Storymania - Hans Boche My Story by Peter Perkins

Hans Boche My Story (9)
Peter Perkins

Chapter Nine....Hors de Combat.

The Convalescent Hospital, and Lotte, had been moved out of Berlin because of the Allied bombing. I was happy that Lotte was so much safer in the temporary buildings in a wood near Potsdam. It was an idyllic spot. When I was taken to the Convalscent Hospital you can imagine that my reunion with Lotte was a very happy one, despite my condition. She was well, but tired from the long hours working with the endless stream of wounded from the Russian front. We had been in correspondence, so far as circumstances would allow, all the time I had been in Russia and I knew Lotte would always wait just for me. She had not got pregnant by me as I half hoped that she would. Perhaps in the circumstances it was better not. I imagined the worry she must have had with the news from our Russian Armies, and then to have been told that I was badly wounded and on my way to her Hospital must have been a shock. She knew that I in my turn had been worried about the bombing of Berlin and all our Cities. It was rightly called terror bombing, where was the justification for it? I saw whole areas of houses and shops utterly destroyed. These places were not making aeroplanes or bullets. What a serious misjudgement the British and Americans were making in thinking it would affect the will of the German population to carry on and win the war. They claimed we had started the bombing. I believe, during pinpoint bombing of England, when we were knocking out their factories, despite our advanced technical equipment, we had hit the odd civilian target by accident. This was avidly seized on by the Allies. It was just the excuse they needed. They had big four engined bombers all ready for the job. Why was that? They were going to use them anyway. It is not beyond the bounds of possibility that they bombed their own people on purpose to justify their actions. In any event not many of their bombers were getting through on their terror missions. Our fighters and flak guns were taking a very heavy toll of them. It was calculated that at the present rate of loss they could not continue the bombing beyond another four weeks. It would be good when it quietened down again and we could go into Berlin with safety. I hoped our favourite cafe would still be there and we could recapture happier times with our friends. I was not at this time well enough to go anywhere anyway, and during March and April 1944 I measured my progress by the numbers of steps I could take at the Hospital. By the end of April I could walk right round the grounds on Lotte's arm. Not that she could concentrate on me alone, there were many wounded there and she and her fellow nurses worked long hours. To aid my recovery, when I was fit enough to travel, I was given permission to go home to Stuttgart. Unfortunately Lotte could not accompany me.

My parents were very relieved to see me, in one piece, and with all my arms and legs. The communications from Army HQ, advising them that I had become a casualty, were not specific. They fed me well at home, food seemed to be plentiful enough, and bombarded me with questions about the war in the East and my own part in it. I had to make it all sound more palatable than it actually was. The news that they received on our radio broadcasts, and newspapers, was obviously not very realistic. They did not listen to foreign broadcasts as they were patriotic Germans and it was dangerous. There were plenty of people who had nothing better to do than look for treachery in the Homeland. I became tired early as I was far from fit, and slept soundly in my old bed. It was oddly poignant to see my old toys and books. I could not have guessed when I read my books or played with my clockwork racing car that I would be a senior Wehrmacht Officer. I had been anxious for news of Bernard, for life in the Luftwaffe was fraught with much more danger even than mine. My parents were able to tell me only a little about him. During all of his service so far there had been a security blanket round his activities. What was now known, which we had previously only guessed at, was that he had originally been a personal pilot for the Nazi hierarchy and had even flown the Fuhrer. He was now a test pilot. My Father and I discussed the new machines the Reich was making, which we thought Bernard might be testing. They had no propellors, and were rocket or 'jet' propelled, whatever that was. I wondered if they were like our revenge weapon number one, which I had seen exhibited in Berlin. That was a 'jet' propelled bomb which the Allies had no answer to. I was very worried about Bernard in this testing work. Combat was very dangerous, but I was sure that testing advanced aircraft was probably more dangerous. My brother was now a Major in the Luftwaffe so he still outranked me. I was not jealous. I would not have got into one of those 'jet' planes if they made me a General. Stuttgart was not a centre of industry, so our City was not much visited by bombers like so many. There was some damage though, and the flak towers built by my Brother-in-Law were in full operation. Speaking of Otto, my parents did not know much about him as they saw him and Inge very seldom. They did not say so, but I think they had decided to have no contact with him whatsoever. This was very hard on Inge, but with our Country at stake I agreed with their decision. However I wanted to see him for myself and find out what he was doing so I visited the offices of his building company the following day, and very grand offices they were. I was shown into Otto's Office by his Secretary. He was surprised and seemingly delighted to see me. He was very smartly dressed, too smart, with a diamond tieclip and expensive clothes. He flashed a gold cigarette case and was ostentatiously wealthy, no doubt of that. I asked him straight out about his intentions to join the great struggle, but he was full of excuses. He said he was engaged on war contracts, air raid shelters and factories for war materials. I told him there were plenty of men in the Country and no doubt in his Company as well who were above service age who could surely run it just as well. For example, my Father, his Father-in Law could do it. He said he had tried to devolve the work but Nazi Officials in Stuttgart had forbidden it. I guessed these so-called Officials were in his pocket. There were on his office walls various worthless testimonials to his patriotic ardour, awarded by these same Officials. 'Service to the Fatherland' etc. I had seen Service to the Fatherland in the mud and frost of the Don basin, and these worthless parchments on his walls seemed to bebase my own decorations. I didn't like Otto's attitude to the war either. He didn't actually say that we would lose the war but I could see he thought it, and he tried to get me to admit it. He would say. 'Things really aren't going too well in Russia are they?' and 'Now America are in the war against us, can you see a way for us to win? They are very powerful you know.' Most disturbing of all he seemed to want to back both horses, if I can use such a phrase about a grave business like the War. 'We must be ready if the war does go against us to be in a good position personally to pick up the pieces afterwards.' He said. That was defeatism, and we had a law against such talk. I couldn't do anything about it, as the people I would have to complain to would be those same armchair Nazis that he bribed. I think that he was lining his pockets at the expense of anyone, Jewish people, our fighting soldiers, anyone. He would be rich after the war, whichever way it went. And when we won, which I sincerely believed still, he would take credit for it. I was in a weakened state and my head was fuzzy. The meeting was upsetting and I began to feel unwell. The room started to go round and, in short, I fainted. I came to on the floor of the outer office and Inge was wiping my brow with water. When I recovered she took me home but I could not speak to her about what I thought of Otto. She did not come in to see Mother and Father, her conflict of loyalties was obvious. She also now had a child. I tried to comfort her as best as I could but I could see that she was as patriotic and selfless as Bernard and I and Mother and Father and I doubt if she could continue to lie with a turncoat like Otto.

I stayed two more days in Stuttgart, but was restless and wanted to get back to Lotte. I was glad when I got a troop train back to Berlin, having taken leave of my Parents. We were not normally a demonstrative family, but they, and I, were rather emotional at parting. With the terror bombing putting all German civilians at risk and the fierce fighting at the Russian front we knew that any parting might be the last. The train was full of soldiers transferring from Italy to Russia. I was wearing the Stalingrad Star, the Iron Cross Second Class, and two wounded in action decorations, and these soldiers treated me like a hero. They were the best type of German Soldiers. Intelligent and strong. I was very proud of my fellow countrymen on that train, and hoped against hope that Von Manstein would hold and harry the Russian Bear, then drive him back to his den, without the loss of many of these fine men. It was Von Manstein's reputation to keep casualties to a minimum, unlike some Generals I could name. Even in the short time I had been away from Berlin, there seemed to have been more bombing damage to the capital. Our Fuhrer was away in Berchtesgarten as the Battle Flag of the Reich was not on the Reichstag. I got to the Potsdam Convalescent Hospital despite being deafened by our flak guns and having shrapnel rain down round me in the streets. I could hear the distant sound of bombs exploding. Probably they were well outside Berlin having been jettisoned when the Allied terror bombers, American or British, met the Flak.

At the end of May 1944 I was declared fit again, and apart from still feeling a bit weak, having a few scars on my abdomen, and being more selective in my diet, I was well. I was promoted to Major while in the hospital. At last I had caught Bernard up, unless he had also been promoted, which was quite likely. My smart new uniform was deliberately cut a bit large and hung on me. I knew I would soon fill again now I was better. Thankfully the news at this time was good. The War was going well. Von Manstein had lured the Russians to destruction many times in the Steppes and we were, for the time being, satisfied to consolidate our positions. In Italy, as expected, we had to go to the rescue of Mussolini's army. As soon as we arrived there, the Allies (mostly American greenhorns) were stopped dead at Monte Cassino with no prospect of advance. Talking of the Americans, we don't get much information about the Far East War and I still find it odd to think that the Japanese are our allies. What we have in common with them heaven knows. The little we know about their war is that they have taken a huge area away from the Colonising Countries, mainly the Dutch, and are holding it all together easily enough. They will keep the Americans busy and the rumour that Yanks are flooding into England to invade us in France is probably an exagerration. Best they stay on their Pacific Coast, Hollywood area, in case the Japs come over.

An invasion may come from across the Channel though, the British and their Empire troops must at last have re-equipped themselves from their Dunkirk ignominy. They've had years to do it, while we have been holding back their real enemies, the Bolsheviks. Personally, if they do invade, I think it will come via The Low Countries but we have made an 'Atlantic Wall' in France, in case they take the shortest route. If the Allies still have the same pathetic tanks as before we haven't got much to worry about. They've also got some French fighting for them. So have we. Fascinating what bed-fellows war makes. If French meets French in battle, will the 'entente' be 'cordiale'? In their forces they also have some Poles. We don't have many of those. We have Dutch and Scandinavians, proper Nordic types. They don't have many of those.

I have of course wondered where I will now be posted. As a Major I will have increased responsibility which is not a good thing for me, I don't much like it, I'd just as soon be a tank driver again, but the needs of the Reich come first, not my own wishes. Will I be sent back to Russia? It is hell there, and I know it, but I left a job half done and would willingly go. With Army postings, the general rule is, you can guess as much as you like, but you never guess what they actually do. This happens in my case. I am in General Orders at the end of May. I am to be an 'Intelligence Officer' at the Western Wall in France, on the staff of General Blaskowitz. A Staff Officer in the Wehrmacht! My pride is tempered by the realisation that not only do I not know what an 'Intelligence Officer' is, or does, I have never heard of General Blaskowitz. Sounds like a Russian name to me and I don't like that, but he wouldn't be a German General if he was in any way Russian (excepting Vlasov) and he wouldn't be appointed by the Fuhrer if he wasn't a good soldier. I was sent for some training at Osnabruck, which is in northern Germany. It was a makeshift and rudimentary training establishment, in a converted brewery. There were six trainees only, and the training officers were veterans of the Russian front, all had been 'Intelligence Officers' but had been wounded and no longer fit for front line duties. I found out what my new job was. It is exactly what the title suggests, which is not always the case in the Wehrmacht. We had to give our General continuous information on the situation on the ground, when we were in action. Accurate and up to date information is the basis of all military action, and vital to success, so we bore a heavy burden on our shoulders. The misgivings we expressed at not actually being in the thickest of the action, were dismissed by our tutors, who told us, from their own experience that we should see action enough. Since they had, all six, been wounded doing the job, that seemed true enough. Whilst in the brewery doing simulations based on an Allied landing at Zeebrugge, which I believed to be the likeliest place, the Allied Invasion Force actually landed in Normandy.

As you know dates are not my strong point, but I do remember the landings took place on the 6th of June 1944. We were ready for them, and took a heavy toll, but due to the huge force they sent they actually established beachheads. They were contained as we sent extra troops to the area and when we had concentrated our forces we would deal with them. General Blaskowitz's Headquarters were at St Lo, and after training, the ever efficient German beauraucracy issued me the necessary passes and rail warrants, and I reported for duty in Normandy four days after the invasion.

Chapter Ten.

The Cotentin Peninsula.

I arrived at the conflict in France on the same day as their General Montgomery. 10th June. I hoped I had more breadth of vision and personality than him. We all ridiculed him. He wasn't even good looking like German Generals, Rommel for example. One thing we knew with Montgomery against us is that there would be no surprises, he had even less flair than the Russian Generals. I was unused to being behind the fighting, but my decorations showed all that I came into contact with that I had done my share. I was close enough to the action anyway, having every day to make my rounds of Company Commanders, obtaining situation reports. It was also sometimes my duty to interrogate prisoners to try to obtain information. The problem with this was was not so much a reluctance to tell us what we wanted to know, though that was a factor of course, but the ordinary soldier didn't know anything. Be it Canadian, American or an ordinary Tommy, they were not much help. We treated all prisoners correctly in this Theatre of War, but there was an unspoken edict of looking after the Americans particularly. Perhaps it came from Hitler, he had told us many times that our natural allies against Bolshevism should be the Capitalist Americans. General Blaskowitz, who I worked for, was a listening and able General who conducted operations with skill, but there was one grave shortcoming that forced us onto the back foot all the time which he could do nothing about. Air Power. Where was the Luftwaffe now? The last time I had been in France they had been above us all the time. Perhaps all the aircraft were fully occupied in Russia. Alternatively I knew we had some temporary shortages of fuel, or perhaps we were waiting for the new jets. Whatever the reason, when we saw or heard aircraft above us, and this was very often, we came to know they were probably not ours. There was a bitter saying among our troops. 'If an aircraft is camouflaged it is British. If it is silver it is American. If it isn't there at all it's German.' And these Allied aircraft had improved. These were not slow and vulnerable obsolete types as before. There were new American fighters which also carried bombs and rockets. They were called Mustangs. There were still Spitfires and a new two engined British plane called a Mosquito. I was told they were made of wood. If the British had run out of metal, and had done this in desperation, I must say these Mosquitos seemed to go very well. None were jets though, and we only had to wait for our jets to come and sweep these allied planes from the sky.

By the end of June, despite our best efforts, Cherbourg had fallen to the Allies so they now had a port for their seemingly endless mountains of supplies. If there was an element of desperation in their efforts at this time, it was probably because our Revenge weapons were beginning to take effect. Our jet bombs are falling like rain on London. It will be a close run thing, whether they concede because of the damage they are suffering or take enough ground to stop the flying bombs, which have a limited range. I do know from a 'Boffin' type Officer in my Division that we are also ready to use a Rocket bomb which will reach anywhere, America even. That would be a sight to see, a few rocket bombs in that seedy capital New York. Every day more and more hostile aircraft are over our battlefields. We can take on any army face to face, or tank to tank, but these sneaking fighter-bombers are causing much damage. There is a regular pass by the wooden one, the Mosquito. It is no doubt taking photographs. Because of this we sometimes camouflage our tanks and camps from the air and sometimes we create wooden and canvas vehicles to confuse them as to our dispositions. I am sorry to be concentrating so much on air warfare but it was a very significant part of this whole campaign. We also see vapour trails, very high up, of groups of large planes. They are terror bombers on the way to our cities. This is where the fighting is, on the coast of France, not in the residential suburbs of Hamburg and Berlin. Why can't they see that? Sometimes we see some of these multi-engined juggernauts limping back to England trailing smoke, with some of their propellors stopped. They have obviously been severely mauled over Germany. These bombers give us all cause for concern for our Country and Families, but of more immediate concern to us are the aforementioned 'Jabos'. These fighter bombers are not particularly accurate in their attack,s but the cumulative effect is serious. They have rockets and cannons and bombs. Road and Rail Transport is vulnerable, also storage depots, and tanks.

We have now fallen back to the 'Bocage' country in order to halt the Allies there. This terrain is ideal for defence, comprising sunken lanes and high hedgerows. We are holding here with every prospect of turning our withdrawal around. I cover many miles every day on my intelligence gathering missions. Originally I had a Zundapp motor-cycle and side-car as my transport around the Division. (I recall 'Der Tumpen' and the glider towing Zundapp, a lifetime ago.) I now have an American Jeep, of which we have captured many. I must say it is very good and tough and can go anywhere. My driver is a hamfisted Austrian semi-imbecile, but even he can drive it and not break it. For a few weeks, though Allied aircraft very often passed over, they left us alone. Either they were looking for larger targets or thought we were lost Americans, which were common enough. We therefore became accustomed not to run for cover from the 'Jabos'. Our luck ran out one day on the road from HQ to St Lo. Hans the Austrian pointed up as a plane went over. I signalled him to go on. The plane turned and came back, and started to fire at us. Hans froze at the wheel and didn't turn off into the undergrowth. I saw cannon shells hit the road as we drove towards them, I grabbed the wheel and pulled over towards the hedge. Too late. I think three shells hit the jeep. One hit the engine, one hit Hans, and one hit the rear Jerrycan which exploded. After this cataclysm I found myself alive in the dust. I had lost some hair, burnt from the back of my head, and a finger had gone from my left hand, no doubt where I was holding the steering wheel. A labour battalion marched towards us and I told them to clear up the mess, including what remained of Hans and then went on my way on foot, until I could requisition a bicycle. I felt a bit sorry for the old Frenchman when I took his bike. He wisely did not protest too much, perhaps due to my singed and bloody appearance The French knew we had our backs to the wall and kept out of our way as much as possible. A doctor at HQ quickly stitched up the skin over my finger stump. the anaesthetic being a big glass of Schnapps, and it never troubled me further. My hair grew again except for one small patch. I was fit enough but with the bald patch, the finger off, an incomplete right foot and a very scarred abdomen I was getting a bit tattered.

War is a very confused affair. That is why there are Intelligence Officers. We clarify and refine the muddle into an understandable entity for our General. In my job I met many of our Officers on a daily basis. As in all walks of life, some were admirable, some were not. There were high ranking officers who lived in luxury, drinking Champagne, and keeping well out of the way of any fighting. I abominated these cowardly Officers and I'm sure my feelings were evident. I was reported to the General a number of times for insubordination but Blaskowitz knew the situation and suppo rted me. In one instance a useless Colonel found himself very quickly demoted and posted to the Russian Front after obstructing me in my work and having me removed, at the point of a Luger, from his Command Post. Other officers were full of blame for everything but themselves. They always wanted more of the scarce resources. More men, more tanks, more guns. But there was little enough of everything coming through now. Replacement soldiers were either very young or very old now. The drain on manpower in the East had caused this situation. Eighty percent of the Wehrmacht were still engaged there. If we had those forces here we would have made short work of the Allies. But I must not myself fall into the trap of wanting more resources. We had to prosecute the war with what we had. We fought hard and took a heavy toll of our opponents, especially in the 'bocage' countryside with our devastating 88mm guns. Due to the aircraft attacks however, we gradually had to withdraw, and by the end of August were at Falaise. (Paris had fallen to the Allies now and the bombastic De Gaulle, who had sheltered in the Ritz in London up to now, swaggered in.)

Why should I be modest. It was due to me that the bulk of the German Army escaped a pincer movement at Falaise. The Falaise Gap, as it came to be called, would have been called the Falaise Trap without my intelligence work. I pieced together information from our forward units and suspected that the Allies, though ostensibly making vigorous frontal assaults on our lines, were really making an outflanking manoever. Blaskowitz acted on my information at once, despite resistance from his most senior aides, and we drew back in strength. Some units were captured because of a personal vendetta against me by some Senior Officers. They wanted to disprove my information and deliberately held up implimentation of the plans. What lengths some people will go to for the sake of their egos.

I wished to fall back right to Germany, then we'd show them our impregnable Western Wall, but our overall strategy was now in the hands of Adolf Hitler himself. He would never give up captured territory. I'd had enough of fighting amongst, and sometimes for, various foreigners. I'd fought for Arabs, to kick the British colonists out, but the Arabs hadn't seemed to care much one way or the other, so long as they were selling things, or stealing them. In Eastern Europe, always excepting the Germans who belonged there, the Slavic types were very slovenly and indulged in bloody fighting among themselves, and appeared to have done so for generations. I didn't like France much now. It seemed to lack order, though there was no doubting individual bravery. The Dutch were Germans gone funny. They were surprisingly nationalistic about their flat, wet country. We expected the Dutch to be on our side, lock, stock, and barrel. Some were, but the majority were implacably opposed to us. Oddly enough I think we were hated in Holland even more than Russia.

After a time, and thanks to the tidal wave of American men and equipment that came to Europe, we made a withdrawal to the Western Wall of the Reich. I am now stationed at Aachen and, as I expected we are holding our own quite easily.

It is early November 1944 and I have received disturbing news from home in Stuttgart. Blaskowitz himself authorises leave for me and I go home.

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