大象传媒

The whole complement from Slovakia, all sixty-odd of us, ended up in the same company. It was further composed of a similar number of young men from various parts of Germany and the remainder came from several other, mainly central European countries, such as Rumania, Yugoslavia and Hungary. The fact that we were allowed to remain all together in the same company was very good for our morale, especially for those about fifteen of our number who could barely speak a few words of German. This way they could relax at least at the end of the day and converse with their closest friends in Slovak. Our home-grown German comrades were irritated by that, but it never quite came to fisticuffs, because the discipline in our ranks did not allow any internal squabbles and beside that, most of the time, after a hard days training we all wanted a little rest more than anything else. The basic field craft exercises took place in a sprawling sandy wasteland on the outskirts of the city, called 'Sandplatz'. I am sure that it is now all covered by concrete, bricks and bitumen. The art of bridge construction we were learning on the banks of the river Elbe, which runs through the city. After the initial training lasting about three months our company was moved to the sharp-shooting training area south of Prague. We were accommodated in a schoolhouse in a pleasant little town of Davle situated about 20 km south of Prague. Short distance south of that town the river Sazava flows into a larger river named Vltava (better known in the outside world under the name Moldau). The area formed by the confluence was in those years occupied by the German Army Command, most of the population was re-located and the villages, fields, forests etc. were turned into a live munition training area. It was in Davle that my annual malaria attacks recurred as expected and I was hoping that somebody in their right mind will decide to arrange for a discharge and send me back home to mama. Well, people in their right mind were thin on the ground in those days and I had to carry on as best I could. After about ten weeks re-learning the training manual and getting used to live ammunition we were finally considered to be ready for our first engagement.

Just when Italy's prime minister, Marshal Badoglio was getting ready to sign a separate peace with the Allied Powers, the German intelligence services were a step ahead of events and our company was without any particular preparation loaded on a train and took off in all haste in the general direction of Greece. It turned out that we were now attached to the SS-Polizei Division and our task was to take over the occupation of Greece from the Italian troops, which would now be returning home. And, in fact, few of the Italians made it, except for those who crossed the Adriatic Sea by boat. On our way, through Yugoslavia we were taking them prisoner and redirecting their transports north to German PoW camps. It was during that journey through Yugoslavia that I, and also the rest of the recruits in our company underwent, what is known as 'baptism by fire'. One evening, soon after dusk, in a small railway station our train pulled up alongside another one stationary on a side line. This one was carrying a company of Regular army ('Wehrmacht') troups. The area command has decided that we were better prepared to face the partisans, who apparently waited in ambush for the next train just a couple of kilometres south of the town. And so we have set out in the dark in an unknown terrain into what was supposed to be a trap. Of course, knowing that it was set and where, helped us a lot. The locomotive was pushing before it a flatcar, which would set off the explosives on the tracks, followed by another flatcar carrying replacement lengths of rail tracks and also the repair crew. We were sitting, rifles at the ready, most of us in the open doors of freight wagons, feet dangling in the air. And soon things started happening as if according to some script. The charges laid under the railway tracks exploded, the train screeched to a halt, we have jumped to the ground on both sides of the train just as the partisans, only some 100 metres away started firing at us. And that is the moment of truth and momentary disbelief. These people, whoever they are, are not playing games. They are shooting at me. Real bullets! Why? I never did them any harm, I don't even know them. Where are the police when you need them! But this only lasts a few seconds. Pretty soon you are shooting back, your training takes over, and you realise that now you are a real soldier. On this occasion the whole drama only lasted some twenty minutes. The repair crew have finished their work, we have pushed the partisans back about another 100 metres into the forest on both sides of the track, climbed back into the wagons and continued on our journey. Our losses were minimal. Two of our men were wounded. They both took position behind the same bush. Understandably they wanted to stay close together. And why not? - they were brothers. The Walker brothers were both wounded, one in his left leg and the other in the right by the same hand grenade. They went together to hospital and from there home, I presume. They may still be alive today, 60 years later.

Almost our entire stay in Greece our company spent in and around a small fishing village named Agria on the shores of the Aegean sea, near the port city of Volos. Here our lives were relatively uneventful, if we accept the fact that we were after all occupiers in a foreign country in time of war. We stayed there almost exactly twelve months. Our main responsibilities were keeping the roads in our area free of mines, and also check and map old mine fields laid by the Italians, who 'have forgotten' to hand over their records when they left the country. Re-mapping existing mine fields is almost as dangerous an activity as is the clearing of them.

Mines were the main part of our 'bag' also during the periodic trips, which the command of our division, headquartered in the city of Larissa sent out into the partisan-held (for the most part) areas in the mountainous northern and north-western districts. These 'flag-showing' exercises were intended simply to remind the inhabitants of those areas that Greece was still an occupied country. We were never during these outings confronted by any partisan units, they were never numerous enough to face up to a full battalion of German troops. They were, however, very good at the laying of mines in the territory, of which they knew every square inch and in which we were strangers. Apart from the mines and the occasional booby traps we had to check and secure all bridges along the way and, if needed, repair or strengthen them sufficiently for our heavy vehicles to pass over them. The mines that we from time to time did come across were buried under the surface of the road and camouflaged as best as possible. That task was made a lot easier for the mine layers than it otherwise would have been, by the fact that, in general, all roads were in poor state of repair. Road maintenance was by then for a number of years very low on the list of Greek government's priorities. At the same time this made the task of detecting them at a distance from a moving vehicle all the more difficult. It was clearly quite unrealistic for us to stop the convoy every time we saw up ahead something that was most likely nothing more dangerous than a pothole recently filled with loose dirt and gravel. In order to keep the column of vehicles moving at a reasonable pace, it was necessary for us, sappers, to develop a kind of sixth sense or a 'nose' for mines. Of course, this didn't always work and now and again we have suffered casualties. One day I had a narrow escape. Try and visualize: a line of trucks, armoured vehicles and a number of officers' command cars stretched along a winding road for about 2 to 3 kilometres and at the front, about 100meters ahead of the first, Battalion Commander's, open 6-seater Mercedes a motorbike and sidecar carrying three sappers, all craning their necks, examining the road surface up ahead for any signs of recent disturbance. This day I was the man on the pillion seat behind the rider and, as usual, the third man, sitting in the sidecar, was equipped with the electronic mine detector. Suddenly, with the first buildings of the city of Joanina only about two kilometres distant, the Commandant's Mercedes speeded up and as he was passing us he waved and called out something like: Thank you, but I am taking over the lead now. No one will ever know why he was in such a hurry, because only seconds later, as we have rounded the next bend, we saw a column of dust and rocks falling back to earth, the Command car upended in the ditch, dead driver pinned at the wheel and - dying in the dust in the middle of the road - the colonel and another high-ranking officer who was with him just 'for the ride'. I can still recall the sight of an agitated divisional medical officer actually pleading with us, (not ordering) to ensure that there are no other mines blocking the way, so that the dying officers can be moved to hospital as quickly as possible. We did locate two more mines nearby, guided the ambulance safely past them and only then got to work disarming them. Sadly, both wounded men died before they reached the hospital.

Still, apart from such occasional disruption of routine, our life in Greece was much more relaxed than was life at the front. Life of a field engineer brings with almost each new day a lot of hard physical work and our unit didn't escape it either. Probably the most exhausting construction activity for us took up the three months starting from June '44. As a high priority we were given the task of constructing a line of defences along a several kilometres long segment of the eastern coastline. Naturally, other units also were allocated their stretches of the coast. We had to learn some new skills very quickly, because the construction of bunkers was not included in our training up to that time. Of course, we knew how to handle explosives and that was a large part of this job. Using only dynamite and muscle, huge holes had to be excavated along the line of rocky slopes, before we could start pouring cement. For the concreting it was necessary for each man to carry up and down trackless hillsides countless wooden formes and bags of cement on his back. We had some mules but never enough of them and in any case, some of the precipitous locations even the mules could not reach.

And here I had a little bit of luck. Our Regimental Command has decided to send the best two riflemen from each of its 15 companies to a three-week sharpshooting (sniper) course. And I was the top rifleman in our company. This course was conducted in the live-firing area south of Davle, where our company spent some ten weeks about a year earlier. And so I travelled north feeling as if I had just won a three-weeks' holiday. Immediately on my return from the course, about halfway through August it was time for my annual bout with malaria and, sure enough, it hit me and I was admitted to the regimental field hospital located in a nice private house in Volos. That is the last thing that happened to me in Greece. In the first days of September 1944, just twelve months after our arrival in that country, the developments on the Eastern front forced our re-deployment north to Siebenburgen area in Rumania.

When eventually British troops from Crete landed in Greece and stepped inside our spanking new bunkers, not one of them was so much as scratched by a single bullet.

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