Author: Gunter · K. Kosholek
Translation: Little Xiaoice
The day was October 18, 1942. I sat on a bag of straw in a freight car that was part of a troop train. In terms of how much the carriage shook, it also allowed me to write the first line in my brand new notebook. About three hours earlier, we had boarded the train with some third- and second-class corporals—we were about 300 eighteen-year-old recruits who had just finished their training.
October 24-25. Our trains have been overtaken by other trains carrying weapons and supplies. Some say that last night we passed the Kramenchug train station. This shows that we are in the middle of Ukraine, the great Russian granary. The second-class soldier in the carriage— whom I now know his name: Fritz Matzog — told everyone that we were taking Dnipropetrovsk and Rostov, and from there we were heading northeast to Stalingrad. He was right: a day later, we arrived in Rostov in the early hours of the morning at the entrance of the Don River into the Sea of Azov. The train stopped at a fork in the road near the train station with water nearby, which allowed us to freshen up. The weather was nice and warm, but somewhat hazy and the sun was out of sight. We took off our shirts and wandered around as we were told we would stay here for a while. I had just thought about going to the next carriage to see a few friends when a mess struck.
We heard a sudden roar of engines in the air, three Soviet fighter jets coming at us, machine guns rattling and strafing from the planes. Before the command, "Airplane-concealment," had been uttered, most of us had already slipped under the carriage. I saw sparks bursting from the railroad tracks and heard the whizzing sound of bouncing bullets. Then, everything calmed down... Then someone shouted, "They flew back!" ”
Sure enough, I saw the planes turn a corner and fly straight back toward us. Suddenly, the gates of hell opened again. The roar of the sirens and the fierce cannons exploded, so loud that my eardrums were almost shattered. There must have been several anti-aircraft artillery companies at the station, and they were now firing at enemy aircraft. The three enemy planes flew away quickly and disappeared unscathed. We looked at each other with a bit of a stunned look: it was happening so fast, and it was quite different from when our instructor shouted "Airplane-Covert" during training. This is playing really, everyone's hidden action has never been so sharp. I heard that someone was shot, but the injury was not serious, just a bruise on the leg, and the medic could handle it completely.
"The heads of each carriage immediately report to the transport supervisor and accept the new order!" The news was passed down the carriages. The second class Terracotta tsog soon returned with new information, and he told us that two open-air flatbeds would be hung on our trains, each carrying a twin anti-aircraft gun to protect the train from enemy air attacks. It seems that they are expected to encounter more air raids! In addition, due to the increased likelihood of guerrilla attacks, from now on, we will arrange two people per carriage to stand guard at night. We may have to take some detours because it is estimated that some sections of the railway have been blown up.
The straw underneath us has no fluffiness to speak of, but we don't have any new straw, so spreading blankets on these straws has no effect, and it feels like lying directly on the floor of the carriage. The tall Valias and several other guys complained that their butts were all sore. The second-class soldiers told us with a smile that it was a good exercise: in the muddy scattered pits on the front line, the situation was even worse.
We pestered him and asked him to tell us about the successful summer battles of his unit, which turned out to be even more anxious and hated not being able to get to our destination all at once so that we wouldn't miss anything. The tall, blond-haired KOB candidate officer, Dieter Marzahn, spoke to all of us. Mathog's answer was somewhat brief: "Boys, don't worry. When you get to the front line, you will be frightened to fart and urinate, as fast as counting from one to a hundred. This old saying we have heard before is usually from some wounded soldier in a rehabilitation unit. What they mean is that we hairy boys, the first time we get shot by the enemy, we're so scared that we pull in our pants. This is nonsense! A lot of people can do it, so why can't we? Also, what does age have to do with that!
Almost every time the train stopped, we could hear a news broadcast in favor of the German army through the loudspeaker in the carriage where the transport supervisor was located. Without exception, today, October 25, the news of the victory of the German army came on the radio. It made us feel very good, and everyone sang a military song.
Since yesterday, the scenery of the countryside has changed. A few days ago we would pass by some villages from time to time, but today there is nothing on either side of the railway line except brown grasslands and occasional mounds. Every once in a while, you can see a large collective farm.
The driver stopped the train in the landscape, and we jumped out of our respective carriages, and it turned out that the driver found that a section of the track had been blown up. Now, we have to reverse 12 hours down the tracks in order to get on another rail line. The front of the car pushes a string of carriages, and when it encounters even the slightest ramp, the locomotive engine gasps like an old seal.
Just like that, we marched for a long time, and suddenly, everyone sat up. A huge shadow appeared on the top of the hill in front of us, like a bird of prey, flying towards us. We heard a muffled hum first, and then a growing roar, like a swarm of bees..." Stealth—air strike!" "We were lying on the ground, and the cannons of the planes were roaring over our heads. I saw the dirt stirred up after the shell hit the ground, and then our anti-aircraft guns began to return fire. I looked up and saw a small bomb falling from the plane and exploding in front of the locomotive. Immediately, the plane flew away with a crazy buzz.
Our anti-aircraft fire did not hit the plane, but it did not cause us much damage either—a few pieces of shrapnel hit several parts of the train engine and punched several holes in the sides of the carriage. Matzog told us: "It was the 'Steel Gustav,' a Soviet fighter, which they also used on the front lines. It is a flexible close-range support aircraft that can fly very low, and it will suddenly appear and strafe everything with an onboard automatic gun. Usually, such planes also drop smaller bombs, but sometimes they are big guys. It was almost useless to deal with standard shells, because it had armor plates under its belly. ”
After this incident, we continued to march, pushing the train up the hill and then into the carriage downhill. How long can this last? Finally, we stopped. All efforts came to an end—the train could no longer move, not even push. What to do? We are now stranded on the Kalmyk steppe, 320 soldiers, each carrying more than 40 pounds of personal gear.
How far is it from Stalingrad? The transport supervisor told us that there were about 140 to 150 kilometers left. Obviously, we were already far behind schedule due to detours and delays. We were told that the rest of the trip would be done on foot. We had to get to our destination in four days. We were informed to spend the night in the carriage tonight and leave at six o'clock tomorrow morning.
This article is excerpted from "Snow White blood red: memoirs of a German soldier on the Eastern Front"
