Soviet Conquest: Berlin 1945

Mironov was an experienced officer, having attended the Tomsk Artillery School and the Frunze Academy before participating in the defence of Kiev, serving in a parachute battalion behind German lines near Smolensk, at Stalingrad, then on the Northwestern Front, the Kursk bend, Byelorussia and Brest. He had been wounded near Briansk.

Mironov now commanded the 347th Guards Heavy Self-Propelled Artillery Regiment of JSU-152s equipped with howitzers with a range of well over 9,000 metres. Their high explosive shells, weighing 96lb, and the armour-piercing shells, weighing 107lb, were so bulky that only twenty rounds could be carried. The vehicles had a crew of four (or five if equipped with radio).

Prelude

On the 30th January 1945 the brigades of Colonels Chotimski, Vainrub and Yeshov, as well as our regiment and a regiment of medium self-propelled guns (SPGs), thrust into Küstrin from the north and took up the fight for the town. That same day Captain Ivan Koslitin sent me a bottle of Oder water as evidence that the scouts had reached the east bank of the river in the Alt Drewitz–Küstrin sector. The Political Officer, Major Nikolai Ossadtchi, took a gulp out of the bottle and proudly reported: ‘The Oder has good water.’ Adjutant Michail Sacharkin added: ‘Suvorov and Kutusov have already slaked their thirst from this river.’

So we had reached the Oder, the last big water obstacle to be defended by the enemy on our way to Berlin. The river had frozen over a few days before. The ice was free of snow and reflected the sun’s rays like a mirror. The east bank dropped steeply.

I drove to Alt Drewitz to find our corps commander, General Krivoshein. On the way I met Koslitin, my reconnaissance officer. He briefed me on the layout of the German defences. The enemy was making every effort to defend Küstrin in order to evacuate fighting equipment, factory equipment and transport to the west bank and win time for the construction of the Oder–Neisse line of defence. Koslitin showed me a sketch with the indicated objectives that had been compiled from lengthy observation, prisoners’ statements as well as details from airmen, infantry and armoured soldiers.

In front of the Oder bridges the enemy had erected two rows of bunkers. Between Küstrin and the Oder bridges were crammed military transports and convoys. The railway station was full of trains and war material. ‘This transport must certainly be destroyed. If the enemy can bring it over the Oder, he can throw it against us in battle’ was Koslitin’s opinion.

This comment seemed to me so important that I decided to ask General Krivoshein to be allowed to attack immediately. I came to Alt Drewitz. Suddenly someone called me. I turned round and saw Major Loslov, my former deputy in the light SPG regiment.

‘Where’s the corps staff?’ I asked.

Koslov pointed to the neighbouring building and groaned.

‘Has something happened?’

The major shrugged and said to me in a breaking voice, ‘I have finished as a regimental commander. Here is the order.’

We sat down on a heap of rubble and the major recounted: ‘The light SPGs were deployed east of the railway in defence as they had no more fuel. Then, when the enemy tanks attacked, they could neither manoeuvre nor withdraw. Nearly all the regiment’s guns were destroyed in this action.’

‘How could you let things go like this?’

Koslov took a deep breath. ‘The Rear Services had not sent us any fuel and I dared not report to the regiment as not fit for action and pull them out of battle.’

We said goodbye to each other. Subdued voices came from the roomy cellar of a building. General Krivoshein was sitting at his desk and assailed me straight away with the question of how many self-propelled guns (SPGs) I had had to leave behind me on the way. ‘Except for two trucks that should arrive any moment, the regiment is complete,’ I answered him.

Krivoshein silently took my map and drew a cross on the Oder bridges and the Küstrin railway station. These were precisely the objectives that Koslitin had spoken about.

‘Take into account’, the general exhorted me, ‘that the leaving of covered firing positions to fire over open sights requires especially rapid handling by the crews.’ Following this remark I was dismissed and was able to return to regimental headquarters, where Sacharkin, my adjutant, and Major Shabalin were already waiting for me. I told them what the general had ordered and we discussed the details. Finally Shabalin and Koslitin worked on the plan of battle while Sacharkin and I set off to the company commanders to select the firing positions and observation posts.

Before us lay the picturesque panorama of the old town of Küstrin and its fortress, from where the German artillery was firing. Right on the edge of town, at the most prominent point, was a factory with a tall chimney.

Our SPG went through a depression. ‘Stop here!’ I called to the driver. ‘This is the right place for our firing position!’

I ordered Lieutenant Muraviov to take up position with his submachine-gunners on the forward slope of the high position to secure the SPGs’ position. A little later the first soldiers went forward, their spades flashed faintly and clods of earth flew through the air, the soldiers working without a break.

Soon the SPGs were able to roll out of the woods into their prepared positions. Startled by the noise, a wild boar decamped, its young following, grunting and squeaking. When Lieutenant-Colonel Pashitnov, our training officer, saw the boar, he was immediately overcome with hunting fever. ‘To hell with the camouflage,’ he swore. ‘Can I shoot now? We could have a tasty roast this evening.’

I went through the positions. Our Communist Party Secretary, Captain Anatoli Postnikov, was telling the soldiers that we were standing on historical ground. The great army commander Kutusov had defeated the Napoleonic troops here 132 years ago on the 31st January 1813. Postnikov ended his explanation with an appeal for them to be worthy of their famous predecessors.

The observation posts of the regiment and companies were constructed on the same heights 2 kilometres from the enemy defences on the northern edge of the town. From there we could concentrate our fire on the railway station, the Oder bridges and Küstrin fortress. The heights on which we found ourselves were dug up in all directions, but the sappers’ constructions went on and soon there was a thick net of positions in this narrow area.

As Major Shabalin saw the telephone lines being laid openly to the command post he waited furiously for the communications men to arrive. ‘They seem to me to be signallers,’ snarled Shabalin. ‘Is it really so difficult to understand that a cable laid in the open can be torn apart by shell splinters or the tracks of an SPG? Damned incompetence!’

There were guardposts with machine-guns in front of the command posts for the regimental commander and the adjutant, and the observers had taken up their positions. Meanwhile all the queries were answered except for that of cooperation with Colonel Vainrub.

‘If we haven’t resolved the cooperation problem by nightfall, it looks bad,’ Sacharkin said concernedly. I too was slowly becoming unsettled. The connection had to be implemented. ‘Yudin! To the command post with the Jeep immediately!’

My driver climbed out of the trenches and hurried to a bush behind which the vehicle stood. At that moment an SPG appeared in the distance with my deputy on his way. Shortly afterwards it stopped at my command post. Lieutenant-Colonel Pashitnov, our training officer, climbed out slowly and came reeling towards me. He was wearing a thick bandage around his head. ‘Sorry for being late, but I came under fire from the enemy artillery three times,’ he announced.

We squatted in a trench and Pashitnov reported what he had learnt. The attack was due to begin at 0700 hours next morning. ‘How is it with the motorised infantry?’

‘As soon as the attack begins they will set off across the Oder. We have to support them with our fire.’

It was already dark when I entered the Party Secretary’s dugout. Captain Postnikov was sitting at a table on which newspapers were heaped. He was preparing for a discussion with the troops, in which he would talk about the specialities of the enemy defences on the Oder. The fortifications extended for a considerable depth and were apparently thicker than those on the Vistula. Yet the Oder was the last of the Vistula–Oder defensive systems. When we broke though them our attack on Berlin would be speeded up considerably. Postnikov wanted to talk to the soldiers about this.

Anatoli Postnikov was clever and cold-blooded. These qualities were needed by a political officer as much as by a troop commander. The appeals to the combatants to accomplish heroic deeds and not to spare their lives only fell on fruitful ground if the political officer presented a good example. For Postnikov such behaviour was a matter of honour.

I said good-bye to Postnikov and went to the command post. A cold wind was coming over the Oder and whirling snowflakes in the air. The moon shone as a narrow sickle simmering through the snow-flakes. On my left the outline of an SPG rose indistinctly. Someone was playing a harmonica in the vehicle. Another softly sang a melancholy song. I listened for a while and hoped that this would not be the last night for them both.

The first morning on the Oder. All around us everything was quiet. There was still fog over the river and the low-lying terrain but one could already make out the bridge across the Oder. Gradually the haze lightened over the town and the morning sun shone through.

The last preparations for battle were being made at the observation post. The adjutant made contact over the radio with the companies, while I used the telephone. Suddenly I heard General Krivoshein’s voice: ‘Start your work!’

A red Verey light went up from the corps command post and shone over Alt Drewitz. ‘On the troop assembly before the bridges – Sector 101 – concentrated fire!’ I ordered the companies.

Captain Sacharkin repeated the order with a series of red Verey lights. The first shots thundered, soon amalgamating into a thunderous din. The shells hissed towards their goals. Dark fountains rose in front of the bridges on which were enemy vehicles and infantry.

German soldiers hurried about confusedly here and there on the river bank, sinking in the snow. The tanks and vehicles added to the confusion as they drove for cover behind the buildings. Some were already on fire, as was Küstrin railway station, where trains were burning. Our SPGs switched their fire to the brickworks on the forward edge of the enemy defences.

I left Sacharkin in charge of the command post and drove with Yudin to the 4th Company to control its direction. As we arrived, the fighting reached its climax. The SPGs were firing uninterruptedly. Their hatches were wide open as the submachine-gunners passed shells to the crews.

Lieutenant Chorushenko was standing in an open hatch. In his right hand he held a telephone, in his left the radio microphone, immediately relaying Lieutenant Beltshikov’s fire orders to the crews by radio. Now and then he set down the telephone to write down the details of the next firing task. ‘The Ukrainian knows his job,’ remarked Yudin.

I glanced inside Lieutenant Kiritshenko’s SPG. The hot air engendered by the firing hit me in the face, and my ears thundered. The crew were functioning superbly. Kiritshenko put the earpiece of his helmet against his ear and repeated the orders he was getting from Chorushenko to the crew. Pavlov reeled from his handling of the shells. ‘Dear shells, open the gates of Berlin for us,’ he said laughing and wiped the sweat from his face.

Cholopov operated the gun’s height and traversing machinery and aimed the gun at the town centre. The snow had thawed near the SPG and the frozen earth had turned into a swamp. The gun barrel was so hot that one could burn oneself on it. The submachine-gunners squelched through the mud, passing along the shells.

‘This is just like the SPG artillery. Even in winter it can change to spring,’ said Guardsman Yuri Golovatshiov laughing, and threw another shell out of the hatch. ‘A hot day for us, but purgatory for the Fascists.’ He had removed his fur jacket and cap and rolled up the sleeves of his tunic. His dark blond hair was shining with sweat, his eyes flashing.

The barrage came to an end. Tank engines howled into life in the woods behind our positions. A new stage of the battle was about to begin. The SPGs rolled forward. I quickly went to my vehicle. Sacharkin and Pashitnov sitting near me in the SPG looked at smoke-covered Küstrin. ‘Hopefully we will not get involved in street-fighting,’ groaned Sacharkin.

His fears were realised sooner than we would have wished. Enemy anti-tanks guns opened fire on our SPG. I ordered the company commanders to engage the enemy guns immediately, the crews firing at a distance of 700 metres. At this point the tanks approached from Alt Drewitz. Without encountering earnest resistance, they went on into Küstrin at high speed and overtook us. Colonel Vainrub signalled us to follow him.

Several flashes came from the buildings next to the factory. As the first shells exploded near the tanks, Vainrub became mad with anger.

‘What’s holding you back? Fire whatever you have. They are knocking against my boxes,’ he shouted. We covered the enemy with our heavy shells, and the German anti-tank guns fell silent. Vainrub’s and Major Bortovski’s tanks forced their way into Küstrin. Right in front was the tank of my countryman, Staff-Sergeant Ossipov.

General Krivoshein ordered me over the radio to provide two SPGs as an assault team for Bortovski.

A hurricane of fire fell in Küstrin. Gukov’s vehicle left the mass of tanks and SPGs, and rolled forward. I worried about him like a favourite son and was delighted with his success. Here was a man who in front of everyone’s eyes became born again, overcoming his fear and straining his willpower and nerves to overcome the densest turmoil of war.

It was not easy to control a storm troop; it demanded nerve and circumspection. Thus all the best commanders were entrusted with this task. Lieutenant Porfiri Beltshikov’s company was to occupy the high street close to where Colonel Vainrub was located. We wanted to follow Beltshikov, but just then spotted a Tiger in a factory gateway. Its gun rocked and it seemed it was about to fire.

‘Fire, Anatoli!’ I ordered.

Lieutenant-Colonel Pashitnov pressed the electrical trigger. The 122mm shell hit the turret of the Tiger and bounced off. The tank turned and rushed off at top speed, but could not escape our second shell.

The enemy put up a bitter resistance. In a radio message to Army Group Vistula Hitler had ordered the Oder defences to be defended to the last man. We knew about this speech and had not reckoned on being able to thrust through to the west bank off the march, but already the first attempt was being made.

Chotimski’s infantry were already across the ice, although coming up against heavy machine-gun fire from Oder Island, which, with its thick pasture, lay right in the middle of the river. Gradually the speed of the men slowed down, their bounds becoming shorter. Fighting on the ice resulted in even heavier casualties, as no one could dig in.

Lieutenant Muraviov’s machine-pistol infantry joined the attack. They slid over the ice and fired with their weapons. When the enemy noticed them, he switched his fire in their direction. The machine-pistol infantry got no further.

Muraviov wanted to make direct contact with the SPGs and ask for fire support, as right nearby a burst of machine-gun fire ripped the ice and blew splinters of ice into his eyes. The radioman fell, the radio set was damaged. Muraviov put a hand over his face. He was bleeding, the ice splinters having wounded him. As he looked around, he noticed Guardsman Anikushkin lying motionless next to him and covering his head with his hands. ‘Anikushkin, what is wrong? Are you wounded?’

The soldier turned to look at his company commander. ‘I am still breathing!’

At this point Beltshikov’s crew silenced the German machine-guns. Muraviov got up and stormed towards the island shouting ‘Hurrah!’ The company followed him. Anikushkin overtook his superior. Guardsman Yuri Golovatshiov moved light-footedly with the machine-pistol, Guardsman Yermolaiev running next to him. Machine-gun fire from trenches ploughed up from heavy shells came towards them. Steering with his hands, his head stretched out, Yermolaiev crashed forward. Near Muraviov someone cried out, but once the machine-pistol men’s attack had got under way it was not to be stopped. Man to man fighting began in the trenches. One soldier tried to stop Anikushkin with a raised pistol but he hit him in the body with his machine-pistol and pulled the trigger.

Muraviov’s company took the island. The infantry had hardly dug themselves in when German shells burst over them. Thick smoke stood over the island. Suddenly the firing ceased. Some shadowy figures appeared on the other bank.

‘Company – fire!’ commanded Muraviov.

Golovatshiov lay next to Anikushkin and fired. The enemy came ever closer and threw hand grenades from a distance of about 30 metres. Nevertheless they were stopped and had to turn back.

Again the island lay under heavy artillery fire. Then bombers attacked. Metal splinters scattered like specks of earth into the river. No one seemed able to survive this inferno. But as the enemy infantry went into the attack, they were met by dense machine-pistol fire.

Once our artillery had silenced the enemy guns and our fighters covered the island from air attack, I got into radio contact with General Krivoshein. ‘Who’s in charge of the infantry?’ he asked.

‘Muraviov. Do you remember him? He always speaks slowly.’

‘Yes, I know who you mean. Before the war he was a Kolchos chairman.’

‘That’s right, Comrade General.’

‘Award him in my name the Order of the Great Fatherland War 2nd Class! He fought excellently. I will sign the order immediately and send the award by courier.’

‘Certainly, Comrade General.’

A little later an officer arrived from Krivoshein’s staff bringing the Order. I took it and crawled to the island, where I found Muraviov after a long search. He was lying in a shell crater with some of his soldiers, holding a pair of binoculars with hands stiff from the cold. Fragments of ice hung from his felt boots and from the hem of his greatcoat. His teeth were chattering.

‘Excuse me, Comrade Lieutenant-Colonel, we don’t look very smart,’ he greeted me.

‘You can’t help getting dirty in battle. The only thing that matters is that you and your company are sitting on this island in the Oder. Chotimski has praised you highly. His infantry have formed a bridgehead near Küstrin and are holding it. The gateway to Berlin is almost off its hinges. Do you realise what that means?’

‘If it wasn’t obvious to me, I would not be sitting here.’

‘On behalf of the President of the Supreme Soviet, I hand over to you for bravery and heroism the Order of the Great Fatherland War 2nd Class!’

‘I serve the Soviet Union,’ replied Muraviov in a subdued voice as I placed the decoration on his chest.

After a strong handshake I returned to Küstrin. Fighting was still going on in the streets. The enemy was firing out of windows, cellars and rooftops. His mortars took us regularly under fire. Oil tanks were burning on the river bank, turning the sky black with their smoke.

Without question, we had to take one of the Oder bridges, but how could we get through this heavy fire? Apart from this, the enemy was firing at us from the fortress with artillery and with machine-guns like needle pricks from the rear. I called my company commanders on the radio. The first to respond was Nikolai Ivanov.

‘How’s it going, Nikolai Jegorovitch?’

‘It’s building up,’ he answered. ‘We are already running out of ammunition! I am waiting for a truck with anti-tank shells. We can get neither the bridges nor the fortress with shrapnel shells.’

‘You’ll get the shells, don’t worry. Concentrate your fire on the fortress, give every crew an exact target and keep hammering at the fortress until the regiment has got forward to a bridge.’

‘Understood.’

A little later the fortress walls vanished in a cloud of smoke and brick dust. But it still took several hours until the fortress was finally silent.

Major Bortovski’s tanks of the 9th Tank Regiment and the SPGs of the 4th Company advanced towards the bridges. In the first wave of tanks were the SPGs of Mussatov, Beltshikov, Monogorov and Saiev. From time to time they stopped and long tongues of flame came from their guns. But it was much more difficult for the 19th Mechanised Brigade, as machine-gun fire kept pinning the infantry down.

The embankment at the bridge was ploughed up by shellfire. A deep anti-tank ditch barred our way. Lieutenant Beltshikov’s SPG rolled to the edge, stopped briefly, then slowly disappeared into the depths.

‘What on earth is he up to? He’ll turn over!’ cried Lieutenant-Colonel Pashitnov.

The right track had already sprung off and the SPG slid to the bottom of the anti-tank ditch. Beltshikov left his SPG and ran to another one from which to command his company.

‘He knows how to look after himself,’ asserted Lieutenant Vinogradov.

Suddenly Beltshikov raised his arms, swayed, fell in the snow, recovered and then collapsed again.

‘He seems to have had it. Look at him, he can’t get up anymore,’ Major Sacharkin said.

‘Forwards. Through the anti-tank ditch!’ I shouted to the driver.

Meanwhile Sergeant-Major Axianov, the gun loader in Beltshikov’s crew, went to his commander’s aid. He went forward by leaps and bounds up to Beltshikov, loaded the wounded man on his back and crawled back to the anti-tank ditch. As he let the wounded man flop into the ditch, he was hit by a bullet.

My SPG had already crossed over the anti-tank ditch and silenced the enemy position. Once that was done, we hurried to help the wounded men. Axianov lay on his back with his arms outspread. The bullet had hit him in the temple. Beltshikov groaned. His lower jaw was shattered. We called the medical orderlies and had him taken to hospital. The attack continued.

Then from corps came the order to hand over the fighting sector to the arriving elements of General Berzarin’s army, to go north to Königsberg and clear German troops from the area from the east bank of the Oder to the Baltic. The order was obvious, as we could not attack any further west without first destroying the enemy forces that were threatening our flank and rear near Stargard.

As dusk fell, the fighting died down. It began to snow in thick flakes. Soon a thick blanket of snow covered the blood-soaked battlefield. I ordered Lieutenant-Colonel Pashitnov and Major Sacharkin to get the regiment together and concentrate in Alt Drewitz. I myself went off to corps headquarters with Lieutenant Vinogradov. On the way I made contact with the company commanders. They had already received the order to assemble. Only Lieutenant Beltshikov’s company found itself in a difficult situation. Following the wounding of their company commander, they were practically without leadership. The SPG was intact but the radio contact to it had been lost. Vinogradov asked for it to be sent to his company. My constant escort was often jumping into dangerous situations and mastering them, so I immediately agreed to his request.

Leaving the 4th Company without a commander was unacceptable and I decided to appoint Lieutenant Mussatov as the new company commander. His calm and his ability to deal with situations coldbloodedly and to assess them soberly impressed me. Apart from that, he had completed the training course at the tank school in Ulianovsk and had belonged to the regiment from the start.

As General Berzarin’s army’s leading elements approached Küstrin, we handed over our sector and left Alt Drewitz for Königsberg-on-the-Oder.

Back in Küstrin

Many times have I watched troops getting into their ready positions. But what was played out on the roads to Küstrin exceeded all previous experience. Infantry, tanks, artillery and sappers were advancing in an unending stream. In this flood our regiment seemed no more than a drop in the ocean. And then again in the woods of Küstrin! Here the troops stood even thicker than on the roads leading in. Wherever one looked there were tanks, guns and trucks. As we came to our allocated area we passed an unusual column of three-axled trucks with mighty searchlights mounted on them. They were to blind the enemy during the night attack.

I went to the staff bus in order to snatch some sleep. Although I was dog-tired, I was unable to fall asleep for a long time. Near the bus Lieutenants Kuklin and Muraviov were talking: ‘Yes, Petra, it would be great to survive the war. Woods, fresh air,’ groaned Kuklin. ‘How often have I ploughed on until supper time. Then when I got home I would be exhausted. My children would fly around my neck: Aniutka with her blonde plaits and my four mudlarks, Vitka, Petka, Volodka and Tolka. My fatigue would immediately be blown away. Will such happiness ever be repeated?’

After a short pause Kuklin started: ‘Do you know, when the war is over you will be once more in charge of a collective farm and everything will go back to normal.’

The sound of German aircraft came nearer and the noise swelled. The air sentry, who was located high up in a pine tree, cried out: ‘Aircraft alert! Everyone under cover!’

I quickly left the bus and jumped into a slit trench. The first Junkers were already diving out of the clouds. Lieutenants Ivanov and Salichov opened fire with their anti-aircraft machine-guns. The leading aircraft dived down. Several seconds later there was an explosion. But the other aircraft stayed on course and dropped their bombs. I pressed myself down on the ground and pulled a mattress over me. Ear-deafening explosions filled the air, splinters smacking against my boots.

Gradually the noise died down and I carefully climbed out of the slit trench. Dead and wounded were lying everywhere. Yudin had been killed, our regimental doctor severely wounded. Salichov too had been hit in the chest and legs. His breathing was intermittent. Gumar had already survived three wounds, but this time it did not seem he would survive.

‘Sascha, where are you?’ he groaned.

‘Here, Saititch.’ Lieutenant Boldyrev knelt next to the dying man.

‘Write to my sister in Akmolinski. I have revenged the death of our brother Baka.’ Salichov breathed a few times, gasping for air, and then fell silent for ever. We silently lowered his head. No one could quite grasp that this cheerful, brave man was no longer with us. The losses from this air attack forced us to be careful, to reinforce the air sentries and set up anti-aircraft weapons.

Soon afterwards I was ordered to Gorgast by General Krivoshein. I immediately drove off.

I met the general in the middle of the ruins with several other officers, including Chotimski, Vainrub and Babaian. All were wearing camouflage clothing. General Krivoshein lay on the ground observing the flat ground between the villages of Genschmar and Golzow. When he saw me, he called: ‘Mironov, come here!’

I lay down next to him and unfolded my map.

‘Your regiment will go with the corps reserve in the direction Buckow–north-eastern edge of Berlin behind Babaian’s brigade in the breakthrough.’

I lowered my face as I did not think it right that mine should be the last regiment through the breakthrough sector. From my face the corps commander saw what was going on inside my head and went on: ‘No grounds for sulking. Once we have broken through the fortifications and thrust forward to Berlin, you regiment will be involved at all stages.’

The mechanised brigades were assigned as the first echelon and Vainrub’s tanks for the second. These would form an armoured group thrust in the event of quick success.

The general’s information that our line of attack in Berlin went though the special ‘Z’ Sector in which the Reichstag lay cheered us all up. ‘Imagine, it is up to us to wipe out that wasps’ nest,’ Vaintrub whispered to me.

Once the work on the bridgehead was over, Krivoshein ordered the brigade and regimental commanders to follow him to the corps headquarters in Küstrin. Shortly afterwards our small convoy stopped next to a big tent. The corps commander invited us to the table. When everyone had sat down, the commander stood up and announced in a solemn tone: ‘Comrade Commanders! Before the historical battle for Berlin begins I would like to have a few words with you. Not as the commander in chief, but as a fellow combatant.’ We put down our maps and notebooks.

‘Dear friends. We have studied our basic tasks, planned the attacks and done all the necessary paperwork. Now we have to deal calmly and decisively and not give in to difficulties and obstacles, however great they may be. Instead consider what a great honour has been allotted us in storming the Fascists’ den. Let us prove ourselves worthy of the trust of the military leadership, the Party and the people.’

I returned to my regiment as dusk fell. Now I especially missed Yudin. His place had been taken by Grigori Finogenov, a younger, inexperienced man, who had difficulty finding his way in the dark and became ever more nervous. Fortunately I knew the ground and we reached our destination in good order.

Captain Koslitin was already waiting for me at headquarters with news. Between the Oder and Berlin lay several defence sectors. Lakes, rivers, canals, woods and villages offered the enemy the possibility of being able to offer resistance for a long period of time. The enemy had set up three defensive strips on the approaches to Berlin. The first, the Oder–Neisse defensive line, had a depth of up to 40 kilometres. The second ran along the Seelow Heights, and the third was formed by the suburbs with numerous strongpoints and fire nests. Then came the Berlin defences with three defensive zones: the outer perimeter zone, the outer defensive ring and the inner defensive zone. Apart from this the Berlin defences were divided into eight sectors, in the centre of which lay the special ‘Z’ sector.

I called Odartshuk, Kravtshenko and Sacharkin to discuss things over with them. Kravtshenko complained that he had too few soldiers in his supply platoon. Apart from this, he was lacking radio equipment for properly maintaining communication with the regimental headquarters.

Major Sacharkin and I looked for a solution. We could take no crew members from the SPGs. Equally indispensable were the submachine-gunners and scouts. Without them we could not go into battle.

‘Take Minogian Yegorova’s group,’ suggested Sacharkin. ‘You know how keen and brave the girls are. Especially Minogian. She can take the place of any man. At Königsberg she was up front with the first tracked vehicles.’

‘Agreed,’ said Kravtshenko, delighted. ‘Next to their many-sided security tasks the girls can milk our cows. As you know we have obtained our own herd in order to improve the meat situation.’

I had Minogian called. Flushed from her fast run, she entered the headquarters bus.

‘Would you like to help the Rear Services with your group?’

‘As often said, I prefer being with the fighting units. But it has to be?’

‘Then report to Captain Kravtshenko straight away.’

‘At your orders, Comrade Lieutenant-Colonel.’

Kravtshenko really did not have it easy. He not only had to look after shells and fuel: beginning with foot bandages for the soldiers, via the regimental kitchen to the transporting away of the wounded, and the security and defence of the Rear Services, he had a multitude of problems to deal with.

Once they had all gone, Sacharkin pulled a small letter out of his map case. ‘I have received more information from corps headquarters,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow early, the 14th April, part of the rifle units will make a reconnaissance in force supported by a strong artillery group. The attack by the rifle units begins on the night of the 15th/16th April. We have to cross the Oder on the 16th and pass through the breakthrough point on the 17th.’

I was quiet for several seconds trying to concentrate on the plan. ‘Our superiors have sprung surprises again. Not only on the enemy, but also on us,’ I remarked sarcastically.

‘You are right,’ Sacharkin said. ‘At last the moment of surprise can decide the success of the whole operation.’

We discussed how we could best move the regiment to the bridgehead. There were about 7,000 [actually 3,000] tanks and self-propelled guns in the woods north of Küstrin that all had to be moved across the Oder. If the rifle units moved forward to the bridges the roads would soon be blocked and the enemy would know the direction of our main thrust for sure.

I therefore decided to ask General Krivoshein to allow me to get to the crossing points on the morning of the 16th April, so that we could be called forward to the bridges by companies. The general agreed.

‘It seems that we have settled everything.’ I said good-night to Sacharkin and turned in.

The Historic Battle Begins

The night of the 16th/17th April was dark. Not a star stood in the heavens. Shots rang from either side of the Oder. Then quiet returned. It was a night on the front line like so many others, but no one slept, for the attack on Berlin would begin in a few hours.

At the predetermined time the thunder of a gun tore through the quiet. We had all been waiting for this signal. The Katiushas fired, and shortly afterwards the artillery and mortar batteries. The infantry attacked the first enemy trenches even during the artillery preparation. The rattling of their machine-pistols and rifles came over to us. The infantry had engaged in the fight with the forward elements of the 9th German Army.

The beam of a searchlight bored into the sky. That was the signal to cease the artillery preparation, and tanks and infantry went into the attack.

Tanks and self-propelled artillery rolled in an unbroken stream across the Oder bridges. Our regiment followed the tanks of Babaian’s brigade. I wanted to drive ahead to the bridges in my Jeep, but others overtook me. Trucks and fighting vehicles moved in a tight column and could squash my light vehicle. I climbed aboard my SPG and got through on it. The drivers were afraid of it and let it pass. Only the tank-men were unimpressed by it and drove on unperturbed in their vehicles.

On the morning of the 17th April I received the order to go through the breakthrough sector and thrust forward quickly to the Seelow Heights with the other elements of the tank armies to which the Front’s mobile groups belonged.

During a short stop I mentioned to one of my machine-pistol men that his boot was torn. ‘Report it to your sergeant-major, he should exchange it for you,’ I called out to him.

‘Unnecessary, Comrade Lieutenant-Colonel. It should last until we get to Berlin.’

On the Seelow Heights the enemy had concentrated strong artillery forces and dug in assault guns and tanks. On the slopes were several trenches whose approaches were covered by barbed wire and minefields. Our regiment attacked north of Seelow in the Gusow–Platkow–Batzlow direction. At Gusow the self-propelled gun crews secured the 37th Mechanised Brigade’s crossing of the Alte Oder.

Staff-Sergeant Cholopov opened fire on Schloss Gusow and silenced a German machine-gun. Then with some well-aimed shots he put several armoured vehicles of the 11th SS Motorised Division Nordland out of action.

Near Platkow there was a more interesting episode. Goats emerged from a wood to drink in the river. Apparently Cholopov must have had tears in his eyes from shooting so long, for he thought there were enemy infantry before him and fired several shots. Major Sacharkin, watching this through his binoculars, laughed out loud: ‘That can’t be true! Such an experienced fighter, and unable to distinguish goats from infantry!’ But Cholopov had the last laugh. Our cook praised him in the highest terms, for he could prepare a wonderful Borscht from goat-meat.

There was bitter fighting on the Seelow Heights. Under these circumstances the Front War Council decided to bring reserves into the battle. Hundreds of fighter-bombers and fighters appeared over the enemy positions. At dawn the infantry resumed the attack. I drove to the commander’s conference and saw the troops on the move. On the right went Vedeniev’s tanks, on the left Vainrub’s. At corps headquarters I discovered that the troops of the 1st Ukrainian Front, which had been fed into the battle from the Sandomierz bridgehead, were successfully thrusting forward to the west.

Unlike Marshal Zhukov, Marshal Koniev had made an immediate breakthrough of the enemy defences in his area and had meanwhile persuaded Stalin to let him participate in the battle for Berlin. Stalin, who was jealous of Zhukov’s popularity, seized this opportunity to humiliate him. Stalin’s taunting then led to Zhukov attempting to force the issue by introducing his two tank armies into the battle prematurely, severely impeding the 8th Guards Army’s assault on the Seelow Heights’ defences.

The infantry climbed up the slopes of the Seelow Heights; the engines of the tanks and self-propelled guns, towing vehicles with mortars, howled agonisingly as they struggled up the slopes, with the artillery also under tow. Following a renewed artillery bombardment, the attack made considerable progress and the enemy had to abandon the Heights. Finally our troops conducted some severe fighting at the enemy strongpoints of Batzlow, Buckow and Fürstenwalde.

Our column stopped before Batzlow. The village was on fire, and the fighting continued for several hours, personally orchestrated by the corps commander.

In contrast to March, April was sunny, warm and dry. Numerous woods were on fire and thick smoke made breathing difficult. The fighting was bitter and costly, but our tanks and SPGs advanced quickly on the asphalted roads. We drove into a small village. Nothing moved. The inhabitants had left their homes. Wherever one looked one saw thrown-away weapons, destroyed equipment and dead soldiers. But the enemy was still conducting an increasingly bitter resistance.

The fighting had not abated for four days, but our regiment was still in the reserve as before. We followed the corps’ first echelon, stopping, camouflaging the vehicles in a wood and rolling on again. Slowly the troops became nervous. They wanted to get involved in the fighting at long last.

Our advance battalion had liberated Zepernick and was approaching Malchow. There, towards 1000 hours on the 20th April, they were brought to a stop by the enemy. Sacharkin and I drove forward and observed the enemy.

Malchow was surrounded by rifle trenches. From further left towards Wartenburg came flashes of gunfire, and the thunder of the guns came across to us. Part of our corps had become stuck in the enemy defences and found itself under heavy fire.

General Krivoshein had decided to widen the wedge and push on further. Because of this, Yershov, the new corps chief of staff came to see me. ‘Our leading elements have reached the city area,’ he reported. ‘The corps commander is putting everything into taking Malchow and then attacking the city with all our forces.’

‘Wonderful!’ I replied. ‘At last there is something for us to do.’

When I reached the general, he was already talking to Bogdanov. From their talk I could make out that the army commander-in-chief was pleased with the results of the first stages of the attack and was now demanding the speedy taking of Malchow and Weissensee. Krivoshein signalled with his hand for me to wait for him at the regiment.

On the Perimeter of Berlin

A new day broke. The sun shone like a ball of fire over the fully blooming garden. Our heavy SPGs were standing in a field next to the highway. A signpost bore the inscription: ‘Berlin 7km.’ Our aircraft were bombing the city.

The SPG crews had made themselves comfortable next to their vehicles and were waiting for the order to attack. A little further off, next to some bushes in bloom, lay the commander of the 4th Company, Valentin Mussatov, on his spread-out waterproof coat, studying the map. He was thoughtfully chewing a grass stalk. He knew how many dangers a big city like Berlin concealed, so was going through everything in his thoughts. That meant thinking over all future handling in advance, not only his own, but also those of his subordinates.

The arrival of General Krivoshein interrupted Mussatov’s thoughts. The corps commander had us called together and explained the situation to us. ‘The infantry cannot break through the outer defensive ring on their own. They urgently need worthwhile support. This task falls to you.’

Krivoshein had me hand him my map and drew a red arrow from Birkholz to Malchow and on to the north-eastern edge of Berlin. Smiling, he handed me the map: ‘There you have your Berlin, do with it what you want.’

As I turned round to look at him, he went on: ‘The defence in Malchow must be burst apart by the force of your heavy SPGs. Then force your way into Berlin with your infantry.’

Lieutenant-Colonel Pashitnov had the regiment parade. All were in the best of spirits. I looked at my men. Yes, with these men I could fulfil my tasks should they be not too complicated. Many of them had travelled the difficult way from Moscow to here. They would now travel with the inexperienced men and support them.

Mussatov’s company would attack in the first echelon and be the leading company on the march as well as in the development phase. This decision was right up Mussatov’s street. His eyes flashed. ‘Thank you for your confidence, Comrade Commander.’ He put his helmet on and his company rolled off.

Ivanov’s company had the task, in cooperation with Mussatov and the tanks of Chotimski and Sokolov, who had replaced Colonel Yershov, to break into Malchow and attack the north-eastern edge of Berlin. A few days earlier the regiment’s Communists had accepted Ivanov as a member of the Communist Party. Major Odartshuk had handed him his membership card today.

Mussatov came across the first obstacle before Schwanebeck. The Buch–Birkholz road running across his line of attack was on a high embankment and hindered the company’s deployment. Although it was dangerous, he had to drive on in column ahead. The SPGs increased speed and passed through the village of Schwanebeck without a fight.

Through a liaison officer I informed Mussatov that he should deploy into line as soon as he had Schwanebeck behind him. But Mussatov replied: ‘That is not possible. Another road is already running ahead of us. It is only passable in column. There is an underpass at Point 71.3 of the road going past.’

It was obvious to me what was going to happen to us. If the regiment was unable to deploy in time, it would cost us more in losses of men and equipment, as the direction of fire would be impeded. ‘You must deploy as quickly as possible. Look for a suitable spot left or right of the road,’ I told him.

Mussatov called up the SPG commanders, Chorushenko, Bushuiev and Shevtshuk, by radio. They were to reconnoitre the ground. Meanwhile the companies stopped. I became worried when almost thirty minutes had passed and Lieutenant Mussatov had still not reported back. We could not stop for so long right under the nose of the enemy – the danger of air attack was much too great. I sent a messenger to Lieutenant Ivanov and ordered him to go round Mussatov’s company and attack Malchow. But hardly had the 2nd Company begun overtaking than the 4th Company returned. Mussatov did not want to be removed from the lead. The vehicles of Chorushenko, Luschpa and Ivanov followed him.

Finally Malchow lay before us. Only about 400 metres separated us from the village. I left my SPG, sought a suitable position and observed the terrain. Colonel Chotimski joined me. To the right of the village an anti-tank ditch ran towards Pankow, while to the left lay meadows and fields. The entrance to the village was barred with a barricade of tree trunks and stones. Our SPGs were not equipped for such difficulties: either the tracks would come off or the engines would fail. Chotimski promised to get some Sherman tanks to Malchow.

But Mussatov ordered his driver, Lieutenant Kusnezov, to accelerate and cross the barricade. He asked the commanders of the other SPGs to fire at the barricade to pin down any possible Panzerfaust men. Stones and splinters flew all around, but the barricade remained standing. It only shrank a little.

Mussatov got closer to the barricade. The first Panzerfaust shots were already flying towards him from the anti-tank ditch. In reply Ivanov showered the ditch with shrapnel to protect Mussatov. I got into contact with Lieutenant Muraviov and pressed him to thrust forward faster with his machine-pistol men.

Kusnezov turned the SPG on the barricade once more. Its tracks churned like powerful shovels at the obstacle. Finally he made it, and the SPG stood on the other side of the barricade.

I immediately told Ivanov to support Mussatov effectively. Muraviov’s machine-pistol men had not yet arrived. Majors Ossadtchi and Sacharkin concerned themselves with Mussatov and his crew, who were having to fight unaided. ‘What do you think? Could he hold out there for thirty minutes? ’ I asked. ‘Reinforcements can’t get there sooner.’

‘He would rather die than go back one step,’ replied Ossadtchi.

I was of the same opinion, but also did not want to provoke fate, so I sent Ossadtchi and Sacharkin to the companies to hurry them up. All seemed to be done, but my concern for Mussatov had not lessened. I contacted him by radio again and again.

‘It’s hot here in Malchow,’ he reported. ‘I’m hardly 300 metres from the barricade. There are Fascists everywhere. We are firing with everything we’ve got. Goldman and Kusnezov are keeping the enemy back with hand grenades. Should the Panzerfaust men come here, then its “good night!”’

‘Hold on, old chap, help is coming soon.’

‘We’ll get through it soon.’

A few minutes later I talked with him again. ‘What does it look like now?’

Mussatov coughed violently: ‘It’s just happened. A Panzerfaust got us. We can hardly breathe for smoke. My hearing has been damaged a bit. I don’t know what actually happened. I was sitting in the gun aimer’s place, Sergeant-Major Goldman standing behind me. Suddenly there was an almighty blow and a bright flash. The Panzerfaust must have hit the side right at the spot where Goldman was standing. He was killed instantly.’

‘How is the SPG?’

The engine is still running. We are driving into a building and climbing out of the emergency exit hatch. Then we will be able to defend the vehicle better.’

Thereupon the connection with Mussatov was broken. I hurried to the village. A tank whose engine had failed was blocking the SPGs. A towing vehicle was already there to pull it aside. Now the way was open for us. Among the charging submachine-gunners I discovered our Yura.

Now that reinforcements had arrived, Mussatov could leave his cover. I hardly recognised him when he stood before me. He seemed to have aged a year.

‘A shame about Goldman. Although he was a German, he had no time for the Fascists.’ Without another word, Mussatov climbed into his SPG and drove off. At the village exit his vehicle was hit by an anti-aircraft gun. This finally finished it. Also several tanks caught fire. But Mussatov was not to be stopped. He climbed into Lieutenant Chorushenko’s SPG and rolled on with Lieutenants Schevtshuk and Bushuiev.

The enemy set about defending himself bitterly. Anti-aircraft guns and an assault gun fired from secure positions. Chorushenko lost his life in this fight. A shell hit his SPG and went through the side. Once more Mussatov had to climb into another SPG, this time Buschuiev’s. Although Ivanov’s company had also engaged in the fight, we did not get any further. Tank troops and SPG crews were at a loss. Nevertheless somehow they had to get on. Finally Ivanov came up with an idea. Quite close by, on a bend in the road, stood some trees and bushes. Perhaps one could overcome the enemy under cover of them? The company commander explained to his men what he had in mind. ‘Now friends, who will take the risk and go first?’

Deep silence. Everyone knew this was one’s life at stake.

‘Who will take on the fire protection?’ asked Lieutenant Luschpa timidly.

‘I will,’ answered Ivanov. You can leave that to me.’

Luschpa took a long testing look at the road as if he wanted to imprint every metre precisely on his mind. Then he decisively threw his cigarette away and went to his crew. ‘Now men, are you ready? We’ll go first.’

Korotov, the driver, shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘What else is for us to do? One must chance it. We can’t stay here in this nest for ever. Let’s go, Commander!’

‘Mount up!’ ordered Luschpa and disappeared into the SPG. Lieutenant Korotkov, Sergeant-Major Tschorny and Sergeant Koshevnikov followed him. The vehicle slowly got moving.

Attentively I observed a trench nearby. As I moved towards it, Luschpa immediately warned me: ‘Careful, the trench is occupied!’

Luschpa aimed his gun and fired several times. The shells exploded in the trench. Ossipov and Mussatov had also fired. Shortly afterwards soldiers climbed out of the trench and raised their hands.

Chotimski told me to increase the pressure on the enemy. ‘If we haven’t reached Berlin by nightfall, our attack will be stuck fast. I will bring infantry forward and then you attack between the first trenches. Vainrub will bring his tanks up to the anti-tank ditch.’

I observed through the periscope. Slowly the barrels sank to horizontal. Panzerfaust men approached us openly. Korotkov’s SPG stormed ahead. The Fascists got no closer, not even to fire another Panzerfaust. Now Korotkov had reached the trench, threatening to crush the men in the trench with the SPG. The enemy soldiers threw their weapons away and raised their hands.

Korotkov now wheeled towards Berlin. At this moment the SPG was hit in the side by a Panzerfaust. When I reached the vehicle, Sergeant-Major Tschorny and Sergeant Koshevnikov were already pulling the driver out of the hatch. The shell had torn off both of Korotkov’s legs. Fiodor groaned and asked for vodka, but nobody had any.

Luschpa spoke calmingly to Fiodor. ‘Hold on, Fedia, grit your teeth and hold on.’

The wounded man was becoming weaker by the minute. His face was flushed, with thick beads of sweat standing on his forehead. As the doctor appeared and checked his pulse, he shook his head concernedly. We carefully lifted the wounded man on to a stretcher and carried him to an ambulance. Korotkov had lost consciousness. Shortly afterwards came the news that he had died. We buried him in Seefeld.

The attack was resumed on the morning of the 22nd April. This time we were able to break through. I covered Krivoshein’s tank in the order of battle.

Major Bortovski attacked on the right with his 9th Tank Regiment. Near me drove Staff-Sergeant Jascha Ossipov’s tank. He had been decorated with the Order of the Red Star immediately before the attack began. Boldyrev’s and Korosteliov’s men broke into the city with Ossipov. The attack got into its stride.

The tanks and SPGs rolled along Berliner Strasse like a typhoon, firing at still-resisting Fascists with their anti-aircraft machine-guns. We stopped near a big building. Shortly afterwards Boldyrev’s and Korosteliov’s SPGs joined us, followed by the remainder of the regiment’s vehicles and their infantry. Mussatov got out and ran into a building with some infantry. A moment later a Red Flag flew from a balcony. We were in Berlin!

The men were totally exhausted. At last they had something of a rest. Stretcher-bearers carried the wounded to a collection point. Mussatov, Ivanov and Luschpa had curled themselves up and fallen asleep. When Major Ossadtchi saw me he said: ‘All mankind should raise their hats to you!’

A little later, in the presence of their regimental colleagues, I decorated Mussatov with the Alexander Nevski Order, Ivanov with the Order of the Red Banner, and Luschpa with the Order of the Red Star.

Colonel Vainrub reported to the corps commander that we had reached Berlin. The general replied laconically: ‘I’ll pass on the message to corps headquarters immediately.’

A lightning telegram sent the news of the success of the advance elements of the 1st Mechanised Corps and the 3rd Shock Army from General Kusnezov to Moscow. Our regiment received the thanks of the Supreme Commander in Chief and was later awarded the Order of Suvorov.

For heroism, bravery and leadership Semion Moisseievitch Krivoshein and I were declared ‘Heroes of the Soviet Union’ by decree of the Presidium of the High Soviet of the Soviet Union on the 31st May 1945.

Korosteliov, the best SPG driver, and many others received high decorations. In addition, all those who had taken part in the fighting between the Oder and Berlin were honoured with orders and medals.

In the Working Class Districts of Berlin

The fighting in Berlin demanded everything of us. We could hardly manoeuvre in the narrow streets. The enemy sat in the buildings behind thick walls, and his tanks were able to break out of the side streets at any time. Panzerfaust men had settled in the cellars and attacked us from there.

Mussatov and Ivanov asked for submachine-gunners to be sent to them with hand grenades to engage an enemy tank that kept rolling forward out of a side street and was preventing their advance under cover of fire from the upper storey of a corner building. Sacharkin had already deployed all the submachine-gunners. Apart from that he was doubtful that one could get a Tiger with hand grenades, for it had not worked on a Panther.

Major Ossadtchi said nothing for a long time, sitting there thoughtfully and smoking a cigarette. Then he got up and declared decisively: ‘That is a job for the right men. Let’s send Boldyrev and Gorodenzev. They will deal with it.’

Pashitnov nodded in agreement: ‘They are the right ones. Boldyrev fought bravely at the Vistula and Gorodenzev was there in Moscow.’

Next we sent for Boldyrev. ‘Have you any family?’ asked Sacharkin.

‘Yes, my father and mother. They live in Moscow. And then there’s my fiancée. We are getting married after the war. You are most heartily invited.’

‘How old are you?’ I asked.

‘Born in 1923.’

‘And where were you trained?’ Pashitnov wanted to know.

Boldyrev smiled: ‘At the Tscheliabin Tank School. But I have already told you this. Don’t you remember? That was in October 1943 when we arrived at the regiment with our SPG. At that time you were adjutant.’

‘Correct, I had forgotten. You were constantly after me. The spare parts were insufficient for you, and then the repair mechanics did a sloppy job.’

‘Next thing he was asked to join the Party. The Komsomol group was very happy with him,’ reported Ossadtchi, who had kept silent until then.

‘If that is so, Comrade Lieutenant, then you are our man. We want to send you and Comrade Gorodenzev forward. Take as many Panzerfausts as possible and put an end to that German tank there. This is especially important for the continuance of our attack.’

Gorodenzev was the same age as Boldyrev, but was already married and had two children. The two soldiers set off. Half an hour later Golovatschov reported that they had reached their goal and were going through the buildings with the assault team’s infantry. Gorodenzev had been slightly wounded but was fighting on.

It was not much longer before the enemy tank was eliminated. That was Boldyrev’s work. The sound of fighting ebbed in the side streets. For their courage Boldyrev was awarded the title Hero of the Soviet Union and Gorodenzev the Order of the Red Star.

Medical orderlies crept past our SPG. Liudmila and her team were on the way to the infantry. As she was attending to a badly wounded man, a German fighter flew over and shot at the nurse with his machine-guns. Liudmila collapsed. The medical orderlies Michail Maritsha and Fiodor Ailov put her carefully on a stretcher and brought her to safety in a ruined building. When an SPG arrived to take her to hospital, I called out to her: ‘Liuda, what about our date in Mordvinein?’

Liudmila raised her head and looked at me: ‘It’s still on. As soon as I am back on my feet.’

The SPG was followed by a Jeep carrying the dead commander of the 35th Mechanised Brigade, General Babaian.

The fighting for the individual parts of the city cost a lot of blood, but the attack continued. In the middle of the confusion of battle, soldiers put up posters on the walls of the buildings. From one of them I discovered which unit they belonged to: ‘We’re from Berzarin’s army. The Front’s War Council has appointed our army commander City Commandant. That is the order for the temporary assumption of all authority by the Soviet City Kommandatura.’

‘Excellent. Berlin is not yet fully taken, but Berzarin has already got the reins firmly in his hands.’

Major Ossadtchi joined us. ‘Have you seen it?’ I indicated the notice with my head.

‘Of course! A good thing too. That will give the inhabitants new courage to carry on.’

Dusk was sinking around us. An exciting night lay ahead. German snipers kept after us. Flares briefly lit the streets with colourful light.

The most important task that night was the repair of the shot-up SPGs. The repair and recovery teams had set themselves up in the school at Malchow. I did not know how Captain Odartshuk was getting on with the work, so I got into an SPG and drove to Malchow. In the gymnasium stood lathes, jacks and defective SPGs on which several mechanics were working. ‘We are trying to meet the schedules, but we lack spare parts. Apart from that the men are almost dropping with fatigue. They haven’t closed their eyes for two days.’

‘Send someone to the corps camp in Seelow. All the parts are available there. Sleep is unthinkable at the moment.’

Odartshuk took a deep breath. It was very difficult for the captain. His drawn face and reddened eyes clearly showed his fatigue. The workshop brigade team was led by Senior-Sergeant-Major A.D. Kiverov, who could be found wherever a hand was needed. Roman Ulanov had sent him the 9th Tank Corps’ Workshop Battalion in support.

Sleep threatened to overtake the mechanics towards morning, but they put their heads under the water taps and went back to work. Once the major part of the work was completed, Odartshuk’s mood improved abruptly.

Suddenly a German bomber appeared over Malchow. Seconds later we heard a penetrating whistling. We jumped into the examination pits. There were already explosions. The light went out. Flames crackled in the hall. A barrel of diesel oil had caught fire. The flames quickly took hold of the oil-smeared tarpaulin with which the SPG was covered. Should the vehicle catch fire there would be no chance of recovery as it was fully armed up.

‘Quick! Everybody out!’ cried Odartshuk, tearing off his coat and throwing it over the burning barrel. Although he burnt his hands, he carried on until the flames were extinguished. When the emergency lights switched on, he went checking one SPG after another. Splinters had bent the aerials and damaged the machine-gun barrels, and one SPG had its steering wheel bent.

Kiverov clapped his hands over his head. ‘That nearly had us. What now?’

Odartshuk glared at him: ‘Work on. Nothing else.’

As the men were returning to their tools, spare parts and a workshop truck arrived from the corps depot. Now the schedule could be maintained. Content, I left the workshop and drove back to Berlin.

The regimental headquarters were located in a cellar on Berliner Strasse. Shortly after my arrival a convoy of repaired SPGs rolled in. Odartshuk was sitting on the armour of the leading vehicle beaming. Several soldiers, including Mussatov, hurried past, hauled Odartshuk off the SPG and threw him jubilantly into the air.

The repaired SPGs were immediately shared out among the companies. Once that was done I went over the situation with Major Sacharkin. During the course of the night some important changes had taken place. The enemy defensive ring had been broken in four sectors.

Towards evening Major Shabalin brought us the corps headquarters’ instructions. Our regiment was to move immediately with the motorised infantry and Chotimski’s tanks to the western edge of the city, take Siemensstadt, force the Berlin–Spandau Shipping Canal and thrust towards Charlottenburg.

We set off immediately. We stopped towards morning not far from the Spandau Canal. Once we had forced it, we could attack the factories in Siemensstadt. The infantry took up positions on the southern bank of the canal under heavy fire. We took up firing positions behind the second line of infantry.

Sacharkin looked through the periscope and shouted happily: ‘Comrade Lieutenant-Colonel, I can see the Reichstag!’

I turned to him: ‘Where? Where? Why haven’t we seen it earlier?’

‘The fog has dispersed. Look, the building with the big dome on the bend in the Spree – that’s the Reichstag.’

Excitedly I took over the periscope. Yes, there stood the Reichstag. Suddenly I was overwhelmed by the desire to shoot at that damned building. Sacharkin appeared to read my thoughts. His eyes flashed: ‘Fire?’

‘Of course! Give the Fascists one in the roof.’

I left it to Lieutenant Mussatov, as I knew how accurately he could hit at long distances. A few minutes later Mussatov came panting: ‘Look through the periscope,’ he said to Sacharkin.

Mussatov did not know what he wanted and went irresolutely to the apparatus.

‘What have you got in the sights?’ asked Sacharkin.

‘A cathedral, I think.’

‘That’s no cathedral, that’s the Reichstag. The commander orders you and your whole company to open fire!’

Mussatov turned toward me, clicked his heels together and vanished in a flash.

Happily Sacharkin recorded in the fighting log of the 347th Guards Heavy Self-Propelled Artillery Regiment: ‘At 1400 hours on the 26th April the Heavy Self-Propelled Artillery opened direct fire on the Reichstag.’

From the observation post I could see how Mussatov had the drivers and commanders parade. They stood there, Shevtshuk, Sergeiev, Buschuiev and Monogarov, listening attentively to their company commander’s words. Meanwhile the other crew members were preparing their vehicles. Then Mussatov’s voice came through the ear pieces: ‘Shrapnel! At the Reichstag, centre of target, setting 100! First SPG – one round – fire!’

A long, fiery-red flame shot from Shevtshuk’s gun. The shell went howling towards the Reichstag and exploded short of its target. The second shot went too far.

‘Now that you have got the range, the whole company can open fire effectively,’ Sacharkin said soberly. The first salvo cracked. I looked through the periscope. The dome of the Reichstag had disappeared behind thick smoke. The company went on to fire several salvoes. Finally Mussatov had the company fall in and thanked the crews.

Machine-guns began hammering in Siemensstadt. That was our infantry. Lieutenant-Colonel Pashitnov, our training officer, ordered the company commanders to silence the enemy. The firing continued.

The infantry jumped up and worked their way closer to the canal. But before we could cross it we had to find possible crossing points. I decided to send the scouts at nightfall. The group would be led by Staff-Sergeant Cholopov. He was experienced and clever and knew his way not only as a sapper but also with the SPGs.

‘The task must be completed by 0100 hours! Understood?’

‘Yes! No questions,’ replied Cholopov.

The groups set off late that evening. Half an hour later the men had reached our front line. They crept into a small building and went down into the cellar, from where they had a good view over the canal. Cholopov reported: ‘The canal has steep banks and is about 20 metres wide. A mortar is firing from the other side. We will now wait until it is fully dark, then we will creep up to the bridge.’

At last the time came. The scouts crept up to the canal, concealing themselves on the bush-covered bank. Someone was talking on the bridge and carefully struck a match.

‘We will swim across to the bridge,’ decided Cholopov. ‘Pavlov will remain on this embankment and maintain communication with headquarters.’

The scouts slid carefully into the water. Cholopov in front, behind him Sergeant Gaviuchin, then Sappers Pusitchev and Babashev. The ice-cold water burnt their bodies like fire.

‘They’ve stopped at the bridge, hardly visible above water,’ reported Pavlov.

Verey lights went up lighting up the ground around the bridge. The scouts vanished under the water as if ordered. Finally they reached the bridge’s piers. Above them a sentry was going to and fro. Somebody gave an order and the boots came closer. When Pavlov reported that the sappers had found two explosive charges and disarmed them, Sacharkin could hardly contain himself for joy.

Slowly the time went by but the scouts did not return. The connection with them was broken. At last footsteps were heard. Wet through and frozen, Cholopov reported: ‘Task fulfilled.’

I thanked them and ordered Lieutenant Mussatov to give the men 100 grams of vodka each. Shortly afterwards, we attacked the bridge supported by the infantry, covering the land between the canal and the Spree with a hail of shells. The enemy fled back to the Spree, many of the Volkssturm surrendering, happy that the war was over for them.

Unfortunately this was not always the result. We had to fight hard for every foot of ground. The storm troops had great difficulty forcing their way into the cellars and ground floor of a multi-storey building. The buildings around hampered our SPGs. We had no choice but to blow up a corner building. Our scouts and some signallers could enter the adjoining building to lay telephone wires. Everything depended upon the building having been abandoned by the enemy. Then suddenly a bullet whistled past my ears. I then realised that we had fallen into a trap. The enemy had made small holes in the walls to fire through. There seemed to be no way out of the predicament. But here too Babashev wanted to help. He poured inflammable liquid over several chairs, set light to them, and the room filled with smoke. Then, as he had no Trotyl left, he ignited it with some dummy explosive charges. It worked wonders. The Fascists hastily abandoned the building.

Despite strong resistance, our regiment got over the Spree and took up the fight in Charlottenburg with the tanks and motorised infantry of the 1st Mechanised Corps. Here the enemy defended himself even more strongly than before. He detected his end was near and wanted to hold out as long as possible.

The narrow alleys in Charlottenburg hampered our advance to the Tiergarten and to the Reichstag. Overall an SPG, including its gun barrel, was more than 10 metres long and almost 4 metres wide. So it was no longer possible for us to break through walls and trample down fences.

Lieutenant Kuklin went first with his SPG, Ivanov’s company following him. Kuklin had not forgotten his oath to be the first of our regiment to break through to the Reichstag. He wanted to exact revenge for his friends Gumar Salichov and Piotr Korotkov. Nothing seemed able to stop him. When Ivanov reported to me that Kuklin was fighting well ahead of the others, I immediately sent him Lieutenant Olitshev’s submachine-gun platoon to help, but it was already too late. His SPG was hit by a Panzerfaust and set on fire. Kuklin lost his life in this attack. This sad news hit us like a crushing blow. We removed our helmets and thought of him in silence. Our superiors posthumously awarded Kuklin the Order of the Great Fatherland War 1st Class.

Last Efforts

From documents and the memoirs of the former Fascist General Weidling, we know what the Fascist leadership clique did during the time from the 29th April to the 2nd May to prolong their defeat, if only for a few hours. The situation for the Berlin Garrison was anything but enviable. The Fascist troops had suffered heavy losses and many of their supply depots, which were mainly located in the outer districts, were already in our hands.

The Polish 1st Division Tadeusz Kosciusko reached Charlottenburg on the 29th April 1945 and came to our help. Our speed of attack increased and the situation for our troops improved. The supply of ammunition, fuel and foodstuffs worked excellently and our firepower increased. As stated by captured German generals, the enemy in the fighting for Berlin alone lost 100,000 men killed or wounded.

Our army’s headquarters was located in Charlottenburg with the four large staff vehicles under deep cover. I went there in the hope of meeting the staff officers of our corps to learn details of the situation in Charlottenburg. General Bogdanov sat in a wireless vehicle in front of a radio transmitting his orders to the corps commanders. ‘Comrade 20, send your reserve across the Spree. Lead the attack on map square 23!’

I looked at my map. This order applied to Krivoshein. The Tiergarten lay in map square 23. Once more I was impressed by General Bogdanov’s cleverness. With the advance of our troops into the Tiergarten, the enemy groups would be spread even further apart. That made it even more difficult for General of Artillery Weidling, entrusted with the defence of Berlin, to command his troops. He had already lost contact with some of his troops who had now become isolated from each other in Berlin.

The commander of the 12th Tank Corps, Major-General Salminov, reported that he had completed the ‘job’, together with General Berzarin. General Bogdanov ordered him to report to army headquarters for new assignments.

From the receiver came the booming bass of the corps commander, Vedeneiev. His troops had met up with the 47th Army north of Berlin in an outflanking manoeuvre and defeated the fighting German units. The general asked for the losses of officers in his armoured elements to be filled.

‘My thanks for this outstanding achievement. I cannot send you any officers at the moment. However, I will consider it,’ replied Bogdanov. After this talk Bogdanov went over to a radio and had a conversation, apparently with the Front War Council. As the army’s war council member, General Latyshev, climbed into the vehicle, Bogdanov went straight up to him. ‘Here is the new task. We are to make a thrust with part of our forces in an easterly direction along the Spree in order to support Kusnezov in the taking of the Reichstag.’

‘Right. We must not give the enemy any possibility of mustering his forces,’ agreed Latyshev.

I withdrew from the radio vehicle. From a neighbouring cellar I heard the regular ticking of a teleprinter and the loud voice of Radsievski, passing on instructions to the subordinate staffs. ‘Attack then, Comrade Yershov, we dare not lessen the pressure on the enemy in any way. Hitler will only give up when we finally have him by the throat.’

I made my way back to my headquarters, which were accommodated in the offices of an ammunition factory in a street nearby. The staff had set themselves up in the directors’ room. Out of the window one could see the street in which our regiment was fighting. A heavy mortar battery had deployed in the factory yard, and dust was coming off the walls with every salvo.

‘Is there anything new?’ I asked Sacharkin.

‘Leliushenko’s and Rybalko’s elements are advancing successfully and thrusting towards us. West of Berlin Vedeneiev’s tanks have made contact with Colonel Korezki’s fighting vehicles of Leliushenko’s army. The first to force the canal were Colonel Shamardin’s motorised rifle brigade of Vedeneiev’s corps, then Colonel Korezki’s infantry built a bridge. Tanks were immediately sent across. Hitler’s Reichs Chancellery is now only a stone’s throw from us. The communications centre in the Bendlerstrasse has already been taken. Goebbels has committed suicide. Chief of the General Staff Krebs wants to discuss surrender terms with our supreme command, but the answer from Moscow is that there is only total and unconditional surrender!’ And now Sacharkin had some happy news. ‘Our victorious banner is waving over the Reichstag. The fighting for the Reichstag began on the morning of the 30th April. The Fascists put up a fierce resistance. Our first attacks were beaten back, but towards 1800 hours our soldiers forced their way into the Reichstag under cover of artillery fire.’

Nevertheless bitter fighting continued within the Reichstag building. I decided to increase the fighting pressure in the Tiergarten further.

As Pashitnov received the order to concentrate fire on the Reichs Chancellery, he cheerfully declared: ‘For four years I have dreamed of storming Berlin. And now I have been given the task of destroying Hitler’s hideout with the fire from our SPGs, an honourable task, thank you, Comrade Commander!’

Sacharkin too received an important task. He was to select a group of submachine-gunners, under the command of an officer, and they were to track down leading members of the Fascist government and senior Party functionaries and arrest them. For the first time ever Michail Ivanovitch Sacharkin lost his proverbial calm. His eyes flashed. He happily hurried to the telephone and entrusted Major Shabalin with the running of the staff.

I went to the window. The SPGs of our regiment and Chotimski’s riflemen were deploying on the station square and in the gardens. They were preparing to attack Savignyplatz S-Bahn station.

But the German troops in Berlin, though surrounded and isolated from each other, were still not giving in. Mussatov sent Pavlov to me with a report that the enemy were advancing in his rear. ‘Understood. I will send machine-pistol infantry to his aid immediately.’

Muraviov’s company was fighting in a parallel street. There was no communication with him. The alley by which one could get to Muraviov was under fire. But a messenger had to get there. My eyes fell on Yura. I considered whether I should send him. But before speaking to him I consulted with Ossadtchi.

‘What else can you do?’ he said. ‘If the situation demands, then you must send him.’

I called Yura to me. ‘You have complained that no one gives you a fighting role. Now the moment has arrived that we need you.

‘At last! What should I do?’

‘Take a letter to Muraviov. But look, the alley is under fire. You must not delay, as our SPGs are in danger. Should you encounter Germans, destroy the letter. Understood?’

‘Certainly! I am already on my way.’ Yura took the envelope and ran into the yard. Major Ossadtchi and I went to the window. Yura ran up to and jumped over the fence. A burst of machine-gun fire whirled up the dust near him. The youngster dived into a ditch, stood up again and ran on, shells bursting behind him.

‘He has had it now,’ whispered Ossadtchi.

My heart was in my throat. But as the dust from the explosions blew away, we saw Yura flitting through the alley.

‘He’s through,’ I said, relieved.

About ten minutes passed, then machine-pistol infantry appeared firing. Ahead of them ran Muraviov, Golovatshiov and Yura. A little later the youngster stood before me, scratched and beaming. ‘Comrade Commander, order executed. Muraviov’s company has gone into the attack!’

Deeply moved, I clasped Yura in my arms. ‘Thank you, my boy.’

The noise of fighting from the direction of the Tiergarten increased. I drove forward with an SPG and stopped about 200 metres from the Tiergarten. Mussatov’s SPG stood in front of me firing into the extensive park. Chotimski’s men, deployed into a defensive line, lay in front of the SPG. Strong fire from the Tiergarten was pinning them to the ground.

Meanwhile Colonel Vainrub’s tanks had arrived and deployed behind us. They fired as if they were in competition with the SPGs. Sintshenko’s riflemen were covering the Tiergarten with fire from the Reichstag.

The Berlin Palace was on fire. When a white flag was fluttered out of a window, General Krivoshein ordered me to cease fire and break off the attack!

‘Please repeat that once more,’ I replied, completely confused. ‘We cannot let the enemy get away with it!’

Krivoshein laughed and explained: ‘The Berlin Garrison has capitulated. Weidling has struck his weapons. The war is over!’

This news hit us like a stroke of lightning from the heavens. We had long waited for this moment. I immediately passed on the order to all the units. I myself, however, remained for a long time on the spot, unable to grasp the situation. Joy at victory and remembering the difficult battles filled my heart. We had needed four years of an unprecedented, sacrificial war to finally bring the Fascist beast to its knees. Beaten by the Soviet Army, in whose ranks were those who had had to retreat to Moscow in the hard year of 1941 but nevertheless had sworn to take Berlin. Now they had fulfilled this oath.

Krivoshein ordered the regiment to assemble. The men fell on each other’s necks, kissing each other, congratulating each other on the victory. Lieutenant Kiritshenko groaned and fell to the ground. In four years of war he had not received a scratch and now he lay at our feet!

The shot [that hit him] had come from the roof of a building. Our submachine-gunners stormed the building, caught a Fascist in civilian clothing and made short work of him. ‘The war is over, but we must remain alert,’ warned Ossadtchi.

I had the regiment fall in and led it to the Victory Column, where Vainrub’s tank troops and those from the mechanised brigades of Chotimski, Petrov and Sokolov had already paraded. A feeling of pride in my country, my people and my army streamed through me. I was delighted with my regiment, whose heavy self-propelled guns had ended their long fighting advance in besieged Berlin.

The First Days After Victory

The first changes began in our regiment. Pashitnov, Ossadtchi and I already knew about the coming transfers to other units. Sacharkin was delegated for studies in Leningrad. The soldiers in the older age groups were preparing themselves for demobilisation. Shabalin and Postnikov were empowered with the temporary command of the regiment.

The bitter hour of farewell was getting closer. Shabalin sat in the headquarters preparing the marching orders. Cholopov stood on the steps and looked sadly at his friends jumping down off the SPGs in the yard. He had come a long way with these vehicles, hit the enemy and made some difficult journeys. Now he was to be separated from all of this. Ivan Ivanovitch breathed in deeply and drew nervously on a cigarette. Gorodenzev went up to him and gave him two cans of meat. ‘Take them for the journey. I have nothing else to give you.’

‘Thank-you, my friend.’ Cholopov took the rucksack off his shoulders, stuffed in the cans and stammered: ‘Difficult to leave you. What happiness and bitterness we have experienced together! How often did one’s life hang on a thread? When will we ever see each other again?’

Gorodenzev sighed. Ivan Ivanovitch took his cigarette case from his pocket and held it out to Gorodenzev: ‘Keep this as a souvenir. I have not been separated from it throughout the whole war.’

I climbed on the steps. Mussatov’s company marched past me for the last time singing my favourite song, ‘You fight like heroes’.

Suddenly Yura appeared. He was visibly thinner. Shabalin put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Now Yura, take your document. From now on you are a Suvorov Scholar.’

The boy hid his face in his hands.

‘What have we here? A soldier – and crying!’

‘Off you go, youngster. Remain as you were in the regiment, brave and honourable.’

A car drove into the yard. The driver reported: ‘Comrade Commander, the regiment is paraded.’

I took one last look at the SPGs. Goodbye, steel friends.

Minutes later we were driving through the Olympic Village. Then we came to the railway station. The troops were standing on the square in front. On their uniforms flashed orders and medals. Our Guard’s standard waved on the right flank.

‘Attention!’

The band played a march. I marched across the front of the unit, looking into the familiar faces of my comrades. The stood like simple Soviet men, but what wonderful heroes! They had not only defended their fatherland but rescued many peoples from Fascism. How proud their grandchildren and great-grandchildren would be of them.

I believe that it was only at this parting that I realised what strong bonds I had with my regimental colleagues. Now they were breaking. Previously we had all had the same fate, the same aim, but now we would go our separate ways. I slowed my pace, wanting to extend the unrepeatable moment and stopped in front of Staff-Sergeant Tartartshuk. How self-sacrificingly he had repaired our SPG under the heaviest fire. The staff-sergeant looked smart in his new tunic with its snow-white collar, but also a little sad.

I went on. There stood Lieutenant Poteiev, wearing a head bandage. Next to him stood Senior-Sergeant-Major Kossarev. He too had returned to the regiment after his recovery.

Then I went past the front of the machine-pistol infantry. I spoke to Yuri Golovatshiov. The youngster had fought with distinction and wore the Order of Fame on his tunic.

‘May I have your permission to make a request?’

‘I’m listening.’

‘I have honourably fought right through the whole war,’ he replied. ‘Now that I am too young to be demobilised, I go on serving. But perhaps I could have some leave to see my mother again?’

‘You can go home, ten days,’ I said and beckoned to Shabilin. ‘Prepare his leave pass. Liubov Vassilievna will be delighted to see such an eagle of a son again. And the girls of Kemerovo will also be delighted to see him too.’

Then I saw the smiling face of our supply officer Komar. He had survived the third war alive and well, as if that was no ground for celebration!

Beside him stood our wonderful girls Minogian Yegorova, Ania Ashurina, Fisa Motshalova. They had already changed into civilian clothes. They were wearing colourful clothing but had not set aside their berets and star insignia.

I addressed the troops for the last time:

Cholopov spoke on behalf of those being demobilised. ‘For me today is more difficult than being in the most stressful battle: I must say farewell to you, my colleagues.’ Ivan Ivanovitch’s voice trembled. He could hold back his tears only with difficulty. ‘I have driven the enemy from Moscow to Berlin. But if someone attacks our homeland again, I’ll find my regiment and take my place in the SPG once more.’ He looked for Gorodenzev: ‘My SPG and my machine-pistol I hand over today to a younger man, my comrade Gorodenzev, who will look after them well.’

Gorodenzev left the ranks, received the machine-pistol from Ivan Ivanovitch, clasped him by the hands and formally promised: ‘I will fulfil your role exactly, Ivan Ivanovitch, as I did your orders in battle.’

Then ‘Hero of the Soviet Union’ Boldyrev came forward with the regimental banner. Bending his knee, the warrior kissed the regiment’s holy relic.

The locomotive in the station gave a shrill whistle and the order was given: ‘All aboard!’

Near me were Mussatov, Boldyrev, Korosteliov, Ivanov and Postnikov. They asked me not to forget them and at least to write often.

Shura went past crying. Pavlov followed me with a bag. ‘Don’t cry, Shurotshka, when I have done my time, I will come and find you.’

‘I’ll wait for you.’

‘Close the doors!’

I hugged my friends – and shook the hands of many, many soldiers and NCOs.