Close to the house where I sheltered,
there were a few trees on a piece of scrub land. That was where some of the other men, an
anti-tank unit, set up camp. It was
where they set up their single 3.7 PAK anti-tank gun.
Concerned for their own safety, those
men set up trip wires along with anti-personnel traps, between the trees which
would go off if disturbed. I had to be
careful when coming or going, I made sure to identify myself as I approached. Among their armoury were two 5 cm tube
mortars, three 8.8 cm Flak guns plus a big old tractor. Flak is a contraction of the German Flugzeugabwehrkanone,
aircraft-defence cannon. As a fighting
unit they were not very well equipped at all but everyone had to do their best with
what they had. To be honest, due to a
lack of training, those men couldn’t really shoot anything anyway. With only one day’s training on the guns, men
were sent off to strategic position and left to their own devices. When a gun jammed or broke in some way, no
one knew how to fix it. Having more
equipment, better equipment, bigger equipment would not have enabled those men
to hit more targets.
One of our men, a new man who had only
been with us for three days, was killed as he stood next to me. The anti-tank unit decided to do some fire
practise, it was a nice day and so they sent a shot up into the sky. Having nothing better to do, several of us stood
around to watch but no one had thought about the round coming back down
again. A shell fragment sliced down into
the new man’s head, lodging in his brain.
The shrapnel chopped through his skull, killing him where he stood. I made sure to keep my distance the next time
those men practised.
I thought it was okay working with the
kitchen. There were regular meals plus a
stove to warm myself near. Combine that with sleeping indoors, it was
probably the best any soldier could ask during war time on the front line
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