This experience report was located in
the National Archives
by Tom Jentz and translated by Bob Thompson.
After an
eleven-day rest, the word came down to “Mount up… March!” On the evening of 3
August 1942, at 2100 hours, we once again started on an operation about which
nobody knew any details. We only knew we were headed for combat, and that was
sufficient. After a year’s fighting in Russia we knew what would happen, for we
had already experienced it countless times and found nothing unusual or
interesting.
We drove
through the entire night and in the morning came into a village and camouflaged
our vehicles against aircraft. The night march had been only exhausting for the
drivers, but in spite of this we stretched ourselves out in the grass and slept
on through the day, for sleep had not been possible on the shaking, heaving
vehicles, where on every bump you hit your head. But now we slept as every
Landser wished. On the evening of 4 August, about 2200, we again sat neatly on
our vehicles and steered off into a raven-black night.
The day
before, to our annoyance, we had learned that we knew this area very well; we
had spent a quarter of a year last winter in this region on the main front
lines. However, we had no time for further ruminations, for just as we were
heading through Karminova the Russians bombarded the place with all
friendliness. After taking cover from the planes for a while, we advanced until
we finally halted in some small villages. During this time we had enjoyed a
lunch of white beans, and began to hear talk that the Russians had succeeded in
penetrating the main front lines in this area and that they were bumming around
with tanks, death, and the devil. We were the group that was to seal them off.
Hardly had
we eaten lunch when the order came “Prepare for action!” Short minutes of
intense preparation, then we mounted, and away we went. Four vehicles, each
mounting a light infantry gun… that’s the way we went forward on the dusty
road. A few vehicles came at us at break-neck speed. We suspected more than
knew that up ahead was more than one enemy tank. It wasn’t especially
encouraging to know this, as an infantry cannoneer, for among our infantry guns
there was, unfortunately, no armor-piercing weapon. Against such monsters there
was little prospect of success.
But as we
still saw no tanks, we kept on going.
Suddenly
from ahead came a dust cloud. We thought at the moment that it was one of our
own vehicles, but at a hundred meters we realized it was a T-34. Then its
machine gun rattled away. Never in my life have I dismounted a vehicle so
swiftly, and my comrades followed. I sneaked off away from the street-ditch as
far as I could, for the Russians had the habit of frequently driving up the
ditches and I had no wish to let myself be flattened. My goal was a puddle
about twenty meters from the road, into which I plopped. The still exposed
areas of my body I hid behind an overturned tree trunk. Just in time to see the
way the T-34 drive by, wildly firing in all directions. Behind the turret of
the tank sat Russian soldiers. They didn’t have the pleasure of riding for
long, for we shot them off with our carbines.
The tank
drove crazily on for a few hundred meters, turned and then came back. In
driving by it smashed against our “Klara,” reducing her to various and sundry
parts. “Klara” was our oldest and most trusted gun, which had already been
rammed last winter by a tank, but after extensive repairs had again been made
serviceable. Now our “Klara” was finally “kaput.” As I watched this, rage
bubbled in my belly and I could only regret that I had no mine or shaped charge
at hand. Like a spook, the monster disappeared again. We couldn’t hang around
long, for we had to get to the nearest village, where our comrades of the
Schützenkompanien were in action.
We went
ahead in a line and had hardly gone three hundred meters when suddenly
low-flying aircraft were over us. We had barely made it to the side of the road
and they were gone. Nothing had happened. This was a very eventful day.
A half-hour
later we reached the edge of the village. There, all hell was breaking loose.
Machine gun fire was hissing through the air and the tanks were shooting one
house after another into flames. Munitions were blowing up in the houses, and
the heat given off robbed one’s breath. In spite of it all, we came through to
the other end of the village in good shape. From here we could see four T-34s,
about four hundred meters away. Seconds later the first shots screeched out of
our barrels. We could see hits, but what good is a hit from such light infantry
guns on such a monster? Once we had been spotted, the devil really went to
work. After ten minutes of the hottest fire fight, two of our guns were knocked
out by direct hits. We all had our hands full trying to bind up our wounded.
During this, the third gun kept firing until it had no more ammunition.
Without
ammunition we couldn’t do anything, so we took the remaining gun and dragged it
back to the entrance of the village, under heavy fire. When we once looked
around, we saw that the tanks were moving up behind us accompanied by two or
three companies of enemy infantry. In the village behind us our infantry had
set up a defense line. We, the infantry gun section, were now employed as
infantry since we had only one gun left and it was hardly combat-effective.
This is just what had happened the previous winter.
Hardly had
we arrived at our posts when there came the four monsters, slowly driving
towards us. As I had received an order to immediately bring up a 50 mm
anti-tank gun, I left my group. Even on the way to the anti-tank gun, several
tank shells burst uncomfortably near. After delivering the order to send over
the gun, I went behind a barn and made myself small. So I lay there for a bit,
when suddenly there was a crash that threw dirt around my ears… there the tank
had knocked a corner off the barn I was lying behind! I carefully got back to
the road.
Having
reached the road, I caught sight of a comrade from our platoon who had received
an eye injury and was now sitting there helpless. We bedded him on a sidecar of
a motorcycle that was going by, when we suddenly saw the four tanks coming at
us through the gardens. What could we do but make sure that we weren’t run over
by the tanks.
Everything
went well. We breathed more easily, for finally our anti-tank guns were in
position, and several tanks were knocked out in the next hour.
The 6th
through the 22nd were hard days for us. The Russians attacked almost without
interruption. Days of violent fighting in the forests, during which we often
lay twenty meters from each other. In these battles we suffered greatly from
mortar fire which was especially dangerous due to tree-bursts. There were rainy
days in which we stood in our foxholes, soaked to the skin. The water was up to
our knees. In spite of all this, the Russians could not do anything.
Our Luftwaffe
and artillery helped to inflict great losses on the enemy. For tactical
reasons, we withdrew from the enemy in the forest and went back to the open
flat ground. Here we built a bunker line, from which there is an open area and
a swamp in front of the forest in which the Russians remained. The Bolshevists
haven’t attacked here yet. Sometimes we have seen tanks driving around over
there, but our artillery knocked them out right sway.
Otherwise,
there’s not much going on here, and we’re just waiting until they come. That’ll
be a big pleasure for us, to give them a nice juicy one on the head!