Gunter Koschorrek - Blood Red Snow: The Memoirs of a German Soldier on the Eastern Front

BLOODREDSNOW

BLOODRED

SNOW

TheMemoirsofaGermanSoldier

ontheEasternFront

GnterK.Koschorrek

BloodRedSnow:TheMemoirsofaGermanSoldierontheEasternFront

Thiseditionpublishedin2011byFrontlineBooks,

animprintofPen&SwordBooksLimited,

47ChurchStreet,Barnsley,S.Yorkshire,S702AS

www.frontline-books.com,emailinfo@frontline-books.com OriginalGermanedition: VergidieZeitderDornennicht1998

byv.Hase&KoehlerVerlag,Main,Germany

English-languagetranslationcopyrightGreenhillBooks,2002

ThiseditionPen&SwordBooksLimited,2011

ISBN978-1-84832-596-8

PUBLISHINGHISTORY

VergidieZeitderDornennichtwasoriginallypublishedin1998by

v.Hase&KoehlerVerlag.ThefirstEnglish-languagetranslationwas

publishedinpaperbackbyGreenhillBooksin2002.Thiseditionwas

translatedbyOlavR.Crome-Aamot.

Allrightsreserved.Nopartofthispublicationmaybereproduced,

storedinorintroducedintoaretrievalsystem,ortransmitted,inany

form,orbyanymeans(electronic,mechanical,photocopyingor

otherwise)withoutthepriorwrittenpermissionofthepublisher.Any

personwhodoesanyunauthorizedactinrelationtothispublicationmay

beliabletocriminalprosecutionandcivilclaimsfordamages.

ACIPdatarecordforthistitleisavailablefromtheBritishLibrary.

Formoreinformationonourbooks,pleasevisitwww.frontline-books.com,

emailinfo@frontline-books.comorwritetousattheaboveaddress.

PrintedintheUnitedStatesofAmerica

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Plates(betweenpages192and209)

Maps

ITSNOTEASYtopullyourexperiencesoftheSecondWorldWarfromyourmemory

and then write a chronologically accurate report about them: either you satisfy

yourself with the incidental events which you have with difficulty sifted out, or you simplyfillthegapsinyourmemorywithlivelyfantasy.Manybookshavebeenpublished

usingthelattermixture,eitherglorifyingthewarbytellingofwhatareindisputablyacts ofheroism,orinterpretingitbymeansofmaliciousobituarywiththeresultthatthereader is persuaded to regard soldiers as bloodthirsty murderers. I want neither of the above; I intend neither to glorify nor to judge. I will describe the realityhow I, as an ordinary soldier,personallyexperiencedandperceivedthewaronthefrontlinesinRussiafromthe

autumnof1942untilthebitterend,interruptedonlyoccasionallybecauseofinjury.

This book is an authentic report, with descriptions of my own unforgettable

experiences, impressions and perceptionsthe perceptions of an ordinary front-line

soldier,referredto,intheslangoftheday,asa Landser.Unlikemanybooks,whichrely oncontemporarydocumentation,itdoesnotdiscussresponsibility(orthelackofit)from

thepointofviewofthecommandstaffsinchargeoftheconductofthewar,norevenfrom

thepointofviewoftheleaderswhohadbeenspecificallytrainedtobeexamplestotheir

men(andwho,asageneralrule,foughtalongsidetheminthefrontlines).

The book is intended to be a tribute to the countless anonymous soldiers who spent mostoftheirwarinfilthyfoxholesintheRussiansoil,relinquishingthemonlywhenthey

needed to engage the enemy directlywhether it be in summer in the boiling hot sun, duringtherainsinknee-deepmud,orinawinterblizzardwiththegroundfrozenhardor

covered in deep snow. The only hope for these men was the promise of a brief respite whentheywerepermittedtorestwiththerear-areasupplytrains.But,untilthathappened, theirhomewasthefront-linetrenchorthefoxholethere,onthemainbattleline,where

dayafterdaytheyworriedabouttheirsurvivalandkilledtheirenemiesinordertoavoid

being killed; where each man fought as a unit but in the end had to rely upon himself; wheretheeartharoundthemoftenturnedintoaburninghell;wheretheysensedtheice-cold touch of death when a glowing hot splinter or a fizzing bullet searched out their living bodies; where the shredded corpses of their enemy were heaped in front of them; andwherethepiercingscreamsofthewoundedwouldmixwiththebarelyaudiblecallsof

the dying, touching them as they cowered deep within the ground and pursuing them in theirnightmares.Therecannotbemanystilllivingwho,afterhalfacentury,cansaythat

they survived the murderous war on the Russian front, or survived an inhuman

imprisonment afterwards. But there most assuredly are still fewer who, thanks to some miracle, escaped the hellish inferno and who, because of notes they made during those days,cannowwriteaboutit.

After my training I graduated as a heavy machine gunner. As a result, my superiors employedmeprimarilyinthisspecialityandasaheavyweaponsgunteamleaderformost

ofmyfront-lineservice.Iwillnotdenythat,usingthisrapid-fireweaponmountedona

gun-carriageandequippedwithanopticalsightIkilledmanyoftheenemyduringthe

warontheEasternFront.

DuringthisperiodImadeanumberofnoteswithaviewtowritingupafactualreport

after hostilities had ended. Initially I also kept a diary, although this was against regulations for the common soldier. I made my first comments in this diary as we, a freshlytrainedunitofyoungrecruits,madeourwaytoStalingradasreplacementtroops.

Beforewereachedourdestinationwemarchedfordays,withheavyloadsonourbacks,

throughtheshimmeringheatoftheendlessKalmucksteppe.

During a massive Russian tank attack on 13 December 1942, at the edge of the

Stalingrad pocket, our supply train and personal effects fell into enemy hands.

Unfortunately my diary was amongst the booty. I didnt worry too much, as I had only writtendownmyimpressions,whichtheRussianswouldnotbeabletomakemuchsense

of.Mynamewasnotinit,norwasthenameoftheunitIbelongedto,althoughfromthe

materialtheytooktheywouldinfacthavebeenabletodiscovermyunit.

Later, while I was recovering from my first injuries, I again wrote down what I had experienced during this fateful periodthe days and weeks in which we distraught

Germans tried to escape the Stalingrad encirclement, finally fleeing headlong across the frozenDonundertheshatteringlivefirefromtheapproachingonehundredRussiantanks.

Thisincidentendedanever-to-be-forgottenexperienceas,almostdeafenedfromtheroar

oftheexplodingshellsandtheincessantclatteroftracks,andblindedbytheflashingclose behindus,wemadeourwayovermountainsofemaciatedcorpsesandwoundedcomrades

whosebloodstainedthesnowred,tothesafetyoftheotherbankoftheDon,which,the

daybefore,hadseemedsopeacefulcoveredinamantleoffreshsnow.

AfterIlostmydiaryIhadmademynotesonanyscrapsofpaperwhichhappenedtobe

available at the time. I then folded these pages and slid them through a tiny slit in the lining of my uniform coat. During my short stay in the military hospital I twice had an opportunity to pass these observations on to my mother for her safe keeping. I was convinced that no one other than I would be able to decipher my scribble, which was partlyinshorthand.

This hiding place in the lining of my uniform jacket apparently served its purpose, becausewhenIreturnedhomeduringmynextleaveIagaindepositedmylatestnotesin

thesameplace.Theonlydifferencewasthatnowthenoteswereintheliningofmynew

wintercoat,whichIhadlastwornattheendof1940,beforeIwascalleduptospenda

year at the NSKK Motor Vehicle School in Itzehoe. (This was preliminary military trainingtoqualifyforseveraldifferentArmydriverslicences.)SometimeorotherIbegan toorganisethenoteschronologicallyandtoformulateanideaoutofthem.Itbecamemy