He was a soldier in the world, an unrivaled warrior. He was a fighter, a seasoned pro – and he knew it. He was an elite soldier on the Eastern Front. He knew there and then, in the Ukrainian forest, that he had achieved some of his ambitions regarding the warrior life. He had grasped the basics of the profession and acquired a fund of skills, drills and intuitive abilities that enabled him to grasp the big picture of soldiering, in the process seeking rest in action.
Although he had only been a soldier for a few months, he now felt somewhat at ease. He had graduated as a front-line soldier. He wasn’t a beginner any more. The apprenticeship phase was over. He was a soldier and he grasped the strength of this fact. “Elite Soldier” he thought in the light of the sun filtering through the branches. I have a foundation as a professional.
The war might not be won, he thought. But it’s still going on and the Russians are up and running. And then you have no choice but to continue the fight. He remembered an old Swedish proverb: “If you’ve put Old Nick in the boat you have to row him ashore.” And, Arno thought, as of now I really have nothing against this Journey Through Hell.
He operated, solved tasks. He lived on the edge in order to raise himself mentally. Win or lose, success or failure aside; his goal was to do everything possible to solve the tasks he received as a soldier and a leader. He lived on the edge, he was the edge. As a soldier he was prepared to operate, willing to shape his life with the battle as a tool.
Later that day the orders came to halt. The Company, indeed the whole Battalion, the 50th Regiment and everyone else, would stop the advance. It was Army orders, even Army Group orders. Manstein had said that it was enough. And this Manstein in turn said on the orders of the German leader, Adolf Hitler. It was Hitler who decided to cancel the attack, terminating Operation Zitadelle completely. The whole thing had gone forward too slowly, only wasting resources. Hitler realised that it would never succeed. They would never reach the goal of cutting off the Kursk salient. The Russians in the region were too strong. Also, at the same time, the Allies had landed in Sicily so German reinforcements must be sent to the Italian peninsula.
Zitadelle was cancelled. The Germans retreated in fairly good order, both south and north of the Kursk salient but – in strategic terms – Kursk was a German defeat. In the wake of the Zitadelle debacle the Red Army could go on the offensive across a major part of the Eastern Front.
They started in the south, against AG Süd. Eastern Ukraine and Kiev was cleared by late 1943. In 1944 the rest of Ukraine was retaken. A Communist offensive beyond the borders of the USSR was looming:
Hungary, Romania, Bulgaria, the Balkans. And Poland and Germany.
But we’re getting ahead. Through the rest of 1943 Arno fought in the south, in the AG Süd territory in the Ukraine. In the autumn he was transferred to a unit called Battalion Wolf, to serve there as a platoon leader. He became acting Feldwebel, a non-commissioned officer rank. He hadn’t attended NCO school but what he had learned on the Eastern Front and in his Swedish military service was considered a sufficient basis for allowing him to take this shortcut. Losses had been great in the German Army of late and they needed every leader they could get. So Arno was promoted to Feldwebel and Platoon Leader, commanding 3rd Platoon of 8th Company in Battalion Wolf, part of mechanised Battle Group G.
Arno was a bit surprised at his promotion. But as already seen, he had learned on the job. Leading three squads, how hard can it be? Two in front and one in reserve, a pattern you can use both in attack and defense. Bring the MG’s into action, the solid core of the platoon. This he could manage. He led by instinct and drove on intuition. That plus some common sense, a healthy dose of “memento mori” and some tricks he had seen Tanz employ.
“Being an officer” is a holistic phenomenon, not possible to summarise in a formula. Well, maybe this is the formula: I Am. And, expect your men to manage everything that you yourself are capable of, the gnôthi seautón of leadership. By this time Arno had grasped the big picture of how to lead. So he was suitable for the post of platoon leader.
His arrival at the new unit took place on November 17, 1943. Battalion Wolf by then deployed behind the front in the village Tysjatsaja Stakan, some kilometres west of the Dnieper. With knapsack on his back, helmet on head and MP in slung arms, Arno got there, hitching a lift in an Army truck. He got some food in the company baggage train and then went to the company headquarters, located in a one-story, unpainted log house in the village in question. The village was a collection of houses lined up along a country road crossing a plain. Frozen, snow-free, late autumn fields.
Arno reached the HQ and stepped inside. A corporal led him to the living room. There was a large fireplace with a fire burning, the floor was of rough boards, the windows panes were still intact. At the table in the room sat a slim, fierce, weathered type with narrow eyes, unruly hair and a captain’s insignia on the shoulder straps. Next to him was a shorter, priestly figure with back-combed hair and round glasses.
The Corporal introduced Arno. The Captain stood up. Having shaken hands with Arno the Captain said “Gut” and reviewed our hero. The Captain himself was slightly taller than Arno, though his athletic build was similar. The Captain’s face had a hawk nose and prominent cheekbones, narrow mouth and hard, brown eyes.
He said nothing; he just looked Arno in the eyes. Arno surmised that this was a test to probe him, the newcomer in this elite unit, seeing if the freshman would cast down his eyes.
But this Arno didn’t do. So the Captain stopped glaring and sat down again. He told the Corporal to dismiss and then said, with address Arno:
“I am Captain Wistinghausen. This is Sergeant Pankow. We lead the 8th Company of Battalion Wolf. It’s a Battalion belonging to Panzer Grenadier Kampfgruppe G. An elite unit. As for the Battalion we have three manoeuvre Companies and a Supply Company. We have armoured vehicles. We’re armoured infantry. Panzer Followers. And you Mr. Greif, who are you? What can you do?”
“I can lead men in battle,” Arno said. “I have been in Stalingrad, I was on the retreat from Kharkov, I retook Kharkov. And I was at Kursk.”
“Well, alright,” the Captain said neutrally. “What about the operations of a Rifle Platoon then? What can you contribute as a leader? Just following the book and administering a bunch of men isn’t the thing here. You have to stand on your toes and lead, going Beyond the Beyond. You know that a Platoon is usually led by an officer, a Second Lieutenant or Lieutenant. And you’re only a Feldwebel.”
“I know that,” Arno said. “But I’ll do my best and more. I live for this. I have no family. I mean, I know that family life also has its value. But personally, I’m at home here in the combat zone. I’m where I want to be. And I can lead soldiers. I know what I personally can endure and what I can demand of others.”
“Good,” the Captain said with a hint of a smile. “Maybe we’ll get along.”
Arno received a folder of documents, listing the men he would have under him and what the Squad Leaders were called: Unterfeldwebel Bauer, the top man and his Deputy, plus the Obergefreiters Karnow and Deschner. The two former led rifle squads, the latter the MG squad.