Panzer Warfare on the Eastern Front
Language: English
Pages: 352
ISBN: 0811710793
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
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again. Tank 22 reported: “Vehicle knocked out!” At that point, the vehicle I had taken under fire started to burn as well. A Russian, probably the only survivor, bailed out. That meant we could also report knocking out a tank. That terrible game repeated itself several times. Then we finally made it through to the other side of the village. Tally: Tank 22—five vehicles destroyed; our Tank 21—three more. That’s what our report said. In all, nine tanks were counted as having been knocked out. It
trying to clear the road. In front of me, the street was a valley of fire. The houses were burning to the left and the right as far as I could see. An air-raid warden turned me in another direction towards the ferry over the Mottlau. So I turned around and scrammed. How long would it be before the next barrage started? On the ferry, I met a couple of Landser who were also waiting to be transported across. But a ferry operator was nowhere to be seen. It appeared that they had switched over to
armored groups. Panzergruppe 2, under Generaloberst Guderian, was deployed to either side of Brest-Litowsk, while Generaloberst Hoth’s Panzergruppe 3 was just to the north. Army Group South had Generaloberst von Kleist’s Panzergruppe 1 allocated to it, while Army Group North had Panzergruppe 4 of Generaloberst Hoepner.6 It was intended to break through the Russian forces with these armored wedges and then advance deep into the enemy’s rear area, thus shaking up the entire defensive system
daylight hours. But that had to be impossible given the current conditions? Sure, there were some 400 Russian dead in the snow to the rear of us. Granted, the Russians had padded winter breeches and jackets, not to mention felt boots and fur hats. But who could live . . . survive . . . from seven in the morning until the night without moving in -42-degree weather [-44 Fahrenheit], all under our eyes. But there’s no thing like a sure thing! A squad received orders to check out the bloody scene of
with his motorcycle. He had left his cigarettes with us—not a bad sign. He had barely disappeared behind the high ground, when the fireworks started up again: Ratsch—bummm, ratsch—bummm, uiii, uiii, uiii, crack, crack, crack . . . The line to the rear and the line going forward were all gone. Naumann, from Zöller’s section, came running forward. I thought he might ask what line they had to troubleshoot. But he sputtered: “Unteroffizier Zöller has been badly wounded. Shrapnel in the upper thigh
