[烛光生存狂]-【战史】施泰瑙桥头堡战役

http://www.feldgrau.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=45&t=31467&p=222469&hilit=tigre#p222469

[January 22nd 1945]

This morning is cloudy and dark. Schönau [Schönau an der Katzbach, fifty-six miles west of Breslau and forty miles southwest of Steinau. Today Swierzawa] simmers like a kettle of boiling water. Some of its last men go with the Volkssturm to the front or are earmarked as a reserve. No-one knows anything precise – no-one realises the gravity of the hour.

Not a single man is missing when the Volkssturm fall in on the Schützenplatz! All have come, without hesitation. Veterans of the World War stand next to men who have never served. The fact that many Party members move out with them has a soothing effect. Nevertheless, there are also shirkers. Perhaps they are ones who are right – cowardice has become a problem of our age. Thinking of a hero’s death is not everyone’s cup of tea. The days of victorious advances are over and again, as in 1918, it those forlorn heaps who repeatedly regroup and confront the enemy. Many Schönau Volkssturm men will perform this sacred duty – like all the Volkssturm in Silesia – until their very last heartbeat. Many of them have never been soldiers, yet here they achieved things in battle which deserve the greatest respect and recognition.

The town wakes up! Beams of light scurry through the darkness. The footsteps of men and groups echo through the streets. Cries and words of farewell accompany the footsteps. Concern for their husbands, for their fathers, stands out in the women’s voices.

All of us are in formation, the old hands from the First World War with the civilians. Our uniforms have become our everyday clothes. For coats we wear those of the SA. Our rucksacks start to rub. Around 6am the company is finally organised. The voice of the company commander echoes around the square. No songs sound today.

The town with all the things we love, with all the daily troubles, lies behind us. Our first objective is Schönau railway station. On this very first day, the Army pulls a long face. We have to wait, wait for the train which is to help us.

It’s probably twenty degrees below this morning. The waiting room and office are tight. The tension which hangs over every man has eased. We pass the time chatting and suddenly it’s time to board. The doors of the carriages are exposed to the elements. So we travel during the day, burden by heavy thoughts. Our homeland lies before us in all its wintry beauty. The expanse of gardens and fields sparkling thanks to the white of the frost.

The platform at Goldberg [Ten miles north of Schönau. Today Zlotoryja.] is filled with the men of 4 Kompanie, Goldberg Volkssturm. We look for friends. What we say doesn’t matter. There’s an oppressive mood in the air. Each man knows, or suspects, the danger which threatens the German homeland. The shrill whistle of the locomotive, the train setting off puts an end to the conversations and musing. Barely is Goldberg behind us than the war is right on our doorstep. The road which follows the railway line is full of people on the move. Horses and carts, on them people wrapped-up with their personal belongings and yet more carts, between them men, women and children on foot, a weary stream of people without a beginning or an end, at the mercy of the bitter easterly wind. These are Germans from the Silesian border region, driven from hearth and home by the war. Nevertheless, they had escaped the war in good order, they were provided with food and drink. They knew nothing of the fear of enemy tanks, of unspeakable misery, hardship, death and rape. A way without mercy.

We reach Liegnitz. People are fleeing here too, the platforms are overcrowded. When we approach Haynau [A dozen miles northwest of Liegnitz. Today Chojnów] and take the line back to Liegnitz, the call to arms does not want to end. The Russians are in our land, the fist of war has also struck our homeland. Ja, how correct were those slogans! As early as the third day, Russian T34 and Stalin tanks were attacking us in the Oder bridgehead.

Evening fell upon the land and still we’re rolling through the Silesian fields. The carriage doors have been closed for a long time. Then the brakes slam on: we’ve reached our destination, Steinau on the Oder. We march through the side streets of the town in closed formation. We regroup under the dim light of the emergency lighting. A tower appears out of the darkness. It is part of Steinau’s town hall – and also its water tower. It becomes our quarters for the night. We are still a company without weapons. We still know nothing about our battalion’s deployment. At first we’re taken by surprise by our accommodation. We’re greeted by the cries of children and a babble of voices. There are already refugees from the Warthegau here. They spend the night here, grouped in families, on thick straw beds. The middle of the hall is set aside for us. Soon we have made our beds. Our rucksacks are our pillows. We wait in vain for food. We were not expected, so there was nothing here. We have a catering staff, but it is no food. I am lost in thought – but do not express them out loud. So we have come here – or rather we were ordered to come here – without weapons, without food, and probably also without instructions for our use. That’s how our battalion enters this war! Falling asleep is difficult.

[…]

[January 23rd 1945]

We have to satiate our hunger using our own rucksacks. The refugees on their straw beds don’t seem to be in a hurry. They feel safe here. Richter, Dr S and I wander into town. There are still columns rolling through the streets, sometimes two abreast. The land beyond the Oder seems empty. The war with its fire, death and physical torture rolls behind it, only no-one knows it yet. We Volkssturm men don’t even know where the front line is. All we see is freezing people passing with their children to escape the approaching disaster. We stand there, lost in thought. The war has invaded our land. Like storm-lashed black clouds Fate approaches and casts a shadow over our lives. We don’t want to believe the impending disaster. If you ask the wandering torrent of humanity about the Russians, no-one knows anything accurate. Only the rumble of war, the thunder of cannon in the distance has completely startled them. Unguarded French prisoners pass with a heavily-laden cart. They act just like the fleeing Germans.

We read a notice by the Kreisleiter: “Remain calm! Don’t listen to rumours! There are troops on the way to protect the town.” The traffic through Steinau this morning is as colourful and swift as on market day, but the backdrop is grey and ominously silent. There are many men in the streets, Volkssturm men from Schönau, Goldberg, Liegnitz and Fraustadt. There are other men with white armbands, but no Wehrmacht soldiers.

We want to buy various things but get a frosty reception from shopkeepers. Did they suspect that during the evening, war would be knocking on the gates of the town and ration cards would no longer be required? Still the sacred system of government is not disrupted. On this winter’s morning, Steinau still seems to be a town where life is safe on the fringes of war. But it’s a game which can end with the death of women, children and old men. The inhabitants help those fleeing on their way. No-one, however, sees or hears of precautions being taken for the inhabitants of the town themselves.

We’ve barely got back from our stroll through the town when orders come to change quarters. We move into a Hitlerjugend home. Around 4pm, it’s digging time. Start entrenching. In the twilight of the fading day we march over the Oder bridge into the land. Mist and a cold wind hang over the fields. Hoes and shovels strike the frozen earth with a clang. To protect the men who are digging, company commander H leads a patrol into the dark. Somewhere there are suddenly two expl

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