, for our victory over Fascism and for the lives of these tortured people.

Our Jeep crawled northwards along the blocked streets. We needed no one to show us the way – the glow of fire on the horizon and the thunder of the artillery indicated it for us. Hundreds of aircraft whizzed over us towards Berlin. The dull detonations of exploding bombs could be heard kilometres away.

With little difficulty we found our way to the headquarters. I met Rybalko in the large room of a villa. Near him stood an unknown general with dark eyes and grey hair. I saluted a bit uncertainly as I did not know who was the highest ranking, both being colonel-generals. I went to the army commander. Rybalko did not let me finish my report, but shook my hand. ‘I have always said that Dragunski arrives punctually. This time too his nose has not let him down.’ Then he turned to the general, who was the Front’s Chief of Artillery, and said: ‘This is the commander of the 55th Guards Tank Brigade. He has just come out of hospital. His greatest fear was not to come to Berlin. If he now is the first to march into Berlin he will get his second golden star; if he doesn’t we will take the first one off him.’

All laughed. The army commander looked me over from head to foot. ‘You look well, just as after taking a cure. Now, however, it is time to get to work.’

He led me to the table, where a city map of Berlin had been laid out. The important streets were clearly marked, squares, stadiums, underground railway stations, as well as the Reichstag and the Reichs Chancellery. The blue lines of the Teltow Canal and the Spree River snaked along the edge of the city, led into the city and lost themselves somehow in the labyrinth of the streets. I read the names of the surrounding areas and suburbs. Thick woods and lakes stretched along the western edge of the city.

‘This has all to be taken. The attack is directed at the southern and western part of the city. The enemy thinks that Marshal Zhukov’s troops will attack from the east. However, we will attack from the south and at the most sensitive place – in the flank.’

Thick arrows showed the line of attack of General Suchov’s 9th Mechanised Corps from eastern Berlin. Two thinner arrows showed the 1st Byelorussian Front opposite – Chuikov’s 8th Guards Army and Katukov’s 1st Tank Army. Mitrofanov’s 6th Tank Corps was to thrust with his brigades directly to the north, to the city centre and into the Tiergarten. Impatiently my eyes went over the map looking for the 7th Corps and our brigade. I had failed to notice the dotted line in the middle of the arrows and crosses. The head of the army’s operational department, my old acquaintance from the academy, Sascha Jeremenko, leaned his powerful arm over my head. ‘Here is your brigade,’ he said, pointing to the map. ‘It reached the Teltow Canal yesterday. The Fascists blew the bridge right in front of your tank troops.’

I did not know what this water obstacle looked like and asked ‘Is there no ford or alternative route?’

‘Fords!’ drawled Kamentshuk, the chief engineer. ‘The canal is about 40 to 50 metres wide and there are fortifications on the northern bank. Blocked villages and massive buildings strengthen the defences.’

When I heard this, I became somewhat less confident. Kamentshuk knew what he was talking about. His opinion was highly regarded by us commanders.

‘Don’t frighten him, Matvei Polikarpovitch,’ said Rybalko smiling. ‘What is there is still standing, we must be bold, decisive and single-minded. We have nothing to fear, finally we are not alone. The 1st Byelorussian Front is coming from the east. In the north Rokossovski is striking out. On our army’s left wing Leliushenko is attacking towards Potsdam. That man there is the commander-in-chief of the 28th Army, Alexander Alexandrovitch Lutschinski.’ Rybalko pointed to a tall, thin general. ‘When the infantry are here, we tank soldiers need have no fear.’

On leaving, General Rybalko said to me: ‘Drive straight to your brigade. Get to know the situation on the spot and everything will become clear to you. In any case drive first to the corps commander, who is expecting you. What I now want to say to you is that the corps is now under General Vassili Vassilievitch Novikov. He is an old, experienced warrior. He is strong and lets nothing get past him.’

Rybalko was in good spirits and his orders were always accompanied by a little joke. I stopped again at the door. I could not help saying, ‘I will wait for you in Berlin, Comrade General.’

‘I will come in any case,’ answered Rybalko smiling, ‘but only under special conditions. You must receive me on Wilhelmstrasse. The whole of the 7th Corps will be heading in this direction.’

Once I had obtained a city plan of Berlin from the liaison officer, I made my way to my colleagues. The reunion at the headquarters and the words that Rybalko had said to me on the way excited me. Rybalko’s inexhaustible energy conveyed itself to me and I seemed to be streaming with unusual strength.

The vehicle went off to the north at speed. We came to Mahlow, turned left towards Teltow and immediately came under a barrage. The communications officer who was to escort us to the brigade had selected no particularly suitable route. He wanted to bring us to our goal by the shortest route, but had not taken into account that the main road to Teltow was under enemy fire. It was too late to turn around, apart from which it was not lacking in danger to do so. We therefore had to go through, whatever the cost, our vehicle bouncing from one crater to another.

Rykov clasped the steering wheel firmly with both hands and steered us to the edge of the town, the vehicle jumping like a goat from one side to another. Then he drove along close to the buildings. Bathed in sweat, the driver angrily sought individual sheltered places, but there were hardly any. Despite all the difficulties, we reached the city outskirts. Now we had to cross a small open area and then vanish into a wood, from where it was only a few steps to the brigade headquarters.

The fire did not ease off. Shells howled over from the far bank, and one could hear the discharge of mortars. Apart from this, machine-gun fire was spraying the open areas.

Here there were neither hills nor depressions, not even a bush. Although the vehicle had turned off the field, furrowed from shells, only a few minutes before, for us it seemed an eternity as shots hit ahead and behind us. Rykov got the last ounce of power out of the Jeep. The vehicle slipped and twisted, splinters whistling around our ears. With the bodywork riddled, we eventually reached the thick wall of an abandoned property. The communications officer had been hit by a splinter, but the remainder of us had got through with a fright. The thought of being wounded so close to one’s goal, or even being killed, was like a cold shower down my back. It was not the fear of death that had filled me, for one generally got used to that in war, but the thought that one could be shot only three paces from my brigade.

Finally we had survived it. We breathed out, took a slug of water, bandaged our escort, changed a wheel and carried on. The heavy fire had died down in our sector, the shells now exploding at a distance from us. We reached our destination in another hour.

I found the brigade staff in an abandoned farm that was not shown on any map. Several of my familiar vehicles – the radio vehicle, armoured car and my ‘steel horse’, a T-34 with the number 200 – stood close to a wall.

The greeting was short, but hearty. First I made myself known to the new chief of staff, Lieutenant-Colonel Schalunov, and the other officers that had joined during my absence. I was very happy to see Dmitriev sound and lively. He had been in charge of the brigade’s political detachment for over three years.

The new chief of staff reported the situation and the brigade’s role to me. All our attempts to cross the canal in the Stahnsdorf area had so far failed. He led me to the window. From there one could see Stahnsdorf, the bridge to the right of it, and the battalions that had dug themselves in on the south bank of the canal.

‘I have never before experienced such fire,’ said Schalunov, shaking his head.

‘What is the situation with the bridge?’

‘We cannot take it. The Germans have blown it, and simply to go across makes little sense.’

‘What does the corps commander think about it?’

‘That is clear enough: he is complaining. We have to get over somehow.’

I telephoned General Novikov and reported myself. He asked me to go to him. We were 2 or 3 kilometres apart and, under the prevailing conditions, radio and telephone communications were not very reliable. It was not right for me to leave the brigade again so soon, but when the commander demanded it, there was no arguing.

I could not get to his observation post with a car or an armoured vehicle. The Fascists were only 300 metres away from us. So I had to go on foot, or to be precise, crawl, as the strong fire pressed us to the ground. My adjutant, the liaison officer and I scurried from building to building to reach the woods as quickly as possible. It was still more dangerous here. Shells exploded constantly. Close to the edge of the woods stood some buildings and these were our saviours. We moved by leaps and bounds from building to building. An officer from the corps staff was waiting for us on one corner.

Our situation was anything but funny, but I could not hold back my laughter. The captain crept into a building and disappeared like a cat through a narrow cellar window. A moment later a hand appeared in the cellar window and waved. We were to go the same way. Either I was more heavily built than the captain, or I had not correctly judged the size of the cellar window, but in any case I remained stuck. Only with a big effort, and to the amusement of those gathered in the cellar, could I get through.

‘Don’t be surprised about this entrance. Normally we prefer to use the door.’ An unknown voice greeted me with these words. ‘But the door lies in the enemy’s line of fire. When we moved in here during the night we were not aware of this, and it was too late to change location in the morning.’

Gradually one’s eyes got used to the twilight. There were several men in the long room. In one corner stood some telephone apparatus and in a side room were two radio operators with their sets. Next to Corps Commander Novikov stood the commander of the tank and mechanised troops of our front, Colonel-General N. A. Novikov, and the head of the corps’ political detachment, A. V. Novikov.

Once I had brushed off the dust and brought my uniform to order, I reported to the corps commander and the colonel-general, after which Andrei Vladimirovitch clasped me in his arms. I had often met this simple, demanding, fair and courageous man on my way. He was clever, good-natured and just. Those who knew him adored him. With successes he did not break into raptures of joy, but also he did not fall into despair with failures. The political workers and brigade commanders respected him for he was considerably older and more experienced than we were. He simply understood how to influence people.

I recalled the bridgehead of Sandomierz in August 1944 when our brigade was fighting against superior forces. At that time Andrei Vladimirovitch came through to us like a marvel. He brought neither tanks nor artillery with him, just a few simple, rousing words, his sheer presence in the narrow trenches making us strong.

‘We both will drink champagne in Goebbels’ residence,’ he said to me in a quiet moment.

‘God grant that we will survive this hell in one piece. For the time being I am not in the mood for champagne,’ I murmured.

‘Why do you want to bury yourself already? You will see, we will get to Berlin!’ That was the way he always spoke. And today he said: ‘You see we have met once more, not exactly in Berlin, but shortly before it. How difficult it was too, but we have made it up till now. We have even met in a quite unusual situation.’

In order to calm down a bit, I asked jokingly: ‘Are there not a few too many Novikovs in one cellar?’

Vassili Vassilievitch took off his gilded spectacles and polished the lenses. ‘There are fewer Novikovs in Russia than Ivanovs, especially in the Kalinin area. That we three should all be in one place, you are responsible. Should your brigade be on the other side of the canal I would not be sitting here, and Nikolai Alexandrovitch would also not have come.’ The corps commander paused a moment and went to the heart of the matter. ‘Nevertheless it is unpardonable that the brigade should be held up at the canal. We took the Dnepr, were the first to force the Vistula, and you have left the Nida, Varta and Oder behind you but now you are unable to get across this unfortunate canal!’

Nervously Vassili Vassilievitch moved to and fro. I was meeting General Novikov today for the first time as previously he had been commanding another corps. Nevertheless I had already heard much good about his well-balanced attitude and his courage. It was said that it was difficult to bring the general out of his composure. Nevertheless I remained careful in this first encounter with the new corps commander.

General Novikov went to the map and I followed him.

‘The Teltow Canal is the last hurdle on the way to Berlin. Once we have forced it we are at our goal.’ The corps commander spoke slowly, wanting his subordinates to correctly understand the meaning of every sentence.

I learned of his immediate decision to force the canal on a width of 5 kilometres and to attack in two sectors. ‘On the right sector will be the Schapovalov Brigade and the 55th will deal with the left. We will let Kostin’s regiment with his light SU-76 tanks attack over the blown bridge. One has only to reinforce the bridge remains beforehand.’

I discovered that there would be an artillery division in the corps’ attack area and two artillery brigades in our sector. We could pin the enemy down with this and the assigned engineer battalion would ensure the crossing.

‘How much time have we at our disposal?’

‘One day. Report your readiness to me at the end of the 23rd April.’

There were no further questions. The details I would have to clarify myself. For the moment everything was swimming around in front of me. Firstly I must discover why our whole army was standing still in front of this damned canal. What forces were facing us? One had to examine everything, think things through properly and prepare thoroughly.

We negotiated the ground floor of the building with the corps commander and climbed carefully out of a narrow window. We could see the terrain around us for a kilometre. To the right, left and in front of us lay shot-up villages, garden allotments, individual farms, villas and gardens. Several lakes glistened in the distance. I could not find the notorious Teltow Canal at first. Vassili Vassilievitch polished his spectacles as usual and replaced them on his nose. ‘On the right is Teltow, in front of us Stahnsdorf, and there is the destroyed bridge. On the right of it is the breakthrough sector of the 23rd Rifle Brigade.’

Now I could make out the canal embankment clearly with the binoculars. It was raised well above the green fields. The surface of the water was reflected at various points.

Once we had examined the terrain we returned to the cellar. Lunch was ready on the table. I dared not refuse the invitation. Andrei Vladimirovitch Novikov poured everyone a glass of vodka. ‘To our victory. We will drink champagne in Berlin.’

While we were eating, Nikolai Alexandrovitch Novikov, who had kept quiet until now, said in a low voice: ‘Vassili Vassilievitch, Marshal Koniev asked me to advise him yet again on your corps’ special situation. The attack is aimed at the western edge of the city. Under the pressure from the two Fronts the enemy will doubtless be forced to withdraw to the west. You must block his attempt to break out. The enemy will try to eliminate you in a fight to the death. Think about it and do everything to ensure your corps will not be overrun.’

Before the corps commander replied, he polished his spectacles once more. ‘I fully understand that. But I need infantry as soon as possible, otherwise the corps will fall between the hammer and anvil.’ Turning towards me, he went on: ‘Until now one knew you in the 3rd Tank Army as a commander that neither looked back nor feared open flanks. This reputation has now to be defended.’

‘On this you can depend,’ interposed the lowest-ranking Novikov, the head of the political department, Andrei Vladimirovitch.

We had to take the same route back as we had come by. But now I already knew something about the situation and felt not so out of things. The following day we used to prepare for the battle.

With the scouts, engineers, the commander of the SU-76 regiment, the battalion commanders and the officers of the attached artillery, we crept to the positions, identified the crossing points and investigated the approaches to the canal. We moved up to the canal bank, studied the enemy’s firing regime and identified his firing positions.

Although we had tried hard to conceal them, nevertheless the enemy noticed our preparations. In the second half of the day he increased his fire and until late in the night big calibre shells exploded on our bank while the enemy anti-aircraft guns fired at ground targets. This day showed us what a hard nut we had to crack. In order to conquer this vast city, there was no question but that we had to change our previous tactics. Going around, attacking off the move, thrusting in the flanks or enemy rear no longer applied under the given conditions.

We tank soldiers had become accustomed to the reinforced preparation techniques in the last two years. In many big operations the commander-in-chief of the 1st Ukrainian Front operated under conditions that enabled wide-ranging manoeuvres. We avoided tedious battles, thrusting straight into the breaches and thus widening the breakthrough. Often the tanks operated up to 100 kilometres ahead of the infantry. The taking of prepared lines of defence deep in the enemy’s rear was routine for us. Especially popular methods were deep thrusts into the operational area, manoeuvring towards the flanks, the taking of important centres, then a thrust towards a big water obstacle and the formation of a bridgehead. The present situation, however, left us no room to manoeuvre. Berlin, with its numerous suburbs, water obstacles, streets and buildings, awaited us.

Although we stood immediately before the city, the Fascist leaders sought our destruction in every way. Hitler hoped as before for some miracle or other. He went on forming reserves from newly established units, from his officer corps, the officer schools, the Gestapo and the Volkssturm battalions. The overall head of the Fascist Reich even tried to make an arrangement with the USA and Great Britain against the Soviet Union and the Red Army. Every means, whether military or political, was acceptable if only he could hold on to life for an hour longer. Consequently there was no easy way for us.

By the end of the day the preparations for the forcing of the canal were complete. As we had been reckoning on some tedious fighting, we had distributed the infantry among the tank companies and formed storm troops out of the submachine-gun battalions, the headquarters platoon, the sapper company and the scouts. They would drive the enemy out of his hiding places in the roofs, buildings and cellars. Every tank was allocated five or six men.

However, it was also clear to me that these measures were still insufficient. As before, we lacked the infantry essential for street fighting. But where could we get more? I consulted with the head of the political section and the chief of staff. ‘Could we not redeploy the tank-men that have lost their tanks in the previous fighting as infantry?’

My comrades agreed and the tank soldiers were also not against it. Assault groups were formed with machine-pistols and machine-guns taken from the destroyed tanks. The workshop specialists, clerks and soldiers from the supply units also joined them, all wanting to take part in the storming of Berlin, and I understood their desire. But the men remained just men and I feared that every inherent self-preservation instinct could be seen in them. Who would want to lose his life so shortly before imminent victory. The men might thus avoid taking risks and the momentum of the attack would falter. In such a situation conviction alone is insufficient, and the personal example of the commanders, Communists and Komsomolz was necessary.

There were no such problems in the difficult years of 1941 and 1942. In the fighting in those days everyone had little hope of survival. We plunged into the fighting, thinking of victory even though we were not convinced that we would survive. I have often seen how soldiers have gone to certain death for a small patch of earth. And it was straight from these individual small successes that the greater success of the country in deadly fighting with Fascism depended.

At this time the front-line soldiers had a saying: ‘A man cannot die twice, and once does not avoid him.’ There was a grain of truth in this. Next to personal bravery and hatred of the enemy, these words showed a certain doubt that one could remain alive in war.

My fears were fortunately ungrounded. I had believed I knew my men, who had grown close to me in the years of war. Now their attacking spirit overcame all expectations. The inflexible wish to win, the determination to destroy Fascism as quickly and completely as possible and the deep belief in our rightful cause brought out mass heroism. The men went into battle unhesitatingly. Whoever forced his way into the Fascist capital knew what the words ‘I took Berlin’ would mean to future generations.

The Teltow Canal

The attack began. The approaching dusk was submerged by the artillery preparation’s sea of fire. A mighty shock wave pressed us into the earth. Dmitriev shouted into my ear: ‘What a magnificent concert!’

My enthusiastic chief of staff shouted: ‘Marshal Koniev has excelled himself!’

That was for certain. I had not seen firing of such intensity for a long time. The breakthrough near Kiev, the battle of Lvov, the attack on the Sandomierz bridgehead, all these vast operations could not be compared with what occurred on the Teltow Canal in the morning hours of the 24th April.

A whole artillery corps concentrated within two days on a narrow breakthrough sector, effecting a density of 600 gun barrels per kilometre of front, massing together mortars, organising the fire plan, measuring out the firing positions while on the move and finally coordinating everything, that could only be achieved by a talented army commander like Marshal Koniev and such experienced Generals of Artillery as Korolkov, Volkenschtein and many others.

Then thousands of shells roared over the heads of our tank troops. Behind us rumbled the dull thumps of the mortars. The fire trails of the Katiushas ripped apart the sky. General Riasanov’s bombers and fighters attacked, while Pokryschkin’s fighters covered them from above.

The north bank of the canal and the southern boundary of Berlin were in flames. Buildings and fortified positions fell in rubble and ashes as thick clouds of smoke rose up. The tortured and mutilated earth groaned. Thousands of enemy soldiers were killed. To confront the assault of two Army Fronts, of hundreds of regiments, of 6,000 tanks, 40,000 guns and a whole armada of aircraft was senseless.

Futilely Goebbels cried out that the Russians would never get into the city. In vain many of his believing audience put their hopes in the so-called wonder weapons. Equally fallacious were Hitler’s hopes in the reserves that were supposed to be coming to Berlin from the south and west, but which were being destroyed by the troops of Generals Gordov, Shadov and Puchov in the woods near Cottbus. Those who got through the slaughter then met the blows of the armoured and mechanised brigades of Rybalko and Leliushenko. Nevertheless the Fascists, already enclosed on three sides, put up a fanatical resistance. Right until the last minute they hoped for some miracle or other, but the miracle kept them waiting. Meanwhile our troops cut off their way to the west, but even now they bit back like a wounded animal. They understood that the hour of their downfall was imminent and that we would soon be presenting them with the bill for their crimes and the millions of victims at Auschwitz and Dachau, Mauthausen and Buchenwald, the Warsaw Ghetto and Babi Jar, Lidice and Oradour. Those who had not previously been sullied with foreign blood were now driven into the trenches on the orders of their Fascist leaders. The gallows, courts-martial and firing squads awaited those who left their positions.

The world of those people poisoned by Fascist ideas collapsed. They now realised what the adventurous politics of the Führer had done to their lives. Berlin, the last bastion of the Reich, was in a fight to the death.

The watch’s minute hand crept slowly forward. The murderous artillery fire moved off to the north. The bombs were already exploding somewhat to the side of us. The time for our attack came ever closer.

‘Another five minutes,’ Boris Saveliev, the reconnaissance commander, said near me. Schalunov looked across at me. Dmitriev looked at his watch and silently counted the minutes and seconds.

‘Give the orders!’ My voice seemed completely strange to me.

The chief of staff had the radio operators transmit: ‘Hawk’, ‘Full Speed’, ‘Stopwatch!’ ‘Forward!, forward!’

A series of green Verey lights climbed into the sky. The reconnaissance parties, engineers and submachine-gunners climbed out of their trenches and cover and stormed the canal bank, the engineers dragging up the boats to cross by, and behind them came the landing troops. Major Bystrov, the commander of the engineers, was already working on the bridge with several soldiers of the landing company. These handsome lads astonished me with their resourcefulness, daring and extraordinary ability. They tried out new methods and so found a solution when others would long since have given up. One could almost say that they had a sixth sense to detect the weight capacity of a bridge or a minefield. Now a runner arrived to tell me that the light self-propelled guns would soon be able to cross the bridge.

‘Everything is going according to plan,’ reported Schalunov confidently.

We all knew that our brigade was only a fraction of the assault being carried out in the 3rd Guards Tank Army’s area. At that same moment the combatants of the 6th and 7th Guards Tank Corps attacked.

The canal was also to be forced in the sectors of the 22nd and 23rd Guards Motorised Rifle Brigades. The riflemen had it somewhat easier than us as they did not have to get heavy tanks and self-propelled guns across, and in the worst case swim across the 40 metres.

It looked as if everyone was convinced that the result of the battle depended entirely on his personal efforts.

Once it became light we could see several dark objects on the opposite bank. These were the members of our storm groups. They were storming forwards, taking cover, getting up again and going on. The submachine-gun battalion crossed over to the other side of the canal by platoons.

I knew precisely how important it was to support the men. What could they achieve on the other bank with their light weapons. We had to help the battalion immediately or it would inevitably be destroyed.

The commanders of two brigades of the Breakthrough Artillery Division suddenly appeared near me. They had also assessed the situation and were already giving the necessary orders. Some stout-hearted gunners hastened past us on their way to establish a forward observation post on the other bank. Shortly afterwards the guns thundered, clearing the way for our battalion.

At last Bystrov reported that the bridge, which the enemy had made impassable the day before, was now usable. Nevertheless only light tanks could pass over the temporarily repaired bridge under heavy fire. The mortar battery of a submachine-gun battalion and an attached artillery battery immediately crossed over. This eased the situation for the submachine-gun troops.

Battalion commander Staruchin asked for the quickest possible support. The situation for his battalion was getting worse. The enemy had recovered from our artillery preparation and was now conducting a massive resistance. We even had to reckon with counterattacks.

The chief engineer let self-propelled guns get across the bridge. Their success could be decisive. An advance of 3 to 4 kilometres by the self-propelled artillery regiment would be helpful to us; we could then throw bridges across and get the remaining troops over.

Two artillery brigades tried to split up the enemy as our tank battalions fired from the south bank. Impatiently we waited for the crossing points to be made ready.

The artillery and tank fire fight had lasted for over an hour already. The Fascists were increasingly active. Two artillery detachments were firing on the crossing points and within half an hour the bridges no longer existed. Bystrov had only been able to get three self-propelled guns across the canal, two others having fallen into the water with the wrecked bridge. Colonel Kostin, their regimental commander, was killed in this way.

The submachine-gun battalion had to fight on in a confined area without the urgently required tanks and guns. Critical minutes began for the battalion. Then the attack came to a full stop. The three self-propelled guns had destroyed the enemy. Staruchin received effective help from only two artillery brigades, which the enemy kept under fire. On the left wing Gulevatov’s battalion held down an infantry company that wanted to strike into the rear of our submachine-gunners.

This massive exchange of fire lasted several hours. We tied down the enemy’s forces, but that was all that we achieved.

The same applied to our right-hand neighbour. But our action lightened the activities of other units. In the centre the 22nd Guards Motorised Rifle Brigade, followed by the 23rd, was able to force the canal, form a bridgehead and get its main forces across. Several hours later a bridge had been established here over which the tank brigades and corps rolled. The battle for the Teltow Canal was decided, the gateway to Berlin had been opened.

At dusk on the same day the brigade rolled up to its crossing point. Novikov caught us up on the bridge. The corps commander was in good spirits. ‘I saw how you tried to take the bridge. But it did not work out,’ he said painfully. ‘In any case you have given the Fascists a proper drubbing, and that was just right for us.’

Novikov took a creased map from his boot, flattened it and spread it over the bonnet of his vehicle. With a pencil he drew a line to the north as far as Zehlendorf, from where a dotted line went on to the autobahn and then on to the western edge of the city.

‘That’s it. All clear?’

‘Understood, Comrade General.’

‘Understanding is one thing, but you must think the thing through thoroughly.’ For the first time the corps commander was addressing me with the familiar ‘you’. This immediately raised my spirits. ‘Look right here. Wherever you turn there are buildings. Reconnoitre exactly how many and what is involved. Every building must be fought for. Our whole hopes rest with the riflemen and the assault teams.’

Novikov gave his instructions in a quiet voice. Often he had to explain his words, although for both of us much was not understandable. There were many unknowns in the task confronting me. I knew nothing about the character of the enemy defences, about the strength of the enemy and his reserves.

But we did know that we would have to bite our way slowly and carefully through the defences. Every street offered a multitude of surprises. The brigade stood on the outermost left wing of the corps and the army. There was no visual contact with General Leliushenko’s troops attacking towards Potsdam. Only from the distant thunder of artillery and rumbling explosions could I guess where the 4th Guards Tank Army was.

General Novikov had his individual traits. I could observe them once more as he left. He threw his cigarette end away, then, holding his spectacles firmly with two fingers, he grasped the windscreen of his open vehicle with his other hand and jumped into his seat with an elegant swing. As he drove off he called out to me: ‘Think about it, such a moment will never return. We are in Berlin!’

The vehicle turned away and drove towards the crossing point with an endless stream of tanks, guns and vehicles behind it. I had to smile over the general’s last words. Who could ever forget what it was like to stand in a Berlin street for the first time?

That night the tanks, together with Serashimov’s reconnaissance men, Bystrov’s sappers, and Staruchin’s and Chadsarakov’s submachine-gunners reached the Berlin suburbs. We went round Schönow, leaving Kleinmachnow to one side, and pushed through the devastated woods and gardens towards Lichterfelde-West S-Bahn station. The fighting took an unusual form. The enemy was there but invisible, appearing unexpectedly and vanishing again in an inexplicable way.

Trenches, individual slit trenches, ripped up streets, barricaded cellars, firing positions in roofs, dug-in tanks at crossroads and anti-aircraft guns gave us plenty to do. We needed the whole day to clear this thickly populated area. First we took Zehlendorf S-Bahn station, then the whole city district of Lichterfelde. We reported this victory immediately to the corps commander. In reply he radioed: ‘Zehlendorf has still to be taken today!’

Hastily we drove the Rear Services and repair units into Lichterfelde. They had to be in the immediate vicinity of the attacking battalions. I was afraid that they would get lost in the maze of streets and that our tanks would finally run out of ammunition, fuel, food and workshop repairs, and be stuck in the burning city. This was why I always kept my ‘household’ immediately behind me, and we kept a large detachment formed of members of the rear units to maintain security. My deputy for the Rear Services, the experienced and practical Major Leonov, soon found himself at home in these unusual circumstances.

At the Teltow Canal General Novikov had hinted at the significance of Zehlendorf. ‘That is the key to Berlin. It opens the door to the southwestern part of the city and must be in our hands by tonight. Don’t let yourself get tied up in street-fighting.’

His radio message reinforced this demand once more.

Not to let oneself get entangled in street fighting was easy to demand, but in practice it seemed somewhat different. In front of us were the Krumme Lanke and Schlachtensee lakes. To the left and right of them stretched woods, gardens and extensive villa estates. Representatives of the great bourgoisie and the Nazi Reich had once settled down in picturesque Zehlendorf. I had the battalion commanders ordered to my command post at the Lichterfelde S-Bahn station. The commanders of the artillery units as well as the scouts and sappers were also summoned.

Zehlendorf lay uniquely quiet and apparently deserted. But I knew from experience how treacherous silence can be in war.

We needed two hours to organise our attack. Then scouts under Lieutenant Serashimov drove off with two tanks towards Zehlendorf. A company of submachine-gunners marched to the edge of the woods and two artillery detachments took up firing positions. An artillery brigade near me prepared to support our 55th Guards Tank Brigade.

Two tank battalions attacked towards Zehlendorf. With the 1st Battalion was a small operations group with scouts, sappers and submachine-gunners. The 2nd Battalion followed at a distance of some kilometres. It was to support us and in case of a mishap would thrust past us on the right or left.

It was obvious to us that the enemy would not give up this important area without a fight, as his casualties showed a serious weakening of the whole defence. Roads led from the streets of Zehlendorf to the Avus autobahn and the Berlin–Potsdam railway line. If we had this area in our hands, the enemy’s way to the west would be blocked. Apart from that, this was the shortest route to Charlottenburg, the Olympic Stadium and to Ruhleben, where we could meet up with troops of the 1st Byelorussian Front and close the ring within Berlin.

The quiet around us unsettled me even further. Had we already fallen into a trap? Similar thoughts also moved my staff officers with me at the railway crossing.

I quickly thought through several variations and then decided to leave behind a reserve of battalion strength. It would remain with the chief of staff at the old location. I myself would storm with the leading battalion to the dead area at the railway crossing.

Not a shot was fired in the woods. Zehlendorf was also unnaturally quiet. Eight trucks mounted with big calibre anti-aircraft machine-guns followed my tanks. The crews kept themselves ready to be able to open fire at any moment. This company had already helped us out of the mire several times, carefully protecting my command tank.

The nearer we got to Zehlendorf, the clearer the outlines of the buildings became. When we had got a little further forward, Saveliev reported: ‘Serashimov has reached a square. Everything in order.’

The leading tank reduced speed, and the following tanks also applied their brakes. Immediately the engines of the anti-aircraft machine-guns were alongside my tank.

What then happened, I failed to understand immediately. A pressure wave suddenly swept off the riflemen sitting on my tank. Only when bullets pinged over my head, a column of fire rose up and the buildings rocked from the explosions did it become clear to me that, despite all our precautions, we had fallen into a trap.

Saveliev hurried to me and helped me to my feet. Instead of giving orders, I carefully brushed the dust off my uniform. This seemed unusual, but I needed these minutes to get over my fright. Fortunately no one had noticed my uncertainty, and the men already knew what to do without orders, which now came.

The gun aimers turned the turrets of their tanks towards the buildings and fired shrapnel at the upper storeys. The flak gunners fired at roofs and windows. Even the mortar men engaged. The submachine-gunners swarmed over in groups and carried out the tasks allocated to them before the fight.

I tried to assess the situation with some of my comrades, but this was not that easy in the turmoil of battle. Where was the enemy, what forces were involved? Once I was eventually sufficiently orientated, I ordered the two artillery battalions to take the streets under systematic fire. Several minutes later the large calibre shells howled over us. A little later the mortar brigade of the Breakthrough Artillery Division also opened fire.

The fighting gradually became more organised. Captain Chadsarakov’s rifle company, which was going round Zehlendorf, wheeled towards the city and began with other companies to drive the enemy out of his hiding places. The 2nd Tank Battalion thrust forward to the northern edge of Zehlendorf, took the Düppel Farm and covered the brigade’s main forces from the north, where a strong enemy group was preparing to counterattack from the area of Zehlendorf-West S-Bahn station [now Mexikoplatz].

Certainly we had luck that day. A Katiusha battalion appeared in our sector. It was under the direct command of the corps commander, but who sticks to such orders in such a situation? Quickly decided, I persuaded the battalion commander to fire a salvo. Success was soon obvious.

Resistance generally died down during the second half of the day, with exchanges of fire only breaking out here and there. The enemy defence no longer functioned as precisely as it had done at the beginning of the fighting.

Zehlendorf had to fall at any minute. We only had to clear the area around the Krumme Lanke U-Bahn station, thrust forward between the Schlachtensee and Krumme Lanke lakes to the Avus autobahn and cut off the Berlin–Potsdam railway line running parallel to it.

But unfortunately in this case the wish was as far as we got as Gulevaty reported that his battalion could not get any further forward.

It was obvious that I could achieve little by radio, and so I went with my group to Fischerhüttenstrasse. At the Krumme Lanke U-Bahn station we met up with Gulevaty’s tank column.

Before listening to the battalion commander, I gave him a proper dressing-down. At last the scouts had just reported that they had reached the western edge of Zehlendorf. The submachine-gunners had also got there, and now this hold-up.

Gulevaty was angry. ‘Please see for yourself, Comrade Colonel, if you don’t want to believe me. Two tanks burnt. If I go right I come up against Krumme Lanke lake, and I still do not get through if I go right. Behind the railway line is the Schlachtensee lake. What should I do?’

Meanwhile I had calmed down a little and familiarised myself with the situation. The enemy was keeping the whole street under fire from a corner building. Their firing position was skilfully selected and artfully camouflaged. It was not easy for our tank troops to make out the gun and destroy it. Nevertheless they engaged – they could have lost all the tanks in this little section of roadway.

‘Take the battalion and go round the Schlachtensee lake, push through to the Nikolassee lake and fulfil your task from there,’ I ordered. ‘This will take a few hours, but will save men and equipment.’

The first tanks tried to turn round with howling engines. As usual, it developed into a traffic jam with much noise and swearing. Suddenly we noticed that the enemy guns were silent. This had not been realised straight away in the confusion. What was up? Had the gun crews given up, or was the enemy preparing a new surprise for us?

Come what may, we seized our opportunity. The tanks thrust along the Fischerhüttenstrasse and reached the Avus motorway. We informed General Novikov by radio that Zehlendorf was in our hands.

What had happened in the corner building from which our tanks had been fired on? This question gave me no peace, and I determined to find out. I drove up closer with my tank. Several people were standing next to the building, among them Lieutenant Serashimov. I ordered the tank to stop and went up to him. ‘What is happening? Why have you stayed behind Gulevaty and Staruchin?’

The lieutenant of few words pointed to the yard with his hand. We went through a little garden to the cellar entrance, in which stood the gun. On the floor lay the bodies of the gun crew, four men. On the gun hung a fighter from our brigade, the Komsomol member Vassili Lissunov. He had throttled a Fascist officer but was himself dead. We carefully loosened his hands and carried him outside.

‘How did Lissunov get into the cellar?’

The lieutenant looked at me sorrowfully. ‘Vassili asked my permission. He wanted to make his way through the garden to this cellar and silence the gun. What else could I do, comrade brigade commander? Two tanks had already fallen victim to these bandits, so I agreed. Lissunov crawled forward. After about ten minutes someone shouted “Halt!” from the cellar, and then came shots and explosions. Then the gun barrel pointed upwards. We heard another pistol shot and then it was silent.’ Serashimov breathed heavily and went on apologetically: ‘We arrived a few minutes too late. I should have sent Tinda, Golvin and Gavrilko with him. All three were close by. Yes, I handled it badly. When I became aware, it was already too late.’

I did not reprove the lieutenant. In battle one can sometimes do something other than what one wants and not always can one think through every step and every action. Concernedly I answered him: ‘Vassili Lissunov has opened the way for the brigade with his life.’ With this I hoped to calm myself and the platoon leader down. I felt for the lieutenant from the bottom of my heart. The death of this 17-year-old Komsomolz, the darling of the brigade, hit us all badly.

We laid the dead boy on the tank, on which we wrote ‘We will revenge Vassili Lissunov’, and then went on. The fallen scout drove with us into Berlin. He found his last resting place in Berlin–Treptow, together with many other combatants who gave their lives in the fighting for the city.

The sounds of battle distanced themselves ever further from Zehlendorf. Schalunov had gone back to the staff and Leonov to the Rear Services. Once more he demonstrated what a circumspect supply officer he was. When our tank-men spoke of the ‘Red Train’ they meant the three or four ammunition trucks, the five petrol wagons, the vehicles with supplies and equipment and the iron ration of alcohol, which Leonov directed at the right moment to the right place. Now he wanted to know from me where he could set himself up.

I ordered him to stay exactly where he was, whereupon Leonov asked me for at least a tank and a platoon of submachine-gunners to protect him. This request was thoroughly justified, as scattered enemy groups made the surroundings unsafe and our supplies were a god-sent feast for them, but I could not strengthen the Rear Services at the expense of the fighting units. We could not afford such a luxury. Apart from this I was convinced that Leonov really wanted to be self-sufficient. He had several discreet reserves – armed truck drivers, supply clerks, the workshops personnel and other specialists – that had never let him down so far.

In Berlin

Beyond Zehlendorf, woods and lakes opened out among which stood numerous villas and tasteful one-family houses, including some weekend colonies. All this made orientation more difficult. On the map the whole area was shown as woodland, but in reality one came up against massive buildings everywhere. The Fascists had incorporated the geographical features into their defences. In our thrust to the Avus motorway we were met by shells of various calibres.

When I came up to Gulevaty on the southern bank of Krumme Lanke lake, he was already issuing orders to the infantry. The situation was unclear to him and one detected a certain lack of organisation. The enemy was firing but our troops seemed to be replying somewhat lamely. After the hard fighting in Zehlendorf the pace of the attack had slunk to a low ebb by evening.

‘Trofim Jeremjevitsch, at this rate we will reach the Avus in a year’s time, and we can bury our men here. Why don’t you go round this villa?’

‘I have tried to, but once you have one behind you, fire comes from another.’

I should really have given him a reprimand, but before me stood a man showing signs of battle and sleepless nights. To find fault with him would be hard and pointless. From my own experience I knew how important it was to extend a helping hand to people in a difficult situation, and how stimulating a kind word at the right moment could be. In any case it was not the battalion commander’s fault that we were in this predicament.

The tank troops simply lacked the experience of how to fight successfully in so large a city as Berlin prepared for defence. Since 1943, and especially after the battle of Kursk, it was always: ‘Don’t look back!’ ‘Don’t be afraid of open flanks!’ ‘Bypass the enemy!’ ‘Attack him boldly from behind!’

However, in Berlin things looked different. We had to take the whole city. Step by step, every building and every street had to be cleared, that being the only way to victory.

While we were discussing the situation, Schalunov arrived with the staff and two artillery brigades, and the corps’ troops were streaming through the breach into the Zehlendorf area. The corps commander had sent me some direct reinforcements. I was especially pleased about two companies of the neighbouring 23rd Guards Motorised Rifle Brigade, which were like a gift from heaven for us. Gradually I had a considerably larger group assigned to me. They had to be quickly organised and sent off towards the Avus motorway.

‘However, now back to work. We will now be fighting according to all the rules of the art of war,’ I said to Gulevaty.

His face lit up, and Dmitriev also looked happier again. He meant that in Berlin one had to speak of either having a scrap or the art of war. I retorted that we would discuss this after we had won. One hour later we had re-established order in the companies and battalions and the brigade renewed its attack.

Seven artillery and mortar battalions, the tanks and super heavy machine-guns fired for fifteen minutes at the enemy defences in the settlements on the railway and on the Havelberg hill.

During the night we were able to break the desperate resistance of the Fascists in these areas and drive them out of the buildings. They tried to slip away through the surrounding woods, but we stopped them there too. This day the enemy lost a lot of his artillery and heavy weapons. His fighting organisation was destroyed, his physically and morally broken soldiers could not withstand our tank attacks any more. The way to the western edge of Berlin was open.

Once more we had a hard day behind us. When we counted the toll we had to admit numerous losses. However, we were in Zehlendorf and had the Avus, the woods and the Krumme Lanke lake in our hands.

Before dawn on the 26th April I drove to the 1st Battalion in my tank.

‘Why are you stopped here?’ I asked a lieutenant.

He waved towards a column of tanks stopped on the side of the road. I climbed out of my tank and went closer. After a long search I found Gulevaty. He was completely perplexed and studying a Berlin street map.

‘Why aren’t you moving?’

‘I have lost my way, Comrade Colonel. Either the map is lying or the scouts have been leading me by the nose. I sent them ahead to find out where this road leads to.’

‘How could this happen, Jeremjevitsch? Have you forgotten where you are? We are in Berlin. You didn’t think that the Germans would send you a street directory to show the way?’

The battalion commander bent even closer over his map. To the right of us stood some individual houses from which we could hear voices. Shortly afterwards Serashimov’s scout appeared. Quite out of breath, he reported: ‘We were looking for Germans, but came across some Japanese, Swiss and other foreigners.’

Boris Saveliev explained the situation in detail to us. In the settlement were the summer residences of several embassies; when the fighting broke out in Berlin, they had taken refuge here. None of them had thought that our troops would come through these picturesque woods.

‘How did the gentlemen diplomats take this?’ asked Dmitriev ironically.

‘Somewhat worse than a diplomatic reception,’ said Saveliev in the same tone of voice. ‘It seems that the gentlemen are slightly disturbed.’

‘To hell with these diplomats,’ I interrupted the scouts’ scoffing conversation. ‘Please tell us where we are. Have you found that out?’

‘Yes,’ replied Serashimov. ‘We are near the Heerstrasse, not far from the Olympic Stadium.’

We found this orientation point on our city maps straight away. The asphalted street shown with a thick red line led to the Charlottenburg and then on to the Tiergarten Districts, and that was exactly where we had to strike.

I drove off with my operational staff to my brigade’s leading battalion, my rifle companies, scouts and sappers, who had the difficult task of getting deeper into Berlin. The column worked its way along the Havel lake, went round the Dachsberg hill, left the individual family houses behind and turned right into the city. The brigade moved forwards slowly and carefully, ready at any time to pounce like a coiled spring.

The city gradually appeared out of the early morning mist, fires glowing in the eastern and central parts, and dark smoke rising up into the sky.

I stood up on my tank with my staff officers and looked forwards. On this morning of the 26th April 1945 our fatigue seemed to have flown. We were in Berlin’s streets. I was happy about our previous success, but also filled with sadness over the fallen and wounded. How much had everyone wanted to experience this great moment.

It began to become fully light. The burning city came closer like a burning wall. On a corner a street sign read: ‘Heerstrasse’. We had reached the required spot on schedule. From here we would thrust forward to Charlottenburg and the Tiergarten.

‘Pass our coordinates to the corps commander straight away,’ I ordered. Schalunov hurried off to the radio.

Dmitriev came up to me smiling and drew my attention to two captured Ferdinands. Staruchin, Ossadtchi, Gulevaty, Bystrov and Saveliev escorted us. Somebody asked courteously ‘Don’t move!’ and photographed us with a looted Leica camera.

Sometime we shall show these pictures to our children and grandchildren, we thought, and they will quietly learn what their fathers had to go through and be proud of them.

At that hour of the morning the Heerstrasse was quiet. Fighting was going on in eastern Berlin, and troops were thrusting forward to the city centre and also pressing from the north. However, in this area we had appeared as a surprise to the enemy. We used the circumstances to attack along the Heerstrasse.

However, the unusual quiet made us mistrustful and put us on our guard. There was nothing to be seen or heard of the enemy, but we knew that this could not last much longer, so we continued slowly up the street taking every precaution. Some units wheeled right to surround the Eichkamp area from the north, while the others worked on from building to building.

Experience and practice played a big role. The fighting in the Berlin suburbs had taught us to work together, to maintain reliable contact as well as to conduct aimed blows at selected targets. We basically cleared every building of the enemy before moving on street by street. In front of us the scouts moved cautiously, followed closely by the submachine-gunners. The tanks drove in a column at intervals of 100 metres from each other. They were escorted by storm troops and guns. Everyone was ready to support his neighbour.

As the situation was unknown to us, the commanders had to go forward with their own units. This was the only way that they could react to every change in the situation and manoeuvre their forces and equipment. Because of this I found myself with my small command team between two battalions, proceeding on foot and protected by submachine-gunners, scouts and sappers.

Schalunov ordered part of our forces to the western edge of Berlin. This consisted of tanks, the whole of the artillery and an infantry reserve that would support us in an emergency.

As we thrust into Berlin, the wood remained uncovered behind. This circumstance, as well as the districts of Spandau and Ruhleben, disquieted us, as we did not know what enemy forces lay before us. Our concern was fully justified for we had hardly left some built-up areas behind us when artillery salvoes broke the silence. A real hail of shells went over us. The whole surrounding area seemed suddenly to come alive.

From everywhere one could hear the command ‘Fire!’ Again the storming of sections of streets, buildings and upper storeys. Incendiary and explosive shells, tank and shrapnel shells, machine-guns, everything we had was in action. Burning houses collapsed. The light April wind carried the tongues of fire to other buildings. Soon the 1st Ukrainian Front’s long-range artillery was firing on Berlin’s western suburbs, and bombers and fighter aircraft appeared in the sky.

Our attack melded in with those of the regiments and divisions attacking from the east, south and north and led to the complete encirclement of the enemy. There still remained one possibility for the enemy, which was to abandon his resistance and lay down his arms, but this the Fascists feared more than anything else in the world, for their bloody crimes against humanity were too great. They defended every square metre of their capital with meaningless determination. Members of the Volkssturm battalions, boys and old men, had to be dragged into this fateful moment of defeat, even if only for a few moments.

But we pushed on determinedly further along the Heerstrasse and finally got the whole street under control that evening. From there our tanks and riflemen forced their way through the neighbouring streets. Towards morning on the 27th April our second battalion reached the Reichsstrasse.

I looked at the street sign as if bewitched. I had no idea that several other streets in Berlin had the same name. However, somehow it seemed to me to be the street that we had so often heard about and that it was the one in which the army commander wanted to meet me.

This was already the second day that our brigade had been fighting in Berlin. Part of the Heerstrasse and several of the neighbouring streets were in our hands and the fighting had extended to the Olympic Stadium. On the previous evening bombers, ground-attack aircraft and heavy artillery had attacked this area. We carefully made our way through the rubble, more burnt-out vehicles, destroyed trams and double-decker buses.

Although fires blazed everywhere, enemy soldiers crouched in the ruins. With every step we took we had to reckon with their resistance and that kept us on our guard. This way we lost both men and equipment. The deeper we pushed into Charlottenburg, the tougher was the resistance. Even our scouts found out no more in the chaos than their location. But, unperturbed by this, we fought fiercely to achieve our long-foreseen goal. Completely unexpectedly, the corps commander ordered our 55th Guards Tank Brigade to wheel sharply to the north. Our attack was redirected at Ruhleben and Spandau, and ended on the railway line running parallel with the Spree River. According to General Novikov’s orders, we should reach the Spree that same day, connect with the troops of the 1st Byelorussian Front and thus close the encirclement of Berlin’s inner ring.

The corps commander allocated us his reserve in our support. I thus obtained a battalion of the 23rd Guards Rifle Brigade, a detachment of Katyushas, some heavy tanks and a company of self-propelled guns. An officer from the corps staff, who had accompanied these units into our area, briefed us on the situation in and around Berlin.

All three corps of the 3rd Guards Tank Army had established firm footings in Berlin and were fighting in the southern and western parts of the city, as was General A. A. Lutschinski’s 28th Army. Chuikov’s and Katukov’s armies’ wings bordered the 1st Ukrainian Front as the armies of the 1st Byelorussian Front approached the western edge of the city.

Now I understood why Rybalko and Novikov had had us wheel to the north. Once we had the Fascists surrounded, we could split them up and force them to throw down their weapons. I immediately passed on the commander’s orders.

I sent off Serashimov towards Ruhleben with his scouts. Gulevaty’s battalion, reinforced with submachine-gunners from Staruchin, heavy tanks and self-propelled guns, turned into the Reichsstrasse, the street by which the brigade should reach the River Spree.

Despite the haste and the pressure, we found a moment free for breakfast. A mess-tin, buckwheat and a mug of hot tea quelled our hunger and thirst and drove off our fatigue.

Dmitriev and I leant against the rear of the tank. The warm air coming from the engine radiators was pleasant on this cool morning. Schalunov was busy on the wireless near us. This restless man had a lot of work and things to worry about, having to pass on messages from the fighting units and giving the corps staff our coordinates to make the position of the 56th Tank Brigade understood.

Dmitriev silently held his hands over the radiators, looking unusually thoughtful. This was the first time that I had seen my political adviser so taciturn.

I carefully clasped him by the arms. ‘Are you asleep?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘What’s the matter?’

‘I think I was being melancholic. I cannot explain my behaviour otherwise.’ Dmitriev turned towards me, wiped a hand over his eyes, took out a tobacco pouch and quietly lit a cigarette. ‘How hard have we had to fight for victory, how many men have fallen on the way so far, and how many more will still die on the threshold of victory? The bullet does not know whom it hits. It could be any one of us. A little while ago I saw Verdijev killed.’

This news hit me hard. Only a few days previously the brigade commander, Hero of the Soviet Union Ivan Kalenikov, as well as battalion commander Pjotr Fjodorov and Sergeant Major N. N. Novikov had been wounded. Also the deputy of our corps commander, the twice Hero of the Soviet Union General Jakubovski, and many, many others that I knew well had been hit. And now Hero of the Soviet Union Avas Verdijev had fallen. These losses hurt not only me, but especially my comrades in arms. But we could spare no one, and this war was demanding its victims right up to the last moment. Nevertheless, we all had to try to keep the number of dead as few as possible.

‘Alexander Pavlovitch, you have again reminded all the commanders, political workers and tank-men to be careful and vigilant. The war is coming to an end, but there are still situations in which the men will take unnecessary risks.’

‘Talking doesn’t help, David Abramovitch. I had already agreed with the chief of staff to have the Heroes of the Soviet Union Novikov and Verdijev transferred to the commander’s platoon. They were to guard the colours. But unfortunately this had not happened. Novikov has gone off with the scouts despite this, and Verdijev remained with his submachine-gun battalion. How it is with our political workers you know for yourself. They cannot be held back. Nemtschenko has fallen, and, despite being badly wounded, Malanushenko has refused to go to a field hospital.’

‘So, we are not in a position to keep order in the brigade and control the hotheads?’

‘That is it. We are powerless. The men want to participate in the final defeat of the enemy at any price, and then go back home.’

What Dmitriev said was true. Courage and boldness were being displayed by everyone, and they were giving evidence of this every moment of the fighting. Many misjudged the danger in the tumult of the fighting and had to pay for it with their lives. Dmitriev and I understood this fighting spirit and we also knew how difficult it was to keep things within their normal bounds. Everyone wanted to give his absolute best. Sergeant Verdijev was no exception. I knew him well, although there were about 500 men in the brigade and one could not know every face. The men come and go, new fighters replacing the fallen. Often the commanders changed, several not even getting used to their units. So, even with the best will, I could not get to know everyone. Nevertheless there were men that one saw once and could never forget.

Shells exploded near us. Artillery and mortar fire was increasing in the Spandau area. Instinctively we pressed up against the tank. As suddenly as the firing had begun, it went away again. The firing was now on another street nearby.

My small operational group had grown considerably. The staff of the artillery brigades and battalions, as well as the commanders of the attached units, had all joined us. Apart from this, Leonov had joined us with his Rear Services units.

‘What are you doing here?’ I started saying in my greeting. ‘You are tying us down hand and foot and making it even more crowded.’

Calmly and controlled, Leonov replied: ‘I could not do otherwise, Comrade Brigade Commander. My Rear Services were at the Reichssportfeld S-Bahn station, uncertain as to the situation. An enemy group attacked us from the Olympic Stadium U-Bahn station and we had to beat them back for two hours. I came here because I wanted to save the ammunition, supplies and fuel.’

I knew Leonov. He was not looking for a quiet life when he withdrew his unit. He was not looking for protection, for he was a brave and experienced officer who knew how to defend himself. I had made the error of not taking into account the special circumstances in Berlin, where the Rear Services were everywhere in danger. Once this had been clarified, I allotted a tank, a platoon of submachine-gunners and a heavy anti-aircraft machine-gun to Leonov.

For two whole hours we sought to make contact with Gulevaty but without success. I regretted having lost time through having breakfast and the talk with Leonov, and decided to follow in Gulevaty’s tracks. Orientation became even more difficult. The streets were buried under rubble and with all the scrap metal lying around the compasses could not be relied upon. We had to circumvent ruins and barricades and thus lost our direction. Fortunately we soon came across wooden boards with the tactical signs of our brigade: the two circles with a ‘2’ in the middle showing us the way. Every ten to fifteen minutes General Novikov was demanding a situation report. His voice literally pursued me.

‘I am continuing the action,’ I replied laconically to all questions, although I knew that this reply would not please my superior. Finally we were not fighting alone in Berlin, but the corps commander and the army commander-in-chief were observing our 55th Guards Tank Brigade in particular, because it was at the head of the 3rd Guards Tank Army and should meet up with the troops of the 1st Byelorussian Front.

As he was unhappy with my replies, General Novikov sent a liaison officer to see me. He told me that the corps commander was unhappy with the handling of my brigade and demanded a faster rate of attack. Somewhat later the army commander ordered me categorically to close the inner ring by midday.

Once I had listened to my superiors, I and those under me remained not guilty. I sent the chief of staff to deal with the poor communications with the battalions and I reprimanded the communications officer.

The persistent questions from above and the interrupted communications with the 1st Battalion forced me to immediately climb into my tank, taking all the reserves with me, and to thrust through to Gulevaty for better or for worse.

The chief of staff tried to tell me something, but I lost my temper and interrupted him angrily: ‘Enough, Comrade Schalunov, get your staff and follow me to the Spree. We will have another look at things there.’

An attack under such conditions entailed an advance of only a few dozen metres in an hour. Nevertheless there was a forward movement to the goal, which we had to reach that day at all costs.

We met wounded, a sure indication of the fighting. Next to a burning tank a lieutenant was being tended to by medical orderlies. The further we went the more often we came across evidence of the fighting.

Someone recognised me and shouted: ‘Comrade Colonel, our men are there in front.’

I breathed out with relief. So Gulevaty had not been wrong. A column of prisoners of war came towards us. The dirty, tattered soldiers were moving only slowly forwards. For them the war was over. Their once so orderly Berlin now lay in dust and ashes. Stunned, the prisoners looked around them. Ruins, burning streets and blackened trees lined their route. It was already afternoon, the sun high in the sky and warming, despite the thick overhang of smoke. We removed our padded jackets.

Behind Ruhleben U-Bahn station [which is actually on a raised level] we turned off to the right, crossed a railway line and reached the Reichsstrasse–Spandauer Damm junction, where we came across an armoured car.

‘Welcome your prisoners!’ Boris Saveliev called out to us.

I looked at Schalunov questioningly. He too looked puzzled. ‘What prisoners? What should we do with them now?’ I was thinking that the scouts must have captured some important personalities, perhaps even Hitler or Goebbels. Anything was possible these days. Excitedly I walked up to the vehicle, but could see no Germans.

Two Soviet officers unknown to me jumped out of the vehicle. A large, correctly dressed major presented himself: ‘Battalion commander in the 1st Krasnograd Mechanised Corps of the 1st Byelorussian Front, Major Protassov. I salute the representative of the 1st Ukrainian Front.’

The major then stepped aside to make room for his comrade. ‘Captain Turoviez of the same brigade.’ The slim officer sputtered out the words and ended his report with the words: ‘We met up at 1200 hours on the 27th April between Siemenstadt S-Bahn station and Ruhleben.’

‘Well, I’m damned!’ I said. ‘So you are the prisoners my scouts captured!’

Never before had soldiers so heartily clasped each other and become friends as at this moment. The order had been fulfilled, the ring closed. On the western edge of Berlin the tank-men of Colonel-General Bogdanov of the 1st Byelorussian Front had met up with the tank-men under Colonel-General Rybalko of the 1st Ukrainian Front.

Someone called out: ‘This event must be celebrated!’

‘Absolutely!’ agreed Alexander Pavlovitch. ‘This will never happen again.’

We decided to take a small drink in a half-destroyed building. While this was being arranged, Protassov, Turoviez and Saveliev reported exactly where the meeting had taken place.

‘My battalion was supposed to attack towards Ruhleben,’ began Protassov. ‘We knew that Rybalko’s troops were coming towards us from the south. We had to fight until the morning, as the Fascists had established themselves in Haselhorst. A tank platoon ran into a large enemy group in Siemensstadt. It took us two hours to smoke them out. Then we reached the Spree. The fire had died down and our scouts crossed the river, closed up to the railway line and suddenly Soviet tanks and submachine-guns began firing. We had done it.’

‘That was it! We were here between 1000 and 1100 hours,’ continued Saveliev Protassov’s report. ‘Gulevaty was held back a bit at first. His tanks were involved in a fight and went a bit to the left. They drove a strong enemy group off Ruhleben race course and pushed them back to the Spree and Lower Spree. The Fascists lost several hundred men killed, the rest being disarmed and taken prisoner. Serashimov, myself and Chadsarakov’s company pushed on further to the railway line. We met no Germans here but suddenly came under fire from the other bank. We fired back. Then we heard the familiar ‘Hurrah!’ Immediately afterwards we saw Soviet submachine-gunners coming towards us waving their weapons. What happened then one can hardly describe.’

‘That was a pleasure, comrades,’ said Turoviez. ‘The sky over Berlin was almost ripped apart by our ‘Hurrahs’. That was an encounter!’

The comrades from the supply platoon came and invited us to the table. Our talks now took on another direction.

As I reported the task fulfilled to the corps commander, General Novikov ordered me to send an officer from the 35th Mechanised Brigade to his staff. Captain Turoviez set off. We delegated our representative to the staff of the 1st Mechanised Corps.

The joining of the two Fronts and our involvement in it filled me with pride. But I also had a personal reason for my pleasure. The 1st Krasnograd Mechanised Corps was commanded by General Krivoshein, who was well known to me. I had served under him in 1943 and was greatly indebted to him. I regarded General Krivoshein as my teacher and was proud that his corps and my 55th Guards Tank Brigade had just closed the ring on Berlin on the 27th April 1945. Two years ago we would never have dreamt of doing this.

We cleared the enemy from the Spandauer Damm until the early hours of the morning. The brigade was to attack in the direction of Charlottenburg–Savignyplatz and on to the Zoological Gardens. The fighting died down a bit during the night but blazed up again with renewed strength in the morning. The worst was the fighting in the area west of the Tiergarten, the enemy putting up a desperate resistance. Here and there our troops had got mixed up with the enemy somehow, so that our pilots found it difficult to find targets without hitting our own troops. The artillery of the 1st Byelorussian Front had moved more densely into the city centre and their explosions were already dangerously close.

There were ten rifle and tank armies in the destroyed city, a great number of rifle, mechanised, tank and artillery corps, hundreds of regiments of all types, over 6,000 tanks and about 40,000 guns and mortars. This vast concentration of men and equipment made command extremely difficult. The boundary lines could hardly be adhered to as we lacked almost all freedom of movement. This confusion made it easier for the enemy. Despite everything, we could not withdraw any troops as the final battle had to be conducted decisively.

In the early hours of the morning of 24 April some of Chuikov’s troops traversing Schönefeld airfield came across several tanks from the 3rd Guards Tank Army of Koniev’s 1st Ukrainian Front. Zhukov apparently did not hear of this encounter until the evening and then acted disbelievingly, insisting that Chuikov send officers to discover what units were involved and what their objectives were.

If, as it appears, this was Zhukov’s first intimation of Koniev’s participation in the battle for the city itself, we can imagine the consternation this report would have caused. Apart from the blow to Zhukov’s pride, this incident clearly demonstrated the lack of communication between the two marshals and their continuing mutual distrust. Having had his hand revealed, Stalin then laid down the inter-Front boundary, which was to run through Lübben via Teupitz, Mittenwalde and Mariendorf to the Anhalter railway station. When extended beyond the Anhalter railway station, it passed well to the east of the Reichstag, giving Koniev the possibility of reaching it first from the south, the Reichstag, burnt out and unused since 1933, being their symbolic goal.

Koniev was obviously aware of the GHQ order laying down these new inter-Front boundaries on the night of 22 April when he issued his orders for the attack across the Teltow Canal and for the 71st Mechanised Brigade to cover the right flank and establish contact with the 1st Byelorussian Front. Somehow this GHQ order had been withheld from Zhukov, although it was effective from 0600 hours (Moscow Time) on 23 April, and his balance of forces and reported reactions to the news of this encounter on Schönefeld airfield clearly demonstrate how unprepared he was for this eventuality.

Fascist groups streamed into the western districts, pushed back by the blows from the 1st Byelorussian and 1st Ukrainian Fronts. Fighting broke out the U-Bahn stations, in the tunnels and even in the sewers. The enemy knew his city well and manoeuvred in narrow spaces. He disappeared only to suddenly reappear in our rear, and so inflicted some blows on us.

Once more our Rear Services were attacked. For several hours Leonov and his troops fought an uneven battle against a large enemy group wanting to break through to the Havel lakes.

In these conditions our main forces were the infantry, tanks, the supporting artillery and the sappers. For the first time since the fighting for Berlin had begun we had direct contact with the brigade of my old fighting colleague, Colonel Sliussarenko.

After the link-up with the 1st Byelorussian Front, the impact of our tanks had grown enormously. Previously we had had to fear that the pressure from the retreating Fascists could not be held. Now we had General A.P. Turshinski’s 55th Guards Breakthrough Division near us, the tank troops and riflemen forming a regular barrier. Nevertheless our western front sector was reinforced even more on the morning of the following day by the 3rd Guards Tank Army and the 1st Ukrainian Front.

I must admit that it was the right time. The noose tightened even more, causing critical days for the defenders of Berlin. The Fascists had finally realised that they could no longer hope for the wonder weapons so praised by Goebbels. The only salvation they saw was in a breakout to the west behind the Havel lakes. Thousands of Fascist soldiers and officers thrust in our direction. There was fighting in all the streets, and the western parts of the city were on fire.

A strong group, also comprising artillery and tanks, broke through to the Zoological Gardens, went round Savignyplatz S-Bahn station and thrust towards the Charlottenburg and Westkreuz S-Bahn stations. This group was joined by smaller groups emerging from the U-Bahn stations.

The bitter fighting lasted until morning. Our tanks and the whole of the artillery were engaged in this small sector of the front. Our riflemen fought with much sacrifice, earning the highest praise from our tank-men. They were like guardian angels in the narrow streets.

The Fascists could no longer get out of Berlin, and were caught in the trap. Now General Leliushenko’s 4th Guards Tank Army from the south and General Perchorovitch’s 47th Army of the 1st Byelorussian Front from the north both reached the Potsdam area and reinforced the rear.

Together with our own submachine-gunners, scouts and staff officers, I went carefully to my battalions. On our way we came across a gallows from which three German soldiers were hanging. A placard read: ‘Court-martialled for cowardice. This punishment awaits all who do not protect the Fatherland. 25th April 1945.’ One of my escorts wanted to cut the ropes, but I forbade him. The Germans should see for themselves where their Fascist Führer and their so-called People’s Community had led them.

We worked our way further forward. A heavy pregnant darkness full of smoke and the smell of burning was sinking over the Fascist capital.

Another day of war was coming to an end. Towards evening we received two contradictory orders. The corps chief of staff, Colonel G. S. Pusankov, ordered the attack towards the Zoological Gardens to be abandoned; the corps commander General Novikov decisively ordered an attack in this direction.

Fortunately darkness shrouded the city. We decided to use the night to pull the Rear Services in closer, reassemble the dispersed battalions and redeploy the artillery.

A liaison officer from the corps staff reached us in the early hours of the morning. He had wandered all night through Berlin to deliver a written order from General Novikov. In it I was ordered to withdraw the brigade from Savignyplatz, whereby both the line of attack and boundaries were also altered. The move was to take place in the first half of the night. What should I do now? Night was already coming to an end and we could hardly fulfil the order.

I could actually have punished the liaison officer for his lateness, but was he really responsible? He had tried despite everything to find us, had been lost for hours in the destroyed city and had thus come to within a hair’s breadth of the enemy. A punishment would not have made the fulfilment of the order any quicker. At least to make up a little time, precise orders and decisive handling were required. Already within a few minutes every member of the staff knew his task and I made off to the battalions. I first drove in the car, then climbed in my tank, and finally had to go by leaps and bounds on foot from building to building.

According to the map, the distance between the staff and the leading units was over a kilometre, but two hours passed before I reached my goal. Now I could really understand what the liaison officer had gone through and was happy that I had not taken any action against him.

In the dawning light I made out tanks, artillery and numerous soldiers next to a bright two-storey building. I went up to them, entered the building and reached a large room upstairs. Sitting there were all those I was looking for: Ossadtchi, Gulevaty, Staruchin, the commanders of the artillery battalions, the sappers and the scouts. They rose as I entered.

‘What are you up to, comrades?’

‘We are waiting for you,’ said Staruchin immediately.

‘How did you know I was on my way?’

‘From the chief of staff,’ said Gulevaty and pulled a creased map out of his boot.

I explained the corps commander’s requirements to the officers, gave each unit its battle task and laid down the timetable.

Following a short snack – there was porridge and tea – I wanted to go over to the 2nd Battalion. Suddenly an unusual silence fell over the big, almost overfilled room. Even the usually constantly talking Ossadtchi was quiet.

‘What’s the matter?’ I asked Gulevaty.

‘The deputy political adviser of the 1st Battalion, Andrei Malanuschenko, died last evening.’

For a moment I stood as if numbed, but then followed my comrades into a room nearby in which the fallen man lay. Silently I saluted him and took my farewell from him. Again it had happened to someone immediately before victory. I slowly turned round and left the room.

As we were going down the stairs I heard a German voice. Immediately afterwards a door opened on the ground floor and men, women and two girls entered the hall.

‘Who are these people?’

‘The occupants of the house,’ explained Ossadtchi. ‘They had been hiding in the cellar.’

The owner timidly reported about himself and his family. He was a professor of theology. With him were his wife, his younger brother (a scientist), his daughter and a niece. Distractedly I listened to the professor’s muddled report, looking at his family and suddenly saw before me the ghosts of my parents and sisters murdered by the Fascists in 1942. On the first floor of this building lay our dead comrade. How the Fascists would have dealt with this in our place was known not only by us but certainly also by the professor.

‘What are you going to do with us?’ he asked timidly.

‘Nothing. In any case, go back down with all your family, it is safer there.’

However, for the whole day I had to think about Andrei Malanuschenko. I simply could not imagine that I would never see him again.

The corps commander’s order to go to the Westkreuz area was not completely fulfilled. We could not make up for the time lost by the liaison officer, and my trip to the battalions made no difference. Then came the news that the 2nd Battalion was without communications. Murderous fire drove us into a cellar.

The dawning spring day finally brought our plans to nothing. Already during the night the boundary between the Fronts had been changed. Our corps was to leave the area we had occupied until now and withdraw to the area of the Westkreuz and Witzleben stations, west of Charlottenburg station.

The companies and battalions had been fighting again. Although the brigade had begun its relocation, the thick red line separating the two Fronts in Berlin remained only an indicated one. To the right of us the 1st Byelorussian Front was conducting a bitter fight. Our submachine-gunners and tank troops had got mixed up with Turshinski’s infantry in our old area.

The resistance of the Fascists, who now found themselves caught between two Fronts, increased by the hour. Although the Berlin group was almost completely split apart, it continued its desperate resistance. The Fascists were streaming to the western parts of the city from everywhere. They attacked our troops like madmen, seeking to find a way out of the ring of fire.

The Berlin garrison consisted of troops loyal to Hitler. In order to maintain the establishment of the Fascist Reich for as long as possible, the Fascist leaders in the city concentrated various security battalions and SS units, as well as members of military training establishments. Apart from this, the enemy also still counted on getting help from the outside, everything that gave him the strength to continue resisting.

For the whole day until night fell artillery and tank fire thundered in the streets around the railway stations of Savignyplatz and Charlottenburg. Every metre of ground was fired on by the troops. The fate of the Berlin garrison was nevertheless already decided, our troops having formed a firm ring around the city. Nevertheless the Fascists did not give up their resistance but even conducted counterattacks in individual sectors, completely indifferent to the number of victims.

Not until night time did the exhausted and demoralised Fascists take a breath and we could eliminate the confusion in our ranks. In my sector could be found tanks from General Bogdanov’s 2nd Guards Tank Army and members of the 55th Guards Rifle Division of General Lutschinski’s 28th Army. Our tanks had found themselves in the 1st Byelorussian Front’s area and we had to look everywhere for our submachine-gunners. Only the artillery brigades and the corps units attached as reinforcements were still in our area, Lieutenant-Colonel Schalunov keeping a firm grip on them.

All night long staff officers, political advisers and rear area services sought our units. Towards morning we had everyone brought together and had them occupy positions between the Reichssportfeld S-Bahn station and the Reichsstrasse. Here we were able to refuel the vehicles and tanks and resupply them with ammunition, and the troops found time to eat and drink.

Schalunov and Sassimenko were happy as cable communications had been established with the staff, entailing less anger with the radios. Apart from this we could maintain personal contact with General Novikov.

No one had thought that the last day of April should be the hardest. On the contrary, we thought that the fighting would die down. The evening before we had given the Fascists a good drubbing and during the night our scouts had located no big enemy groupings.

The day was warm and sunny. In our sector there were a few exchanges of fire, seldom artillery fire, and the tanks were silent. But in the city centre and in the Unter den Linden–Tiergarten–Reichstag area bitter fighting was still going on. There was even heavy artillery in action. Our air forces ruled the air. We could also hear artillery fire coming from the direction of Wannsee and Potsdam. Anti-aircraft gunfire bellowed on the southern and northern edges of the city, and tank guns thundered. Only in our corps was it relatively quiet.

The silence did not last for long, however. Towards midday scouts reported enemy forces in the Spandauer Damm–Westend area. By radio Serashimov reported a large grouping in Bismarckstrasse. We therefore had to reckon on a counterattack at any moment.

During the second half of the day the enemy moved in individual units, small groups or columns towards Witzleben–Heerstrasse–Reichssportfeld, opening unorganised fire with all kinds of weapons. Rockets soared into the sky. A column came loudly near us, led by SS officers. It was accompanied by several tanks and self-propelled guns. Twenty years later I discovered from archive material that it involved SS units, members of the Hitler Youth and ‘Totenkopf’ units that wanted to break through to the west and surrender to our allies.

Our artillery battalion fired concentrated fire. That was also the signal for the others. Shortly afterwards all of our artillery joined in. The mortar batteries that had taken up firing positions in the Olympic Stadium were equally active, the tank troops and submachine-gunners also joining in the fight. I watched from the roof of a two-storey house. Hundreds of dead and wounded lay in the streets. Our fire barred the Fascists’ route to the Havel lakes, but they did not give up. The fighting went on until late in the evening, by which time we had finally succeeded. On this day both the 56th Guards Tank Brigade and the 23rd Guards Motor Rifle Brigade, as well as the whole of the 7th Guards Tank Corps and elements of the 28th Army’s 55th Guards Rifle Division had been involved.

That evening I discussed the events of the day with my deputies and staff officers and simultaneously prepared the next tasks with them.

‘The Germans are going back along Bismarckstrasse towards northern Charlottenburg,’ reported Schalunov tiredly.

‘They should retreat quietly. They’ll not get far, General Bogdanov’s people will get them.’

The head of the medical services, Boguslavski, came up to me.

‘Where shall we take the wounded?’

‘To the medical battalion, to the hospital. Don’t you know where you must take them?’

‘You have not understood me correctly, Comrade Colonel. I am talking about the Germans. Hundreds of German wounded need medical help.’

I looked at Boguslavski, at his face grey with fatigue, his red eyes. During the war I had become accustomed not to wonder about it any more, but the medics impressed me again and again. Many had lost their relatives in this war, constantly seeing human pain, seeing the crimes of the Fascists, everything that would really leave people hardened. But this was not so as one saw time and time again. Our soldiers went mercilessly against the armed enemy, but were charitable towards civilians, prisoners and the wounded. This was not so only in the days of our victorious thrust to the west, but also in the difficult time when we had had to withdraw.

This was also the reason why Boguslavski’s question surprised me. I was strongly convinced that he had long since given his instructions and that the question was merely a formality to inform me. On the 26th April a field hospital on the western edge of the city had fallen into our hands. Some three hundred badly wounded German officers were lying in a large school building. Until then they had seen no Soviet soldiers. Boguslavski now wanted to accommodate more wounded there.

Shortly after he had left me, several German doctors appeared before me. Excitably, a female doctor made it clear to me that she feared for her patients.

‘You have no need to worry,’ Dmitriev answered her. ‘We are Soviet men, Communists, do you understand? We will look after the captured humanely and especially the wounded.’

That night all the wounded Germans in our sector we collected and accommodated in a hospital. When Boguslavski discovered that there was neither water nor electricity in the building and that the food supplies were almost exhausted, we immediately put a hundred loaves of bread, sugar and conserves from our supplies at their disposal.

During the night of the 1st May the fighting died down, although we were prepared for any surprise. As the corps headquarters was silent, I decided to call the corps commander. General Novikov did not lift the receiver for a long time, but then said his name. After I had greeted him I asked him: ‘Comrade General, I urgently need riflemen. Our tanks are burning, the officer numbers are melting away. Please help us, at least with a battalion.’

The general was silent. After a few minutes I timidly asked him whether he had heard me.

‘Yes, I heard you well,’ answered Novikov. ‘But I cannot help you. I have no riflemen.’ Again there was silence. I heard the general breathing heavily. Suddenly he said: ‘David Abramovitch, I have a big concern. My Jura fell in Berlin yesterday. He had led a self-propelled-gun regiment in action and…’ the voice of the general trembled. ‘Jura is lying here beside me.’

‘Vassili Vassilievitch, what can I say? What words can console a father’s heart? Be strong! We will avenge your son and all those who have given their lives in the protection of their country!’

In these last days death still took many men, including comrades with whom I had set out on the difficult road to war. Every loss hit us hard.

After the bloody fighting on the 30th April, and the desperate attempt to break out to the west at any price, the enemy had quietened down. The artillery was silent, tanks did not appear, even the panzerfausts had disappeared. The enemy soldiers had gone into hiding. We chased them out of their hiding places and liberated district after district. In the morning we had sent off a submachine-gun company under young Captain Chadsarakov on reconnaissance. In the northern section of the Reichsstrasse he fell into an ambush and suffered severe casualties. The young, black-eyed Ossete Chadsarakov was killed. Sacha Tinda, the last of the three Charkov Komsomols, also failed to return. Fortunately it transpired that he was only wounded and our neighbours had taken him with them.

In the morning there were rumours of Hitler’s suicide and the capitulation of the Fascist troops in Berlin. No one knew for sure, but everyone sensed that capitulation was imminent.

Towards midday the guns fell silent. We pushed on without coming across resistance. Berlin was burning sky high, buildings collapsing, the thick smarting smoke burning our eyes.

Unexpectedly came the order to strengthen the bombardment. At 1830 hours the whole of our artillery opened a terrific fire, including the Katyushas and the six battalions of the breakthrough artillery division. This mighty blow was largely symbolic. We wanted to force the enemy into capitulating more quickly and unconditionally.

The whole night we moved around the area north of Pichelsberg S-Bahn station. Towards morning the German soldiers began individually or in groups to leave their hiding holes and surrender. We discovered from them that the Berlin garrison had capitulated.

During the course of the day the stream of prisoners increased. Apathetically the soldiers trotted through the destroyed city to the collecting points. They wanted only one thing: to eat and sleep. Whatever came afterwards was of no consequence to them.

Our riflemen brought a large group of prisoners to me. ‘Where shall we take them?’ asked a sergeant. I pointed to a sign with an arrow pointing the way to the collection point. ‘How are the prisoners behaving?’

‘Normally, Comrade Colonel, they are disciplined.’

I then saw that many of the prisoners were wearing neither shoulder straps nor headgear. ‘On the way they are ripping off their shoulder straps and throwing their caps and badges away,’ said the sergeant. ‘They are apparently afraid.’

‘Don’t let them do so, Comrade Sergeant.’

‘One cannot see to everything, Comrade Colonel, they are many and we are only five.’

I went closer to a prisoner whose uniform was incomplete. The way he carried himself indicated he was an officer. ‘Why have you torn off your badges of rank? You are an officer. Are you not ashamed to do so in front of soldiers whose lives you were responsible for only a short time ago? Where is your honour, officer?’

The prisoner looked silently at his boots.

‘That is no officer,’ somebody called out suddenly from the column. ‘He is an Untersturmführer.’

An SS man? That was why he had torn off his badges of rank. He was afraid of having to account for his crimes. There were still many more such as him in the crowd. They wanted to disappear in the mass and now felt conspicuous.

Suddenly the desire to talk with this mob had left me. With a wave of my hand I had the sergeant lead the prisoners away.

We connected all our thoughts about the end of the war and the defeat of Fascism with the victory in Berlin.

The soldiers found it difficult to get away from the customary wartime routine. The tanks drove along close to the buildings and the riflemen crossed the street in bounds. Although no one was firing anymore and no bombs were dropping, the years of being accustomed to it remained in every one of us. It was not only difficult to get away from the war, re-adapting was also not any easier. The war had ended, it had finished! Although we had waited almost 1,500 days for this moment, we had first to get slowly accustomed to it.

We stood in a large room of an undamaged family home. What could we say at this moment? Our faces spoke for us. Dmitriev had tears running down his cheeks. Even the strong-willed Schalunov was weeping. Like a child I wiped my face with my fist and murmured something incomprehensible to him. Serashimov called out loud: ‘We have forced the beast to its knees,’ and damned the Fascists with some choice swearwords. From the street came a thunderous ‘Hurrah!’

I got hold of the chief of staff first: ‘What happens now?’

Yes, what did await us now? For the first time since the beginning of the war I did not know anything further. At random I said: ‘Vassili Matvejevitch, order everyone to remain where they are. The battalions must assemble. The other units must close up to the staff.’

We had heard nothing from the corps staff for several hours.

‘We are superfluous now,’ Dmitriev said pointedly. ‘But that is not bad, no messages, no situation reports, no reprimands, as things progress slowly. All in all an almost paradisiacal life.’

However, the paradise did not last long. The corps staff demanded exact data over the fighting strength of our brigade. Then we received the order to get ready for further tasks.

‘That looks as if we will have to go on fighting,’ said Schalunov uncomfortably.

Once more the staff mechanism got moving. Towards evening the leader of the corps’ political department, Andrei Vladimirovitch Novikov, sought out the brigade. We put our arms around each other, drove to one of the battalions, congratulated the fighters on their victory and returned happily to the command post.

Meanwhile the adjutant and the cook had decorated and set out the table, having found table cloths and crystal glasses in the house. Dmitriev switched on the radio and Levitan’s solemn voice filled the whole building. He read out an order from the commander-in-chief. As the talk was about Rybalko’s tank-men who had particularly distinguished themselves in the storming of Berlin, we jumped up from our seats and a thunderous ‘Hurrah’ drowned out the voice of the speaker.

Tensely we waited for the salute from Moscow, as suddenly the whole building shook and the glasses on the table trembled. We rushed out of the house and could hardly believe our eyes. Shots of all calibres made their way into the sky, including rockets bursting like fireworks. Our brave soldiers were firing their salutes in honour of Moscow, the Party, our homeland and the great Soviet people.

For the first time in ages I was able to sleep undisturbed, in a real soft bed and without my uniform. It was like a gift.

‘Get up! Get up!’ It was Dmitriev’s voice.

In an old soldier’s way I jumped out of my bed and grasped my things. ‘What’s up? A breakthrough?’

‘Nothing’s happened,’ responded Dmitriev laughing. ‘Have you forgotten that we wanted to look around the city today?’

The battalion commanders and staff officers had already assembled in the adjacent room. Pjotr Koshemjakov allocated us to the individual vehicles and gave the drivers their instructions.

We drove through a few neighbouring streets and then turned into Bismarckstrasse, where one saw the same picture everywhere: burning buildings, rubble, destroyed vehicles and a whole sea of white flags. Like on a big washday, bedsheets, hand- and table-cloths and pillow-cases fluttered in the wind.

We crossed the Landwehr Canal and reached the Tiergarten. This once splendid piece of earth had changed into a rubbish heap, into a cemetery for tanks, guns and vehicles. Torn up trees, water channels, destroyed bridges and bomb craters completed the chaos. The fire of war had not improved the wide Siegesallee. The statues of the illustrious Wilhelms, Friedrichs and former Prussian military leaders had been toppled from their bases.

Until his cowardly suicide, Goebbels had prophesied that life would cease as soon as the Red Army appeared. Like so many things, it was also a lie. The firing was hardly over when life in the destroyed city stirred once more. The first thing was the children leaving the cellars. At first they came timidly closer and then ever more boldly to our field kitchens and looked at the cooks with big, hungry eyes. Pity stirred our soldiers and soon the children were squatting round our gulash cannons. But not only did they satisfy their hunger, but they also took some soup for their relatives.

Then we stood in the Reichstag, which looked grey, dusty and bombed-out. The heavy fighting had left its traces here, as elsewhere in Berlin and in Germany overall.

As we were about to go in, it seemed to me as if the building was swaying. It reminded me instinctively of a pirate ship. The interior of the building was murky, damp and cold. On the floors lay heaps of rubble, and through a gaping wall one could see the Brandenburg Gate.

We were not the only ones to come here. Hundreds of vehicles stood nearby and thousands of Soviet soldiers examined and touched the damaged pillars and walls. Wherever one looked one saw inscriptions everywhere. ‘We made it!’ ‘We are from Moscow’ ‘We are from Leningrad’, ‘My way led from Stalingrad to Berlin’. Everyone regarded it as their right to record their name on the walls of the Reichstag. It seems as if this would confirm our victory.

The brigade staff were impatiently awaiting my return. An unusual amount of activity reigned in the building. Schalunov received me with the news. ‘An order arrived during your absence. The brigade is to drive out of Berlin during the night and concentrate near the Teufelsee lake south of Eichkamp.’

On the table lay a map. My chief of staff had already established the route and informed me about the already issued orders. Why would this be good, I thought. Schalunov also had no answer. We went through various alternatives and soon lost ourselves in conjecture.

I had not spoken to General Novikov again since the death of his son. Now that the order had come to prepare to march, I dared to call him. Some questions needed an urgent reply, and above all we needed refuelling. The corps commander spoke quietly and assuredly. ‘I understand your concern. It is no different with Sliussarenko and Tschugunkov. However, the enemy is no longer the same. The beast has been badly hit and your forces are sufficient for the final blow. Naturally we will help you.’

‘Nevertheless, please allow me the question, Comrade General, what should we be ready for?’

‘Tomorrow we will set off for the new area.’

‘Where to?’

‘I still have no orders, but before us is a march of several hundred kilometres.’

‘To the Rhine?’

‘What would we do there? Our allies have occupied this area long since. Don’t pester me any more, I cannot tell you any more. We will get the order tomorrow.’

About an hour later we received maps of the areas Wittenberg, Dresden, Sudety and Prague. Then petrol tankers arrived. ‘Take note, lads,’ said the garrulous tanker driver informatively. ‘There is no more fuel until Prague.’

We left Berlin during the night, the column creeping slowly down the Heerstrasse. Eight days previously we had come in over this road.

The German edition of Dragunski’s book does not mention that he and his brigade holed up in the big tram sheds and adjacent apartments on Saarstrasse, a block north of the Kaiserdam, for their last two days in Berlin, as was mentioned in his A Soldier’s Life, published by Progress Publishers in Moscow in 1977.

Dragunski’s brigade formed part of Marshal Koniev’s forces that liberated Prague a few days later but was not actually involved in the fighting. He then commanded the contingent of one hundred selected representative tank soldiers at the victory parade in Moscow, continuing to serve until retiring with the rank of general.

Forward to Prague!

Towards morning we reached the woods south of Berlin and settled down for a rest. The soldiers slept wherever they could find a place. They disregarded food and drink in order to catch up on more than twenty nights of lost sleep. Since the 16th April, the beginning of the Berlin operation, they had had no rest.

At midday our encampment was still deep in slumber. Only on the headquarters bus had several officers gathered to wait for instructions. The chief of staff and I studied the corps commander’s orders. We marked the given points on the map and confirmed the route as well as the provisional plan for further action. Our 7th Tank Corps belonged to a strong armoured force being formed on Marshal Koniev’s orders from the 3rd and 4th Guards Tank Armies as well as several independent tank and mechanised corps. This powerful force was to destroy the million-strong army of the Fascist Field Marshal Schörner, whose Army Group Mitte was the last card in the Fascists’ hands, and on which they now were concentrating their last hopes.

Apparently the fate of this army group was already decided. The capitulation of the Berlin garrison was a sure indication that our troops had broken the back of the Fascist beast. But we also knew very well how the vastly strong enemy group in Czechoslovakia could prepare, what the tightly squeezed Fascists were still capable of. This was why the Front commander-in-chief demanded single-minded handling. We would attack the enemy in the flank, split him up, forcing him to be destroyed or to capitulate. In no circumstances would Prague be destroyed.

General Novikov had ordered us to march off at nightfall. A penetrating signal tore through the quiet of the woods. Several hours’ sleep had strengthened the men and now they made the last preparations for the march. The commanders and political workers explained the fighting roles and talked about Czechoslovakia and its people.

As nightfall sank, we headed south. Before us lay a march of some 200 kilometres. I climbed out of my Jeep into a car. Dmitriev and Ossadtchi came with me.

The traffic regulators showed us the route through Luckenwalde, Jüterbog and Dahme, and towards morning the brigade reached the woods north of the Elbe. It was only later that we learnt that we were marching parallel to the front line and that Dresden and the surrounding area were still in the hands of the enemy. The 344th German Infantry Division and the 2nd Panzer Division with reserve and security units were defending south of Riesa and on the line Heyda–Dörschnitz–Nieschütz–Niegeroda.

In the evening, before reaching the deployment area, the corps commander and head of the political department sought us out. We were very happy to see General Novikov in good form again. I reported on the condition of the brigade and on our chances in the anticipated fighting, and complained about the weak infantry and big losses of tanks. ‘I am afraid that our tanks will not make it over the mountains. Many are smoking a lot, the engines need replacing. Their running times are well over-exceeded.’

The general looked at me in astonishment. ‘I don’t recognise you. You are talking like a technical equipment assistant. Even if only half of your tanks reach Prague, that’s no tragedy. The war is coming to an end and you start to complain. There is no cause to panic. You will get your infantry. I have already given the instructions. You will get a rifle battalion from Schapovalov’s brigade.’

I thanked the corps commander and invited him to supper. However, he declined as he had to get to Sliussarenko, whose brigade was to be in the first echelon. We escorted the general to the edge of the woods. Before he got into his vehicle he pulled out a folded newspaper from a side pocket of his uniform jacket.

‘Do you still remember how depressed the tank soldiers were that there was no mention of the brigade in the order of the commander-in-chief on the defeat of the Berlin group? Shortly afterwards I was convinced that the comrades had made a mistake, so I sent a telegram to Comrade Stalin. Here is his reply.’

I took the sheet and skimmed over the text. Then I went over it again to commit every word to memory.

‘Andrei Vladimirovitch’ said the corps commander in it to the head of the political section, ‘you are still in the brigade. Tell the men what has happened and of Comrade Stalin’s order.’

Then General Novikov said good-bye and jumped into his vehicle. ‘See you in Prague!’

We went back to the staff bus and had our supper. There ‘Political’ Novikov related how hard the whole business had hit our corps commander. ‘General Novikov is an old soldier and knows exactly what such an order from the highest commander does for a mechanised force. When our corps commander turned to Comrade Stalin he was not thinking of himself.’ The best thing would be for me to simply read the text of the telegram. ‘Justice demands that the handling of the 7th Guards Tank Corps be praised that I led in Berlin. Thus was the memory honoured of those that have fallen in this city, and the living receive the thanks due to them. I write to you as a general and the father of a son lost in the storming of Berlin!’ The head of the political section paused and then continued: ‘I am happy to inform you that our 7th Kiev Guards Corps has been awarded the honourable name “Berlin”. Please inform all the soldiers.’

‘Who was responsible for the mistake?’ I wanted to know.

‘With us the Novikovs’, answered Andrei Vladimirovitch, smiling. ‘Too many with the same name gathered at the one Front, all belonging to the tank troops. That was what was responsible for such a muddle.’

In the morning we could discover nothing of our neighbours far and wide. The brigades of Sliussarenko and Tschugunkov had crossed the Elbe to the west bank during the night and occupied their dispersal areas. As soon as Gordov’s army had smashed a breach in the enemy defences, both brigades would be in the first echelon.

Our brigade remained as the corps commander’s reserve in the allocated area. Once Dresden had been taken, we would thrust towards Sudty, cross the mountains and reach Teplice as the vanguard, going round Terezin to the west to Kralupy and penetrating Prague off the move.

With this decision, the Front commander-in-chief and the corps commander went for continuous, targeted handling and massive blows by the tank troops into the flanks of Army Group Mitte.

In the morning I was informed that we would not get across the crossing point in Riesa. On the approaches to the town there was confusion with the Rear Services of two armies and our tanks wedged together. Each one of them wanted to move forward as quickly as possible. Command under these circumstances was extremely difficult. The time dragged, however. The corps staff had already by evening broken through and the main forces followed through. We had contact with neither them nor army headquarters. A powerful voice came over the radio, often giving instructions and orders.

Suddenly an excited voice broke through this confusion. Someone reported in the Czech language the beginning of an uprising in Prague. The rebels had occupied the radio station and were asking the Soviet troops for help. Every five minutes came over the air the call: ‘Listen! Listen! Help!’ Every word went straight to the heart. Burning, driving us forwards. We still recalled the tragedy in Warsaw. The Prague people’s alarming call for help did not leave our soldiers indifferent. The tank-men impatiently waited for the signal to march on.

On the roads leading to Czechoslovakia stood strong forces, tank and infantry divisions as well as independent elements that firmly blocked off southern Germany. Our attempts to split up this mass off the march remained futile. At 1400 hours our artillery opened up. Dresden, Radebeul and Wilsdruff came under heavy fire. There was no sparing of ammunition: the stronger the fire, the less blood would be shed.

In the second half of the day the Front commander sent the armies of Generals Gordov and Puchov, as well as the tank armies of Rybalko and Leliushenko into the battle. The whole night and the whole of the 7th May the fighting raged in Dresden and the Erzgebirge Mountains. The thrust of the 1st Ukrainian Front merged with the attack of the 5th Ukrainian Front coming over the Carpathian Mountains and accelerated the attack of the remaining troops to the west.

On the 7th May the tank brigades of the 6th Guards Tank Army under General Kravtshenko and the 7th Guards Army under General Schumilov belonging to the 2nd Ukrainian Front arrived from Austria. The combined assault by the three Fronts shattered Field Marshal Schörner’s Army Group Mitte. To ensure its final defeat, we had to push into the centre of Czechoslovakia and securely lock the way to the west.

Another day had gone by and we were still sitting fast in the wood. We had received no orders from the corps commander. The radio connection with his headquarters had been broken during the course of the day. A cold, unpleasant rain fell.

What would happen if they needed us up ahead? We had been ordered to remain where we were until specific orders arrived. Laying the blame on the corps staff was not in my character. I carefully examined pros and cons and decided to move on in an hour, and sent out scouts and sappers to the crossing points.

The columns crept forward all night long. It was raining heavily. The rain forced its way into the tanks and the drivers’ cabs of the trucks. Neither capes nor tarpaulins saved us from the soaking. Vehicles slipped into ditches, the field kitchen turned over. We had to use tanks to drag them out. But the men overcame the elements. After 50 kilometres we reached the main forces of our corps towards morning.

The rain had stopped, the sun was shining. When the field kitchen appeared the night’s qualms were forgotten. Hot tea, barley soup with meat and the obligatory 100 grams of bread had the men smiling again. The general praised our initiative.

The brigade went into action that same morning. Together with other corps’ units we supported the 5th Guards Army west of Dresden and our Polish brothers in arms.

Afterwards our way led over the Erzgebirge Mountains. We approached the Czech border. It took an hour to get the brigade together again. The infantry also joined us. General Novikov kept his word and sent us the rifle battalion of the Hero of the Soviet Union Davydenko. Now we had to scale the heights of the Erzgebirge, destroy security detachments and individual nests of resistance, and hurry to Prague, from where calls for help were still coming.

As we were getting rid of numerous barricades, the 56th Tank Brigade caught up with us. With long energetic steps Sacha Sliussarenko came up to me. ‘Dima, you must help me out of a jam.’

‘Why, what has happened?’

‘My tanks are standing still, I have no more diesel. Give me at least three or four fuel trucks so that I can reach Prague.’

I asked our Rear Services and discovered that we ourselves only had five truck-loads of diesel left. That would hardly be enough for us, as Prague was still 150 kilometres away. So, even with the best of intentions, I could not help my friend.

‘That is not comradely,’ Sliussarenko began to complain.

‘Sacha, I can’t help you. If we share out the fuel now, there will be insufficient for any of us to reach Prague. And what help would that be to the uprising?’

‘You must give me at least two tankers.’

Now Dmitriev tried to convince him, but his arguments too had no effect. Sliussarenko would not give up. Finally friendship won. I could well understand my colleague’s frame of mind. I wrote a chit ordering the head of the technical services, Milin, to provide the fuel. Sliussarenko left me smiling. Nevertheless he did not get a drop of diesel, for I did not know that our fuel trucks had got lost during the night and would only catch up with us again just before Prague.

Our route to Prague was difficult. On the narrow, twisting mountain tracks the enemy had erected and mined numerous tree barriers. Anyone leaving the track was in danger of toppling over. We had to clear away the barriers, defuse the mines and subdue the security units.

The sappers smoothing the way for us were heroic. The tanks climbed the slopes with difficulty, the engines running at full speed, and the overheated vehicles often had to stop. Tanks towed guns and the self-propelled guns had motorcycles hanging from them as the infantry climbed the slopes with difficulty.

The radio communications with corps were functioning again and General Novikov demanded more speed from us. Rybalko was also active. ‘Don’t mark time! Quicker! Forwards! Forwards!’ The people of Prague were still sending appeals for help. We understood the rebels. Their impatience had already been transferred to us. Nevertheless it was only with a great effort that we were able to get over the last kilometres of the mountains.

But our efforts were worth it, for we had reached the crest of the Erzgebirge. In front of us lay picturesque valleys and wooded mountain slopes. Here and there red tiled roofs peeped through the greenery.

Suddenly I heard the command: ‘Brigade commander to the head of the column!’ On the way I asked myself what it could be. Everything necessary had already been arranged.

Soon I saw in the distance some cars and an armoured car. Nearby stood Rybalko with several generals and staff officers. I jumped out of the vehicle. The army commander-in-chief received me with the words: ‘Why are you stopping here? Kalinin and Popov are already just short of Prague.’

‘We will be moving on in a few minutes.’

‘Good. You must enter Prague tonight. Don’t let yourself be held up. The fate of the enemy is already sealed but we must save Prague from destruction.’

The army commander-in-chief questioned me on the state of the brigade and about our reserves of supplies and fuel.

‘We’ll get there, Comrade General,’ I assured him.

‘“We’ll get there” is not the right impression,’ Rybalko rebuked me. ‘We are going to our friends, our brothers, and as Guardsmen you should be fresh, accurate and fully prepared for battle.’

While we were talking several soldiers and officers had gathered round. It was always like that when Rybalko appeared.

‘We thank you for Berlin,’ the army commander-in-chief said to the men. ‘You are great lads and have fought bravely. Many of you will get decorations.’

‘Remember, Comrade General, you promised to come to us in Wilhelmstrasse. We have unfortunately given up waiting for you.’

‘How can I make up for it?’ Rybalko parried smiling. ‘How could I make my way through to you? The streets were blocked. I will certainly honour my word in Prague, God willing, if I get there before you.’

‘We will make every effort,’ said Dmitriev, who had been silent until then.

My brigade began mounting up and shortly afterwards we reached Teplice.

The town was decorated with banners, and Soviet and Czech flags flew from the town hall. The inhabitants had left their homes and celebrated around us. Everywhere one heard ‘Hurrah! Victory!’ and ‘I love the Soviet Union!’ Women and girls threw flowers at us. We experienced the same thing in every town and every village in Czechoslovakia.

The nearer we got to Prague, the more nervous the enemy became. He knew that he was now in the steel fangs of our tank armies. The demoralised soldiers abandoned guns, tanks and vehicles, and fled into the woods and mountains to break through to Karlovy Vary, Plzen and Ceske Budejovice. But wherever he went he came across our troops.

I climbed out of my tank into my Jeep, directed the headquarters vehicles to the head of the column and led the brigade into Prague at high speed.

We reached Chynow, a small village near Prague. The Fascists had accommodated themselves there like vandals, so we were most heartily greeted by the inhabitants. They climbed on our tanks, threw flowers down the hatches and put their arms round our tank troops. A young woman came up to me with a little girl in her arms. The youngster handed me a large bunch of flowers. I took the little girl in my arms, kissed her and gave her the star from my cap as I left. Some of the village inhabitants and soldiers photographed the scene. Especially enthusiastic that day was our cook, who also happened to be the brigade’s photographer. Several days later a soldier brought me a picture of the occasion – I still have it.

The last night of the war passed slowly. We spent it on the march. When the morning dawned we had already been standing on the edge of Prague. As we had received no further orders from the corps commander, I unfolded a map of Prague and looked for the city centre and castle, and on my own responsibility pushed through to Wenzelplatz Square.

From the city one could hear the dull rumbling of the artillery and the whipping of machine-pistol shots in the vicinity. Although fighting was still going on in the city centre, many of the city’s inhabitants were on the streets.

As we had to reckon with panzerfausts, I formed a column. Davydenko’s riflemen now marched at the head followed by the tanks, the headquarters and the Rear Services. Staruchin’s battalion formed the rearguard. We rolled on towards the Wenzelplatz. As some of the streets were blocked by barricades, we had to make our way through some narrow lanes. Suddenly we were unable to go any further, our route being blocked by a jubilant crowd.

Rybalko’s and Leliushenko’s armies marched into the city from all sides, each wanting to be first to reach the city centre, liberate Prague and put a final full stop to the end of the Great Patriotic War.

My 55th Guards Tank Brigade had put hundreds of kilometres behind it within the last days but nevertheless the army commander-in-chief had promised that we would meet in the city. With horror I thought what would happen if Rybalko discovered how long it had taken us to go the few kilometres from the city boundary to the centre.

We caught the high spirits of the Prague citizens. We were happy to have got there in time so that the Fascists had been unable to destroy it more.

The streets and squares filled with people. It was particularly noisy in the city centre. The people of Prague surrounded our tanks; hats and tank helmets whirled in the air. The tank soldiers and riflemen hugged each other. Again and again came the Czech ‘Nasdar’ and our ‘Hurrah’. With difficulty I escaped from the hugging and leant against the tank to get a bit of air. I was as if numbed.

Bright red and very excited, the chief of signals came up to me.

‘Sassimenko, what’s happened?’ asked the chief of staff impatiently.

‘Radio! Over the radio Moscow has announced that the war is over! Unconditional capitulation. Hurrah!’

We stood there deeply impressed, the smiles vanishing from our faces, everyone looking earnestly at each other. We had the feeling that we had all grown older at this moment. Then suddenly the tension eased off and we fell into each other’s arms. It had finally happened! The war was over, all torments had an end.

Tired and hoarse, I stood on Wenzelplatz Square next to my true friend, the tank bearing the number 200 that had not only taken me the long way through fire, but also had protected me from death many times with its strong armour. Next to me stood its commander, Yevgeni Belov. One could understand how the men hung on to their tanks and often spoke of them like a living thing.

The engine of my tank was hardly warm, as if it wanted to give the fighting vehicle a rest after its efforts. I climbed on to the rear, sat on the vents over the engine, leant against the rolled-up tarpaulin and let my thoughts run free.

A blue spring sky hung over Prague. From now on it would ever remain cloudless and the people would never have to look around anxiously.

Rybalko kept his word. Escorted by two generals, by two Novikovs, he had worked his way through the crowded streets to Wenzelplatz. He greeted me heartily and clasped me paternally. ‘I congratulate you on victory, dear fighting colleagues. We are among the lucky ones to experience this. But let us on such a day not forget those who paid for this victory with their blood.’

Rybalko’s eyes glistened moistly. Vassili Vassilievitch Novikov took his spectacles off from time to time and polished them with a trembling hand. I felt a cramp in my throat.

The army commander-in-chief and the corps commander were thinking of their sons at this moment, who had fallen in this war. Rybalko lost his only son in 1942 and the corps commander his Yura only a short while ago. The war had brought great personal sorrow to both of them. The first day of peace was thus both cheerful and sad.

Prague did not quieten down the whole night long. People crowded everywhere. The windows from which the black-out had been removed streamed with bright light. That night the 55th Guards Tank Brigade would pull out of the city centre and be stationed not far from the Satalice airport. Previously the small quiet street on the edge of town had been a favourite place for lovers. Now all was jubilation and hurly burly. The sound of accordions, mouth-organs and guitars had attracted the boys and girls and all were dancing together.

The morning brought a new concern. The war was over and our superiors smothered us with paperwork. They demanded reports on the fighting, reports on the state of the tanks and lists of losses.

In the Rear Services the inventories did not tally with the records. I recorded the names of those who should receive a decoration. We all had our hands full. Only the soldiers found time to celebrate the victory and the end of the war.

Music came from everywhere. Boys and girls from Prague sang and danced with our tank-men.

The news of a football match that was to take place between a Soviet team and a Czech team quickly made the rounds of the brigade. On the 12th May many football fans assembled in a large stadium in a Prague suburb. We had carefully selected and trained our team. Among them were the platoon leader Uskov, the chief artillery quartermaster Sokoliuk, and the tank-men Schtschedin and Schischkin.

Boris Saveliev was appointed as referee. The brigade staff and the representative of the Prague administration had taken places in the tribune. The whistle blew to start the game. Everyone played with the utmost commitment. Every goal, most of which were against us, raised the atmosphere. My neighbours, the Czechs, became unsettled and slid around and whispered.

Our lads rushed all over the pitch, shot inaccurately and lacked teamwork. But all gave of their best and played fair. The game ended 5:2 for the hosts. I was a little disturbed but was startled to see our friends: the spectators streamed on to the pitch from all sides, hugged our players and threw them into the air. The sympathy of the football fans was obviously with the losers.

After the game there was a spontaneous meeting. The Prague citizens thanked the members of the Red Army. Then I spoke.

‘Our team lost decisively,’ I said, ‘but to lose against you is no defeat. Our game today was one among friends, which is why the lost game does not depress us.’

Finally we sat down with our friends for a cup of coffee and had an animated discussion. As we were leaving, our host, an elderly engineer, said: ‘I must apologise for our footballers, they behaved very tactlessly.’

‘In what way?’

‘Before the game we had agreed everything with you, then the devil took over.’

We had a good laugh over that.

Next day Alexander Besymenski visited our tank troops. For several years he had accompanied the 1st Ukrainian Front on the roads to war. In the Ukraine and in Poland, in Berlin and in Prague – he was with us everywhere and delighted the soldiers with his optimism and humour. Whoever met him was electrified by his youthful spirit, although he was by no means young.

Besymenski had come to us to congratulate us on our victory: ‘I wanted to catch up with you in Berlin but you were off like the devil. Friends, let us go out into the open, I have commemorated a poem to you and would like to read to you now.’

We went out into the street. Someone brought out a table and Besymenski climbed on and began reciting his poem:

As if bewitched, we listened to his simple, heartfelt words as they emphasised what moved us all.

The rest of the day I strolled around Prague with him. He had visited Czechoslovakia many times in the 1930s and spoken at conferences. I could not have wished for a better guide to the city. He talked about the Charles Bridge, the Hradschin, the Golden Gitter and the Alchemist. We visited the theatre and walked along the bank of the Modlau. Suddenly a vehicle with starved people dressed in rags came towards us. They all looked the same – shaven-headed, emaciated and tattered. We could not even distinguish men from women. This is what the Fascists had done to the people in Theresienstadt concentration camp.

As our troops were attacking Prague, about 20,000 Jews were released from this camp. As I saw these unfortunates before me, I reluctantly thought of my sisters.

This frightful experience had so angered me that I was unable to sleep. The whole night long my thoughts were of the Fascist beasts, about the danger that had been suspended over the world only a short time ago. What luck for mankind that we had won and put paid to Fascism for ever. All we front-line soldiers earnestly believed this.

Several days later Soviet and Czech soldiers received the Order of the Czech Republic. After the award ceremony in Prague Castle those of us who had been decorated went over to the Hradschin and then over Wenzelplatz Square. Prague was still celebrating. In the meantime the city had changed: the barricades and piles of debris had vanished and the buildings looked clean.

We met members of the army everywhere. The Russian language mixed with the melodious sound of Czech. Many Czechoslovakian officers and men wore the Order of Lenin and the Red Banner. Members of our army had Czech decorations.

I don’t believe it a wonder, but a coincidence. During this war I was several times witness to the most incredible encounters. On this day too I was going through Prague with a happy presentiment.

Many years after the May of 1945 I returned to Prague with a group of veterans. All day long I sauntered through the streets and hardly recognised it, the city having changed so much. Our time was nearly up and I would gladly have stayed on. In the breast pocket of my suit was stuck a somewhat faded photograph that had been taken long ago in the village of Chynov. What could have happened to those people in the meantime.

A Czech general heard of my wish to findout and promised to organise a trip to that village. Next morning a handsome officer appeared in the hotel.

‘Colonel Petras reporting at your disposal.’

The colonel’s unusual pronunciation, as well as his decorations – the Order of Lenin, the Red Banner and the Red Star – immediately appealed to me.

We introduced ourselves and spoke about this and that. Finally I could not hold back any longer and asked him what had been on the tip of my tongue since the beginning: ‘Are you Russian?’

‘I am Czech, but my children are Russian.’ The colonel noticed my lack of comprehension and explained: ‘My wife is Russian and as the mother is the most important member of the family, we decided that the children should have her nationality.’

I showed the colonel the photograph, explained its history and asked him to find the girl in the photograph.

‘I will try.’

Next day Petras came to me in high spirits. ‘Let’s drive to Chynov, Comrade General, we are expected there!’

‘Have you found the girl?’

‘Of course!’

Then we were in Chynov. I looked around and did not recognise the village again. But what hadn’t changed since the war? In this village too time had not stood still.

The village inhabitants streamed to the community office. The chairman greeted us. I showed him the photograph. Several minutes later a girl with pitch black hair came up to me. The farmers were sure that this was the girl in the photograph.

‘But this one here is blonde,’ I pointed to my picture.

‘Yes, yes, when my daughter was still small she had flax-blonde hair,’ said the girl’s father.

The neighbours confirmed this.

We sat down at a big table and I had to answer many questions about the Soviet Union. Again and again toasts were drunk to the unbreakable friendship between our peoples. The girl and her husband did not move from my side.

Suddenly the telephone rang. Colonel Petras was asked for. The call came from Chynov, where they were waiting for the Soviet guest.

I looked at Petras unbelievingly. He was red-faced and scratching the back of his head.

‘It is a mistake. How could I forget that we have two Chynovs,’ he murmured. Then he laughed mischievously and said loudly into the telephone: ‘Good, we are coming straight away!’

A whole hour later a large village appeared on a hill. My heart began to beat faster. No, time had not changed it. This was the correct village. Our vehicle stopped on a small square surrounded by tall trees. Between the trees hung a banner with the slogan ‘Welcome!’ Festively clothed people appeared from everywhere on the square. All brought flowers, just as they had done twenty years ago.

Colonel Petras presented me to the inhabitants. I thanked them for their warm welcome, conveyed greetings from my country and told them about my life since the war. And suddenly a blonde girl about two years old appeared with a bundle of roses in her arms. I could have sworn that this was the girl I had seen before – the same smile and the same somewhat creased eyes. I drew the photograph from my pocket: no doubt, it was her!

All were quiet and watching me. I was unable to speak. At this moment a corpulent woman handed me a photograph. I looked at myself.

‘This is my daughter Slavka,’ said the woman. ‘That little girl on her arm is my niece Alenka. Look, here comes my daughter.’ A blonde woman hurried across the square to us.

We went into Slavka’s house together, where she showed me the five-pointed star that I had given her in the spring of 1945.

A little later we were invited to a friendly reunion in the town hall. Until late in the night we talked about the war, the reconstruction and the changes in people’s lives. Near us sat Slavka, her husband, her mother and Petras. Alenka nestled on my knees. Abruptly Slavka turned to Petras, touched his Order of Lenin and asked: ‘What did you get that for?’

‘For the liberation of Kiev.’

Slavka nodded contentedly. For her and the others this was sufficient.

The whole village escorted us to our vehicle. The parting was hard.

Our Tatra drove through the darkness towards Prague. Petras sat next to me at the front of the vehicle. ‘And to return to the subject once more, Colonel, what did you get the Order of Lenin for?’

‘For Kiev and for the Dnepr.’

‘Were you in Novopetroviez at General Vatutin’s command post on the 30th October 1943?’

‘Of course. I escorted our then brigade commander, General Svoboda.’

‘Do you remember the village well?

‘From which I drank the water.’

Now I had no doubts. I clasped Petras. He could not understand and looked at me in astonishment. A few additional words were sufficient to bring back to him the memory of our talk at that time.

There are experiences that one does not forget all one’s life. The photographs in my album are already faded, but the memories of that time will always remain fresh in my mind.

The Victors are Coming

May 1945 was coming to an end. The fighting in Berlin was already history and the surge of happiness had died down. In the European countries freed from Fascism the people began to take on new lives. Likewise our 55th Guards Tank Brigade, which was located north of Prague, began a peaceful kind of existence, if this term can be applied to military life. The men worked with saws and axes to erect a camp in the woods.

We undertook political instruction and exercise training, and the soldiers occupied themselves with official duties and putting their equipment in order. In the evenings youngsters came from the surrounding villages to us. One danced and sang, or saw a film.

One Saturday evening, as I was preparing to go to the opera, the telephone rang. The corps commander was on the phone. ‘You are to come to Rybalko,’ he said.

‘In what connection?’ I asked him, somewhat disturbed.

‘I don’t know the details,’ replied General Novikov. ‘But you are to hand over the brigade and go to Moscow.’

‘I must leave my brigade? Please, don’t let this happen.’

‘It is only a short separation,’ the general tried to calm me. ‘Such a duty journey I would even make on foot. So don’t forget, 1000 hours at the army commander-in-chief.’

The morning that I drove to army headquarters was like a fairy tale – beautiful green, blue sky and sunshine. We drove through an avenue of blooming fruit trees. Silence reigned around us. The vehicle followed obediently every one of my hand movements.

As we approached Melnik, where the army headquarters were located, I handed over the driving back to the regular driver, as Rybalko would not tolerate any officer doing it. A traffic regulator pointed the way to a villa that almost disappeared in a sea of greenery and flowers. The army commander-in-chief greeted me in good humour and led me into a room. There I found Melnikov, Bachmetiev, Kapnik, Nikolski and many others.

I was awarded the Order of Suvorov. I was so astounded that, instead of saying ‘I serve the Soviet Union,’ I said ‘Next time I will fight even better!’ The member of the war council, Semion Ivanovitch Melnikov, burst out laughing at these words. ‘Dragunski apparently wants to go on fighting,’ he said. ‘This war was not long enough for him.’

With the Order the army commander-in-chief handed me a letter from M.I. Kalinin. (It was during the war that the bestowing of orders bearing the name of field commanders was customary.)

‘That is not all,’ said Rybalko, as he congratulated me. ‘The Council of War has decided to send you to the victory parade in Moscow. You will lead the tank-men of our army. What do you make of that?’