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

That night I slept like a log until I was woken by a shrill bell at seven o’clock. Breakfast consisted of two thick slices of the standard black army bread with a pat of butter, some corned beef and jam as well as “ersatz” coffee. Strangely enough, even though “ersatz” coffee was the standard beverage right through the war and I never really liked it, I also never got tired of it. Maybe it was just its comforting heat that my body appreciated, but this coffee, made of roasted barley, was a far more healthy drink than the real thing.

After breakfast, our corporal, called Berg, marched us to the store to collect our uniforms and kit. The store was an impressive sight; all shelves piled high with every possible item. There was nothing to indicate that this was the fifth year of war, with industries continually being the target of bombing raids and Germany staring defeat in the face on every front.

After the last of us had been fitted out, we were allowed to sling the rifle over our shoulder, pick up our heap and march back to the dormitory under the command of our corporal. This turned out to be very much the pattern of all future activities. Whatever we did, wherever we went, we always seemed to be marching, but this meant that all movements were carried out neatly and efficiently. There was, of course, method behind this, a psychological conditioning to conformity and discipline. A quick change into our uniforms was now required because we were due to assemble on the main parade-ground to hear an address by the garrison commander.

The commander, Colonel von Ludwig, had the reputation of being strict, but he was also just and humane. He did not treat us to a long address. After welcoming us he said that our training would be very tough and rigorous but, as members of the elite Paratroop and Panzer Division Hermann Göring, we must be able to meet higher demands than would be expected of other units. Colonel von Ludwig went on to refer to the past gallant action of our comrades in Russia and in Africa and how they were even now holding their own in Italy despite being outnumbered by British and American forces. When the colonel had finished his address, we marched off to our first class session.

Our lecturer, a lieutenant, explained the training programme to us: it would cover basic practical training, theoretical subjects, training on firearms and, at a later stage, intensive training in a special skill, and in practical manoeuvres. We would also have daily physical fitness sessions.

Basic practical training covered the care of clothing and equipment, and also drill on the parade-ground as well as camouflaged movement over open territory. Theoretical subjects dealt with discipline, ethics, hygiene, codes of behaviour and a whole range of skills required on active service. Training on firearms covered the care and handling of the army rifle, machine-gun and machine-pistol as well as target practice. Training in a special skill could be on heavier weaponry or as a sapper (construction of pontoon bridges, dynamiting and flame-throwing) or in communications. Finally, we would put our learning to the test in large-scale territorial exercises.

After a couple of short breaks in the class-sessions, and time allowed for us to ask questions, we were given a talk on the background of the division’s training schools.

Our lunch break was a full hour. The meal consisted of a kind of Brown-Windsor soup, stew with boiled potatoes and vegetables, followed by tapioca pudding with stewed apples. There was no coffee. Warm meals never varied very much in the army, but the food was always well-prepared and cooked under hygienic conditions. The only complaints I ever had came later when I was on the Russian Front and the food was cold or non-existent, but that was always due to external circumstances.

The afternoon was mainly taken up with some very basic drill on the parade-ground. There was nothing new to me in the marching-in-formation exercises, or rifle-handling, but a much higher standard of perfection was demanded than I had known heretofore.

In our last session we were given more details of the forthcoming training during the rest of the week and we also got a strict lecture on behaviour, deportment, general discipline and matters of personal hygiene.

It had been a long first day and we were all pretty exhausted at the end of it. During this, the second evening in barracks, there was a tendency to split up into groups depending on individual interests. Everybody avoided talking about the war itself and nobody stood out to say that Germany was going to win or that the war must now be seen to be lost. It must have been patently obvious to all of us that, barring a miracle, the tide of fortune could no longer be turned. I could only hope that the war would soon come to an end with a minimum of human suffering and that I would be lucky enough to escape alive.

It was fortunate that everybody was interested in playing cards, which was also a great barrier-breaker. Since we invariably played Skat, a complicated form of Whist, and this only involved three people, it led to good mixing because there were always some two people looking for a third man to join in. I myself never tired of the intricacies of the game.

It seemed strange to me to be sitting there just like any other soldier when I really felt quite out of place in these surroundings. However, I never made any reference to my Anglo-Irish background and spoke only of my previous years in Germany. Actually, right through my army service, I never found out how much my superior officers knew about my earlier life outside Germany or what personal information was kept on the official records.

That evening, our corporal issued us with our identity discs. These were small, oval-shaped, made of light metal and simply bore a letter and a number without any further reference to the owner. A light, strong chord was attached to them and they were worn around the neck. In the case of one’s death, this was the only confirmation of identity and survivors had the gruesome task of taking the discs off their fallen comrades so that the next of kin could be officially notified.

I had one final chore which meant parcelling up my civilian clothes, and all other items that I did not need, for posting back to Mücheln. With that I would be severing the last link with my past life. On impulse I kept a paperback edition of Lord Emsworth and Others , by P. G. Wodehouse, which I had brought along with other reading material. Although my reading days were obviously over for the present, I thought I might as well take along this small book and get enjoyment from it for as long as possible.

Our routine over the next days followed a standard pattern. Outdoor activities and classroom lectures were well mixed to counteract tedium setting in, and on each day we had a forty-five-minute session of physical fitness training, jogging and open-air gymnastics.

The common denominator of all our training could best be described as a ruthless grind to perfection. Nowhere was this more obvious or exasperating than in domestic tidiness. Beds had to look as if they had just come out of a fresh mould, while laundry in the lockers was expected to display virtually razor-sharp edges defying all physical laws. At the daily inspection of quarters, a sergeant-major would hold a ruler along the front edge of the folded laundry and if anything was a fraction out of line, the recruit got a roasting; he was lucky if he did not get the contents of his locker tipped onto the floor. Many a time we had murder in our hearts at such seemingly senseless provocation, but nobody ever demurred and expressions of rage were never vented within earshot of our superiors.

However, this seemed to be standard international practice; the higher the level of training, the higher the degree of this form of human torture. It was as if a soldier’s sense of freedom was being systematically eroded so that he would become fatalistic about all suffering and even death.