All of a sudden, we halted on an open stretch. Oberst Christern was uninformed of what was happening, as we all were. I had no idea where we were at the time when we threw the “goat” off the train. “Throw” is not an exaggeration. We literally had to toss it off the car because there were no offload facilities.
Oberst Christern intended to personally reconnoiter to find out where the forward German lines were so that the combat vehicles would have the shortest route to the area of operations, thus saving the few liters of fuel in the tanks for fighting. We took off on a broad asphalt road, about a kilometer west of the tracks. It was intended for the train to slowly follow. I had everyone prepared to use their radios, just in case.
We kept going and going. No German soldiers, no German vehicles, no humans far and wide. I had never seen a section of land so dead. But, there also wasn’t any firing. Nothing at all. The environment there was eerie.
I uttered my doubts: “Something’s not right here. There’s no more German forces coming, otherwise you’d see trains and supply elements.” The Oberst, who was always brisk, sometimes too much so for my taste, waved me off.
We moved fifteen or twenty kilometers. Always the same picture. No signs of life to be seen anywhere.
Then I thought I saw well-camouflaged and fresh mounds of dirt, as well as vegetation, that did not seem right for the area.
“Herr Oberst, take a look through the binoculars over there!”
“What are you, Schäufler, afraid?”
I am not particularly sensitive, but even my commander was not allowed to say that to me. I replied, more drastically and loudly, than I intended: “No, by God no, but I’m still fed up from the last time!”
During a similar “excursion” about six weeks previously, Oberwachtmeister Wegener was killed and I still had shrapnel in my chin and a hole in my eardrum.
The Oberst, a tough warrior, who led his tank regiment from the front lines and who used the coarse language of a soldier, looked at me horrified. But I no longer had any time for an apology or my derailment, since I then saw Russian helmets flashing through the thin branches . . . there . . . there . . . there. And I also saw the barrel of an antitank gun that was directed toward us.
“We’re right in the middle of the Russians,” I yelled into the ears of the Oberst. But he still had his doubts, the perpetual optimist. I kicked the driver in the back: “There’s a gravel pit off to the left. Get in there as fast as you can!”
The Oberst yelled at me, but his ass chewing got stuck in his throat as the first antitank round whizzed just above our heads. The driver put the pedal to the metal and raced across the snow-covered field and then braked with a jerk. We slid down the steep gradient of the gravel pit. Above us, a hurricane of fire stormed past. Oberst Christern, no friend of overly hasty improvisation, looked at me for a moment with uncertainty before life came back to his massive figure. He indicated the radio set with his eyes and then looked at me questioningly. I understand his silent directive. I put on the headphones and switch to “transmit.” At the same time, under the direction of the commander, the crew ripped the machine gun out of its mount, grabbed submachine guns and hand grenades, occupied the edge of the gravel pit and let loose with everything they had. Everyone knew that seconds could decide our lives, which were not worth very much at all at the moment.
Damn it! No one answered.
“Alpine Rose . . . Alpine Rose . . . Alpine Rose . . . this is urgent, over!”
Finally, there was a crackle in my headset: “This is Alpine Rose . . . what’s going on?”
“We’ve been encircled by the Russians and can only hold out for five minutes. Urgently need help. Get here immediately.”
“This is Alpine Rose . . . understood . . . what’s your location? . . . we’re coming with three tanks.”
“We’re in a gravel pit in a heavy firefight with Russians attacking on all sides. Move along the road. Move now! Come quickly!”
Up top, they were already throwing hand grenades. Russian machine guns and submachine guns were rattling, and they were getting closer and closer. Antitank round flung stones against the armor plating of the vehicle.
“Alpine Rose . . . where are you? . . . I’m firing white signal flares . . . can you see them?”
Then the diabolic laugh of our “Ivan Saxon” entered the net: “Alpine Rose . . . now we have you . . . you won’t get away this time!”
No, they won’t take us alive! That was the only thought I had.
I yelled to the Oberst: “Three tanks are en route . . . they have to be here any minute!”
He raised his hand casually in acknowledgement and continued to fire. I wished I had his calmness!
“Alpine Rose . . . move as fast as your crates will fly . . . and fire with everything you have so that our friends forget about us for a moment!”
High-explosive rounds raced down the roadway. The firing of our crew picked up. I counted them. Everyone was still there. The firing by the Russians stopped all of a sudden. I tossed down the headset and crept up to the edge of the pit.
Good God! What a picture! Our three tanks were moving for all they were worth across the open field and fired with everything they had. The descended on the surprised Russian antitank-gun positions and overran them. The Russians were running en masse. They had identified the tanks too late and were barely able to get a round off.
I ran back to the radio set. Ivan was still crowing: “Is it all over for you? . . . Have we already finished you off?”
“You’re in a world of shit!” I was barely able to suppress the temptation to yell into the microphone.
The two radio operators came back to the vehicle with pale faces and retook their duty stations at the equipment. I was then able to observe the magic topside at my leisure. The three tanks were cleaning up and had advanced another 300 meters. They were able to knock out a few more antitank guns. And the crews ran as if the devil himself were behind them.
The Oberst sauntered up to me in a leisurely fashion. He laughed a bit, embarrassed, and called me a crude Bavarian, but he didn’t hold a grudge against me for my outburst.
Hauptmann Petrelli, the regimental adjutant, then reported that all of the vehicles had detrained. The Oberst gave orders to move out, and we awaited the main body of tanks. While waiting, we set off a situation report to the division.
It was pretty rare for a gigantic antitank-gun blocking position to be forced so easily. Even the Russians couldn’t believe it, since they offered very little resistance. We then received orders from the division to call off the attack, which was still going well.
No, there were no more German soldiers there. Even the Oberst was completely convinced of that.
“You were right once again, Schäufler!”
Nothing could shake up old Christern, neither masses of Russian antitank guns nor a signals officer who didn’t know his place. You had to give him that.
The “Ivan Saxon” kept silent for hours, embarrassed. I had the feeling that he had to change positions.
Urgent radio traffic from the division: “New situation. Russian tanks attacking Karthaus and Seefeld. Get ready to move immediately. Fight your way through to Karthaus as soon as possible!” Karthaus was way to our rear just outside the gates of Danzig. That couldn’t be true!
We assembled and moved along the main road back to the northeast. The closer we got to Karthaus, the more the streets were jammed with refugees, trains vehicles, horse-drawn conveyances. Some wanted to get into Karthaus, other out. It was impossible to get through on roads like that when there was so much chaos. Two tanks were given the mission of remaining behind to protect the refugees and look for an escape route to Gotenhafen. We then moved cross-country.
In Karthaus, we reported in to the local area commander. The old Oberst, who was sitting there, was in a state of panic and jittery. He was in no way up to the confusing situation. By order of the division, Oberst Christern assumed command.
He immediately had some of the tanks move southeast to screen. Almost half of the vehicles had to be towed into position, due to a lack of fuel. It was chaotic in and around the village. The access roads were completely overwhelmed with refugee vehicles. The distraught people ran around aimlessly since they did not know the situation. Vehicles without fuel hindered the flow of traffic.
The Oberst employed all of his soldiers, who were not essential for the fighting, as traffic regulators. The route to the Baltic for the refugees were reconnoitered, and the columns rerouted in those directions. The routes were screened by a few tanks.
It appeared that a dramatic competition was in progress between the German and Russian forces to see who could get to Danzig and its all-important Baltic harbor.
A few kilometers from us, strong Russian armored formations were marching in the direction of Seefeld, and we could not prevent them or join in the fight, since we did not have a single liter of fuel in our tanks.
Tank drivers and loaders, even noncommissioned officers and company-grade officers with Knight’s Crosses ran around with fuel canisters in their hands in an effort to beg a few liters of fuel so that they could at least move their tanks under their own power into a firing position. It was a portrait of unspeakable misery. No one wanted to sacrifice his vehicle, since everyone knew that every tank was urgently needed.
A route to the north, to Gotenhafen, was found and cleared. On 8 March, the village of Karthaus was cleared of all vehicles. It was only south of the town that columns still jammed up. They were increasingly becoming the targets of Russian aircraft. That only served to increase the confusion.
The situation around Seefeld gradually grew desperate. Correspondingly, the division ordered: “All available elements of the 4. Panzer-Division, are to assemble in the area around Karthaus as soon as possible, by foot march, if necessary.”
All of us were employed in clearing the roads. Disabled trucks were tipped over into the ditches without a second thought. Every liter of fuel was collected with a fine-tooth comb. We found a few hidden canisters of fuel of some trains vehicles. The horse-drawn vehicles were sent cross-country. Gradually, the chaos abated. A sort of “might makes right” ruled the roads. But there was no looking back. Even the stupidest or most stubborn of men could easily see that the Russians were using every means possible to cut us off. Rumors made the threatening situation even more uncertain. It was whispered from mouth to mouth that Ivan was already in Danzig.
In a last effort, our grenadiers descended one more time on the enemy; meter-by-meter, they fought themselves and the pitiful refugees clear. They had to fight to clear the essential roads not only against the Russians, but also against our own failures and against laggards and dawdlers. They sacrificed their own trains vehicles, so that the combat vehicles would get a few liters of fuel. Despite promises, no fuel arrived.
A friendly attack to open the road to Danzig bogged down. The Russians were already too strong there. The very last fuel from the trains vehicles was also used up. That meant that we were completely immobilized in Karthaus. We then heard that fuel had been set aside for us, but that it could not reach us, since it was not possible to bring it in from Danzig.
On 9 March, orders were received: “Keep only the valuable combat vehicles. All remaining vehicles are to be blown up immediately.”
We held the area around Karthaus for two more days and defended against fairly weak Russian attacks, and, for the first time, against a slowly mounting despair. Russian aircraft dropped clouds of propaganda leaflets on us; Ivan attempted to wear us down with loudspeaker propaganda. We waited hour-by-hour for the promised fuel, since the division had ordered that all operational tanks were to be preserved.
In bitter fighting with a few combat vehicles, Hauptmann Lange held the withdrawal route to Zoppot open for us at Schönwalde.
I don’t know how they did it, but two prime movers arrived on 12 March after moving through woods and open fields and brought the promised fuel. By then, Karthaus was devoid of civilians.
On back roads and through morass and bush country, we snaked our way with cunning and cleverness—and some luck—to the north past the Russians. We bogged down again due to a lack of fuel, but more was brought to us at nighttime. Through circuitous routes, we reached the large, but also abandoned Adlerhorst Flak2 position at Zoppot. We were able to get a full night’s sleep there in the bunkers.
It was only later that we discovered that our commander had had to fight higher headquarters for that few hours of sleep, since we were already expected for new operations at Oliva.
