Armin Scheiderbauer - Adventures in My Youth

Meanwhile, it had become known that we were in a pocket of huge proportions. The Russians in Pomerania had reached the sea. So we would see whether the troops, encircled and cut off, were still capable of breaking through to the West. This was what many hoped. Others feared that Danzig would be declared a Festung . As such it would have to be defended, as usual, ‘to the last drop of blood’. The fighters wore grey, not brown, tunics. The pause for breath granted us by the enemy seemed to be ending. The Russians again began firing registration fire. Streets, embankment and houses were under not very heavy, but regular, fire from heavy weapons.

As I was standing outside the door of the house, a Ratschbum shell hit the lintel. Apart from a tiny splinter that hit me in the mouth, nothing else happened. But it was puzzling where the shell had come from. The house was covered by the embankment in such a way that it could not be hit by direct fire. So the firing must be coming not from the bank immediately opposite, but from further up or down river. That too seemed to indicate that the Russians were up to something in our sector. In fact, during the night of 29 January the enemy had crossed the Vistula in the sector of our neighbouring battalion in Deutsch-Westfalen. They were then in the village with at least one company. Reserves, which could still have thrown them out again during the night, were of course not available.

The Division decided to take our battalion out of the line. Then, next day, it would be possible to carry out a local attack, with the aim of driving the enemy back on to the right hand bank of the Vistula. A meeting and the issue of orders took place in the regimental command post in the Schwenten forester’s house. A crowd of senior people was present, as befitted the occasion. Vater Dorn outlined what he described as a ‘shitty’ situation. That was to be expected from the conditions of the terrain. Since the plain in the glacial valley of the Vistula offered no cover, consideration had only been given to an attack from the north and south, along the street, moving from house to house. Two assault units were to work their way forward through the bushes on the bank on the far side, that is the enemy side, of the embankment directly on the riverbank. I was ordered to take command of the group advancing from the south. So this was the Himmelfahrts - Kommando , that, evidently, I was not to escape (translator’s note: Himmelfahrt in German means ‘Ascension’ in the sense of Christ’s ascension into heaven. Its ironic use here is echoed by the term Himmelfahrts-Strasse [‘Ascension Street’] used in Auschwitz for the road leading to the gas chambers.) I said Jawohl and did not show any fear.

As we were taking our leave, I thought that I could sense different looks and different handshakes from usual. I could feel that none of them wanted to be in my shoes and were happy that the lot had not fallen to them. The esteem of the artillery commander, the visible respect of the Panzerjäger officer and the fatherly kindness of Oberst Dorn made me inwardly happy. Then I was truly glad about Freimuth Husenett. In the meantime he had relieved Klaus Nicolai as Regimental Adjutant. At 22 he was only one year older than I. He wore the Knight’s Cross and the Goldene Nahkampfspange , was clean, modest and cheerful. In his soft voice, in a heartfelt and brotherly way, he said, ‘Look after yourself’.

How seriously and importantly the operation was regarded by those higher up was indicated by the fact that the battalion was to spend the night in peace in Schloss Sartowitz. Sartowitz, some five kilometres behind the frontline, was a trim manor house in the German Ostland . The great house was situated in a select spot high over the Vistula valley, on what was once the bank of the glacial valley. The view from the terrace offered a tormentingly beautiful picture across the ice-covered river. There were little villages in the foreground and out to the horizon, was the town of Graudenz, embedded into the fortress above it. But because the great house could be observed by the enemy, and there had been instances of shells hitting the house, for the sake of peace and quiet we preferred the gentleman’s residence. It was in a deeper location than the main house and was covered by the trees of the park. In some of its 99 rooms we settled ourselves down.

Before we all went to sleep I gave precise instructions to the NCOs. Then I had to tell the men what awaited them the next day. However, I had to give them confidence. That had never been harder for me to do than it was then. I could not conceal from them the fact that there was only a slim prospect of our survival. But, I said that they should nevertheless reflect that we were always, every one of us, in the hands of God. He would be with us every day, as always. Therefore He would be with us ‘tomorrow’. Nothing would happen to us without His willing it, I said. God was ‘with us’, as it said on the belt buckles we wore next to our bodies.

At 3am, after I had lain for four hours in the deepest sleep, I was woken up. It was a battalion runner. Drowsy with sleep, I tripped over my boots. We had been permitted to allow ourselves the luxury of sleeping in the beds with our boots off. What was the matter, I asked Hauptmann Wild. He looked at me and said quietly: ‘Don’t worry, it’s been called off, we’re going on with the retreat’.

The enemy had extended their bridgehead and the village of Schwenten had been lost. Our battalion had to retake it. The first target of the attack was a four-sided complex of farm buildings. It was a commanding position on a hill to the south-west of the village, surrounded by woodland 100 metres away from it. Two assault guns were coming up to our support. With my company of only 20 men I had to attack at a right angle to the other battalion. The assault guns remained with them. I had to push forward and draw the attention of the enemy on to me. The battalion with the assault guns would then advance.

The enemy had seen the movement associated with our preparations and let us know of it with fire from an anti-tank gun in the farmyard. The shells exploded on the trees over our heads. But the oaks and beeches were strong and gave us some protection. Our attack began after several salvoes from our artillery and mortars. We came out of the protection of the woodland and immediately came under fire from the anti-tank guns. We went to ground, but the assault guns could be heard. There was consternation among the gun crew who could be clearly seen in the corner of the farmyard. I leapt up and cried Hurra ! Hurra !

Once we were on the go I did not need to give any more orders. The men were behind me. Walter overtook me because he wanted to be first in the position. The Russians too, perhaps a platoon of them, were running away on the other side of the farm and the anti-tank gun was standing there abandoned. We charged after them and into the farmyard. There were no longer any Russians. Only the gun, the limber and two pathetic Russian horses remained behind. In the limber box the men discovered what the Russians had plundered, namely a whole pile of quarter-kilo pieces of German dairy butter.

As I came out of the farm gate I saw the battalion advancing with the two assault guns. I waved to the approaching platoon and turned round towards the enemy. Some of the men had already turned towards the valley in which the roadside village of Schwenten lay. Along the village street, fleeing in confusion, were a good two companies of Russians. They doubtless felt that they were threatened from the flank. ‘Off, down, in there’, I shouted and once again the Hurra ! rang out from the few of us. The enemy, far superior in number, were running away.