Free Eastern Inferno: The Journals of a German Panzerjäger on the Eastern Front, 1941-43 by Christine Alexander, Mason Kunze

I think that the Russian campaign will last much longer. (I even voice this opinion in contrast to those officers who believe that it will be over within two months). Second, does anyone believe that glorious, veteran fighters like us will be sent home to search for fishing worms in their gardens? We shall see if I am not right on at least one of these points.
    1 August: We stop in a small pine forest with a tiny lake. As we will be here for a few hours, we peal our sweaty uniforms from our bodies and jump into the pee-warm, dirty water. But this joy is short-lived—Ratas suddenly appear and hammer quite a few rounds over our heads. Right at the beginning of the attack a hand grenade kills one of our own. What a damn mess! Wet as dogs, we quickly put our clothes back on and take cover under the trees. Just in time—ten Martin bombers appear soon after. All of a sudden there are smoke trails soon followed by detonations. Goddamn it!
    We are very lucky. When the yellow smoke clears we can see that exactly where our camp would have been is now covered with craters from the shelling.
    The Russian fighters are unpleasantly active these days. We had a bad surprise yesterday afternoon. Three heavy aircraft flew over us at an extremely low altitude. Since they did not fire, we didn’t pay much attention. Shortly after, we hear wild machine gun fire to our rear. A team of scouts, including myself, is assembled to go back and see what is going on. As we reach the edge of the forest, we see a group of about fifteen civilians running like mad onto a bridge. Suddenly, something whistles above our heads; we throw ourselves to the ground and simultaneously five or six hand grenades explode with a deafening bang just a few meters away from us. In short bursts we sprint from cover to cover in order to approach the group. With great effort we manage to cut off access to the bridge for this ferocious firing group.
    We find the big surprise in the meadow—parachutes. Russian soldiers in civilian clothes had jumped from the aircraft with order to destroy this important bridge. What a lucky coincidence that we caught them and prevented the bridge assault at the last minute. Their boxes full of dynamite would have been enough to destroy an entire city neighborhood. One of the paratroopers has unfortunately managed to escape; a burst from his machine gun killed one of our comrades and seriously wounded another.
    2 August: It is not much further to Kiev. We see it on the map and are able to feel it from the desperate resistance we encounter. We are only able to make slow progress. The first line of bunkers lies in front of us. Apparently, there are a dozen or more lines of various fortifications past that. Bunkers, minefields, swamps, automatic flamethrower traps, and who knows what else.
    Difficult hours and days are ahead of us, but we have become so stubborn that nothing is able to shock us anymore. We no longer care about the crashing blows, the low hum of bombs dropping from aircraft, and the chirping of machine gun bursts.
    Life on the front has made me a fatalist. Now, everything is up to fate; how else could we carry on! Shells have plowed our lines. The ground was propelled into the air just a few meters in front of me. A shower of glowing hot shrapnel rains down on us. Comrades to the left and right have been torn apart; my uniform is splattered with their blood. The blow throws me on my back, yet I am not hurt. Fate! If I’ve made it alright through the hell of Zwiahel with its 1,000 dead, then things will go well in the future.
    3 August: It is our wedding anniversary, dear Rosel! Do you still remember this: One evening, we were sitting outside in the garden at Hausen. It was also August 3, and your stupid husband had completely forgotten that it was our anniversary. I could really tell how upset you were about my mistake.
    Here it is again, August 3; a day of non-stop fighting and casualties. Yet, I remember our wedding anniversary.