SS-Lieutenant Christensen had quit his command post on the left at Kochstrasse U-Bahn station to conform with the French, passing round several bottles of wine with which to refresh their throats.
On the other hand, Captain Fenet seemed to have only a hazy picture of the Müncheberg Tank Division’s sub-sector on the right. Reports coming from there that day indicate otherwise than all communications had been severed with the Nordland:
Soviet spearheads have reached the Anhalter Railway Station some 200–300 metres from the French positions. However, a Tiger II of SS-Panzer-Regiment Hermann von Salza, the ‘314’ of SS-Sergeant Diers – one of the two still at the disposal of the Division – is stationed on Potsdammer Platz and is keeping Saarlandstrasse under fire with its formidable 88mm gun, which has hit several tanks trying to come up the road towards the north-west.
That evening, after several more tank attacks supported by infantry, the problem of effectives became of concern to Captain Fenet, who had seen the number of losses increase, even with the lightly wounded remaining at their posts. He now only had one officer, one officer-cadet and a sergeant-major left, SS-Lieutenant von Wallenrodt, Officer-Cadet Douroux and Sergeant Major Rostaing. Officer-Cadets Protopopoff, Billot, Le Maignan and Karanga had been killed, Officer-Cadet de Lacaze and Staff-Sergeant Ollivier wounded and evacuated. Second-Lieutenant Aimé Berthaud had been evacuated after having been found unconscious under the ruins of a balcony. Officer-Cadets Boulmier and Jacques Frantz had also been evacuated, the latter in a tent-half, after being hit by mortar fire.
Sergeant Eugène Vaulot had also left the front line for the divisional command post after receiving the Knight’s Cross that evening in candlelight from SS-Major-General Krukenberg on the station platform, being the first of the French volunteers to receive this decoration. Three other members of the Charlemagne were awarded the Knight’s Cross that day, making this the record number for any contingent in the battle for the city and demonstrating the importance of their anti-tank role. The destruction of sixty-two tanks, a tenth of the numbers engaged against this sector, was attributed to the Charlemagne alone.
During a visit to the Reichs Chancellery first-aid post after having been wounded in the shoulder after destroying his thir-teenth Soviet tank, SS-Lieutenant Wilhelm Weber, reported to SS-Major-General Mohnke, who, greatly impressed, had then recommended Knight’s Cross awards for Weber, Captain Fenet and Staff-Sergeant Appolot (six tanks) to General Wilhelm Burgdorf, head of the Army personnel branch.
Krukenberg continued:
On the morning of the 30th April, as I learnt later, General Weidling had held a commanders’ conference at the Bendlerblock, in which one could speak freely about the situation. But, despite the central importance of his sector, SS-General Mohnke was not invited anymore than myself as commander of the Nordland Division, which constituted the main fighting force of the LVIth Panzer Corps, and whose command I had taken over at his request.
The volume of fire on the city centre had increased and our positions subjected to the fire of ‘Stalin-Organs’. The battle seemed to be reaching its climax, but the enemy had hardly penetrated our sector and we prepared for more assaults from him. Ammunition and Panzerfausts were deposited along our main line of resistance and on Leipziger Strasse. Unfortunately, four of our tanks, whose guns were still capable of firing, had been immobilised by direct hits.
The usual evening conference at the Sector ‘Z’ commander was called off without explanation. To our surprise, enemy artillery fire in our sector lessened towards midnight and almost completely ceased.
Captain Fenet resumed his account:
Now we receive a big reinforcement. A good hundred men from the Main Security Office, armed with rifles and flanked by three or four SS-majors, two SS-Captains and five or six other officers. All are full of good will and courage, but have long become unaccustomed to handling weapons and lack combat training. Most are between 50 and 60 years old. Nevertheless, their arrival enables a considerable strengthening of the battalion and besides they mix in with plenty of spirit. However, they soon realise that they are in no way prepared for such a pitiless battle. There losses are serious, because the Reds, like ourselves, even more than us, have their elite snipers hidden everywhere and take aim at any silhouette appearing at a window or in a yard.
de Lacaze, who since the beginning of the battle has led his men with astonishing confidence for a debutant, neutralises every attempt by the Red infantry, but he too falls to an enemy sniper and has to be evacuated. Here is Roger again with his usual accomplice, Bicou, at 18 the youngest NCO in the battalion. They are both excited and explain that they have just dislodged several Red snipers from the rooftops.
There are some more there, but we have run out of grenades. While speaking, they are stuffing their pockets with egg grenades, attaching others to the buttons of their jackets, and sticking stick grenades into their belts. They rush off.
Sometime later Bicou returns with his head bowed. ‘We got them, captain, but Roger was wounded.’
Roger comes in paler than usual, a trickle of blood running from his right eye. At the last moment a piece of grenade caught him above the eyelid. We sit him down in the only armchair in the building, where he soon dozes off. A little later Bicou takes him to the medical aid post with a group of wounded, then comes back alone.
‘Poor Roger, the fighting is over for him. The doctor says that the eye is lost and he still does not know whether he can save the other one.’
Bicou himself is lucky. During the day he had taken shelter behind a pile of debris that was hit by an anti-tank shell. He didn’t even get a scratch, but was knocked unconscious. An hour later he was on his feet again. Now he takes over the section with a sombre air, vowing that Roger’s eye will cost dear.
It is quite calm as night draws to an end. There is nothing in the street but the T-34 burning alongside us, long flames dancing around the steel carcass, projecting their violent light against the dark night which the rose-coloured halo of fires above the roofs is unable to disperse. One hears the crackling of the flames mixing with the distant, confused sounds of fighting in the capital. But sometimes we are startled by heartbreaking cries, cries that are no longer human, the voices of women not far from us howling in their distress, despair and anguish as the men from the steppes assert their bestiality.
With daybreak the Red tanks set off again and we are alerted by the sound of their engines starting up. Several well directed Panzerfausts and the first wave is easily stopped, because the tanks are following each other well spaced out, which gives us plenty of time to see them coming and to give each one the greeting it deserves.
Of course, having checked this first attempt, we are subjected to the usual bombardment. The tanks and anti-tank guns fire full out at the buildings where they detect our presence. The walls tremble dangerously, plaster falls on our heads, and sometimes a well aimed shot into a window opening or loophole showers us with earth and stones and plunges us into a spell of powdery obscurity. Already yesterday and nightfall were hard enough, but now the battle is about to reach a climax and maintain it to the end. Up to this point we have been living in an infernal din, pounded ceaselessly by mortars, anti-tank guns and tanks, harassed by the infantry, repelling several tank attacks an hour. Weber, whose tally is already quite considerable, brings a young NCO from his combat school, Sergeant Eugène Vaulot, a tall, blond chap who has already bagged four tanks since yesterday, another sergeant, Roger Albert, who has his third and is claiming a fourth. As there are not enough Panzerfausts for everyone, they all want the chance to bag at least one tank.