Free Unlikely Warrior by Georg Rauch Page A

shortly after nightfall on January 7. In the middle of a snowstorm, given the brief time we were allotted, it was utterly impossible to roll in all the telephone cable we had laid out. What’s more, way too few wagons or horses were available for loading. A great deal of equipment had to be left behind.
    Heavily burdened with arms, ammunition, and, for those of us in the signal squad, the wireless and telephone equipment, we struggled that whole night against the storm, wearily placing one foot ahead of the other in the deep powder snow.
    We continued thus for a week, marching through nights of bitter cold and doing our best to repulse the pursuing Russians by day. Finally we arrived at Marianovka, a small town surrounded by snow-covered hills. Marianovka itself was not of any great importance, but it happened to lie at the narrow opening of an enormous pocket of land, from which an entire German division was attempting to escape to avoid encirclement. We learned the Führer had given a direct order: “The village must be defended to the last man!”
    The signal squad was assigned to a dirt cellar, and from there we laid cables out to the last houses on the southern perimeter of the town. The rest of the troops kept busy digging trenches and dragging crates of ammunition.
    That afternoon, as I was returning to the cellar for another roll of cable, Haas turned up with two mess kits full of a steaming goulash. Handing one of them to me, he said, “Best wishes from the firm. Keep up the good work! When you get hungry again, the kitchen is four huts down the street.”
    He pointed toward the south. “There happen to be tons of Russians sitting behind those hills, in case you’re interested.” Then he added, as though just in passing, “Oh, I almost forgot. These just arrived for you.” And he pulled two letters from his inside jacket pocket.
Russia, January 15, 1944
My dear Mutti,
I’m in a most unpleasant position, which we’ve been commanded to hold “by order of the Führer,” but in spite of that, everything is beautiful for the moment because today I received my very first mail from you! Both of your letters were like new, in perfect condition, and they made me so happy. I had felt so forsaken.
For the rest, be well and don’t worry. Every bullet doesn’t find its mark, and I have a very secure feeling. A Viennese doesn’t go under so easily!
Many loving kisses for you both, good old begetters of,
Your Boy
    The next morning the Russians began bombarding Marianovka with mortar fire. For several hours we sat in our cellar counting up to one hundred hits per minute. They kept raining down, even during the night, evidently in an attempt to keep us from sleeping and to stretch our already taut nerves to their limits.
    We took turns going out to repair the shot-up cables and connections. After two days, barely any snow remained in the village. It had either turned black from the powder or been blown away by the force of the shelling. Many of the houses were burning; the kitchen had received a direct hit.
    The first Russian infantry attack began in the early morning hours. I happened to be in one of the foremost houses, replacing a telephone that had been shot to pieces. The Russians, hundreds of black dots on the surrounding hills, stormed down the slopes, roaring fiercely as they ran. The German machine guns fired among the masses, and I could see them falling. Enemy artillery continued to cover the entire village with heavy fire, and new waves of Russian infantry poured down the hills.
    When the attack finally halted, the ground was spread with dead and wounded Russians. Soon thereafter they put their antitank guns into action. These fast and low-shooting weapons could draw a bead on each separate man, on every house, on every hole with a German inside. This knowledge had a horrible psychological effect on our troops. The Russian guns produced very high casualties.
    All day long new waves of Russians rained down