With daybreak, which came late, the first fighter-bombers appeared and attacked the port, and we said goodbye against the roar of explosions and the barking of flak. We resumed our march toward Gotenhafen, sharing the road with an unbroken column of civilians, who were all moving west, as Danzig could no longer be considered safe. Others were moving north, following the coast to Hela, a port opposite Gotenhafen, which was used almost as heavily as Danzig.
Gotenhafen, about a month before its destruction, was a collection point for wounded men, who were then sent on to villages and hamlets inland. Others passed through it, to continue on the next lap of their miserable route, as always or foot. Hela was the next stop, some thirty miles beyond Gotenhafen.
We questioned the groups of soldiers we met along the way. No one knew anything or had seen any trace of our unit. Someone suggested the assembly center, but when we got there we hesitated to ask any questions of the harried officials, who had been overtaken by the course of events. A rumor was circulating through the throng of refugees: a large ship had been sunk a few days earlier, almost certainly after a torpedo attack. It had been crammed with refugees, relieved to be escaping to a region of greater security. It was easy to imagine the horror of the scene, in the black and icy night.
The news of this disaster had been officially withheld, but had nonetheless penetrated to the anxious mob, for whom the sea route was the last hope of escape. The ship in question was thought to be the Wilhelm-Gustlojff.
We had still been unable to obtain any information about our unit. Finally, we were reincorporated in a defense battalion which, with civilian aid, was constructing a line of defense to the west of Zoppot.
We dug in, some twenty miles inland. I had no idea where the enemy was, but it seemed to me that the positions we were organizing faced the wrong way. The anti-tank and anti-aircraft guns pointed west and southwest — the only directions in which retreat was possible. I couldn’t understand it — but that made no difference! It wasn’t the first time, and others were undoubtedly thinking for us.
Aside from the problem of civilian refugees, overflowing from every farmhouse and outbuilding, life was much easier here. The Prussian farmers continued to function with order and discipline, despite the anxiety which visibly marked their faces. The future looked dark, and the miracle which yesterday might have saved them now seemed much less possible. Despite orders to avoid despair and panic, and despite an effort to continue life as usual in the rush of the exodus, these people were quietly and surreptitiously beginning to liquidate their stocks, rather than lose them to the enemy. Many cattle were slaughtered for food, which later proved to have been wisely done. A short time after that, cattle were collapsing and dying by the hundreds on the frozen soil.
Despite the hard work, and the endless watches and patrols, we regained some of our strength on a diet which was no longer tightly rationed. Meat had the greatest effect on our physical wretchedness, and we absorbed it, as the war absorbed everything, with maximum determination.
Grandsk had returned to his old job. With the help of civilian volunteers, he set up a huge kitchen in an open shed. Two trucks shuttled between Zoppot, Gotenhafen, and Danzig. Ammunition for the front was organized here, and transported in small loads. With the exception of a few air raids, life went on in a state of striking calm, which seemed incompatible with the gravity of the hour, toward the end of the war, in the beginning of 1945. Even the cold had lessened, and we no longer dared look at the sky, which brought us such indecent clemency. We spent long hours engaged in activities created by the necessities of the times, but which nonetheless seemed to us like a diversion.
Then one day toward the end of February an organization which we thought no longer existed invited us back to Gotenhafen. Our Gross Deutschland group had collected a few fragments which were to be embarked for the West. Everything seemed to be improving. We separated ourselves from the battalion which had utilized our service, and said goodbye to the comrades we had made. Grandsk left the kitchen he had organized so efficiently, with regret. This break, however, saved us from the horrible ordeal in which that battalion was practically destroyed. Heaven, which had so often overwhelmed us, spared us this time.
Russian tanks moved in from the west, and a storm of fire of unequaled violence broke over the positions we had so judiciously arranged. Our men took the first blow, but were soon swept aside. The Russians suffered frightful losses, but as we had learned, this made little difference to them.
From Gotenhafen, where we were waiting for orders, the roar of the war rang louder than ever. Russian infiltration had penetrated to within six miles of the city, and our retreating troops were engaged in fierce fighting. Through the rain of shells which cut them down, the fleeing civilians entrenched in the countryside moved back toward town. Large German battleships were firing from the sea at advanced Soviet positions. The ground trembled and shook, and any window panes still in place fell out.
We were trying to impose some sort of order on the swarm of terrified civilians who wished to embark for Hela. Retreating troops were also arriving in the city, which indicated that we could no longer count on our barrage. The town was gripped once again by frantic panic, and the civilians making their way to the port completed the paralysis of the order which had been maintained until then only with the greatest of difficulty. Although we all had evacuation papers, we were rounded up once again and sent to Zoppot to fill a gap in the line.
We left Gotenhafen, where despair had assumed a pitch of delirious intensity. With dry mouths and rage in our hearts, we climbed into the civilian cars which were to take us to our new Golgotha. Through the windows, which we kept shut against the cold, we watched the sky, where flights of fighter-bombers buzzed like enraged wasps.
At Brössel, we left our cars to plunge directly into the rubble. The town rang to the sounds of an exploding universe. The Russians were attacking everything that moved with rockets and bombs, and their planes came over so low we could almost see the grins on the pilots’ faces. When they had gone, we moved back to our rickety cars, and started off again, through the flying dust. The road was strewn with rubble, and several times we had to dig our way through. We also had to skirt the enormous shell holes into which we otherwise would have disappeared entirely. Our journey ended when we were dumped, with our Panzerfaust, at the edge of a small village. We could hear the big guns some ten minutes to the south.
We ran toward a leafless hedge with a sidecar pulled up beside it.
We thought we might receive some instructions, but we arrived too late: both occupants of the sidecar had been shot. The driver had collapsed over the handlebars, with his back reduced to a bloody pulp. The other man appeared to be asleep, but he too was dead. The bursts sounded closer each time. We had never imagined that the Russians were so close. Where were the rest of our men?
Then we caught sight of them. We climbed over a garden hedge, and came out onto a smooth piece of ground which sloped up to the horizon, some two hundred yards beyond and above us. Continuous trails of smoke marked the discharge of big guns and the impacts of their shells, and the gray sky was lit by flashes of white light.
We had to reach that high ground whatever the cost, and we all had our passports for the West in our pockets. I knew very well what kind of curse lay behind the closed faces of each of my companions.
As if the malevolence of the situation were drawing us on, we completed our progress with a series of carplike leaps which were unknown to any system of physical training.