Baranow bridgehead and the retreat through southern Poland

German campaigns and battles 1919-1945.

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Richard Hargreaves
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Baranow bridgehead and the retreat through southern Poland

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Leutnant Hans Kranich 1919-1980, Golowka, Poland, January 14th 1945. Attended secondary school in Görlitz, RAD, during the war granted leave to study for a time, then an Ersatz unit in Görlitz, finally on the Eastern Front. He latterly served in 78 Sturm Division. The following account is taking from the four volumes of Walter Kempowski’s Echolot: Fuga Furiosa I translated it for my Breslau book, but could find no way of accommodating it in the manuscript in the end…

Golowko, January 14th 1945

On the morning of January 12th, the Russians had achieved a deep breakthrough in 320 Infanterie Division’s* sector in the Baranow bridgehead in a surprisingly short time and also smashed the forces available for a counter-attack. On the thirteenth or fourteenth, they had also penetrated the division’s southern front. We had heard the barrage and seen the bomber squadrons fly over the lines. In the division’s sector, however, everything was otherwise quiet; after several days two enemy penetrations in 215 Infanterie Regiment’s sector] were brilliantly cleared up. The mood in the division was not bad. The news was not unexpected. We’d known for weeks that the Russians’ main thrust would take place in the Baranow bridgehead – where they had concentrated strong forces... The division possessed a strong reserve of three battalions: a partially-motorised pioneer battalion, the division Kampfschule** and the division’s fusilier battalion, or a battalion from a regiment for a counterattack. With these forces and the Corps’ other reserves, the situation in the south had at least been secured in the opinion of the divisional commander [Generalmajor Rolf Scherenberg] and been able to avoid the disastrous retreat of the first few days which was attributed in the division’s written report to the indecision and dejection of the commanding officer of V. SS-AK... In any event, the military situation was hopeless. Each unit nevertheless had to find a way to carry out the tasks set it, especially as they could not know that the war to the last woman truly was the leadership’s final strategy. At mid-day, a telephone call: 250 Christmas parcels have arrived for the battalion, one for each man in the front line.

* Actually 320 Volksgrenadier Division. Committed near Krakow under XI SS Corps, Seventeenth Army.
** Training instructors.

An order is sent to the division’s convalescent home in Gogolow* to collect the packets. Apart from the personal Christmas parcels from Württemberg-Swabia the battalion should have received 180 official parcels for soldiers without parents. The wagon of Remstäler apples, a Christmas present from the Gau to the division, was probably the victim of an air raid, but on the other hand the division still hoped writing paper (thirty sheets per man) with the division’s insignia sent from Krakow on December 29th would arrive. In the evening I was ordered to the regimental command post to collect orders. At the same time the baggage train received orders to send some light vehicles for baggage and other (superfluous) equipment to the front. The companies received orders from messengers to make preparations to move off. Using a motorcycle I’m quickly at the regimental headquarters. They already had everything packed and loaded on trucks, but the regimental commander (Oberstleutnant Vaitl) was still mulling over the contents of the order I was to take. In the adjutants’ bunker, where the others were waiting to receive their orders, we calm our nerves for the moment eating sweets.
When I finally have written orders to retreat in my hands it’s 9.30pm. The position should be evacuated by 11.45pm, apart from the rearguard, and the battalion should be loaded on trucks at the division’s convalescent home at 12.30am and drive to the Wisloka position which we should hold until 5am.
When I return to the battalion, I learn that the regimental commander has already ordered the details of the retreat over the telephone – orders partially contradicted by my written instructions. The battalion now ordered another change in the composition of the rearguard under Oberleutnant Göckler [?]... The evacuation of the position did not take place by the deadline...
Luckily, it was very quiet on the Russian side, despite all the noise on our side. 28cm mortar shells (‘walking Stukas’*) were fired off and 13 Kompanie (Oberleutnant Kümmerle) used up at least some of their large stockpile.

* Thirty miles southwest of Rzeszow.
** Stuka zu Fuss.

The regiment had idiotically set its bunkers on fire even before pulling out, afterwards in the division convalescent home, 120 bottles of wine should have been or were handed out per battalion. The battalion command post was left to the Russians intact (complete with electric lighting from a Russian airplane which made a forced landing) so that they could see how well we had lived.
Baranow, January 15th 1945

Only around 3am was was the battalion (with the exception of the three platoons in the rearguard) ready to move out. I on my bike had the task of finding the way and pointing it out. It was cold, I had no winter clothing, sometimes there light snow was falling. The route was easy to find, but the truck struggled to make progress such that the battalion dismounted in front of the Wisloka* and continued the march on foot. It was beginning to dawn when we saw the the Wisloka position – our first task had been overtaken by events; we carried out the second, securing the position to the south (a mission which would be repeatedly time and again during our retreat). We overtook some of our baggage train on a slope towards mid-day – before our mid-day rest among the farms; it was struggling to make progress on the frozen roads with its heavily-laden vehicles.
In the afternoon the battalion reached the sector it was ordered to reach and prepared itself for defence in several houses.
There were all sorts of things going on within view: long columns moved over the bleak hills to the south, first probably ours, then the enemy’s. A Kampfgruppe from the battalion was in contact with enemy troops and left its machine-guns and winter jackets behind. There was no doubt that the enemy was close.
With the onset of darkness the battalion pulled out as quietly and carefully as possible, rallied in the forest and moved off to the northwest. Two young women came up to us from the last houses in the forest – Germans who wanted to get away from the Russians; one of them had experienced the Russians’ entry [of Jaslo?] with a Wehrmacht field kitchen. They accompanied me and the spearhead roughly 100 or 200 metres in front of the battalion.
After we’d marched a short distance to the north on the road, we turned to the northwest and via dirt tracks luckily reached the next east-west valley where the division’s two lines of withdrawal ran. We ran into waiting columns and the command posts of neighbouring regiments and felt we were safe to some extent.

* River in southern Poland which runs through Jaslo inter alia.

Southern Poland, January 17th 1945

Early the next morning the departure of the regiment began with all the lengthy irritating preparations which are hard to avoid when such large units are involved, and we marched – as if in peacetime on this occasion in regimental order – with some of the vehicles (from other battalions however) the same way back as we’d struggled along during the night. It was another bright day. We saw the divisional staff (it was rather amazing that everything still existed after all we’d had to go through already). As the road ran up to a ridge, I saw new anoraks lying in a ditch (the name was still new to me), mid-calf length grey coats lined with sheepskin and I took one – a fine example – as I still didn’t have any winter clothing. It wasn’t far from the Schloss or sanitarium. The driver had evidently thrown out items to lighten his vehicle and make better progress.
Our march went rather swiftly and without enemy interference. During a brief stop in a village, which we used to drink and to water our horses, the divisional commander drove past in a Volkswagen staff car and encouraged us to keep marching – we would have to get beyond the Dunajec at all costs (the front was due to come to a halt there). To the north we saw the towers of Tarnow. The town burned. It was said that Tarnow had fallen after bitter fighting.
In the afternoon we stood before the Dunajec, where the march got stuck and we took a detour through a sunken road to reach the bridge, over which Russian bombers constantly circled. Individual vehicles hit by bombs lay in the road. Nevertheless the bridge was still pretty much passable: we had to get to the other side quickly while the aircraft turned around for their next attack. Feldgendarmerie directed the crossing – generally we quickly over the bridge, and in good order. We also got across to the other bank intact. There we heard sad news: divisional commander Harald Hirschfeld – who was popular everywhere but especially in our battalion – had been badly wounded while crossing the Dunajec. Several hours later we learned that he had died. The Dunajec also became a catastrophe for the battalion’s horse-drawn vehicles: when they reached it during the night, the bridge was already blown up – like those of the Biala it had been blown up too hurriedly. As a result all the vehicles were stuck on the east bank; only the paymaster’s truck had reached safety which meant that later on, to my great surprise, I saw my rucksack and I was able to dig out and put on my leather riding boots. All of us only had felt boots during the retreat which had been issued for winter in positional warfare and had a habit of falling apart. Some of the horses with the baggage train had got through the water and saved therefore. We rested for a few hours in houses west of the Dunajec, but there was no front. In the night the battalion sluggishly moved off down the very dark, wide and straight road in the direction of Bochnia-Cracow (the moon was still very small) and finally found quarters in Brzesko which was already overcrowded thanks to other units. The stone signs on the road showed us that we only had 45km to go to Cracow, 15km to Bochnia, then it could only be a good 80km to the border of the Reich. To us the border of the Reich seemed like the goal of our hopes – everything there had to be civilised, ordered, the populace was on our side, perhaps they would not allow the Russians to enter the Reich. What was also remarkable on the Eastern Front was how peaceful everything was not far from the front. Although Russian aircraft dominated the skies, they did not disturb us, even though our columns were so densely-packed on the country lanes. During the march from the Dunajec to Bochnia motorised vehicles, well, the few we saw, drove with their lights on, as if it was peacetime.

Dobczyca,* southern Poland, January 19th 1945

To be on the main road with the regiment was not only reassuring, but it smelled somewhat of battle and readiness to go into action. We saw a convoy, completely wrecked, just like the English columns we had seen before Dunkirk. We believed that once again our Luftwaffe had been at work here and an enemy column had been smashed. There was a bloody awful smell of burning in our valley north of Dobczyca. We could hear the sounds of battle to the south and we could see smoke rising. We had our orders to enter battle again. For the time being, however, we could enjoy a short rest in several houses where other elements of our regiment, who had now departed, had been billeted.
We lay in a slope and looked across the plain. With nightfall, the ever more impressive sea of flames centred on burning Dobczyca and the embers of a string of villages marked the enemy’s domain. Despite this vast backdrop, nothing more happened about our deployment: we moved on a little and spent a rather quiet night with local security forces.

* South of Krakow

Southern Poland, January 20th 1945

In the morning the units of the regiment marched off again, the battalion must therefore run ahead of the vehicles. Things went well in the valley, but then we came to a short stretch of road on an incline, which the enemy could observe. I experienced the most impressive scenes of battle of the entire war, a rising tide of impressions: burning villages in the valley the burning still glowed, on the side of the road lay upturned wagons, dead horses and dead soldiers, the contents of the vehicles was scattered about by plunderers who rummaged for unexpected treasures – socks and pink lingerie – here, ignoring the threat of death. Three baggage columns squeezed between the detritus side-by-side heading for the top of the hill which would save them. The heavy horses strained every muscle, the drivers spurred them on – one tried to gain ground ahead of the others, and into this mass of bodies and wagons, enemy anti-tank shells crashed with a sharp crack. We could see them standing next to a farm, hurried loading and shooting, we saw the flash of the muzzles, and then the bang of shooting and the sound of the explosion followed almost simultaneously... I don’t know whether the others felt the same about this drama. The battalion hauled itself up in marching columns at the side of the road, a little dirty, chewing on sweets and meaty biscuits by Mattke & Sydow of Görlitz (dried meat meal backed into biscuits using flour to biscuits provided as emergency supplies – we got them here for the first time). We reached the heights without losses. I called to order several soldiers from the battalion who began to plunder.

Upper Silesia, January 26th 1945

We were woken early in the morning and then marched westwards on slightly-frozen roads in rather dry weather behind other columns; the division had to be around somewhere. We always preferred to remain with the division than the regiment. The division’s NSFO had, of course, shown a lot of sympathy towards us and the regiment had done the dirty on us when we donated money to the Red Cross at Christmas by passing off the donation – slightly raised by money it had collected – as the regiment’s donation.
In the district which we had now reached, there were still organised units. We saw anti-tank ditch after anti-tank ditch and built-up positions. In Andrichau* we could even post letters at a Feldpost office – and my card reached home. In a kindergarten, where there were still Germans, we got something to eat at mid-day.
We didn’t yet know that we would still be in the positions in the mountains south and southeast of Andrichau six weeks later. As we continued our retreat through Katy**, we saw flour being pushed around in wheelbarrows, elsewhere sugar was available. The warehouses were being emptied – or plundered – before the anticipated entry of the enemy. A short distance from the road, in a forest ranger’s house, we found the division, which was rather pleased to see the battalion again. The division assigned quarters to us in their small cottages nearby. The battalion staff was billeted with a Volksdeutsch butcher who said he had not been able to flee in time. Our good fortune wasn’t without flaws, however. During the night we were led across sandy paths to an improvised position in a group of houses to defend against an enemy attack. The situation became very serious as the enemy, who had penetrated on both sides, attacked the wings, threatened the flank and almost succeeded in cutting off the battalion’s retreat. Anything which had legs was committed in the snow-covered slopes of the ditches which ran to the left and right of the slightly sunken road which was lined by huge trees to hold the road in the face of the advancing enemy. The enemy repeatedly attacked yelling and because he exerted a great deal of pressure along the road and because wild infantry fire whistled down the road from the rear, we unfortunately had to leave our wounded behind and it was difficult to calculate our losses. The battalion fell back, fighting in the street all night long, and was able to re-form in each group of houses for a while. Every evening in our report of dead and missing we tried to reconstruct what had happened. In all likelihood, too many dead were reported, for comrades tended to say: “He’s dead”, sometimes adding: “He was torn apart – he was standing right next to me,” but such statements could not be trusted. The reports of dead went to the local Kreis leadership and the Party functionaries had the task of informing the parents.
In Katy we unexpectedly ran into the battalion’s rear area baggage column – a truck under the command of the staff paymaster. I got my rucksack (I had an Italian one) and was finally able to remove my felt boots – intended, of course, only for wearing in the trenches, and put on my riding boots. I sent the fur vest from my rucksack as a parcel to Görlitz. I tried to save valuable items from the war for the time after the war which we had to assume would be terrible. “Enjoy the war, the peace will be awful,” was already a well-known saying among soldiers. In any event, the parcel didn’t get to Görlitz. Perhaps the parcel post was captured the following day. Everyone else in the battalion had to trudge along in their felt boots which were already threatening to fall apart.

* Forty miles south of Katowice. Today Andrychów.
** Seven miles west of Andrichau. Today Kety.

Upper Silesia, February 2nd 1945

On the second there a completely-bloodless counter-attack was led against the enemy who had broken through. During the day, the mortar men bemoaned the fact that they’d lost their horses. I didn’t know whether now we were in the Reich we could requisition horses, but I reasoned that if we took them away from the Russians, no-one could complain. So at dusk I set out with a small group and crept through a pond to the other side where we found an old farm, with large trees in front of it and another farm not far away. There we commandeered two horses, comforted their owners by assuring them that the Russians would take them anyway, that it was better if they helped us, and we led the horses back to the mortar troops.
Several Gruppen in 7 Kompanie lay in simple houses on the enemy side of the railway embankment.
One group abandoned their house – they were supposedly driven out by attackers superior in numbers who had taken their machine-gun off them during hand-to-hand fighting. Who could believe that? You had probably run away from a Russian reconnaissance patrol and out of fear had forgotten or abandoned their machine-gun, along with its ammunition, when they put it down in the field. The battalion was embarrassed to report the loss of a machine-gun. We put pressure on the company and its men for so long until they agreed to lead a counter-attack and re-take the house. Everything went like clockwork – and bloodlessly. They occupied the house and found their machine-gun with a Russian still next to it. Now we could report the recapture of our machine-gun as well as the capture of an enemy machine-gun. We had remarkably little contact with the enemy in Dzieditz.*
Late in the afternoon, a horse-drawn cart with Russians on it was driven up to our position down a dirt track. Unfortunately a guard lost his nerve and began to shoot. The eight Russians in the cart immediately jumped off and we were only able to take some of them prisoner – the others escaped. Among the prisoners was a Russian captain who was furious that there were Germans here, for as far as he knew, Dzieditz was already Russian. He had merely followed his general who wanted to find quarters in Dzieditz. This message startled our division which was convinced that the Russian general was somewhere behind our lines. They were determined to find him and take him prisoner. We were all ordered to make a thorough search. Not that we found him – and not that we believed he was there.

* Fifteen miles west of Katy. Today Czechowice-Dziedzice.

Upper Silesia, February 8th 1945

I had to take over a sector to the north of Saybusch* with the alarm company. It was the only sector of the front which spanned a watershed so we were able to observe the enemy’s hinterland. We were briefly oriented by the unit being relieved during the night: on the heights there were trenches on both sides of an enormous lime tree with a Mother of God figure, the battalion command post was located in a cottage on the nearside slope above the mill at Saybusch. The trench ‘garrisons’ had billets in the cellars of shot-up houses, admittedly very poor billets, because the cellar ceilings were so low that you could only stay in the cellar bent over or lying down. They were even trenches leading to the positions, but now they were filled with snow. As a result, orientation on the wide hill was not at all easy, although we had dead Ivans as a reference point.
The regiment had ordered that all men manning the trenches stand guard all night long or strengthen the positions – we could not afford to sleep in our predicament. I, however, did the sensible thing anyway and only made some of the men keep watch, the others slept in the cellars of the ruined houses until the time we were relieved came. I often went to the front line trench and knew the various dead Ivans well, but I cannot remember whether I saw anything of the enemy.
In the event of an enemy penetration, it was important that a counter-attack was led swiftly and decisively. I therefore always had a small reserve with me on the company command post in the cottage on the slope and rehearsed a counter-attack with it repeatedly during the night, which meant we breathlessly rushed up the slope to the trenches through the snow. An artillery Wachtmeister was also with me, Wachtmeister Weidemann. I liked always artillerymen – they always possessed a little initiative and did not let themselves be overwhelmed by events. This Wachtmeister once asked me why the dead Ivans all had German weapons – I didn’t know. He discovered the answer himself: they were all dead Germans, men from an alarm unit, some in Arbeitsdienst uniforms which had died during the capture of the heights in a German counterattack. Not only had they not been buried, but they still wore their dog tags. Fortunately, one or two soldiers had just been punished, however, but they had not been able to serve their sentence because there was nowhere to hold them in detention. Now a spell in detention could be converted to work at the front. They could do that now: the offenders had to haul their fallen comrades, who were thoroughly frozen and therefore more palatable and therefore also much easier to move, down the snow-covered slope where the baggage train would deal with burying them (or the Party because we were in the Reich now).

* Fifty miles south of Katowice. Today Zywiec

Jägerndorf*-Altvatergebirge**, April 20th 1945

Something happened in April while I was as an adjutant with the battalion. It was turning spring, a wild cherry tree was in bloom on the mountain slope, a tired blue haze hung on the horizon.
Orders came thick and fast: an order came from the army group on an almost daily basis, but were usually only meant for officers. They were funny to read. Field Marshal Schörner demonstrated his gift with language. They were also amusing because at last they addressed the reality of the situation and the clichés of soldiers bravely fighting night and day were suddenly forgotten. “I stand on a tower and look over the sector of a division. What is spread out across the terrain is the manifestation of half-heartedness, not to mention cowardice. The mortars are positioned as far as possible behind the position, the artillery has not selected the ideal location for effective action, rather the location from which she can flee the quickest. Three (!) Feldgendarmes bring back a captured Russian rather than dealing with the rabble hanging around in the rear area.” The division, fortunately, had been forewarned that Schörner wanted to inspect the baggage train. It hurriedly assigned all the men fit for action to fighting units and presented a baggage train comprising sick and injured men. That earned the highest praise from the Chief-of-Staff of the Army Group: “The baggage train of 78 Sturmdivision was exemplary.”

* Two dozen miles south of Oppeln. Today Krnov in the Czech Republic.
** A range in northern Moravia and southern Silesia. Today Hrub Jeseník.

That's all Volk. :D
No-one who speaks German could be an evil man
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