Zum Ost¹

(Source)

Schütze Manfred Sauer thought that he'd never been this cold in his entire life. As he shivered in his issued greatcoat, one of the other men laughed and pointed out that the weather wasn't as bad as it had been the week before. Sauer shook his head, the man was obviously a city boy and Sauer, a pig farmer, put little credence in the man's comment.

Sauer had arrived by train only two days before with seventy-seven other replacements meant for the 223. Infanterie-Division of the German Wehrmacht. He had met up with the other men of his new platoon somewhere outside Leningrad and they had marched into the lines the night before.

While marching had kept him warm, spending the night in an unheated dugout had let the cold seep into his very bones. He was used to the outdoors, pig farming requires a lot of time outside in all weathers, but this was something altogether different from what he was used to.

The cold was intense, water froze quickly and some of the men had joked that if you weren't quick, "your piss will freeze before it hits the ground."

Sauer didn't really believe that, but again, this was nothing he had experienced before, not even in the coldest of Saxon winters. One of the old hands, Oberschütze Max Kimmel stepped into the dugout as Sauer was slapping his arms across his chest and stomping his feet to try and get the blood flowing.

"Here kid, take these and stuff them inside your clothing. Boots too if you have room."

Sauer stared at the man, he was handing him a newspaper, Goebbels' rag, Das Reich,² which the men read for news from home, though it was clearly a propaganda tool of the regime.

"I don't understand ..." Sauer began, but then it struck him, more insulation. He opened his greatcoat and unbuttoned his tunic, then began stuffing individual pages from the newspaper into his clothing.

Kimmel nodded and said, "You're a fast learner, kid. Keep it up and you might survive."

Sauer looked at the man for a moment, the idea of his not going home after the war had never crossed his mind. Now it did. He resolved at that point to become the best soldier in 3rd Platoon, that should help keep him, and his fellow soldiers, alive. He hoped.

Not 500 meters from Sauer's 3rd Platoon was the 1st Platoon of the 5th Kompanie, 2nd Battalion, 344th Infanterie-Regiment, Leutnant Jürgen von Lüttwitz commanding.

Von Lüttwitz was coming back to the German lines with a patrol of four men and a single Russian prisoner. They had gone out in the freezing night with the intent of gathering intelligence for the battalion. Von Lüttwitz reasoned that a prisoner might be a source of information.

The Russian was a junior officer, he had been sheltering with two other men in a shelter close to the front lines. They had been too preoccupied with staying warm to notice the Germans as they crept closer. Two of those men were quickly dispatched by the Germans as they leapt into the Russian dugout.

The men von Lüttwitz had taken with him were veterans, they all knew that an officer prisoner was their best bet, often the lower ranked Russians didn't have a clue as to what was going on. Sometimes they didn't even know what part of Russia they were in!

The Russian had feigned ignorance of German when they had captured him. Once they had bundled him off into no man's land, von Lüttwitz had complied when his senior runner (Melder), Oberschütze Otto Wandesleben, had gestured for a halt.

Raising an eyebrow, visible in the flickering light from a nearby burning Soviet Panzer, von Lüttwitz looked at his man, who leaned over and began whispering to their prisoner, in German.

"So Ivan, do you speak German? I'm betting you do, which would be very helpful for us."

The Russian shook his head and acted as if he hadn't understood a word, other than "Ivan," which is what the Germans called all Russians.

Turning to his platoon leader, Wandesleben hissed, "He doesn't understand a word, Chef, I say we cut his throat, if he can't speak German he's probably a Party member or some other useless species of Soviet."

At the words "cut his throat," the Russian held his hands out in a gesture of supplication, "My name is Kablukov, Rustem Artemovich Kablukov, I speak a little German."

Wandesleben smiled and whispered, "Enough for us to keep you alive, Kablukov?" As he said that he drew his fighting knife from inside his greatcoat.

When the Russian saw that he realized the game was up, "Yes, I learned at university in Moscow. I just haven't had the chance to speak it much." Kablukov looked worried as he spoke.

Von Lüttwitz nodded and whispered at the Russian, "Smart move, Ivan, perhaps you might live to see another day."

Wandesleben nudged his platoon leader, "We should be moving Chef, it will start getting light soon."

Von Lüttwitz nodded and said, "Ja, lass uns umziehen.³"




¹ To the East

² Literally, "The Empire," though Reich could also mean the country of Germany and Austria combined.

³ Yes, let's move.