There I sat, just 19 years old, at my parents' kitchen table in Magdeburg. The wall clock ticked as I stared at my call-up order. […] All the objections and appeals from my parents and my employer came to nothing. I had to interrupt my apprenticeship as a telecommunications fitter at Telefonbau u. Normalzeit – Lehner & Co. in Magdeburg and become a soldier.
Outside it was 48 degrees below zero; the thermometer only went down to −50. “Surely it cannot get any colder,” I thought. It was beyond a joke: going to the toilet was a catastrophe.
There was a great deal of snow, blown by the wind into large drifts. Hans and I had been collecting rations, and the icy wind cut through our clothes. I could barely feel my feet any more.
We often drank Russian spirits, and they were devilish stuff. The Russians made them themselves from potatoes and called them Samachonka. It looked like milky water, tasted like stale water, and seemed to have no effect. Only half an hour later did you start feeling quite woozy. The next day you felt nothing, but heaven help you if you drank a coffee: you were immediately drunk again.
The window boxes were coming along, some lettuce was already showing, and I worked hard in the garden. I had now connected the fifth repeater, and we were getting a dog – Jupp. I shot the cat with the submachine gun.
Suddenly we heard engines in the distance. Two police armoured vehicles approached from behind; one passed us and went a little further ahead. A powerful explosion shook the area, and we took cover. The vehicle quickly came back: its front drive sprocket had been hit. Nobody really knew where to go. We were already surrounded and right on the front line.
One of the armoured vehicles then got us out. All five of us had to climb aboard, and we sped several kilometres back. It dropped us off, then drove forward to the front again.
We were constantly being attacked by Bolshevik horsemen.
You could not really see them. All you saw was a huge dust cloud suddenly appearing, and you heard rifle shots whizzing past. We immediately threw ourselves down, took the cartridges out of our pockets and loaded our rifles, then worked the bolts and fired into the dust cloud.
Our Wiegand suddenly took a hit in the bow as well.
Nothing happened – silence. The shell turned out to be a dud. It was lodged in the chain locker, so the anchor must not be operated either. There were constant air-raid warnings.
Providence was kind to us, and my guardian angel was with me again. We sailed after dark. It was high time: the next day we would no longer have got away.
It was a beautiful sunny morning. We always slept until ten or eleven to save rations – or rather, so that we would not feel so hungry, because there was nothing left to save. Here, for the first time in my life, I discovered that hunger hurts. You actually had to writhe with hunger.
There I sat, just 19 years old, at my parents' kitchen table in Magdeburg. The wall clock ticked as I stared at my call-up order. […] All the objections and appeals from my parents and my employer came to nothing. I had to interrupt my apprenticeship as a telecommunications fitter at Telefonbau u. Normalzeit – Lehner & Co. in Magdeburg and become a soldier.
Outside it was 48 degrees below zero; the thermometer only went down to −50. “Surely it cannot get any colder,” I thought. It was beyond a joke: going to the toilet was a catastrophe.
There was a great deal of snow, blown by the wind into large drifts. Hans and I had been collecting rations, and the icy wind cut through our clothes. I could barely feel my feet any more.
We often drank Russian spirits, and they were devilish stuff. The Russians made them themselves from potatoes and called them Samachonka. It looked like milky water, tasted like stale water, and seemed to have no effect. Only half an hour later did you start feeling quite woozy. The next day you felt nothing, but heaven help you if you drank a coffee: you were immediately drunk again.
The window boxes were coming along, some lettuce was already showing, and I worked hard in the garden. I had now connected the fifth repeater, and we were getting a dog – Jupp. I shot the cat with the submachine gun.
Suddenly we heard engines in the distance. Two police armoured vehicles approached from behind; one passed us and went a little further ahead. A powerful explosion shook the area, and we took cover. The vehicle quickly came back: its front drive sprocket had been hit. Nobody really knew where to go. We were already surrounded and right on the front line.
One of the armoured vehicles then got us out. All five of us had to climb aboard, and we sped several kilometres back. It dropped us off, then drove forward to the front again.
We were constantly being attacked by Bolshevik horsemen.
You could not really see them. All you saw was a huge dust cloud suddenly appearing, and you heard rifle shots whizzing past. We immediately threw ourselves down, took the cartridges out of our pockets and loaded our rifles, then worked the bolts and fired into the dust cloud.
Our Wiegand suddenly took a hit in the bow as well.
Nothing happened – silence. The shell turned out to be a dud. It was lodged in the chain locker, so the anchor must not be operated either. There were constant air-raid warnings.
Providence was kind to us, and my guardian angel was with me again. We sailed after dark. It was high time: the next day we would no longer have got away.
It was a beautiful sunny morning. We always slept until ten or eleven to save rations – or rather, so that we would not feel so hungry, because there was nothing left to save. Here, for the first time in my life, I discovered that hunger hurts. You actually had to writhe with hunger.
The full story in Mein Kriegstagebuch.
More about the book