Hans Boche My Story (4) In our particular group there were eighteen of us off to join the 'Das Reich' Division. Six tank crews. We entrained at Wuppertal and travelling via Hanover and Magdeburg, in half a day got to our destination which was Wittenburg, the temporary headquarters of the Division. Wittenburg is South of Berlin and not too far from the Polish border. As the Division comprised at least ten thousand men, the camp was very large. I realised what a very tiny cog I was in a huge machine. All the specialist units which make up a fighting Division in the Wehrmacht were there. Artillery, with some magnificent 88mm guns, which were new to the army and reckoned to be devastating weapons. Transport, with lorries, half tracks, motorbikes and surprisingly, many horses. Anti-tank sections were there. We paid much attention to them, and their equipment, as we might encounter their equivalents in less friendly armies. Field kitchens, engineering workshops, tank recovery sections, infantry, machine gun sections, stores, medics, clerks, anti-aircraft guns, snipers, dentists and farriers. What a formidable group. There was superb organised efficiency here, but less formality than there had been in training, and we were issued with a tank at once. There were many tanks in a pound just waiting for crews. We were allowed to choose from about thirty brand new Panzer Mark III's. I started up a few. As they had been standing some time, this took some time, and one refused to start at all. I tried clutches and steering brakes and narrowed the choice down to three. Albo the gunner was insistent that our safety and success would be due to the gun alone. Fonk and I argued that it would be no good how good a gun we had, if we could neither get to a fight, or get out when necessary. Albo tried the breech mechanisms in the three tanks shortlisted, and looked down the barrels for straightness. This made us laugh, of course they would all be straight. They were brand new from Krupps. We made our choice and drove our tank proudly out of the pound. It had now to be de-greased and commissioned with the help of an engineering artificer. He showed me the backlash permissable in the tracks, and suspension adjustment according to the surface, be it road or mud. He lectured Albo about the necessity to look after the turret ring gear. If, when the gun was traversed it hit anything solid, the leverage would be very great and the gear would be stripped. It was a mammoth job to replace, and cost many thousands of Marks. Albo said he would 'mind his ring.' The next day our tank, one of a squadron of twelve, was inspected by our Squadron Officer who had just returned from leave. He was named Oberleutnant Willi Hoffmeyer and did not appear to be a friendly man. It was obviously his policy to be correct and not familiar with his troops. That suited me I didn't want to be familiar with him, but I did want to know that he knew what he was doing. I was encouraged at his inspection to note that he missed nothing. Fonk's headset was not plugged in so he did that for him, giving him a scathing look. He asked me if the tank was mechanically good. I advised a slight leak in coolant as the only problem. He smiled and said, 'They all do that.' Which, I later learned, was quite true. A Mark III had to be topped up with coolant every day. He removed a picture of Albo's girlfriend from inside his turret. If she was his girlfriend she didn't wear much. After the inspection we fuelled up and took on our ammunition. We had only one machine gun, a .79 for which we took on board only 400 rounds, we would carry much more in action. We also took a reduced number of 50mm shells. They were quite large but we could normally accommodate about eighty. For the next few days we only ever were given ten at a time. They were solid shot for practice, not explosive or armour piercing. During the next week we roamed the coutryside round Wittenberg, as proud as peacocks with our new toy. A large farm had been taken over by the Army and all the residents moved away. We trained there, with the Lieutenant in his command tank directing operations. Some old army lorries were littered about the fields and Albo put many rounds through them at various ranges up to about half a mile. There was a barn which he could hit from nearly a mile away. It was not possible to fire accurately on the move in a Mark III as there was no turret stablisation. I had to stop and start very quickly when we were in action, and needed to shoot, and was the busiest person in the tank. We trained with the infantry and learned that they loved tanks better than we did! If their option, under fire, was to cross open ground on their own or behind twenty tons of Krupp steel, I would have loved tanks as well as they. The anti-tank gunners were a cocky lot who believed that they had the measure of all tanks at all times. They were to learn differently. They had a gun called a PAK 37 and it seemed a bit lightweight to us. There were a total of a hundred and twenty tanks in the 'Das Reich' Division and one day sixty, unfortunately not including mine, left for the Polish border. They were taken by rail to save track wear and tear and three trains with the necessary low loading tank transporters took them from Wittenburg Station. The crews travelled by road after driving their tanks onto the train, as no one liked anybody else driving their tank. The Division was forming up at Guben, a border town which was the closest place that Poland came to Berlin. No doubt in the case of a surprise attack by the Poles we wanted to protect our capital. 'Das Reich' could do that alright. The inevitable happened and the war started on 1st September 1939. We were kicking our heels in Wittenberg when the Poles attacked, thank goodness half our tanks were on the spot anyway. As the Polish air force prepared to take control of the air, and probably bomb Berlin, we were able to catch their planes on the ground and destroyed most of them. We heard this news with joy back at our base as our forces advanced and liberated the areas of Zielona and Gora. The German population in these areas were ecstatic and welcomed their countrymen with open arms. We were held in reserve through all this action and you can imagine our frustration in the barracks at Wittenberg. Our Division eventually paused to consolidate just outside Poznan and the rest of our tanks were now needed. We got the call and entrained our tanks. The men took leave of their loved ones, but they could not tell them where they were going for security reasons. I had no loved ones, except my family far away in Stuttgart. I sent them a letter to tell them what I could and I also asked whether Bernard's squadron was involved in Poland. If they could tell me where he was perhaps we could meet up. We were taken by lorry to Krzyz, which is small town North West of Poznan. It was in a sparsely populated area, very large fields, few trees, the odd hamlet with the people and houses all very poor in appearance. There was no obvious war damage, it looked as if we had just taken over by walking in. We got our tanks safely off the trains and then looked for our colleagues who had been in action for the last two weeks. When we joined them we were shocked to find that there were sad gaps in the ranks. At this very early stage of my Army Service I discovered that the information received from the newspapers and radio was not necessarily the truth and the whole truth. I had known that we were winning this Polish War very easily due to our superiority, this was true, but we had not been told of significant German casualties. Only forty of our sixty tanks which had been engaged were still working. Eight had been destroyed by the enemy and twelve had been damaged or broken down, but they were in the hands of our engineers and most would be repaired. Twenty one of our tank crewmen had been killed. The devastation on the other side was much greater. We had already destroyed the bulk of their armies. In opposition to our Division's squadrons of tanks we had knocked out over a hundred of theirs. Their tanks were made by Tatra I think, and even when they were abandoned in working condition, we destroyed them as they were not worth using, compared to our Panzers. We were to advance the next day and rumbled off at first light to the low lying area north of Poznan. It is a characteristic of modern warfare that the enemy is seldom seen, especially as individuals. We saw aircraft, mostly German but two Polish fighters passed over, and we were surprised to see that they were fast monoplanes, like our Messerschmit 109. I had thought they only had biplanes. Anyway, our infantry were held up and we were sent in to maintain the advance. We were frightened of course, who knows what weapons might be turned on us, how would our tank stand up to it. War is like making love, until you've actually experienced it you don't know what it's really like. Not that I had any experience of sex either. Our squadron of twelve tanks gingerly breasted a rise in the open country. We had seen nothing till then. We crept forward to survey the ground when bursts of gunfire erupted all round. The top hatches clanged down as our commanders took cover from small arms fire. Too late in the case of the tank next to ours, whose Commander fell out of the turret, hit by a bullet. We manoevered our tanks round him and Fonk bravely jumped down and dragged and half-carried him back down the slope. He was not too bad, a bullet had hit the rim of his helmet, ripping the metal and taking most of his ear with it. His worst injury was a badly broken arm which he had sustained falling from the turret. The infantry took him from us, bloody but unbowed. His tank carried on with a crew of two and when Fonk rejoined us, we charged over the crest. War is confusing, a smoky hellish turmoil, and that is what ensued on the other side of the hill. Distant artillery tried to target us and spouts of earth shot up all around. Closer to us was a low hedge and the smoke and flashes from it told us where the Poles were. They had anti-tank guns in the hedge and one of our tanks was hit in a track which unfurled like a caterpillar. Another tank which had turned momentarily was hit in the engine compartment, fire broke out. We plastered the hedge with all we had, Arbo put HE shells into it and Fonk sprayed it with machine gun fire. We did not have as great an effect as we hoped as our high velocity gun did not fire anti personel shells. We needed a howitzer type gun to plaster the hedge with shrapnel. Anti-tank shells bounced off our front armour fortunately. If they had adequate guns we would have been knocked out for sure. After a time fire slackened. One of our tanks was detached to tow the tank with only one track back over the ridge. The crew of the tank on fire had crept back to the infantry as their machine was now well ablaze and with a tremendous explosion, as the shells exploded, the turret was flung into the air like a leaf. We charged the hedge but apart from casualties who could not move, the Poles had gone. We saw armoured lorries pull away from behind a copse some distance away taking the remants of their force away, and towing their anti tank guns. Arbo put some shells close as they raced off but they were just too far away. I had been bloodied by war! Not literally of course as we were all unscathed in our tank. I had a feeling of elation and had grown up more in the last five minutes than the previous five years. Our advance continued for about a mile without further resistance and then we stopped to rest our hot engines, pay calls of nature, and quickly check the tank. I could see some of our own German infantry soldiers in the vicinity were very white and shaken from the experience. My own reaction had been anger, the cheek of being attacked. I also knew from this moment on that war was bloody dangerous. Our objective was Bromberg and the next three days were very similar to this one. We were held up every day from pre-prepared positions, which were vacated when our force became too great. The logistics of our Division always amazed me, after a battle, almost before the smoke had cleared, up would come the field kitchen with hot food. Stew usually, and very welcome it was, the best I have ever tasted, or maybe it was the conditions that made it seem so. The coffee, real coffee, was wonderful. How those English can drink tea is beyond me. Our Lieutenant, Willi, was coming out well from this baptism of fire. He wanted to keep our casualties to a minimum while retaining an aggressive plan. I began to respect him more, even though he was an officer. Our intelligence section was very strong in Poland because, as I have mentioned, many Germans were in Poland. It was difficult to make much of the populace in this area though. There were very few people and they seemed very subdued, the occasional swastika was waved in some hamlets. Fists were not waved, it would have been very unwise. We would not have been there at all but for the proposed Polish Massacre of Germans, now the tables were turned the Poles could have no cause for grievance. Intelligence had advised us that facing us now was stronger opposition. An armoured Division of the Polish Army had been moved in and much wheeled transport and towed guns had been seen coming up to the front. Willi spoke to us and explained that we would take advantage of our strengths, we were more mobile in our fast Panzers, that would be our key. We would hit their strength and run, and hit again. Unexpectedly, on our advance the following day we met no opposition and were looking forward to our tea-time stew when they surprised us. Our own artillery was still hitched to lorries. The infantry and horse transport were trundling forward as if on a quiet exercise. The Polish attack started with a fierce artillery bombardment. Obviously having previously held the ground, ranges and markers had been noted and the roads became subject to a hail of fire, some shells were of the heaviest calibre. There were two actions vital to survival. Dispersion was the first and the most vulnerable sections of the Division scrambled into ditches and fields and barns like ants. We raced forward in our tanks, regardless of the patter of bullets on our armour, we were racing for their guns. They were in a large village about a mile away. Our engines roared as we made for it. We were too quick for re-registration of the artillery. The anti-tank guns at the edge of the village had a limited range of about half a mile. We mamoevered out of their range and shelled the village ourselves. 50mm is not a heavy calibre but there were twelve of us, and with forty or fifty shells a minute raining down we soon started to knock down the buildings and expose the gunners. They took shelter in the rubble and still manned some of their guns. We could not get close enough to finish the job because of the anti-tank guns so Willi asked for help from the Luftwaffe. Stukas soon arrived and finished off the job, destroying or forcing out the anti-tank gunners and the remainder of the heavy artillery. We gingerly approached the piles of smoking rubble but it was over. White flags and wounded and those past all care were all that was left. The infantry followed us closely in and cheered us tankers to the echo. They would have had a job to clear that particular hornet's nest without us and the Stukas. That's what modern warfare is all about, co-ordination of power. Willi congratulated us also. A 'well done' from Willi was praise indeed. We had one regret, if that is the right word, about the day. We had met no tanks as we had expected. Perhaps the Poles had none left, but we wanted to pit our tanks against enemy tanks. Albo had armour piercing shells polished but unused. Only tank to tank combat would prove that our Panzers were the best. Perhaps tomorrow? Chapter Four. Tank To Tank Battle and Love. We were going to strike North to Gdansk this morning. It was early October 1939, the 6th I think, though I lost track of dates during the war having too much else to think about. I should say at this time that the chronography of these recollections will be suspect. I made no notes at any time and relying solely on memory I find that what happened is much easier to recollect than when it happened. The newspapers we got were a day or two old but very welcome. The Volkischer Beobachter was the most popular, it was the most accurate and objective, and showed what an outstanding success we were having in every engagement in Poland. It was tinned sausages again for breakfast, which I liked very much. We had perfected cooking on the tank exhaust and while the Panzer warmed up, we cooked my sausages close to the manifold. We heated up Albo's filthy left-over solid stew, which he ate in sandwiches. Fonk always had a couple of eggs boiled in a old tin. I have never seen anyone put as much salt on an egg as Fonk. He would peel his egg then cover it all in salt until no more would adhere then eat it whole, no biting. No wonder he went to the toilet less often than the rest of us. Our whole Division was on the move this morning and almost from the start of our advance we were harassed by antiquated Polish Armoured cars. Their cannon were peashooters compared to our tank gun, but we could not let them get at our infantry so we had to chase them off. They were faster than our tanks so they mostly got away. We hit two of them though, one of which blew up at once. They had been the most audacious of our tormentors, but I felt sorry for them. The other armoured car we hit lost a wheel, the crew of two jumped out and ran away hell for leather. We did not fire after them as we could not waste 50mm shells which cost 400 marks apiece on one Pole. About mid-day we met stiffer resistance. The usual entrenched artillery and anti-tank guns opened fire. They were sited on higher ground, which was criss crossed with substantial stone walls. This was going to be a hard nut to crack. The Luftwaffe was otherwise engaged so we were halted and Willi was pondering on the problem when we saw Polish tanks come out from left and right of the hill to outflank us. There were twenty four of our Panzers. There were over a hundred of theirs. They were heavy tanks but I did not recognise the type. I thought they looked like a Russian pattern. I hope they weren't part of the Russian Army, we didn't want to tangle with them. Albo fired once. Fonk told me to move forward and turn half left. We went forward, I heaved on my levers to turn sharply and the world went bang, and my first tank battle was over. It had lasted half a minute.
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