John Stieber - Against the Odds - Survival on the Russian Front 1944-1945 [2nd Edition]

My own job was in the data conversion unit. The purpose of this unit was to enable the battery to fire at approaching aircraft, even if we had not picked them up optically, or on our radar disc. Using headphones, we received data from neighbouring batteries who had locked onto aircraft. Our equipment immediately converted this data and fed it direct to our control module.

During a typical air-raid alert an alarm had us tumbling out of our bunks while attacking aircraft were still far away. After a while we heard data being transmitted through our headphones which allowed us to pre-set our equipment. Next, the rumble of anti-aircraft guns could be made out, distant at first, but quickly getting nearer. We were left in no doubt when our own battery began firing, even though we got no warning. I must confess that I was always thrilled by the heavy crash of our four big guns opening fire, as a wave of uncharacteristic patriotism swept over me.

Our morning classes were largely disastrous. Although we probably ended up with the prescribed eighteen hours a week, often we were too tired to concentrate. There was an air-raid alert almost every night and we had to be ready even if the bomber formations were still a long way off. It could happen that the planes dropped their bombs before getting near us or that they changed direction. Even when they were well outside the range of our guns, we were busy tracking the flight path so that we could open fire as soon as the planes got near enough. Whether we opened fire or not, we were usually hauled out of bed about midnight and did not get back until a few hours later. There were many times when we had to get up twice in the same night.

Getting a couple of extra hours in bed did not help very much after our sleep had been ruined, and so the droning voice of our teacher failed to hold our attention. Army activities dominated our minds to such an extent that academic studies became unrealistic, if not farcical. When the time came for us to move up a class, nobody failed his exams. We all got uniformly medium marks, probably by design, because it would not have been practical to fail anybody and so split the class.

Dr Reichler was very unhappy in his difficult job and I am afraid we did not make his life any easier. Our lack of support for him made me feel guilty, but we were young and had been put in an impossible position. We all felt happy that we were doing our bit in the war. Whatever its merits and demerits, if German cities were being bombed and we could help to save civilians’ lives, we thought that we must be doing something worthwhile.

Our canteen boasted a good-sized billiard table and I often played against other auxiliaries in the evenings if I was not writing letters or reading. We were lucky to have a professional musician, Gefreiter Rothe, among the soldiers in the battery. He was said to be from Hungary and was a fantastic gypsy violinist. It was not long before those of us who had been members of the school orchestra teamed up with him and began to entertain the battery staff with popular light music and jazz. Heinz Rücker played on the canteen piano, Wolf Bredemeyer was the cellist, Claus Günther played on a set of drums and I was the second violinist.

Rothe managed to get sheet music since we boys were not experienced in extemporising, but we soon got the hang of it. Thanks to his musical leadership, our quintet developed great dash and we were much in demand. Heinz Rücker, who was by nature a very gifted piano player, later used his acquired skill in playing jazz to earn money for his upkeep when he was a student.

One of the few sinister aspects of my life in war-time Germany was that I had to be very careful about what I said unless I was in the company of intimate friends. Even when staying with the Soukals, we avoided speaking about the war or political matters in case the maid should overhear us. On the other hand, I invariably spoke English with Erika in public without ever getting a reaction from anyone, not even the police or members of the SS.

Although I knew of the GESTAPO and was vaguely aware of some sinister connotations, I do not have any personal memories of them. I think the only time I saw any members of that organisation was when I happened to be in a town and I recognised them by their uniform.

In the early summer of 1943, our battery moved near to the village of Schotterey, six miles further west, so we were still protecting the same industrial belt. I was fascinated to see how our equipment was dismantled, transported and reassembled. We auxiliaries took no part in this, but were allowed to watch as long as we kept out of the way. I was particularly impressed by the huge tracked transporters that were used to pull the heavy guns out of their dug-in locations and reposition them at the new site.

We now lived in converted railway carriages that were placed at ground level without any protective bank of earth around them. I suppose the thinking was that if there was an air-raid alert, we would be in our protected stations anyway.

Life went on as before; we still did not get sufficient sleep and the classroom situation was no better. I used to cut slices of bread into narrow strips and toast them on our army stove during the daytime. Then, when we had to sit up during air-raid alerts at night, I chewed them slowly to pass the time and counteract pangs of hunger.

I was able to continue my twenty-five words-a-month correspondence with my parents, but naturally mentioned nothing about my changed circumstances. Since the forms that were used still went through a central collection office of the Red Cross, there was nothing on them to show my current address and my parents thought I was still in Haubinda.

Some friction occasionally arose among the auxiliaries, but that was understandable in view of the strain caused by lack of sleep and our confined living conditions. Luckily, I had no problems and got on very well with my group. Being able to continue playing my music also went a long way toward compensating me for the hardships I was enduring.

After spending almost one year to the day with the FLAK, I was among the first to move on when I was conscripted to the Labour Service in February 1944. I was very sad to be parting from my school chums, many of whom I had known for four and a half years. Of course, it was not just that I was losing my friends; I was now severing my connection with what little had been left of a normal lifestyle.

On 15 February, 1944, I handed in all clothing and equipment and was given back my civilian clothes. My instructions were to report for service at a labour camp near the small town of Zarnowitz in East Pomerania. The camp was only a few miles inland from the Baltic Sea and about 45 miles north-west of the town of Danzig – now Gdansk.

It was a long journey by train. When we later crossed West-Prussia, I saw a part of Germany that was new to me. The landscape was very flat, with a few small hills, but it was good agricultural land and I saw many beautiful lakes and extensive woodlands. After Danzig, the train travelled to Zoppot on the Baltic Coast and then on to Gedingen, now Gdynia, the home of Lech Walesa, the Polish president. Gedingen was an important base of the German Navy and I was thrilled when I caught sight of many warships anchored in the harbour.

At Gedingen I had to change trains for the tedious, last part of my journey. As we crawled along in the gathering dusk, the countryside became increasingly bleak and relatively uninhabited. After a while, the woods closed in all around and the snow, so attractive in daylight, now only made everything look more desolate.

At my destination, a village called Krokow, I saw other young men, who were obviously fellow-conscripts get off the train. A man in Labour-Service uniform was waiting for us and led us on a forty-minute walk to the camp. It was a relief to walk through the snow after being cooped up all day in a railway carriage and I was looking forward to a hot meal. By the time we arrived and had our meal in the canteen, it was almost time for lights out. Chequered blue-and-white linen, the standard army issue, was already laid out on the two-tiered bunks and as soon I had settled in I was glad to go to bed.