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Panzers on the Vistula: Retreat and Rout in East Prussia 1945
This WWII memoir of a Nazi officer is one of the most revealing firsthand accounts of the German retreat on the Eastern Front.
A second lieutenant of the 4th Panzer division, Hans Schäufler commanded a Jagdpanther tank destroyer in rearguard actions against the Red Army in East Prussia in 1945. Then, as an infantryman, he took part in the doomed defense of Danzig before escaping across the Baltic in a small boat. His personal story offers a rare glimpse into the chaos and suffering endured by tens thousands of soldiers and civilians during the collapse of the Third Reich in the east.
Along with vivid descriptions of the appalling conditions in Danzig and the fear and panic that gripped the city, Schäufler's account provides valuable insight into the German army's tactics as they fell back before the Soviet advance. While acute shortages of men, equipment, ammunition and fuel crippled the defense, the soldiers went on fighting for a lost cause in the face of certain defeat.<
A second lieutenant of the 4th Panzer division, Hans Schäufler commanded a Jagdpanther tank destroyer in rearguard actions against the Red Army in East Prussia in 1945. Then, as an infantryman, he took part in the doomed defense of Danzig before escaping across the Baltic in a small boat. His personal story offers a rare glimpse into the chaos and suffering endured by tens thousands of soldiers and civilians during the collapse of the Third Reich in the east.
Along with vivid descriptions of the appalling conditions in Danzig and the fear and panic that gripped the city, Schäufler's account provides valuable insight into the German army's tactics as they fell back before the Soviet advance. While acute shortages of men, equipment, ammunition and fuel crippled the defense, the soldiers went on fighting for a lost cause in the face of certain defeat.<
217 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 2010
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Displaying 1 - 14 of 14 reviews
December 25, 2018
The last days of World War II on the Eastern Front, especially in the area formerly known as Prussia, were chaotic and horrific for almost everyone on the German side. Incessant attacks by Russian planes, artillery, tanks and infantry taxed the small German forces to the utmost, and thousands of civilians were caught in the middle as they tried to escape the onrushing Russian forces as well.
The author served in the 4th Panzer Division and was one of those who were trying to hold back the Russians in order for the civilians to make it to safety. This book covers his experiences in that hectic, crazy time, and it's a disjointed tale of retreat, suffering, hunger, bravery and deprivation. There is very little combat related by the author himself, but several very good passages from the experiences of others help provide examples of the bitter fighting. It's only at the end when the author manages to board a small ship for the journey back to Germany that his story stays on one path. There are a couple short chapters at the end which relate the stories of some who ended up in Russian captivity, and these definitely confirm the author made the right choice to try and return to Germany. There are also a few instances in which either the author or the translation is incorrect, such as when American Superfortresses bomb German positions (there were no Superfortresses in Europe) and various assertions by the author that planes bombing them in the night were American, when they most likely were Russian.
There's a good selection of photos in the middle and a collection of maps at the beginning of the book which I didn't find very helpful. Overall, a fairly good, quick read which could have used more editing to improve the narration.
The author served in the 4th Panzer Division and was one of those who were trying to hold back the Russians in order for the civilians to make it to safety. This book covers his experiences in that hectic, crazy time, and it's a disjointed tale of retreat, suffering, hunger, bravery and deprivation. There is very little combat related by the author himself, but several very good passages from the experiences of others help provide examples of the bitter fighting. It's only at the end when the author manages to board a small ship for the journey back to Germany that his story stays on one path. There are a couple short chapters at the end which relate the stories of some who ended up in Russian captivity, and these definitely confirm the author made the right choice to try and return to Germany. There are also a few instances in which either the author or the translation is incorrect, such as when American Superfortresses bomb German positions (there were no Superfortresses in Europe) and various assertions by the author that planes bombing them in the night were American, when they most likely were Russian.
There's a good selection of photos in the middle and a collection of maps at the beginning of the book which I didn't find very helpful. Overall, a fairly good, quick read which could have used more editing to improve the narration.
December 31, 2018
Panzers on the Vistula – Excellent Book
Like many Polish descendants I have a dog in this fight as you would say, so it was a bittersweet retreat of the Germans, and the Russians went on to replace the Germans they pushed back. Like many Poles I will point out that most of East Prussia was Polish lands they occupied and ethnically cleansed from 1792 to 1914. Hence one of the reasons why Danzig was never Pole free and why there was a compromise at Versailles to accommodate the Poles and Germans.
This account of the retreat of the Panzer divisions from Russia is by a tank commander Hans Schäufler. This book is the harrowing account for those on the wrong side of World War 2, in the final days of combat, when Germans were having to fight street by street in a battle that they knew was doomed.
This is a very blunt account, there is no embellishment, every name and every detail is real. It must be remembered that things were already hard for most Germans but would get worse for anyone that had fought against the oncoming Red Army. This then tells the extent Schäufler had to take to stop being captured by the Soviets. Any soldier or officer that the Red Army captured besides being tortured were often sent back to Russian where they were put into camps and it could take up to ten years after the war for them to leave. Others were lucky, they died in the camps.
This is one of the most honest accounts, that does make tough reading in places, whatever you think about enemy combatants they are still human. It is refreshing to still hear a voice from the past who is no longer with us, but he has put into words what many others felt and their fears.
An excellent book and a message from history.
Like many Polish descendants I have a dog in this fight as you would say, so it was a bittersweet retreat of the Germans, and the Russians went on to replace the Germans they pushed back. Like many Poles I will point out that most of East Prussia was Polish lands they occupied and ethnically cleansed from 1792 to 1914. Hence one of the reasons why Danzig was never Pole free and why there was a compromise at Versailles to accommodate the Poles and Germans.
This account of the retreat of the Panzer divisions from Russia is by a tank commander Hans Schäufler. This book is the harrowing account for those on the wrong side of World War 2, in the final days of combat, when Germans were having to fight street by street in a battle that they knew was doomed.
This is a very blunt account, there is no embellishment, every name and every detail is real. It must be remembered that things were already hard for most Germans but would get worse for anyone that had fought against the oncoming Red Army. This then tells the extent Schäufler had to take to stop being captured by the Soviets. Any soldier or officer that the Red Army captured besides being tortured were often sent back to Russian where they were put into camps and it could take up to ten years after the war for them to leave. Others were lucky, they died in the camps.
This is one of the most honest accounts, that does make tough reading in places, whatever you think about enemy combatants they are still human. It is refreshing to still hear a voice from the past who is no longer with us, but he has put into words what many others felt and their fears.
An excellent book and a message from history.
March 17, 2020
A Greater book than you expected
Mr. Scheduled began his career with the German army as a radio operator in a tank Battalion in the Kurland pocket. I did not think he would see much action, but I was wrong. His commander led from the front. You will read of tank engagements, and the word of breakdowns and fuel shortages in the last two years of war.
Soon his unit was transferred West of Kurland to a pocket on the Vistula of which little has been written. Now due to losses he becomes a tank killer on foot. They hold the pocket as refugees escape. Each page is interesting or fascinating. Scheduled also includes pages written by other soldiers who had an exciting experience.
The author later escaped from the pocket in a small craft, enduring a life endangering storm. He lands in Germany, but makes his way to Sweden. T her he was incarcerated and later turned over to the Soviets for four years.
An exciting and interesting book about an area and unit about which little has been written. I recommend this book highly to folks interested in the Eastern Front during WW II. I will read this book again another time.
Mr. Scheduled began his career with the German army as a radio operator in a tank Battalion in the Kurland pocket. I did not think he would see much action, but I was wrong. His commander led from the front. You will read of tank engagements, and the word of breakdowns and fuel shortages in the last two years of war.
Soon his unit was transferred West of Kurland to a pocket on the Vistula of which little has been written. Now due to losses he becomes a tank killer on foot. They hold the pocket as refugees escape. Each page is interesting or fascinating. Scheduled also includes pages written by other soldiers who had an exciting experience.
The author later escaped from the pocket in a small craft, enduring a life endangering storm. He lands in Germany, but makes his way to Sweden. T her he was incarcerated and later turned over to the Soviets for four years.
An exciting and interesting book about an area and unit about which little has been written. I recommend this book highly to folks interested in the Eastern Front during WW II. I will read this book again another time.
July 7, 2019
Strong read
A really well out together book depicting the fortunes of this panzer division by the people who were there. This was a particularly nasty phase of the war and opened my eyes more about the behaviour of the allies and so called neutral countries of the Baltic. The killings written about by air attacks by the Americans and British show just how well we followed the Geneva convention and how history is controlled by the victors. A savage war with savage actions but well worth reading. The author comes across as honest and obviously knowledgeable having been there.
A really well out together book depicting the fortunes of this panzer division by the people who were there. This was a particularly nasty phase of the war and opened my eyes more about the behaviour of the allies and so called neutral countries of the Baltic. The killings written about by air attacks by the Americans and British show just how well we followed the Geneva convention and how history is controlled by the victors. A savage war with savage actions but well worth reading. The author comes across as honest and obviously knowledgeable having been there.
January 17, 2021
Something of a niche book but quite novel in focusing on the final days of the war at ground level. No grand discussions of strategy here but it does convey (often quite powerfully) the sense of frustration, powerlessness and general horror being experienced. It is also an interesting insight into why the whermacht resisted as long as it did even though the outcome was inevitable. Probably one for more serious historians of the period than casual interest but its short length makes it one the more casual student of this period should consider.
September 20, 2020
Pleasantly surprised by this account,
specially considering the area of operations and the timeframe, written in a way that catches the attention. These type of accounts are great as they describe the ordinary soldier experience and the problems suffered in the field. It also provides an first-hand insight to the massive evacuation of East Prussia population, seldom talked about.
specially considering the area of operations and the timeframe, written in a way that catches the attention. These type of accounts are great as they describe the ordinary soldier experience and the problems suffered in the field. It also provides an first-hand insight to the massive evacuation of East Prussia population, seldom talked about.
December 4, 2021
The retreat is covered at an operational level. I would have preferred a more ‘down in the weeds’ book. The only personal experience recounted in depth was the author’s boat trip to safety after Germany surrendered. After that he has some short chapters on the experiences of other Germans in Soviet POW/internment camps.
January 1, 2020
The suffering of all soldiers and civilians was incredible
A soldier to the last. A good read. The story of the struggle on the eastern front is both sad and fascinating.
A soldier to the last. A good read. The story of the struggle on the eastern front is both sad and fascinating.
April 27, 2020
When German fought to save the day by barking into clinched fellow friends from army.
The enemy assault group was rejected, and one prisoner was taken—Captain Küspert. He was wounded and only reported to us. The captured Red Army soldier was brought in and carefully tended to. He looked hungry, so we gave him bread, a cigarette, and a cup of vodka. He then perked up and made a grand speech, but we didn't understand it. Then, in the car that had brought us hot coffee, the prisoner was transported to the regimental command post.
Later, wounded soldiers from the 12th Panzergrenadier Regiment limped toward us. A young boy walked last, propped up on a stick. He collapsed heavily onto the straw spread on the floor in the lamp-lit command room. He gritted his teeth and pointed to his trouser leg, completely soaked in blood. We carefully pulled his trousers down. In his right thigh, just below the groin, was a large hole, big enough to easily take a clenched fist: the boy had been hit by a ricochet. He must have lost a lot of blood, but he was surprisingly brave. While he was being treated, I held his head, talking to him to distract him. He wasn't yet 18, and this was his first combat action.
"I had no idea it would go so quickly. I hadn't seen anything of this war yet!" He gave the impression that this was his biggest problem at the moment. Poor boy! He asked me if the wound was serious and insisted on examining it. We distracted him, as the deep hole in the muscles looked awful. If he had seen it, he would surely have lost consciousness.
After he was treated, he began complaining of pain in his left leg. We examined it and found another deep wound on the left side of his lower abdomen, but it didn't appear life-threatening. A large chunk of flesh was simply missing. Despite all this, the boy was incredibly lucky – and we explained to him that he was from Ingolstadt.
Ingolstadt, despite the presence of a German minority in Germany. Poles in the city were primarily forced laborers (so-called Zwangsarbeiter and Ostarbeiter) and prisoners of war brought from occupied Polish territories.
Heimatschuss (literally translated from German as "homeland shot" or "home shot") is a front-line term for a gunshot or shrapnel wound that was serious enough to eliminate the soldier from further combat and require treatment in a hospital inland (Germany), but at the same time, it didn't pose a direct threat to his life. Poles served in the 12th Panzergrenadier Regiment (German: Panzergrenadier-Regiment 12).
It was an elite, regular Wehrmacht regiment, part of the 4th Panzer Division. As with other units of this division, by the end of World War II, Poles conscripted by force had constituted a very significant percentage of the line soldiers.
The conscription of hundreds of thousands of young boys born in 1927 (who were only 17–18 years old in 1944–1945) was the result of the Third Reich's desperate mobilization, known as "total war" (Totaler Krieg). When the traditional reserves of the German army were exhausted, Adolf Hitler ordered the conscription of children and teenagers.
Polish territories incorporated into the Third Reich, including: Silesia, Pomerania, Greater Poland (Wartheland), and Gdańsk. Young Poles from these areas were enlisted en masse on the German nationality list (Deutsche Volksliste – DVL, mainly Group III) and, as formal citizens of the Reich, were subject to compulsory conscription.
In March 1945, Gdańsk and the surrounding area were defended by the German 2nd Field Army under the command of General Walter Weiss. Throughout the war, tens of thousands of Poles from Pomerania (referred to by the Germans as Kasuken or Wasserpolacken), Silesia, and Greater Poland served in its divisions.
In March 1945, between a dozen and as many as 30,000 Poles (primarily from Pomerania, Kashubia, and Upper Silesia) served in the encircled 2nd Army in Pomerania and the Gdańsk area.
Polish tank crews fought fierce battles in the area, including: Wrzeszcz, Oliwa, and the city center of Gdańsk.
It was Polish soldiers from this brigade who, on March 28, 1945, raised the white and red flag at Artus Court on Długi Targ Street.
For young Poles born in 1927, who failed to escape the Wehrmacht and were taken prisoner in Gdańsk by the Red Army, fate proved ruthless. The Soviets treated Pomerania as a native German and hostile land. They were unable (or unwilling) to distinguish a forcibly conscripted Pole from DVL Group III from a native German. Many of these young men, instead of returning home, were sent to prisoner-of-war camps in Siberia, some of whom returned to Poland only in the late 1940s.
Hermann Bix, sergeant major and platoon commander in the 1st Battalion of the 35th Armored Regiment, describes one of the many attacks carried out at that time:
"We were very dissatisfied when, instead of the Panzer tanks we knew and had been promised, we received Jagdpanthers, which, in the general confusion, did not reach their intended destination, namely the assault gun battalion.
...
It was the end of February 1945. I was standing with three such Jagdpanther tanks south of Starogard Gdański, covering the gathering of grenadiers and the formation of new defensive lines. Everyone had retreated, and against the white background of the snow, only the dark spot of a small mound of abandoned German trenches was visible. I was standing with my Jagdpanther in a small village, hidden behind a pile of manure just enough to see over it; the barrel of my gun was still sticking out above it. The flat turret cover protruded only a few centimeters above our shelter.
Behind me stood Master Sergeant Dehm and another Jagdpanther. Both tanks were almost out of ammunition. Without grenades, however, both crews were a burden. So I ordered them to retreat slightly.
After a moment, I almost couldn't believe my eyes: a long armored column was heading straight for me. The first tank was now only 1,200 meters away, and behind the combat vehicles were the supply vehicles.
I had already established several reference points in the area and calculated their distances just in case. So now I could dare to fire anti-tank shells at the leading tanks when the first one approached the point 800 meters away.
I don't know why, but my usually excellent aiming didn't hit the enemy tank with the first shot, but hit a massive tree standing nearby, on the edge. The trunk snapped in half, and the crown fell on the leading tank, whose driver lost his bearings when the branches suddenly obscured his view; he slid forward into a deep ditch and became stuck there, motionless.
The tanks following him approached close and stopped, not noticing me. Their turrets turned right, and the guns began firing haphazardly at the dark molehills our infantry had abandoned, silhouetted against the snow.
Now it was our turn. It was actually an easy task, as the enemy tanks' turrets were turned with their wider sides toward us. We just had to aim carefully, as we had very limited ammunition. If even one enemy tank remained intact, and we had used up all our ammunition, it could have ended badly for us.
Therefore, I ordered the tank in the center of the column to be shot first, which immediately burst into flames after the first shot. Then it was our turn. The tank coming last. A shot, and it too burst into flames. And then we easily shot at the next Ivans, one after another, as we now had them in front of us like a shooting gallery.
In ten minutes, we destroyed eleven Soviet tanks in this column. The rest, panicked and trying to turn back, fled into the ditches, blinded by the smoke and flames of the long line of burning tanks.
I gave the order to fire on the supply trucks as well, but the gunner reported that we had only two grenades left. We also fired all our machine gun ammunition. It was high time to disappear from the scene, for without ammunition, even the best tank is worthless.
We slowly began to withdraw, but the ground here was very soft, as if the quagmire had no bottom; it was impossible to turn the tank. We could only retreat very carefully, meter by meter, to get out of the sight of the enemy armored column, which was slowly becoming bolder again.
The heavy engine of our tank roared loudly with the effort. We were only a few meters from solid ground. However, as soon as the driver stepped on the gas, the tracks began to grind the mud into place. Suddenly, terror gripped me, paralyzing almost every limb – in front of us, on the right, 300 meters away, stood a Soviet tank in all its glory in the village. Unnoticed by us, it had somehow slipped through the area, weaving between houses; he himself hadn't expected to find a German tank here.
Regardless of how it happened, Ivan had spotted us, and I had to watch idly as the turret slowly began to rotate in our direction. We couldn't do the same, because like all otherwise excellent tank destroyers, our Jagdpanther had a stationary turret.
And then the Soviet tank stopped. I knew perfectly well that it was in a firing position. I started shouting, no, barking orders:
"Back and turn left! Stop! Turn left in place!" But our vehicle was stuck in the mud and reacting slowly, very slowly, to the steering rod's pulls. I became very nervous, and my anxiety immediately spread to the rest of the crew. The loader, who had been the first to sense what was coming, reminded me:
"We only have two more anti-tank shells."
My heart was pounding harder. I felt very strange...
I didn't want to admit it, but I already knew it would be impossible to move our steel block, which was only advancing inch by inch in the deep mud. And the Soviet tank's gun was already aimed directly at us. I looked to my right—"Am I hallucinating? The Soviet tank was a bit too high!" I shuddered and suddenly felt a chance for salvation. I had been carefully watching the Russian's every move. I hadn't missed the slightest detail. And then my opponent made a crucial mistake. His driver, thinking he could afford to act slowly, decided to move a little further forward, as his tank had sunk a little too low in the rear. At that moment, his rear tracks began to sink deeper and deeper into the mud, which was also very deep there.
Just seconds earlier, I was ready to give up: "Hermann, examine your conscience quickly! It'll all be over soon!" But now I saw a chance for salvation. "Stay calm!" I ordered myself. Our tank slowly turned in place, and in a moment we were in firing position. The gun was at the right height and ready to fire. The gunner carefully checked the distance. Our opponent was sinking his rear deeper and deeper into the mud and was doing everything, really everything, using every trick to get his gun barrel as low as possible.
Suddenly, the enemy tank's turret hatch suddenly opened. Two hands appeared inside and began waving at us. Did its crew want to surrender, or were they trying to deceive us? We were used to all sorts of tricks. No, I couldn't take any chances! So we fired our penultimate shell into the enemy's side. Just to be safe and on the safe side. Its crew began jumping out quickly: one, two, three, four. Now everything was in order: slapstick!
Finally, we fired a final grenade at the Soviet tank, which immediately burst into flames: our sixteenth Soviet tank destroyed that morning.
A final note: Sergeant Major Hermann Bix was the twenty-third soldier in the 35th Panzer Regiment to be awarded the Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross on March 22, 1945, for destroying 75 enemy tanks during the Eastern Campaign.
In reports from that entire week of heavy fighting, the corps recorded the irretrievable loss of only 21 T-34 tanks and 8 American Shermans (M4A2 versions supplied under Lend-Lease). Bixa may have suffered only a few (2-4) truly and irretrievably destroyed tanks during that period, not the dozen or so he reported.
These figures come directly from official documents of the Soviet 8th Guards Tank Corps. The report, dated February 25, 1945, provides definitive proof of how far literary fiction and wartime reports diverged from reality.
Instead of the alleged 16 tanks destroyed in one morning by Bix's crew alone, the entire Soviet corps (operating on a wide section of the front) lost that day:
Tanks burned (irreversible losses): 2 T-34s and 1 M4A2 Sherman.
Tanks damaged (for evacuation/repair): 1 T-34 and 2 M4A2 Shermans.
Tanks immobilized: 1 T-34, which simply got stuck in a ditch/trench.
Bix explicitly mentions in his description that his Jagdpanther section covered "the assembly of grenadiers and the creation of new defensive lines." This refers to the organic motorized infantry of his own division:
12th Panzergrenadier Regiment (Panzergrenadier-Regiment 12)
33rd Panzergrenadier Regiment (Panzergrenadier-Regiment 33)
SU-85 eliminated by artillery: The last of the lost vehicles (a self-propelled gun) was immobilized by mortar fire, which was the responsibility of the regimental artillery, not the infantry in the trenches.
"I yelled into the surprised colonel's ear. We're in the middle of the Russians!" This incorrigible optimist was still full of doubts, however. So I leaned over to the driver's back: "To the left, into the gravel pit! We're going in at full throttle!" I shouted.
The colonel started to object loudly, asking who was actually in charge here, but his objections were choked in his throat as the whistling of the first anti-tank grenades flew overhead echoed through the air.
Alpenrose, where are you? I'll fire a few more red rockets, can you see them?
At that moment, our Russian Saxon joined the radio conversation with obvious joy and a devilish laugh: "Hey, Alpenrose, have you said a prayer for your souls yet? The devil's coming for you soon!"
"No," I thought to myself, "they won't take us alive." That miserable fellow with the Saxon accent had been harassing us with his stupid lines since Świecie.
"Three tanks are on their way!" I called to the colonel. "They have to be here soon!"
Christern just lazily raised his hand and continued firing his submachine gun. He was in control again.
For five weeks, I had managed to restrain myself from responding to this fellow, pretending as if I hadn't heard him at all. Now, however, I could barely contain my cry of joy as I shouted into the microphone: "You've done a damn good job!"
The two radio operators and the driver approached the command vehicle and, panting heavily, climbed in. I, on the other hand, watched from above as the miracle unfolded before my eyes. Our three tanks were causing a mighty stir; being so close to disaster, one couldn't help but smile with joy at someone else's defeat.
The colonel walked briskly up to me, smiled slightly embarrassedly, then called me an uncultured Bavarian and patted me on the chest, which was a proposal for peace on his part.
Since radio silence had been broken, we radioed a brief report of the situation to the 4th Armored Division command, which must have learned that the Soviets were already in Dąbrówka.
In response, we received an urgent radio message: "New situation: Soviet tanks are attacking Kartuzy. Immediately restore march readiness and break through to Kartuzy as quickly as possible!"
The three tanks that had come to our aid and reached the edge of Dąbrówka were recalled by radio order. Captain Petrelli, who had been listening to all the radio conversations, reported that the transport train had already been unloaded and all vehicles were ready to depart.
Kartuzy? Kartuzy lies almost 50 kilometers east of us, at the gates of Gdańsk. This can't be true!
The enemy assault group was rejected, and one prisoner was taken—Captain Küspert. He was wounded and only reported to us. The captured Red Army soldier was brought in and carefully tended to. He looked hungry, so we gave him bread, a cigarette, and a cup of vodka. He then perked up and made a grand speech, but we didn't understand it. Then, in the car that had brought us hot coffee, the prisoner was transported to the regimental command post.
Later, wounded soldiers from the 12th Panzergrenadier Regiment limped toward us. A young boy walked last, propped up on a stick. He collapsed heavily onto the straw spread on the floor in the lamp-lit command room. He gritted his teeth and pointed to his trouser leg, completely soaked in blood. We carefully pulled his trousers down. In his right thigh, just below the groin, was a large hole, big enough to easily take a clenched fist: the boy had been hit by a ricochet. He must have lost a lot of blood, but he was surprisingly brave. While he was being treated, I held his head, talking to him to distract him. He wasn't yet 18, and this was his first combat action.
"I had no idea it would go so quickly. I hadn't seen anything of this war yet!" He gave the impression that this was his biggest problem at the moment. Poor boy! He asked me if the wound was serious and insisted on examining it. We distracted him, as the deep hole in the muscles looked awful. If he had seen it, he would surely have lost consciousness.
After he was treated, he began complaining of pain in his left leg. We examined it and found another deep wound on the left side of his lower abdomen, but it didn't appear life-threatening. A large chunk of flesh was simply missing. Despite all this, the boy was incredibly lucky – and we explained to him that he was from Ingolstadt.
Ingolstadt, despite the presence of a German minority in Germany. Poles in the city were primarily forced laborers (so-called Zwangsarbeiter and Ostarbeiter) and prisoners of war brought from occupied Polish territories.
Heimatschuss (literally translated from German as "homeland shot" or "home shot") is a front-line term for a gunshot or shrapnel wound that was serious enough to eliminate the soldier from further combat and require treatment in a hospital inland (Germany), but at the same time, it didn't pose a direct threat to his life. Poles served in the 12th Panzergrenadier Regiment (German: Panzergrenadier-Regiment 12).
It was an elite, regular Wehrmacht regiment, part of the 4th Panzer Division. As with other units of this division, by the end of World War II, Poles conscripted by force had constituted a very significant percentage of the line soldiers.
The conscription of hundreds of thousands of young boys born in 1927 (who were only 17–18 years old in 1944–1945) was the result of the Third Reich's desperate mobilization, known as "total war" (Totaler Krieg). When the traditional reserves of the German army were exhausted, Adolf Hitler ordered the conscription of children and teenagers.
Polish territories incorporated into the Third Reich, including: Silesia, Pomerania, Greater Poland (Wartheland), and Gdańsk. Young Poles from these areas were enlisted en masse on the German nationality list (Deutsche Volksliste – DVL, mainly Group III) and, as formal citizens of the Reich, were subject to compulsory conscription.
In March 1945, Gdańsk and the surrounding area were defended by the German 2nd Field Army under the command of General Walter Weiss. Throughout the war, tens of thousands of Poles from Pomerania (referred to by the Germans as Kasuken or Wasserpolacken), Silesia, and Greater Poland served in its divisions.
In March 1945, between a dozen and as many as 30,000 Poles (primarily from Pomerania, Kashubia, and Upper Silesia) served in the encircled 2nd Army in Pomerania and the Gdańsk area.
Polish tank crews fought fierce battles in the area, including: Wrzeszcz, Oliwa, and the city center of Gdańsk.
It was Polish soldiers from this brigade who, on March 28, 1945, raised the white and red flag at Artus Court on Długi Targ Street.
For young Poles born in 1927, who failed to escape the Wehrmacht and were taken prisoner in Gdańsk by the Red Army, fate proved ruthless. The Soviets treated Pomerania as a native German and hostile land. They were unable (or unwilling) to distinguish a forcibly conscripted Pole from DVL Group III from a native German. Many of these young men, instead of returning home, were sent to prisoner-of-war camps in Siberia, some of whom returned to Poland only in the late 1940s.
Hermann Bix, sergeant major and platoon commander in the 1st Battalion of the 35th Armored Regiment, describes one of the many attacks carried out at that time:
"We were very dissatisfied when, instead of the Panzer tanks we knew and had been promised, we received Jagdpanthers, which, in the general confusion, did not reach their intended destination, namely the assault gun battalion.
...
It was the end of February 1945. I was standing with three such Jagdpanther tanks south of Starogard Gdański, covering the gathering of grenadiers and the formation of new defensive lines. Everyone had retreated, and against the white background of the snow, only the dark spot of a small mound of abandoned German trenches was visible. I was standing with my Jagdpanther in a small village, hidden behind a pile of manure just enough to see over it; the barrel of my gun was still sticking out above it. The flat turret cover protruded only a few centimeters above our shelter.
Behind me stood Master Sergeant Dehm and another Jagdpanther. Both tanks were almost out of ammunition. Without grenades, however, both crews were a burden. So I ordered them to retreat slightly.
After a moment, I almost couldn't believe my eyes: a long armored column was heading straight for me. The first tank was now only 1,200 meters away, and behind the combat vehicles were the supply vehicles.
I had already established several reference points in the area and calculated their distances just in case. So now I could dare to fire anti-tank shells at the leading tanks when the first one approached the point 800 meters away.
I don't know why, but my usually excellent aiming didn't hit the enemy tank with the first shot, but hit a massive tree standing nearby, on the edge. The trunk snapped in half, and the crown fell on the leading tank, whose driver lost his bearings when the branches suddenly obscured his view; he slid forward into a deep ditch and became stuck there, motionless.
The tanks following him approached close and stopped, not noticing me. Their turrets turned right, and the guns began firing haphazardly at the dark molehills our infantry had abandoned, silhouetted against the snow.
Now it was our turn. It was actually an easy task, as the enemy tanks' turrets were turned with their wider sides toward us. We just had to aim carefully, as we had very limited ammunition. If even one enemy tank remained intact, and we had used up all our ammunition, it could have ended badly for us.
Therefore, I ordered the tank in the center of the column to be shot first, which immediately burst into flames after the first shot. Then it was our turn. The tank coming last. A shot, and it too burst into flames. And then we easily shot at the next Ivans, one after another, as we now had them in front of us like a shooting gallery.
In ten minutes, we destroyed eleven Soviet tanks in this column. The rest, panicked and trying to turn back, fled into the ditches, blinded by the smoke and flames of the long line of burning tanks.
I gave the order to fire on the supply trucks as well, but the gunner reported that we had only two grenades left. We also fired all our machine gun ammunition. It was high time to disappear from the scene, for without ammunition, even the best tank is worthless.
We slowly began to withdraw, but the ground here was very soft, as if the quagmire had no bottom; it was impossible to turn the tank. We could only retreat very carefully, meter by meter, to get out of the sight of the enemy armored column, which was slowly becoming bolder again.
The heavy engine of our tank roared loudly with the effort. We were only a few meters from solid ground. However, as soon as the driver stepped on the gas, the tracks began to grind the mud into place. Suddenly, terror gripped me, paralyzing almost every limb – in front of us, on the right, 300 meters away, stood a Soviet tank in all its glory in the village. Unnoticed by us, it had somehow slipped through the area, weaving between houses; he himself hadn't expected to find a German tank here.
Regardless of how it happened, Ivan had spotted us, and I had to watch idly as the turret slowly began to rotate in our direction. We couldn't do the same, because like all otherwise excellent tank destroyers, our Jagdpanther had a stationary turret.
And then the Soviet tank stopped. I knew perfectly well that it was in a firing position. I started shouting, no, barking orders:
"Back and turn left! Stop! Turn left in place!" But our vehicle was stuck in the mud and reacting slowly, very slowly, to the steering rod's pulls. I became very nervous, and my anxiety immediately spread to the rest of the crew. The loader, who had been the first to sense what was coming, reminded me:
"We only have two more anti-tank shells."
My heart was pounding harder. I felt very strange...
I didn't want to admit it, but I already knew it would be impossible to move our steel block, which was only advancing inch by inch in the deep mud. And the Soviet tank's gun was already aimed directly at us. I looked to my right—"Am I hallucinating? The Soviet tank was a bit too high!" I shuddered and suddenly felt a chance for salvation. I had been carefully watching the Russian's every move. I hadn't missed the slightest detail. And then my opponent made a crucial mistake. His driver, thinking he could afford to act slowly, decided to move a little further forward, as his tank had sunk a little too low in the rear. At that moment, his rear tracks began to sink deeper and deeper into the mud, which was also very deep there.
Just seconds earlier, I was ready to give up: "Hermann, examine your conscience quickly! It'll all be over soon!" But now I saw a chance for salvation. "Stay calm!" I ordered myself. Our tank slowly turned in place, and in a moment we were in firing position. The gun was at the right height and ready to fire. The gunner carefully checked the distance. Our opponent was sinking his rear deeper and deeper into the mud and was doing everything, really everything, using every trick to get his gun barrel as low as possible.
Suddenly, the enemy tank's turret hatch suddenly opened. Two hands appeared inside and began waving at us. Did its crew want to surrender, or were they trying to deceive us? We were used to all sorts of tricks. No, I couldn't take any chances! So we fired our penultimate shell into the enemy's side. Just to be safe and on the safe side. Its crew began jumping out quickly: one, two, three, four. Now everything was in order: slapstick!
Finally, we fired a final grenade at the Soviet tank, which immediately burst into flames: our sixteenth Soviet tank destroyed that morning.
A final note: Sergeant Major Hermann Bix was the twenty-third soldier in the 35th Panzer Regiment to be awarded the Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross on March 22, 1945, for destroying 75 enemy tanks during the Eastern Campaign.
In reports from that entire week of heavy fighting, the corps recorded the irretrievable loss of only 21 T-34 tanks and 8 American Shermans (M4A2 versions supplied under Lend-Lease). Bixa may have suffered only a few (2-4) truly and irretrievably destroyed tanks during that period, not the dozen or so he reported.
These figures come directly from official documents of the Soviet 8th Guards Tank Corps. The report, dated February 25, 1945, provides definitive proof of how far literary fiction and wartime reports diverged from reality.
Instead of the alleged 16 tanks destroyed in one morning by Bix's crew alone, the entire Soviet corps (operating on a wide section of the front) lost that day:
Tanks burned (irreversible losses): 2 T-34s and 1 M4A2 Sherman.
Tanks damaged (for evacuation/repair): 1 T-34 and 2 M4A2 Shermans.
Tanks immobilized: 1 T-34, which simply got stuck in a ditch/trench.
Bix explicitly mentions in his description that his Jagdpanther section covered "the assembly of grenadiers and the creation of new defensive lines." This refers to the organic motorized infantry of his own division:
12th Panzergrenadier Regiment (Panzergrenadier-Regiment 12)
33rd Panzergrenadier Regiment (Panzergrenadier-Regiment 33)
SU-85 eliminated by artillery: The last of the lost vehicles (a self-propelled gun) was immobilized by mortar fire, which was the responsibility of the regimental artillery, not the infantry in the trenches.
"I yelled into the surprised colonel's ear. We're in the middle of the Russians!" This incorrigible optimist was still full of doubts, however. So I leaned over to the driver's back: "To the left, into the gravel pit! We're going in at full throttle!" I shouted.
The colonel started to object loudly, asking who was actually in charge here, but his objections were choked in his throat as the whistling of the first anti-tank grenades flew overhead echoed through the air.
Alpenrose, where are you? I'll fire a few more red rockets, can you see them?
At that moment, our Russian Saxon joined the radio conversation with obvious joy and a devilish laugh: "Hey, Alpenrose, have you said a prayer for your souls yet? The devil's coming for you soon!"
"No," I thought to myself, "they won't take us alive." That miserable fellow with the Saxon accent had been harassing us with his stupid lines since Świecie.
"Three tanks are on their way!" I called to the colonel. "They have to be here soon!"
Christern just lazily raised his hand and continued firing his submachine gun. He was in control again.
For five weeks, I had managed to restrain myself from responding to this fellow, pretending as if I hadn't heard him at all. Now, however, I could barely contain my cry of joy as I shouted into the microphone: "You've done a damn good job!"
The two radio operators and the driver approached the command vehicle and, panting heavily, climbed in. I, on the other hand, watched from above as the miracle unfolded before my eyes. Our three tanks were causing a mighty stir; being so close to disaster, one couldn't help but smile with joy at someone else's defeat.
The colonel walked briskly up to me, smiled slightly embarrassedly, then called me an uncultured Bavarian and patted me on the chest, which was a proposal for peace on his part.
Since radio silence had been broken, we radioed a brief report of the situation to the 4th Armored Division command, which must have learned that the Soviets were already in Dąbrówka.
In response, we received an urgent radio message: "New situation: Soviet tanks are attacking Kartuzy. Immediately restore march readiness and break through to Kartuzy as quickly as possible!"
The three tanks that had come to our aid and reached the edge of Dąbrówka were recalled by radio order. Captain Petrelli, who had been listening to all the radio conversations, reported that the transport train had already been unloaded and all vehicles were ready to depart.
Kartuzy? Kartuzy lies almost 50 kilometers east of us, at the gates of Gdańsk. This can't be true!
August 31, 2023
In January 1945 war ‘came home’ to Germany with a vengeance when the Red Army re-crossed the border into what was then known as East Prussia. The retreating Axis forces had conducted the war on the Eastern Front ruthlessly and the population of the Soviet Union had suffered grievously as a result. Soviet retribution was pre-meditated and expected. Whilst the horrors about to be visited on the people of East Prussia can perhaps be understood from a historians perspective, they were nevertheless a source of huge distress to many people who had not previously experienced the full extent of total war.
It is perhaps ironic that what remained of Heeresgruppe Nord (other than the major part isolated in Kurland) secured the survival of about two million German nationals by holding open key ports for the Kriegsmarine to evacuate the Prussian population under Operation Hannibal. One might be tempted, therefore, to paint the Axis defence of East Prussia as a humanitarian effort but this would be an over simplification. Certainly survivors from the Stuffhof Concentration Camp and its’ satellites would not have appreciated such an interpretation of events – 3,700 inmates were driven into the icy cold Baltic under the muzzles of machine guns at Palmnicken in the month that the East Prussian border was irrevocably breached.
The troubling context aside, this is a remarkable book which provides an authentic eye witness account of the capture of Danzig, mass evacuations from the Frische Nehrung and the desperate plight of those who actually made their escape – initially to the Hela Peninsular and then to relative safety in Northern Germany and Sweden. In the first couple of months of 1945 the author commanded a Jagdpanther tank destroyer serving with the 4th Panzer Division. As fuel shortages became acute and resupply became impossible he transferred to the infantry.
It is remarkable how German command and control continued to operate effectively right until the very end in May 1945. This was in large part made possible by the extraordinary resilience, heroism and ingenuity of the fighting units still in the field. The men of the 4th Panzer Division clearly played a critical role in what Schaufler later described – with some justification - as “the greatest rescue operation in human history”.
Aside from the fascinating descriptions of the fighting, the book also covers the immediate period after the cessation of hostilities. The author escaped East Prussia in a dramatic boat journey and this is described in detail along with the recollections of others who went into Soviet captivity – some via neutral Sweden. The text is accompanied by a series of excellent maps, powerful contemporary images and a useful timeline.
There is one thing that this reviewer would take issue with and that is the use of the word ‘rout’ in the book’s title. The Axis forces defending East and West Prussia did so with skill and, as this excellent book shows, discipline was maintained until the very end despite the inevitability of total defeat in the face of a highly capable attacking force under the leadership of one of the most able Soviet commanders - Konstantin Rokossovsky.
It is perhaps ironic that what remained of Heeresgruppe Nord (other than the major part isolated in Kurland) secured the survival of about two million German nationals by holding open key ports for the Kriegsmarine to evacuate the Prussian population under Operation Hannibal. One might be tempted, therefore, to paint the Axis defence of East Prussia as a humanitarian effort but this would be an over simplification. Certainly survivors from the Stuffhof Concentration Camp and its’ satellites would not have appreciated such an interpretation of events – 3,700 inmates were driven into the icy cold Baltic under the muzzles of machine guns at Palmnicken in the month that the East Prussian border was irrevocably breached.
The troubling context aside, this is a remarkable book which provides an authentic eye witness account of the capture of Danzig, mass evacuations from the Frische Nehrung and the desperate plight of those who actually made their escape – initially to the Hela Peninsular and then to relative safety in Northern Germany and Sweden. In the first couple of months of 1945 the author commanded a Jagdpanther tank destroyer serving with the 4th Panzer Division. As fuel shortages became acute and resupply became impossible he transferred to the infantry.
It is remarkable how German command and control continued to operate effectively right until the very end in May 1945. This was in large part made possible by the extraordinary resilience, heroism and ingenuity of the fighting units still in the field. The men of the 4th Panzer Division clearly played a critical role in what Schaufler later described – with some justification - as “the greatest rescue operation in human history”.
Aside from the fascinating descriptions of the fighting, the book also covers the immediate period after the cessation of hostilities. The author escaped East Prussia in a dramatic boat journey and this is described in detail along with the recollections of others who went into Soviet captivity – some via neutral Sweden. The text is accompanied by a series of excellent maps, powerful contemporary images and a useful timeline.
There is one thing that this reviewer would take issue with and that is the use of the word ‘rout’ in the book’s title. The Axis forces defending East and West Prussia did so with skill and, as this excellent book shows, discipline was maintained until the very end despite the inevitability of total defeat in the face of a highly capable attacking force under the leadership of one of the most able Soviet commanders - Konstantin Rokossovsky.
March 4, 2025
A short memoir written by an officer in the highly acclaimed 4. Panzer-Division. The division with the highest amount of Knight's Crosses awarded during the war, surpassed only by the the 2. SS-Panzerdivision "Das Reich".
The author tells the tale of their hopeless struggle with the Soviet Juggernaut in the fields and cities of West Prussia. Although the war was long lost the Wehrmacht continued the struggle in the hopes of saving the population of the region from massacre. A sad story of self-sacrifice, heroism and ultimately defeat. At least the author had a happy ending by enduring a difficult and deadly journey by motor boat to the main German lands where he surrendered to the British. Many of his comrades went in to Soviet captivity never to return again.
A fast and easy read I recommend it to everyone interested in the last days of the fighting on the Eastern front. The translation, hunting tanks (sic), and the proof checking, no such thing as a heavy Panzer battalion 664, could've been better.
The author tells the tale of their hopeless struggle with the Soviet Juggernaut in the fields and cities of West Prussia. Although the war was long lost the Wehrmacht continued the struggle in the hopes of saving the population of the region from massacre. A sad story of self-sacrifice, heroism and ultimately defeat. At least the author had a happy ending by enduring a difficult and deadly journey by motor boat to the main German lands where he surrendered to the British. Many of his comrades went in to Soviet captivity never to return again.
A fast and easy read I recommend it to everyone interested in the last days of the fighting on the Eastern front. The translation, hunting tanks (sic), and the proof checking, no such thing as a heavy Panzer battalion 664, could've been better.
September 16, 2026
The book covers the collapse of the Second Army during period of January thru May 1945 in the areas of Kurland and Danzig. Written by a surviving signal officer from the first battalion, 35th regiment of the 4th Panzer Division, who blends a big picture view of the campaign with individual accounts of the fighting. The book is well written with short chapters, personal photographs, and timeline of significant events. The author provides a "you are there"story of firefights and daily life of a desperate army that keeps one's interest. He concludes his book with chapters of the experiences of this comrades in detention at the end of the war. The book appears to be well researched but unfortunately does not include sources notes.
October 17, 2026
Took a long pause from reading this halfway as the repetition was getting rather boring - 'the Soviets attacked here, the Germans attacked there, the Soviets counter-attacked, the Germans retreated'.
The second half was significantly more interesting with some incredibly surreal vignettes such as the redundant panzer crewmen becoming infantry still wearing their black tunics, deserters being shot by military police as they attempted to climb onto a ship, and British POWs volunteering to fight for the Germans rather than return to their Soviet 'allies'.
The second half was significantly more interesting with some incredibly surreal vignettes such as the redundant panzer crewmen becoming infantry still wearing their black tunics, deserters being shot by military police as they attempted to climb onto a ship, and British POWs volunteering to fight for the Germans rather than return to their Soviet 'allies'.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
May 8, 2024
A detailed account of what one man saw and experienced in the last moments of WWII on the Eastern Front. Book was easy to read and follow, though I would have preferred if the maps had been placed with the chapters they corresponded to. I was a hard to find where things were taking place since the places are no longer named in German or may have been under a local name.
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