German Officer: “This Is a Very Strange War.” A German Officer’s Diary.

Shells are whistling through the forest once again. Toward evening, we were ready to change positions, moving eastward. The encirclement is about to be broken. When it got dark, we descended from the hill and drove 12 km east along the highway. It was a wide road in good condition with overturned tanks and trucks scattered here and there.

  We are heading straight for the center of the encirclement toward the new front line which is already visible on the horizon. We marched all night. The fire from two burning villages cast a soft glow on the bluish gray cloud bank, constantly shattered by menacing flashes of explosions. A low, rumbling roar did not cease all night long.

 Then by morning, the cloud-covered ridge took on a pale pinkish purple hue. The colors possessed a strange beauty. Gradually, the drowsiness left our bodies, and we were ready for action once more. We took out our steel helmets and overcoats. In 2 hours, we were to be ready for battle.

  The attack was scheduled for 6:00 a.m. 700 p.m. The end of the day’s turmoil. It’s impossible to get the full picture from this small sector of view, but it seems the Russians instantly cut off our supply route and were putting significant pressure on our flank. In any case, we were quickly retreating along a road that had previously been so quiet.

 Very close by, we saw our batteries ahead, firing at the hillside in the village with high explosive, impact, and delayed action shells. At the same time, infantry shells were whistling past us from all sides. After parking our vehicles in a hollow, we walked to the edge of a small forest which was full of staff officers.

 Even there, one shouldn’t stick one’s head out unnecessarily. At moments like that, I’m not curious. You won’t see anything anyway, and in any case, it didn’t matter to me how far they had penetrated our flank. I knew that once they got close enough, we’d still have a chance to exchange a few words with each other.

  Until then, I picked wild strawberries and lay on my back, pulling my steel helmet over my face, a position in which you can sleep perfectly well while staying as covered as possible. We were just a few meters away from the general and our division commander. It’s striking what situations senior officers can find themselves in with a front line as blurred as this one.

 Meanwhile, our infantry is combing the forest ahead of us. Our tanks are attacking Russian tanks. Reconnaissance planes are flying over our positions, and the artillery is clearing the way for the infantry. Three Russian planes managed to drop bombs on our positions half an hour ago, but our fighters were hot on their heels and they couldn’t get very far.

It won’t be easy to recount the events of August 4th, especially while we’re on the move. The sentry called me over and told me I needed to work with the Seventh Company’s radio section. The sergeant and three others went to look for the company. They were in the neighboring village, and we set off with them.

 The only difference between us was that the infantry men were wearing light field uniforms while we had a full set of gear. The gear was hot and tight fitting. We didn’t often come into combat contact with the enemy, but we struggled to cover 6 to 8 km across the meadows, making our way through low growing bushes.

 It was the perfect terrain for a game of hideand seek. We crossed the post road. Another two kilometers on. We came under fire from a grove where, according to reports, no one was supposed to be. Active combat began. Flamethrowers, anti-tank guns, and assault weapons entered the fry. Four Russian tanks appeared, three of which were quickly knocked out.

 One of them approached us from the left flank near the village of Lachenko and caused us some trouble for a while. The company commander and I were in a small ravine and came under sniper fire, so we couldn’t even stick our noses out of our cover. Shouts rang out, “Enemy tank ahead.” From the left came a Russian, “Hurrah!” It sounds strange, this battle cry, and an awkward fluster sets in.

  If you don’t know what’s happening 500 m away from you, you strain your ears, listening for the noise to grow louder and then die down, distinguishing between the sound of our machine gun bursts and those of the enemy. The Russian machine guns have a dull coughing sound while ours produce high-pitched clicks. The attack was repelled and we tried to contact our command post.

  Until then, the connection had been excellent. Now, it was suddenly cut off. We were sitting too low in our ravine. Until we could climb higher, we would have to abandon this attempt. Night had fallen and sporadic firing was still continuing. We could not go back because the situation on the road leading to the rear was unclear.

We remained where we were and watched the burning village of Lenko. The fire opened by our own troops was haphazard and led to even more Russians rising from their positions when it became too hot to stay there. It is a brutal method, but there is nothing else we can do. Somehow from that moment on, the battle became clearly more fierce and merciless on our part as well.

  And only those who were there will understand why. Two more incidents occurred during the night, costing us two killed and one seriously wounded. Now I know the meaning of the word fearlessness. In the morning when we woke up, we were greeted by a pleasant silence. Not a single shot. The coffee was ready and the communications operator was just telling the guys at the observation post, “We don’t see a single plane yet, and the artillery has left us alone.

 ” When we heard a whistle and an explosion, the first shell landed about 200 m to the right. the lieutenant cursed as if the operator, who seemed oblivious to everything, had drawn the Russians attention to us, and we laughed. After that, it grew quiet with almost not a single shot fired, except for what happened in the middle of the day when I went out onto the road to show the supply trucks the way to the command post.

 It was then that our old friend, the tank, thundered through the neighborhood. An ugly red flame burst forth with black smoke and the crack of gunfire rang out. It’s strange. As soon as we get drawn into a new battle and hear the thunder of the guns, we become happy and carefree. Every time this happens, our guys start singing, become cheerful, and are in high spirits.

 The air fills with a new scent of freedom. Those who love danger are good guys, even if they don’t want to admit it. From time to time, a shell flies out from one of the batteries. It makes a sound like a ball thrown very high into the air. You can hear it flying on. Then, a little while after the whistling dies down, you hear the distant muffled sound of it exploding.

 Russian shells have a completely different sound like the crash of a door slamming shut. This morning there was intense firing somewhere in the distance, but otherwise it has been very quiet since yesterday. The Russians probably realized how weak their attacks are. They are probably watching our supply routes so they can launch a surprise attack from the rear.

 We can wait. We can calmly watch this. just as we watched them digging trenches intended to defend the approaches to the belly outpost. It is a strange war. Last night I went up as an assistant with Arno Kishner. It takes a full hour to get from the command post to the observation post. A light mist hung among the trees, and the grass and bushes were heavy with rain.

 We felt our way along the path past ravines and slopes toward Monerski. There was a road there. A ghostly silence rained everywhere. The front was completely quiet except for isolated flickering flashes rising upward, shining alone with a chalk white light in the mist that swallowed all sound. In the village, strips of light were visible from sellers and dugouts.

 Somewhere a cigarette glowed fertively. A silent sentry shivering from the cold. It was late, nearing midnight. Puddles in the shell craters reflected the stars. Hasn’t all this happened before, I thought. Russia, Flanders, soldiers on the front line. Sometimes a scene baffles you in this way.

  You think this must have happened in the previous war. Now it’s the same. Time is blurred. We were in a hurry and exchanged only a few remarks, pointing to the craters, spokes, and wheels in the ditch, the remains of a local cart. Direct hit, Arno said dryly. What else could be said? It’s a damn road leading straight to the enemy, to Bailey. Be careful.

  We must be near the intersection, then another 50 m. We made our way through the wires and communication trenches. Finally, our soldier with the radio and a telephone receiver appeared 10 m away from it. The guys stood around, shivering from the cold, chest deep in a wet trench, each with a poncho slung over his shoulder. I relayed the order to turn back over the phone.

  We switched radio transmitters and I tried to establish contact. I slipped into the wet trench whose loose waterlogged walls were covered with rotten straw and found a narrow spot that was dry. It took some skill to squeeze through it. Starting with the legs. Halfway down the ceiling had collapsed. The sidewalls aren’t thick enough to withstand the vibrations.

 The trench was very cramped. As a precaution, I tucked my steel helmet and gas mask under the two thickest cross beams. But since the trench was narrower at the bottom than at the top, the danger of being buried alive isn’t too great. It is true that the ceiling collapsed when someone was walking through the trench, but I pulled a blanket over my head and after listening once more to what was happening outside, fell asleep peacefully.

 a sword over the silence. While the tank forces of Army Group South surrounded and captured 600,000 Russians near Kiev, Army Group North bombed Lenengrad. September found Army Group Center preparing to resume its offensive on Moscow. The main offensive began on October 2nd and culminated in the capture of another 600,000 Russians near Viasma.

 The road to Moscow now seemed open. Our unit was part of the 9inth army which was covering the left flank of the fourth Panzer Army. The latter had advanced 70 km to the northeast, roughly in the direction of the capital, and then suddenly launched an attack northward toward Kenan. It started raining in the morning, and it was still raining when we set out at 1:00 in the afternoon.

 A light drizzle from low clouds, a gray and misty landscape, as the Veestervald sometimes is in the fall. We barely made our way through the wet meadow and along the marshy roads with our two vehicles. Somewhere we ran into a battery again, and the long column moved forward with difficulty. The vehicles spun their wheels and skidded, got bogged down and stuck.

 A gun carriage fell into a ditch and was still there the next morning. When it got dark, we found something like a dugout that served as a temporary command post. There we crawled around, trying to settle in. By the time we were done, our great coats were stiff with wet sand and clay. We found a dugout with an opening the size of a rabbit warren.

  I felt my way inside and found a niche covered with straw. my hand brushed against someone’s belt. I thought, “This will suit me perfectly.” Then I stowed my gear in various other niches, and when I returned a little later, the dugout was already lit. The light in the narrow window looked cozy against the backdrop of the rain.

 Inside, I found two signalmen from the 12th battery who had settled in here the day before. There were three of us in our own team, but only four sleeping spots here. There was barely room to turn around in this shelter. Our wet clothes and equipment took up all the space. But what did that matter? A roof, a smoldering candle, a cigarette, and when there are enough of you, you warm up quickly.

 Someone emptied the water from their boots. Someone else got ready to stand guard. Aimman and I lay down to sleep side by side. One with his head to the west, the other to the east. We couldn’t turn over. We were pressed too tightly together for that. Yesterday we spent the whole day repairing the damage that had occurred to our equipment and weapons as a result of this last march.

 But at least we had a quiet evening. We stood in front of our dugout like a peasant at the gate of his yard until the rain drove us inside. Here in our corner, it is still quiet, but the flank a little further south is occasionally subjected to some shelling from heavy artillery. The Russians are using long range guns for this.

 With your hands in your pockets, you survey it all. Just as a farmer looks at his potatoes and says in the tone of an expert, “They’re ripening quite nicely.” There is nothing heroic about any of this. One should not use that word in a sense it does not belong to. We are not heroes. The question remains, are we brave? We do what we are told.

  Perhaps there are moments when you waver, but still you go on and on unflinchingly. That means you don’t let it show. Is that bravery? I wouldn’t say so. It is nothing more than what you might expect. You simply must not show fear or more importantly be overcome by it. After all, there is no situation that a clear, calm mind cannot handle.

 Danger is only as great as our imagination allows it to be. And since the thought of danger and its consequences only makes you feel insecure, it is essential for self-preservation not to let your imagination get the better of you. For days on end, and often for weeks, not a single bullet or shell fragment flies close enough to us for us to hear them whistle.

 At such times we peacefully roast potatoes, and even in the rain, which is drumming on our roof right now, the fire does not go out. But even when the whistling sounds quite close, the distance between the flying bullets and shells and us is still quite great. As I said, one just needs to remain calm and stay alert.

 Father understood this very well. I’m always happy when I read his letters and they warm my heart with the feeling that he understands all this because of his own combat experience. It’s not so bad after all, is it father? Of course, we have to face various types of weapons, but we have a wide variety of weapons ourselves.

 A tank can be clumsy when fighting you if you have an anti-tank rifle. But in the worst case scenario, you can always dive for cover and let it pass by. And even such a monster is by no means invulnerable to a single person, provided you attack it from behind. That is the kind of act committed of one’s own free will that I would call brave.

 Overall, war hasn’t changed. Artillery and infantry still dominate the battlefield. The growing firepower of the infantry, its automatic weapons, mortars, and everything else isn’t as bad as people think. But you have to acknowledge the most essential fact. You’re facing another human being. This is war. This is business.

 And it’s not that hard. And again, since the weapons are automatic, most soldiers don’t fully grasp the significance of this. You’re killing people from a distance, and you’re killing people you don’t know and have never seen. A situation where a soldier faces off against another soldier, where you can say to yourself, “That one’s mine,” and open fire, may be more common in this campaign than in the previous one, but it doesn’t happen that often.

That’s all for today. If you like the video, please give it a like and subscribe to the channel. Bye for now, everyone. See you next time.