side stitch
slit
earflap
PUMPING IN RESERVES
Pumping in reserves –
Protecting the flank –
Forming a column –
Parrying –
Facing, stopping, turning –
…A THREAT FROM THE LEFT
…a threat from the left, figures on the other side of a boundary. Hit the dirt. Open up and enjoy the MG rattle, bursts of three-four shots.
Once at the enemy’s positions they blasted a bunker, searched the ramparts, grabbed some Pepesjas sub-machine guns and spread to the right and left, rolling up the line. Behind them followed other units. Sunshine, white clouds and bursts of automatic fire. They came out of a thicket, they were searching through a grove, they found a fresh, bubbling spring, they filled their bottles with crystal clear water.
The communication trench ceased, the enemy fled, they continued the pursuit – and on the road through a village they were surprised by an enemy patrol. It came down on the right wing, they called for the MG and it was brought into position –
TAKE A CERTAIN HILL
Take a certain hill, pull the copper securing wire – copper and bronze, sun and steel, sword and shield – send an MG to the wing, equalise the ammunition, hand out dry rations and look towards the horizon. Organise Stosstruppen – Stormtroops infiltrating enemy lines and exploiting the mayhem.
HE FINALLY UNDERSTOOD
He finally understood what it was all about: sunshine and steel, bronze and copper, cordite and lead. Burning villages and burning woods, sun-warm sand and white clouds in the sky – and the sight of flowers on the battlefield, Hadean flowers in the night, illuminated by burning magnesium. Storming distance, B-line, battalion border, forefield, bayonet, 7.92, 88, 75, 37 – bundle charge, MG, assault gun, field kitchen, rifle grenade, smoke grenade, hand grenade, 7.92 mm clip –
THE FLANK
The flank is wide open, enemies seeping in, send a Stosstrupp with an MG –
RIFLE OUT
rifle out
distance
slot
spacing
line abreast
forward grouping
column formation point
copper and lead
sun and steel
20
Senitsova
Date: June 24, 1944. Place: Senitsova, a village in Eastern Poland. Battalion Wolf and its Battle Group were still struggling westward, striving to reach solid German lines. They weren’t there yet.
Losses mounting, they headed for their own territory. On the afternoon of June 24 Arno’s platoon made a short halt at the village of Senitsova, not far from Brest-Litovsk. They had to await the arrival of the rest of the company.
This village was another heap of rubble and ash. Arno stood on the village street and saw a group of soldiers sitting in a ruin playing cards. Other soldiers lay in the shade of some birches. Other men just wandered around, stretching their legs after having sat still in the SPWs for so long.
An MC arrived from the east and stopped at one of the vehicles parked by the roadside. The driver asked where he could find the Battalion Commander, Major Wolf. He was given the info by Bauer and drove on. Arno saw the MC pass over a dead rat, flattened by traffic. Flies buzzed around, thriving on the blackened blood. Arno saw a toxic red cloud in the sky, he heard the hum of planes in the distance. He took a toothpick out of his coat pocket and slipped it into his mouth.
8th Company was mechanised in this operation, with armored vehicles and everything. This it had been since the resupplying in April. There were relatively ample supplies around on the home front. German industrial production was peaking at this time, spitting out goods, despite the 24-hour harassment by enemy bombers. The supplies weren’t inexhaustible but even ordinary infantry units could be upgraded to mechanised status. And already armoured units like Battalion Wolf could still receive replacements for lost vehicles.
The engine noise in the distance was growing stronger. Arno looked up into the sky. Now planes were seen, two single-seat fighter-bomber aircraft making a fly-past, German FW 190s. It was a so-called Rotte, two machines, a formation where one of the aircraft would protect the other, checking the rear. Arno followed them with his eyes, trying to judge how fast they flew. He guessed at 4-500 km /h.
The planes passed. The noise died down. The sky was summery blue with red and cerise clouds in the evening sun.
Arno looked out over the surrounding landscape. Everything was flat. There were no mountains. As a Swede and a Wermlander Arno missed the landscapes with mountains in the distance, constant points of reference for a striving mind. ”There is something beyond the mountains” as Swedish poet Dan Andersson said.
The village was a heap of ruins and burned down timber. The only thing standing upright were the chimneys, white columnar testimonies of mayhem and escaped lares, the house spirits having left the building. ”This is the dead land. This is cactus land,” as Eliot said.
The village: chimneys, foundations with ashes and fragments of walls that cast weird shadows. Along the way stood 251s, trucks and Kübelwagens, parked well aside so that traffic could pass.
Red clouds hung in the sky. In the field sat a wreck of a Russian SB plane, the testimony of a flying army that had taken beatings but had still not given up; indeed, it was now even victorious.
Arno went back to his 251, sat down in its shade and thought: we’re a unit going from point A to point B, from here to eternity.
Arno mustered his will and slowed down his breathing, meditating on the Bhagavad-Gîtâ wisdom which he had acquired when he was young: battle in a state of apateia, fighting competently and indifferently, indifferent to victory and defeat alike. Just fight – devotedly and piously. The rest will follow.
Eventually the “forward” order was given and the motorcade got rolling again. Riding in his 251, looking up at the starry sky, Arno thought:
- I am the edge.
- I am who I am: Ego sum qui sum.
- My creed: The Spirit.
- My philosophy: I’m Energy.
- Life is an operation: in war and peace, I live my life operationally.
Eventually the company was assembled again, indeed, the whole battalion came together for the continued march to the west. It was a motor march, with 251s, Kübelwagens, tanks, trucks and motorcycles. The constant drone of the engine on somewhat better roads had a soporific effect on our hero – so he put the StG in his lap, pulled his cap down over his face and let himself be lulled to sleep.
Battalion Wolf, fully motorized, drove from point A to point B. It was straining engines and grey-green armour, gasoline splashing in the tanks and a purposeful march towards the west, towards their own units to organise a new line of defence. They were prepared to fight another day, even though the Belarusian front had been torn up.
Motor march: caterpillar tracks against the hard-packed earth, singing valves and golden sun. Blowing dust, burning throats, and a constantly fleeing horizon. Checking the map, reorientation, running first one way and then another, then taking the wrong road. Turning around again, being fed in the middle of the night in clouds of diesel fumes – people moving to and fro, the moon spreading a ghostly glow, the sound of bombers in the distance.
21
Late Summer 1944
Despite the apparent chaos, the battle of June 21 to the 25th went quite well for Battalion Wolf. The gist of this retrograde movement was that they made it out of the encirclement. In the storm that was Operation Bagration, Battalion Wolf avoided being encircled and annihilated.