Armin Scheiderbauer - Adventures in My Youth

Night passed and gave way to morning. The enemy, it was said, were preparing to attack. From my ‘coffin’ I watched uneasily as, to the right of the sector of the 7th Company, 300m to 400m away, individual brown figures, at intervals of a minute or so, were jumping across a small clearing between covering undergrowth. To judge from the direction in which they were moving, they were evidently trying to get into the tongue of woodland lying to the battalion’s rear. The Russians were demonstrating their well-tried tactic of ‘trickling through’. You could work out how long it would take a company or still larger units to have gathered in the wood behind us. Those movements had been reported to the battalion.

Then the orders I had expected reached me. With my section, I had to take up position at the extreme wing of the 7th Company, facing west, in thick woodland. There was virtually no field of fire. In places it was only five to ten metres. On the left I was beside the section led by Kräkler, our old block senior. On the right there were no neighbours at all. When Kräkler and I saw each other neither of us thought of our time together being polished up into soldiers. It is true, it was a time that had not been as much an effort for him as it had for me. We just shook hands and said, as if with one voice, ‘Eh, lad, what a bloody mess!’

Once again it was the old story of digging holes. After we had finished it began to rain. Thin, continuous streams of rain trickled down from the sky. Sooner or later it would have soaked us to the skin. Of the enemy there was nothing more to be heard. We could only suspect that they must be somewhere ‘in front’ of us in the wood, in considerable numbers. Wrapped in branches and tarpaulins we tried to protect ourselves from the penetrating rain that fell even more heavily. Soon water began to gather in the foxholes. Hours passed. Still there was no end to the rain. The sound of the rain and the wind, and the darkness of night as it began to fall, could almost make us forget that we were on the front line and had to watch out for an enemy. After I had assigned the watch I tried, as I sat on the hollow side of my Stahlhelm in the puddles in my foxhole, to find some degree of comfort.

I was shaken out of my chilly doze when the order came to take two men on a reconnaissance patrol in the wood. I had to find where the Russians were. It seemed pointless to me. The rain was getting even heavier. There was complete darkness. It was already midnight. I considered the task to be well-nigh impossible. I would either find out nothing at all or possibly run right through the foxholes that the Russians had dug for themselves. I could lose my way, despite the compass, or even fall into a Russian foxhole unawares. In any of those cases the reconnaissance I was ordered to carry out would show no satisfactory result. I chose two volunteers and we set off. It was so dark that from time to time each of us had to keep hold of the other so as not to get separated. Again and again we would stop, and crouch down to listen. The darkness of the wood and the crackling rain did not allow us to hear or to see anything. With my machine-pistol cocked I felt my way, and crept forwards, my finger on the trigger, always expecting to be fired on suddenly out of the darkness, or to bump into a Russian, or at least a tree.

Then, in a clearing, the existence of which was more to be sensed than seen, there was a sound that did not fit in with the ‘symphony’ of the storm. We dropped straight to the ground and saw a section of Russians, six or eight men, cross the clearing. I saw their silhouettes, the contours of the plain, old-style Russian helmets outlined against the sky. They came quite close to us, went past, and were swallowed up in the darkness. My two men, experienced Obergefreiters, did not think of giving themselves away. As for me, however, my heart stood still. I held my breath and pressed the trigger. The bolt of the machine-pistol shot forward with a crack, but no shot was fired. There was a blockage. Despite that mishap, nothing happened. In the wind and rain the Russians had heard nothing! We turned round and, with the help of the compass, searching and feeling our way, we reached our positions. I reported our observations.

At about 1.30am on 15 August 1942, the kitchen arrived after almost two days. It brought cold bean soup that had gone sour. Even so it was gulped down ravenously. In the foxhole, under the dripping tarpaulin, I dismantled the machine-pistol by the light of a tallow candle, and cleaned it with clammy, wet fingers. Sand and water had caused the blockage during the reconnaissance patrol.

In the open country it should have become light soon after midnight, but in the wood nothing could be seen of the dawning day. Only towards 3am did the coming day show itself. At the same time men’s voices could be heard from the direction of the enemy. They indicated that the enemy were pushing forward. By means of loud shouts the Russians ensured that they kept together. They came nearer and nearer. We had to let them approach to within 10m of us because we could not see them sooner. Once again I went from foxhole to foxhole and gave instructions, especially to the leading machine-gunner. Both he and I were facing our first real battle. The young Pomeranian had arrived a few days before with the replacements. It was the first time since the beginning of the Russian campaign that, for the Silesian regiment, the replacements did not come from Silesia. The Russian voices became louder. There was the crack of branches. They must already have come to within fifty metres of us. Meanwhile, we stood in our foxholes, and stared into the undergrowth out of which they had to appear.

There they were – at last! The place was heaving with brown figures! The wood seemed to be spitting them out. To judge by the direction of their bodies and their eyes, they intended to push by obliquely on the right. We fired on them from the flank. The machine-gunner was scattering the first bursts of fire from his weapon. In what direction was he firing? He didn’t seem to be hitting anything, because I saw no Russians falling. But he had to be hitting them, they were no more than ten paces away! This time my machine-pistol did not misfire. But I caught myself not aiming at all. I was simply pointing the gun and pulling the trigger, but I was firing too high. I pointed lower.

Out of the cluster of brown figures into which the machine-gun was spraying its bullets, a tall young Russian came forward and flung an ‘egg’ hand-grenade at the machine-gunner. The latter was still trying to get out and change position with the machine-gun, while I gave him covering fire. Then the grenade exploded and the poor young lad collapsed, half out of his cover, across his machine-gun. The men from my section had withdrawn. I had lost contact with them. I was standing alone, when a hand-grenade rolled up at my feet. Darting from side to side, I jumped back. There was nothing else I could do. I had to leave the dead machine-gunner and his weapon where they lay.

Quite some time later, the section was ordered back by the battalion. I reported again to the company commander, who was glad that we had been able to withdraw. He was holding the section in reserve at the command post. We took up our ‘coffin’ holes from the previous night and hurriedly made them deeper. Things did not remain quiet for long. The pressure on the 5th and 6th companies was even greater. One infantry attack had already been beaten off. During the next few hours it was announced that we were getting air support, and the order was given to lay out the aerial recognition cloths. Ground troops carried those cloths with them so as to identify themselves at any given time to their own air force. They were about one square metre in size, either orange-coloured cloths, or swastika flags. They were to be spread out on the ground, on buildings, or on vehicles. The loud sound of engines announced the arrival of the aircraft. The approaching aeroplanes gave us cause for hope.