After Stalingrad Read online

  I am unarmed. If necessary I will have to kill someone in order to obtain weapons and supplies. But I cannot wait much longer as the already poor state of my health is getting worse. I have already discussed this plan with Franz. He understands me and approves it, but is in no position to take part. I find three similar-thinking comrades who want to come along: Lieutenant Jim Fürstenburger, the son of a chemist from the Saar, Second-Lieutenant Werner Imig, a headmaster’s son from Wülfrath, and Second-Lieutenant Alfred Peter, a regular soldier from the Hildesheim area. Secretly, so that nothing of importance gets out, we discuss it only individually, but we have an unclear perspective of the current front line. One thing is certain: we will be away at the first opportunity!

  The days go by and nothing changes. I now have another birthday behind me. It was on the 15th, when I completed the second dozen years of my life. When and how will I end this mortal existence? Without having anything to say about it, I needed this day, although it should be a happy event, to recall my thoughts of home.

  A little change has occurred in our daily routine. Jim Fürstenburger has found a book in the snow – a German book! It comes from a former field hospital and is Trenker’s Der verlorenen Sohn (‘The Lost Son’). We have been sitting for days now as I read it to my attentive audience. Our thoughts turn to our German homeland so far away. Oh Trenker, if you only knew what you were giving to German prisoners on the Don Steppe so far from home! We are all experiencing the fate of this Tonio Feuersänger with him, seeing in his fate our own.

  The plague of lice is getting worse. It is absolutely essential for us to go searching morning and evening, looking for the lice in our underwear and cracking them with our thumbnails. Nevertheless there are still more and more lice! Yesterday someone said sarcastically: ‘We have no lice, the lice have us!’ This is indeed the truth. They are an agonising plague, especially at night, such as one would never believe possible. We lie crammed together, sweating extensively, which is the right temperature for little Russian domestic animals. One notices how the lice run and bite; we feel the bite and try to catch it, then scratch at the bitten point – and once one has started scratching one does nothing else. Painful! That is why we are dog tired; our sleeping partner is already waiting as his two hours are up.

  Three days ago the four of us had tried to find a better sleeping place. Our attempt failed miserably. We got up into the attic and made ourselves a tent with tent-halves and blankets. But the steppe wind whistled cruelly through the rafters and did not stop at the tent. We soon withdrew remorsefully back down again and had to stay standing outside the door, which could not be opened because of the lack of space inside. Jim said dryly: ‘Better stink warm than the freezing cold!’

  A SECOND DEATH MARCH

  It seemed as if something was up. We had been standing for over an hour with our packs in front of the barracks. It looked as if we would be marching on. But to where? A pair of quite clever ones wanted us to know that it would be back to Stalingrad. I did not believe it. Why to Stalingrad, the city that was completely destroyed? In that case we would not have been brought here. No, we would see soon enough. The guards are running to and fro, handing out hard bread in sacks. More prisoners whom we had passed on the march here come out of the other buildings and earthen bunkers. As far as I can see, they are all officers.

  Soon a column of six hundred men has assembled. I am astonished to see that my last commander, Colonel Reinisch, and his adjutant, Lieutenant Brendgen, as well as the divisional Ia. Lieutenant-Colonel Menzel, are among them. They had been living in the earthen bunkers.

  At last the group starts moving. God be praised, we are not going back the same way, so we are not heading to Stalingrad! The village soon lies far behind us as we march along the ice and snow-crusted road.

  The guards are very unfriendly. They do not allow us to drink when we reach a stream and cross over it on a low wooden bridge. Our thirst is very great, and some are even eating snow. I control myself as the resulting thirst would be even greater, and it would not be good for the teeth.

  Franz and I march alongside each other. He worries me as his stomach trouble is worse than I had thought. But with our combined strength we will make it. As long as I am with him, I will go along with him. I think of the talk we had in which he asked me to look after his son, as he would not be going home. Annoyed that he was giving up, I ticked him off, but gave him the desired promise in order to calm him down.

  Night descends quite suddenly. We trot along close behind the man in front. We stop. A light comes from a dugout. Are we to be accommodated here? It is obvious that rest is urgently needed, as some are already considerably weakened. The moon has not come up yet. The chance of flight seems feasible. I distance myself from the mass. No guards react. The outline of a collapsed hut is visible about 200 metres from our stopping place. Perhaps I would find something to drink there? I went in, now quite alone, not seeing my comrades any more, only hearing their voices. A yard lies on the far side. There seems to be no one around. Perhaps I can find something edible here. I slowly creep closer. Suddenly a door opens and is immediately closed again, the light falling for a second on the yard. I have not moved, but I have been spotted. A Russian soldier asks me something in Russian. I do not understand. I ask in German for something to drink. Back comes a torrent of incomprehensible words and the soldier’s attitude indicates that I should vanish immediately. I willingly obey his demand. My departure has not been noticed by anyone, and a pistol shot would have brought my life to an end without the least resistance! I then seek to get away from the hut, keeping in the dark, listening. God be thanked, the crowd is still in the same place. I can clearly hear voices that help me to feel my way forward. Nobody notices my arrival. All are stamping their feet. An all-too-long wait in this cold is not exactly pleasant. The feet are the first to freeze. How cold could it be today? We estimated 30 to 35 degrees below zero and are happy that there is no wind.

  At last the guard commander returns and talks to the other guards. Then we go on. What is this? Are they not going to give us any rest? Are we going to march all night? One of us who understands what the Russians are saying is asked to interpret. Suddenly he says: ‘There is no room for us here. We have to go on for several kilometres!’ How many kilometres will this be? Some of us are already staggering.

  How can there be a land with such unending distances? Meanwhile the moon has appeared. It looks down on us with a milky face. Is it laughing at our pitiful figures, or is it just a scornful grin? The endless expanse disappears in the twilight from the moon. It is coming up to midnight. New hope arises. Lights are visible before us in the darkness. That will at least be our accommodation. But we are not there yet. A long road lies ahead of us, but the lights give us a goal, giving even the weakest renewed strength to keep going on together. Those who cannot walk any longer will be held upright.

  It has happened at last. The lights are immediately in front of us. There are holes in the ground. We said several days ago they would be dugouts. Two houses are standing there, occupied by Russian soldiers. While I am looking around I have an anxious presentiment. Where can we be accommodated here? The guard commander vanishes. He returns after a few minutes. We go on again for several hundred metres. My anxious presentiment appears about to be fulfilled. The others also notice something, asking horrified: ‘Is it possible?’ Yes it is possible! Behind the village, about three hundred metres from the two houses, we are driven into an open field. There a square of 100 by 100 metres is marked out and our accommodation is ready.

  A square of 100 by 100 metres, with a carpet of snow some 15 to 20 centimetres deep and 30 to 35 degrees of frost! At first we stand there as if numbed. Two guards have disappeared. They are warming themselves up. The other two remain standing diagonally opposite each other. If any of us should cross the marked line, the submachine-guns will rattle. A hollow doubt grips some. It cannot be! We have to light a fire. But what with? Dried bundles of grass, some small bits o
f bushes sticking out sparsely over the snow are collected. After much searching a certain amount is assembled. A couple of overzealous individuals try to cross the forbidden border to where a thick bundle of grass attracts them, but a bellowing sentry has them quickly returning to the square. Meanwhile someone has managed to get the fire going. Crouching on his knees, his mouth pressed close to the reluctant embers, he blows into the weak glow until the smoke makes his eyes run and he is quite out of breath. Another who has been looking on, thinking he knew better, tries and gives up. Still others try in vain to get the fire going by various means.

  I wander around here and there like most of the others, keeping my body moving, especially my feet, not standing still for a moment, constantly stamping on the spot. It is a fight for life and death! The bitter frost walks beside every one of us, waiting for one of us to tire and fall under his spell. And one’s physical strength must tire sometime! A couple of wooden logs – and all the danger will be over. But where can we get wood here? I see only moving figures. They are not identifiable in the pale moonlight. Some of those wandering about lie down for a few minutes. They take everything they have to cover themselves, but in vain. Soon the cold gets to them like a creeping fever and they stand up again with chattering teeth and shaking limbs.

  Is the time standing still? Slowly, much too slowly for us, ringed with frost, the moon makes its way across the sky and we can establish that time is actually passing. I am possessed by an incredible fatigue. There is a great temptation to lie down on this white shroud. Some who can no longer stand the exhaustion have laid down pressed close together, the heap of lying bodies getting ever larger under the mass of blankets, tent-halves and whatever they can use for cover, these utterly exhausted men, some of them wounded. For weeks we have held our ground against enemy soldiers, but now, in the grip of the frost, our new enemy, we present only a pitiful sight.

  Exhaustion wins, my reasoning simply switched off. I pull the blanket over me and seize a bit of tentage in the mixture of tent-halves, blankets and exhausted men. It is like a dream, with Morpheus taking me in his arms.

  A nudge brings me back to reality. I am freezing. Where is my blanket? I jump up. It is no longer there. Perhaps someone has taken it by mistake. I know it exactly. The last men lying on the ground are now standing up, as ‘Get ready! We are marching on!’ comes. I step on a small fire and am burnt. It must have taken a real artist to get the fire going, and there is even another one! Busily men crouch over the fires and melt snow.

  The guards are shouting. It is time to fall in. It is dawning in the east, God be praised! I feel as if I am changed, completely frozen through. Gradually the group gets moving. Now the misery of the past days resumes all over again. We already know its theme. At first all are pleased to be moving again, as our bodies will become warmer, but soon our exhaustion becomes noticeable and movement is painful. Who has got my blanket? Could one of those marching along have stolen it? That is impossible. We are all officers! I begin to doubt the honesty of the German officers, but I suppress these thoughts.

  The sun is now rising in the east. No one responds to this natural event, which is always beautiful, but for us it means marching, marching, marching! We have already been on our way for hours without a rest or even a short break. When someone has to do his business, there is no other way than to run ahead when possible, then he has time until the next guard arrives to deal out blows with a rifle butt and he has to catch up with the column at the double. Who can endure such punishment for long? The rows of marching men, or more accurately tottering men, have drawn wide apart. The stronger ones have their hands full, for we dare not leave anyone behind. That means certain death. Most of the prisoners go on apathetically. The demands on one’s strength that the marching makes are simply too much. Added to this is the slowly increasing weakening of the body through under-nourishment as hardly anyone has anything to eat. What have they given us for the next four days? I got five slices of dry bread, three sweets – the Russians say ‘confectionery’ – and a cup of millet to cook. Franz, who has a sick stomach, gives me another two slices, so altogether I have seven. If only the prisoners would give up eating snow! They are only stuffing their stomachs without quenching their thirst. The stress is particularly bad for the older comrades. Apparently we are about to be granted a short rest. The head of the column turns right away from the road. The men lie down, but it is more like falling down for me. So now we have also joined them. How tired I am though. If only I could sleep! The sun is slowly sinking. Night cannot be far away. Have we to get through another night like the last? Oh, go away, you stupid thoughts! Don’t start thinking now, or you will go mad! Better to be dull and vegetate.

  Traces of extreme exhaustion are clearly visible on most of us already. The short rest does us good, but our overtired, starving bodies demand more yet. They want to sleep! And then it comes again: ‘Fall in! There is no accommodation here!’ So on again! Luckily the wind is not blowing here over the steppe landscape as it was a few weeks ago.

  Meanwhile the night has sunk down over the earth, but none of those stumbling along spares a glance for the diadems of the star-filled sky. We only stare ahead of us, concerned about moving forwards and not leaving any comrades behind. Things look very bleak for many of them. Some who were helping their comrades before have now become more concerned with themselves. If this could only come to an end soon!

  We are now marching alongside the railway line leading to Gumrak. An empty goods train trundles past through the night. It is going the same way – why does it not take us with it? I have long since given up any ideas of flight. Should I climb on a truck and kill the crew? It is all nonsense. Under cover of a wall of snow I lie down at a bend in the track and make the attempt to see if getting away unnoticed from the marching column would be possible. The last ones have gone past, and also the guard. No one has noticed anything or taken any action. The cold creeps into my body and brings me back to reality. I stand up and hurry through the darkness after the others. It would be nonsense to flee here! I cannot take a single step from the road without sinking up to my thighs in the snow.

  This night too is endless. The previous night we had to stand together in a narrow space in a great frost and now we are marching on without a break. Someone says that the next objective is Gumrak, where we can rest comfortably. I no longer believe it. The Russians have lied so far, but we have kept going anyway. If there only were none of those damned sledges on which are the Red Army soldiers’ packs and some other things I do not recognise. A staff colonel doctor has with him a large trunk containing the instruments and medicines that he naturally cannot carry himself, and the trunk lies on one of the two sledges. Until now the relief of the sledge teams has gone in an orderly manner. Franz is conducting himself bravely. One has only to look at him to see that this marching is hard for him, but he carries on. Sometimes I support him, sometimes someone else. How does it actually happen that I have to pull the sledges? Until now I have succeeded in avoiding them. I have had enough to do dragging my comrades along, but now I am stuck with it. Behind us, my fellow puller and me, comes a guard, his slit-eyed yellow face disfigured by pockmarks. I do not understand what he says. I cannot understand a word. It seems like our ‘further’. I think it also has something to do with ‘forwards’, as to reinforce these words we take blows alternately with a rifle butt in our backs. How can I get out of this? For about half an hour – or is it almost an hour – we keep pulling in this manner. If it had been any longer my strength would have gone with it. Why does this dog not drive us on with his voice instead of his rifle butt? At last! He has realised that we can do no more and has selected two other victims. Poor devils! I ensure that I get out of this Asian’s sight. I am in no state to help anyone for the next hour as I stumble along like a drunkard. Won’t that damned Gumrak ever come? It is already getting dark and there is nothing to be seen. How many men succumbed during the night? When one is already at the end of one’s strength one
hardly has an ear for other things. For every one of us there is only one thing: you have to keep moving forward, staying quite close to the stronger ones, otherwise you are lost! Another man collapses further forward in front of me. Someone says it is Colonel von der Gröben. Several young prisoners from his division hold him up and drag him along with them. At last Gumrak comes in sight. We breathe out. There are still 3 or 4 kilometres to go, but at least it is good to see it. Everyone pulls together and gives the last of their strength to reach the goal.

  A RAVINE OF DEATH

  At last we are in Gumrak. We are directed to a ravine for accommodation. A few weeks ago this ravine had been a dressing station. Now it is full of snow, otherwise we would not have noticed it. New Red Army soldiers have come out of their holes. They stand up on the edge of the ravine and are our new guards. I have no idea where I should go. There is deep snow everywhere. If I look up, I can see the grey-blue winter sky with the dark silhouettes of the soldiers. Someone tells us that we are to rest here for six hours. How can we?

  Some stalwarts dig snow from a hole with a plank they have found, while others use their mess tins. Afterwards, like badgers in their setts, they cover themselves with everything available and try to sleep. If only I had the option of sleeping! For many of the men hunger is all-consuming as a result of the painful stress the march has inflicted, crushing their bodily strength. With the patience of angels they try to light their fires.

  Franz is very exhausted. We too have to look for something to cook. While Franz flattens the snow in our part of the slope, I look for something to burn, but this too is difficult. What can one find out here on the steppe? Finally we are able to go ahead and cook. We start a fire with the steppe grass that I have managed to scrape together. Finally I lay on top the scraps of wood that I had found in the least likely corner of the ravine. With constant blowing – there is no wind in the ravine – I ensure that the fire does not go out, as then all my trouble would have been for nothing, and if we wanted to eat we would have had to start all over again. Who counts the time necessary when one’s stomach wants to feel something warm again, even though it is only a handful of gruel boiled in thawed snow? I have to keep throwing in snow until the mess tin is full. The snow around the fire begins to thaw, but the ground remains solid. I stand on it. What is that? An arm appears, a whole body. Can one be so insensitive? So we crouch next to a corpse and cook our meal, as we want to live. We hardly take any notice of the dead man. It does not bother us that he is completely naked. I look around me. Everywhere is the same picture. We have been driven into a ravine that is full of dead soldiers. Whether they were German, Romanian or Hungarian, no one knows. They lie there completely naked. No one has tried to differentiate between them and they are all the same before the Almighty. The Russians simply let these men perish here. It is a ravine of the dead.