Armin Scheiderbauer - Adventures in My Youth

The units had to dig in just where they were. The battalion command post was in the open behind a small rise in the ground that did not deserve the name of hill. Foxholes were lined with straw. The nights were already cold and we were freezing pitiably. Since 3 October no one had been able to wash. To add to that it began to rain continuously and the tarpaulins, after 24 hours, were almost completely porous. The Russians were preparing a counter-attack. Every hour, low flying aircraft flew over our positions and fired on the roads, luckily mostly behind us. But an unmistakable sign that an attack was being prepared were the shells exploding in the air by means of which the enemy artillery registered their fire.

On 14 October the expected counter-attack took place. There was surprisingly little Russian artillery preparation. Instead, there was a large-scale deployment of aircraft. With machine-guns, cannon and shrapnel bombs, the Ratas and IL 2s attacked everything that they thought to be German positions. Up to 20 aircraft circled in our immediate vicinity. We knew better than to stick our heads out of the ground. Whether casualties were too great or the men had been worn down by the air-raids, in any event they climbed out of their foxholes and came back. As they were struggling to get back to the rear across the wide field, I stood desperately on the battalion’s hill, waited and shouted to them until they had got up to me. But my cries of Stellung , Stellung were in vain. They limped, rushed, and ran on, 50 or 100 metres ahead of the Russians who were charging after them.

Finally I saw that I was alone, facing the brown wave of the attackers. To stay so long had been idiotic, but I had been gripped by resignation. Then, not 40 metres ahead of the Russians, who were moving more slowly, I turned and ran. My map case under my arm, clearly recognisable as an officer, I ran on, weaving, in front of the Russians. I am convinced that the only thing that saved me was that the fact that the Russians were advancing at the run. Some were running ahead and their wave was fairly thick, but none of them wanted to stop and aim at me or the others. I ran and ran and after 200 metres I had reached the retreating line of our men. We reached the firing position of a battery that was ready to fire directly on the Russians. I succeeded in bringing to a halt a handful of men, by which action a small amount of infantry cover would at least remain for the guns.

The enemy infantry assault halted facing the battery position. However, we were exposed there to the latest attacks of the enemy aircraft. In one such attack Walter, my batman, was wounded. He was able to limp and reported to me with tears in his eyes. He asked me to write to him and take him back when he was recovered.

The heavy air raids had continued throughout the entire day. Nevertheless the main line of resistance was stable again and I could go looking for our company. I gave my situation report in at the regimental command post. On the way forwards to the 5th company I had to take cover in a right-angled trench from the attack of a low-flying aircraft. It was only by leaping round the edge of the trench that I was able to avoid an exploding shrapnel bomb, but a tiny fragment of iron caught me on the left hand side. When I mentioned the incident in the course of conversation in the Regimental bunker, the ‘Old Man’ made a snide remark. It simply sounded stupid and hurtful. He was becoming more and more repugnant to me.

The following incident took place in the sector of Regiment 461 and, when things had calmed down, word of it quickly got round. A Russian sergeant had driven forward with the ration vehicle for his company on the road that crossed the lines of both sides exactly at the so-called ‘Close-quarters Corner’ in Budy-Obrebsky. There the trenches were only 30 metres apart. One might have assumed that alertness on both sides, there of all places, should have been greater than usual. But that was not the case. The vehicle passed undisturbed along the road, which was not interrupted by trenches, and drove getting on for two kilometres further into the area behind our lines. Finally the driver became suspicious and turned round. When he had almost reached our most forward line again, he was at last nabbed. The rations, and especially the vodka that he had loaded up for the following attack, were distributed among the regiment.

On 18 October the enemy attacked once again. In one of the repeated air-raids Oberfeldwebel Scheidig, the leader of my runners, was seriously wounded. A hole in his back, the size of a large coin, pointed to considerable internal injuries. Scheidig, a tried and tested combat soldier, had been a platoon leader with the 6th Company and I had brought him in to the Battalion staff so that it might be easier for him. However, things looked bad for him. Scheidig died while he was being transported to the dressing station. Meanwhile the air-raids went on. Every now and then we managed to shoot down an aircraft. Pilots suspended from their parachutes, for the embittered Landsers , became a gruesome form of target practice. Not far from our command post a twin-engined Martin, of American manufacture, had crashed and, unusually, had not exploded on impact.

In the evening we caught scraps of a speech on the radio by Himmler, the Reichsführer of the SS . After the assassination attempt on Hitler on 20 July 1944 he had been appointed Oberbefehlshaber der Reservearmee and also Oberbefehlshaber Heeresgruppe Mitte . For a man who had never been a recruit, never mind an officer it was a memorable career. From the speech I only noted that Volksartilleriekorps were being formed, part of the Volkssturm as the last, ‘secret weapon’.

On 1 September I had written in a letter to Rudi that the sixth year of the war had begun, and that this would certainly be the last. Then, on 20 October, I received a letter from Father, dated 10 October, which read as follows:

At last some news from you in your letters of the 19 and 23 August, which certainly are pretty out of date. On the afternoon of the 1 September we moved out of Cambrai in a rush, and the same evening the British were said to have moved in. After a lengthy odyssey I have ended up here on the left bank of the Rhine – it is called Dormagen. There have been, and still are, many heavy air-raids, but up to now not directly where we are. You asked about the Kriegsverdienstkreuz ; nothing at all is happening on that front, and besides I’ve got other things to worry about. No prospect of leave… I would be very glad to hear from you directly again. Yes, I heard from Mother that recently things seemed to have gone well for you, considering the circumstances. Now a lot seems to have happened again where you are. May God continue to protect you, as he has until now. As for the battle on the ‘home front’ you will hear direct from Mother how things stand. I mean their cruelty in wanting to take away our flat, or rather your rooms. Your Mother is in complete despair. I fear that she is going to be driven into another nervous breakdown, and I can do nothing about it, there is no possibility of getting home. I also don’t know what will happen if we suddenly come home and find that there is no longer room for us in our own house. Well, hopefully God will allow justice and reason to triumph, even at the last minute. My one hope is that soon it will all be over, it can’t go on for much longer. Please write to me really soon, accept my most heartfelt best wishes and be guided by my prayers.

Hope that the war would soon be at an end was something that I did not cherish even in secret. I also did not believe that a single one of my comrades shared it, because the alternative, namely what would become of Germany if the dams of the Eastern Front broke, was plainly unimaginable. In that sense, and not for the sake of Hitler and the Party, we had our duty to do and did it diligently, even if it was soon to be with the last strength we had.