Armin Scheiderbauer - Adventures in My Youth

No commander was able to hold his unit back any longer. Oberleutnant Mallwitz had suddenly disappeared. I ordered the men from my little staff group, who were still around me, to cross the Ulla somewhere and to assemble on the other side. It was obviously out of the question that we would be able to reach the bridge at Ulla. In the ditch by the side of the road I suddenly found myself alone again with two enemy T-34 tanks driving past me at full speed. Both were loaded up with infantrymen, riding on them. The fantastic situation surprised me so much that I never thought of firing after them. With no cover I just watched the scene. The next rational thought caused me to jump across the road in order to reach the riverbank.

Completely calm again, I looked for a lump of wood in order to make the crossing easier. I found a veritable beam. Then a medic joined me. It was the red-haired Beuleke from my staff. I knew him from the Asorowa cemetery the previous autumn. Beuleke had stripped off down to his vest and underpants and said that he was not a good swimmer. I carried the beam, about the size of a railway sleeper, to the water. Then I told Beuleke to sit down on it, in front of me, and it would carry us both safely. Beuleke clung frantically to the wood. It was better after I had told him to stretch out his arms sideways, flat along the surface of the water. I had sat down on the beam in full uniform behind Beuleke. It sank about half a metre under our weight, so that we were submerged half way up our chests.

The little river was getting on for 20 metres wide and should have been crossed easily and quickly. My hastily conceived plan, however, intended to make use of the current and to go down river. I intended to connect up to a larger group and also to get to the opposite bank. On the right hand bank soldiers of all ranks were discarding their weapons, equipment and clothing. I shouted as loud as I could that they should find themselves lumps of wood. But many had been seized by panic and swimmers and non-swimmers alike were throwing themselves into the river.

Meanwhile, I steered my beam with the help of my hands, taking care that my machine-pistol did not get wet. Before getting on the beam I had tied it round my neck on a quite short strap so that, in spite of our being half submerged, it was protected from the water. As we were moving round a bend of the almost rushing river, bursts of machine-gun fire lashed the surface of the water. I struggled to look round to see if the firing just chanced to hit the river or whether we were observed by the enemy. In moving I unwittingly lost my right rubber boot. It had filled up to the top with water. The water had simply dragged it off. Angrily, I let my left boot follow it. It slid off just as easily.

After a kilometre of that memorable journey on the water I found Major von Garn standing on the left bank putting on his boots. He had swum alone across the river and, careful man that he was, had taken his boots off before doing so. I steered towards him and we climbed on to the bank.

The Divisional history (page 205) records those events as follows:

On 26 July the enemy crossed the Ulla in several places and there rolled up the weakly manned positions from the rear, mostly from two sides. The combat weary troops – they had been in combat without a break since 22 June – had had no sleep and only a little food. They were trying, after their ammunition had run out, to make a fighting withdrawal over the rushing Ulla. Without bridges, without boats, under fire from the enemy the few survivors were trying to reach the opposite bank. Men who could not swim were hanging like grapes on men who could and dragging them down into the depths. Swimmers were pulling wounded men across the river and trying that several times until their strength was exhausted. Watery death reaped a rich but cruel harvest. On the morning of the next day on the road there appeared individual naked men, who were carrying nothing but a weapon. Everything was done to get these men fresh clothes, if only so that they could join in the fighting again.

With Major von Garn, Beuleke and I went to the road leading southwards from Ulla, an unparalleled road of retreat. Beuleke, who the previous year had escaped with me at Asorowa, left us in order somehow to find the baggage-train and to get hold of a uniform again. He was not the only one. Down the road were coming Landsers of all ranks. They were still rushing, many without uniform or only dressed in their underwear, without weapons and without equipment. Running towards them with just bare feet I was almost fully dressed. Von Garn said that the regimental orderly officer, Oberleutnant Kruger, had stretched a cable across the river at the regimental command post, by means of which 15 non-swimmers were able to pull themselves across. Oberfeldwebel Miller, the man in our battalion who held the Knight’s Cross, was a non-swimmer. He said he had got himself across the river in his vest, with his service cap on his head in which he had wrapped his Knight’s Cross. To protect the congested traffic on the bridge, an anti-tank gun had been positioned there. Its clear-headed crew were shooting up, one after the other, the tanks that had broken through.

Still barefooted I supported the Major in assembling the returning men, insofar as they belonged to our units. But a Leutnant from the Panzerjäger , like me without boots, was among them. The hot midday sun soon dried our clothing. The fact that I had no boots and was not responsible for losing them was to me of little consolation. But I had rescued weapons, ammunition, map case, and uniform. I was glad that the Major did not blame me for the loss, but I was tormented by the undignified picture that I presented as a barefoot officer! We quickly gathered together the remnants of Regiment 7. The remnants of my battalion we used for topping-up.

In the small baggage-train at the regimental staff there was so-called ‘light gas clothing’. Other reserves of uniform and footwear were with the baggage-train said to be 80 kilometres behind us. Until the Hauptfeldwebel of the regimental Staff could get hold of a pair of decent boots, perhaps from a wounded man, I had to content myself with the famous Schuhwerk . They consisted of a rigid sole and an asbestos cover coming from the sole and reaching to the knees, normally tied over the boot under the knee. They were never used in the Second World War. With such a temporary arrangement, that did not allow you to walk properly, I began my duties as second orderly officer in the staff of Grenadier Regiment 7. With Oberleutnant Kruger from Berlin-Charlottenburg, the 01 (assistant to the 1st General Staff Officer), I participated in really dangerous tasks that we covered in our motor vehicles along hazardous routes during the coming days.

For the IX Armeekorps , in which the 252nd Infanteriedivision was fighting, the six weeks that followed 22 June developed into a memorable race. It stretched over some 500 kilometres from the area of Vitebsk in a generally westerly direction almost as far as the western border of the Reich in East Prussia. The wedges that the Russians had driven into Army Group Centre to destroy it, caused the Armeekorps to lose its connection with its right hand neighbour. Principally, it caused a gap of varying widths of up to 70 kilometres to open up between the Division and Army Group North, to which a considerable number of the Divisional units had been attached. Under the command of the IX Armeekorps were the remnants of the 252nd Division and of Corps Detachment D. Into them had been gathered remnants of other divisions which themselves had been shattered. Our Division had Regiment 7, the Füsilier battalion, and the remnants of my battalion that had been absorbed into Regiment 7. After the Düna position had been surrendered the regiment had again been under the command of Corps Detachment D. Only on 30 June had it returned to the command of its own Division.