He motioned the men into a skirmish line and they leopard crawled forward through tall, tussocky grass until they reached a spruce hedge. Arno raised himself up and gently pushed branches aside so he could peer through. On the road, 150 metres away, stood three T-34s and three crewmen. The vehicle commanders were holding a consultation. All smoked. All wore tank helmets and brown overalls.
Arno shrank noiselessly back to his side of the spruce hedge. As well as the Russians he had seen a cottage with outbuildings. White fields spread out against a dark forest edge some distance away. Above them the sky arched shiny white. What a day, Arno thought, what a joy to be alive. A day to say to yourself, “I Am”.
They had to let the tanks be, because the patrol carried no anti-tank weapon. Of course they could have taken them along; the new, easily portable Panzerfaust only weighed just over 6 kg. But this was a reconnaissance patrol, not a combat squad. Of course, they could still mow down the three tank commanders, distance 150…? But the tanks had crews inside as well. And again, Arno’s men were not to disclose themselves, they were there just to scout, so Arno instead took a piece of paper and wrote: “Three T-34s in Village 103,” added the time, gestured Modrow over, gave the note to him and whispered that he should take it to Company HQ. Modrow nodded and crawled away through the dead grass in the orchard, back towards the spruce forest.
Having reported the location of the tanks the patrol swung wide past the village and went on, destination Felling Area 544. They went over moorland and through a big spruce wood, but still hadn’t reached the big clearing marked on the map by the time night fell and they had to camp. The place they picked had a number of cut poles and the brash from felled trees lying handy, so Arno ordered the men to use these to construct a makeshift dwelling with a one-metre high entrance and a sloping ceiling made of ponchos and fir branches for camouflage. The floor was also covered by fir branches, soft and relatively warm with all the needles forming a barrier to the frozen ground.
They had to keep quiet. No talking, no coughing, and they couldn’t risk making a fire. But they had assorted canned food they could heat on their army issue ranger stoves, powered by hexamine tablets, their meal consisting of sausage casserole, synthetic fruit juice and hardtack.
Arno drew up a sentry list. Night brought a shining full moon, illuminating the land like burning magnesium. Guard duty was two-hour shifts in a hidden pit overlooking the wooded surroundings. Those who didn’t stand guard could sleep, as best they could. The proximity of the other soldiers in the cramped shelter gave some warmth. And they had their heavy woolen winter coats as cover, the men, in ranger fashion, sleeping fully dressed.
The next day they walked on. Leading small units is a peculiar art form. You have to have virtual telepathic rapport with the men, have to know where they are without even looking. As a chief you have to project your will onto the unit. You can’t always make yourself understood with orders, you have to project your personality on the team, have them act in the spirit you represent, have them live the philosophy you vindicate.
And Arno’s philosophy was “going out there to die.” When you’re in the combat zone, be prepared to die. Then you’re on tenterhooks, then you work at a higher mental level. With or without words Arno had his men act in this spirit of bushido.
Eventually they reached the logging area. They spotted three deer grazing near a big pile of logs. He raised his hand slowly. The soldiers stopped. They would have to wait until the beasts moved on, because to startle them and make them bolt could alert a Russian sentry if any were nearby as half expected.
The deer were startled, but not by them; a whizzing sound was heard above. It was a reconnaissance aircraft flying low, a Russian SB-2. No one had time to hit the dirt. Everyone stood stock-still instead. Had they been spotted? Probably not. A pilot in a plane has some difficulty in distinguishing soldiers on the ground. A man, even one standing out in a clearing, is difficult to distinguish from a tree.
The plane passed. They moved on. Alternately advancing and giving support, they made their way across the snow-covered surface, using every scrap of cover and seeking the protection of the terrain.
Coming out in a meadow they made their way along a row of poplars. They pushed on into another logging area and, without any warning, suddenly found themselves under artillery fire, with a salvo of shells tearing up the ground uncomfortably close, then another closer still. They hit the deck and rolled and crawled to what cover they could, all six: Arno, Bauer, Weissbart, Ilo, Henko and Huber.
While lying in the barrage Arno thought: “We’re being fired at. We’ve been sighted by an artillery observer and now we’re under well-directed artillery fire. This means that the enemy has a strongpoint here. Now we know where Ivan’s front runs. All we’ve got to do now is get the hell out and get back to report at HQ.”
The firing was almost on top of them, although fortunately the shells were falling slightly short. In a brief pause, Arno saw that things were going from bad to worse – an enemy patrol had been sent out against them on the right flank. The Russians ventured out from a forest edge and touched down on their flank. At least that meant the shelling stopped. Arno’s men were going to get trapped and captured out in the field. Or were they? They could sneak out to the left, Arno thought. Said and done. He ordered Bauer to lead half the unit off along a ditch.
Weissbart and Arno plus Huber were left as a rearguard. After some minutes Weissbart threw a smoke grenade under cover of which the three could sneak out of the trap, covered by Bauer’s team as they darted between log piles.
Eventually they reached the cover of some serious trees, but bullets from the pursuing Russians still cracked overhead. Then Ilo threw a hand grenade at the Russians. This slowed them down briefly. Ilo was an expert thrower, being capable of 100 m throws.
Ilo was given more grenades and these too had their effect but soon the chase was on again. Arno’s men managed, however, to clear the crest of a hill and, about 30 metres further on, Arno breathlessly ordered them to dive into ambush positions. It was a desperate gamble, but the Russians were over-confident or badly led and they dashed straight into it. The lead squad was cut to ribbons; the others went to ground just back beyond the ridge. One last hand grenade made the Russians lose the desire to pursue them further.
The grey sky looked indifferently down on Arno’s patrol. They sauntered homewards. But before they made it, Huber stood on a mine. It was an anti-personnel mine, a blast mine. He was seriously wounded in the foot. Weissbart tied his leg with a string, stopping the bleeding. This saved Huber’s life, but he had to be carried. They took turns.
They carried Huber on a stretcher made of poles and ponchos. They went through the same forest they had gone out through but along a somewhat different way. It was, as already mentioned, the infantry patrol creed, never taking the same way twice. Do as the tiger: always take a new path, wherever you go.
Before they arrived at their own lines they met a Russian T-34, out on a solitary mission to do devilry, an armoured patrol of the kind the Russians were fond of. It was a hostile tank out in the open, a patrolling T-34 tasked with finding out where the German front ran – same job as theirs. Specifically, it was one of the three tanks they had seen in the village the day before.
Would they be discovered by the vehicle? The first generation T-34 had poor 360-degree visibility for the vehicle commander. But this newer model had sight prisms in the dome and they worked all too well. The tank halted and turned its turret against them; the men threw themselves into cover and then rolled away some more. He might have seen where they went to ground, but that didn’t mean you had to stay there. Arno couldn’t help but look up and watch as the steel monster fired a projectile at them. There was a muzzle flame; next, you could see the propellant gas emanating from the barrel and the tank lurching backwards with the recoil.