25
Hungary
We have already learned that the Russian wait on the Vistula lasted for six months. But on the southern wing of the Eastern Front, things moved on apace. In August 1944, the Russians took Romania. Romania surrendered and became an ally of the Soviet Union. The same happened to Bulgaria and Yugoslavia.
Then there was Hungary. On February 13 1945 Budapest fell to the Red Army. But Hitler was hell-bent on retaking Hungary, and especially its capital. The ensuing operation would be called Frühlingserwachen, that is, an awakening in spring. One of the staging areas would be the Hungarian town of Komorn, 64 km west of Budapest. The force that would carry out the main attack was called 6th Panzer Armee. 1st SS Panzer Division Leibstandarte Adolf Hitler would be in the lead. The Division was divided into two Kampfgruppe, the one with the Panzer Battalions, led by Standartenführer Jochen Peiper and the one with the Panzer Grenadier Battalions led by Obersturmbannführer Peter Hansen. The force would advance east from Komorn, reach the Donau and then head north for Budapest.
That was the core of it, but the plan had other elements too. For instance, a supporting attack would be made by the unit that now included Battalion Wolf. It was called Battle Group M, shortened to BGM. Three manoeuvre battalions, a battery of 10.5s, an HQ and a supply company made up the operational strength of BGM. Armoured vehicles there were none; this was a regular infantry unit with soldiers marching by foot. However, a transportation company with trucks was available for some troop movements.
It was February 21, 1945. Battalion Wolf was deployed in the country south of a city located northwest of Budapest, somewhat south of the Danube. The battalion and the whole of BGM would make a supporting attack in Operation Spring Awakening, the liberation of Budapest. From the west the Peiper and Hansen Battle Groups would forge ahead. From the north BGM would attack through the Woxa Forest and clean it up. Having reached open land, the famed Puszta in the form of the village Kerenyi, it would then connect with Peiper and the units advancing from the west.
But before it all started, Battalion Wolf had to know exactly where the front ran in its section. So, Arno on this day, February 21, was sent out to scout. Where was the enemy’s main line of resistance? This was the recon question he got. Arno by now had been returned to the ranks without much ado. He had asked permission to come back and he got it. He regained command of 3rd platoon which had been led by Sergeant Bauer in his absence.
The recon patrol adventure began with Arno being ordered by Captain Wistinghausen to go out and scout, go a certain way and see if there were enemies, check where the front actually went and what Ivan had there. It was some way off, so they would have to spend the night out on the trail itself, then return and report.
Arno gave careful thought to the task. As a seasoned infantryman he embraced the predator mindset, that of not going twice along the same path; rather, the patrol would take a circular route, never retracing its steps. This reduced the risk of hostile ambush.
The patrol personnel were selected, seven men in all, including Arno. His team was Weissbart, the new Leader of 2nd Squad, plus Bauer, head of 1st Squad. The MG head Lenz was sick in dysentery, in the care of the Battalion Medical Station. The rank and file of the patrol were Ilo, Henko, Huber and Modrow. The last two were relative newcomers, having been around since Warsaw. Arno saw patrol operations as a school. Everyone would sooner or later go out on patrol, this was his motto. And incidentally, to stay behind in the bivouac was as dangerous as venturing out into the unknown. You could be hit by harassing artillery fire as you slept, you could be hit by a sniper’s bullet on the way to the latrine, and so on.
The patrol was prepared. Orders, procedures, kit check, and then they slept on it. Then it was D-Day, February 22, 1945. Arno woke up in the cottage which was his quarters. It was early dawn. He went out onto the typically Hungarian pillared porch on the south side of the building, took a deep breath and said to himself: “The battle is won in the heart, in the inner mind.” They had a light breakfast and gathered under a pine tree. Arno looked at his men, motioned them to crouch as he did, and drew a rough map in a sandy patch:
“We will scout over Village 103 towards Logging 544 and possibly beyond. Check for enemy positions in the village and in the felling area. Scouting is our job; we’re going out to find out where their front line is, not to fight the bastards. At least not primarily. It’s a long way to patrol so we’ll spend the night in the open. You all have your ponchos, I hope.”
Everyone nodded. “Poncho” was a cotton duck tarpaulin which could be used both as a personal rain cover and, joined with another, as a small two-man bivvy.
“We find where the front goes,” Arno continued, “then we return here, but by a different path from the one we take on the way out.”
The men had questions. All doubts were clarified and extra ammo and supplies were distributed. For explosives, they had smoke flares and hand grenades. They were dressed in the usual grey-green cloth uniform tunics and white snow jackets. Generally used by now, even by Arno, were boots with canvas gaiters. The classic German Army jackboots, the ones with the high boot-shafts, were too expensive to produce in what was now a desperate war. The personal weapon was the StG 44. No MG was taken along.
Arno gave the order to march out, himself taking point, with Weissbart as tail-end Charlie. They filed quietly out into the wilds, into God’s boundless realm. It was minus five degrees, the sun in a wintry blue sky. There was snow pretty much everywhere, even in the wood, but the layer wasn’t so thick; no skis or snowshoes were needed. They went with their senses on edge, despite still being behind their own lines. They passed the front under the watchful eyes of a German sentinel, broke out into No Man’s Land and moved cautiously but quickly along the edge of a field. The primary goal was Village 103, a gathering of farmhouses and outbuildings some distance away. Arno knew how to get there, he needed no compass, the map was enough. He was born with a good sense of direction, having what Swedes call lokalsinne, the ability to find your way instinctively. “Some guys got it, some guys aint.”
A fresh scent permeated the forest: winter snow, earth acids and spring on the way. Clouds appeared, grey, broken clouds gliding past in a sky that wasn’t blue anymore. They went through a copse of conifers. Arno looked at them and thought: the fir trees are green. However, in this overcast light, they’re almost black. The snow is lithographing the spruces, pulls a white surface on the outermost branches. How nice: black spruce with white lithography, almost like back home in Sweden, like the Wermland woods of my childhood.
They passed a frozen creek and a burned down house. Only the chimney structure stood upright. Then they passed a field of thistles, the blackened remnants of the plants sticking up through the snow. The patrol passed the outskirts of a garden with leafless apple trees. This was part of Village 103.
Suddenly, Arno smelt cigarette smoke, Russian variety. It was the smell of burnt mahorka, so-called peasant tobacco or black tobacco. Anyone who has been in Russia knows this tobacco, rather bitter but having its peculiar charm. Arno turned and checked if any of his men were smoking but this wasn’t the case. Just as well, he thought, because anyone that careless would’ve got a right rollicking. So the cigarette smoke could only mean one thing: enemies nearby.