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.
Despite the extremely serious situation a feeling of strength overcame me, because up to then we had seen nothing of the Russian air force. First a flight of Stukas, Ju (Junkers) 87s, flew in. Almost vertically they dived down with their engines screaming. The detonations of the bombs followed. Then, a squadron of Ju 88s also attacked, and, finally He (Heinkel) 111 bombers. Unfortunately, ahead of the 5th Company sector they had dropped their bombs too short. There were dead and wounded. Among them was the excellent company commander, Oberleutnant Esken. Not long after that short pause there suddenly rang out shouts of ‘Tanks, tanks!’ and for the first time in my life, I heard the characteristic dull rumble, that unforgettable grinding noise of heavy tank engines.
A scout car was the first to drive from the left through our lines. Unconcerned, he rattled on up the Saawinki-Upolosy road. When he got as far as the battalion command post, he was polished off with one shot from a 5cm anti-tank gun. From my inactivity in the reserve, I was able to watch from the command post how the gunners let him approach and then, from 30m range, let him have it so that he lurched to a halt. With his hands in the air, a barefoot Russian, smeared with blood and oil, crept out.
Our company commander told us a few days later that the prisoner said the Russians deployed entire families as tank crews. ‘The husband was the driver, the wife aimed and fired the gun, and the adolescent son loaded the gun’. You could well believe it. From the tongue of woodland where the 7th Company and my section had been, shortly after the scout car had been destroyed, a single Russian ran out with loud cries. He shouted in a hoarse voice, Kamerad, Kamerad. As if he himself wanted to desert to us, or wanted us to desert to his side, he held up one hand, gesticulating. But suddenly the older man pulled a hand-grenade from his pocket, pulled out the pin and held the grenade in the air. It exploded and mangled his hand. Thereupon he ran back into the woodland, wailing loudly. What he wanted remained a mystery to all of us.
The Russians again mounted a frontal attack on the main fighting line with tanks and infantry. The tanks fired with their cannon and machine-guns while we were under heavy mortar fire. In front they were shouting Urraih, and were already breaking through. A runner came under the heaviest covering fire and reported what we had realised without him telling us, that the main fighting line could not be held. Oberleutnant Bayer, the commander, without waiting for orders from the battalion, decided to withdraw some hundred metres. On his order the entire company ran across the short stretch of level ground. When they had reached the level of the command post, he, too, ran back and I with him. The Oberleutnant, in a bleached summer tunic with a yellow-brown belt, knew that he presented a particularly good target to the enemy. He sprinted like a runner in a race and had overtaken the company in no time.
Behind us, the tanks rattled up, firing with everything they had, while our men ran back in front of them. Where were the anti-tank guns? At the edge of a small hollow, in which the company was then to take up position, the battalion commander Kelhauer stood erect, unmoving, and without cover. Only his moist eyes gave any sign of how moved he was, and then the words: ‘Bayer, lad, you can’t just bolt with the lads!’ From his words there spoke the complete shock that German infantrymen had given up a position without higher orders and had given way to enemy pressure. The fact that it had happened in the form of a completely orderly withdrawal, and the men had immediately taken up positions again, altered nothing of that inconceivable fact. Hitherto, there had never been such an event in the regiment’s history. In December, facing Moscow, they had had to withdraw. But that was following orders. Even so, the tears had run down Oberst Boege’s frozen cheeks, as those who were there tell with awe.