October 1944 to March 1945 (2)

A horse had been left close to the house we seconded.  The poor thing had been left alone in a barn, too tired to work.  Whomever it had belonged, had left it with plenty of food but forgotten to leave it any water.  Although there was enough animal food to last all winter, without water that horse would have died.  The beast had been worked to exhaustion; it looked delirious.  It stumbled around the small barn with wild eyes when I entered.

I was given the job of looking after the workhorse.  I fetched water into the barn, groomed its tired limbs whilst talking soothingly into its ear.  I sang songs recalled from my childhood, soothing cradle songs I’d listened to from my bed.  They were my mother’s songs, the tunes she used to entertain my younger siblings on long evenings.  I did not sing loudly, I was careful not to let the other fellows hear my voice.  I sang for the horse, to gain its trust as well as to ease its anguish. 

Looking after that horse became my job by default.  The other men were all town people.  I can harness a horse, I know how to care for one, the others do not which is why it became my new job. 

Along with the horse, there was a two-wheeled cart.  It was a two-wheeled trap and its tyres still had plenty of wear in them.  One day a Field kitchen turned up at the house unexpectedly, it had arrived to feed the front line troops.  As I was the only one to have befriended the horse, plus the only one who knew how to harness it to a trap, I was assigned to the kitchen unit and tasked with taking soup out to the fighters. 

Along with German soldiers, many Latvian service men were wept up in the chaos as the Eastern Front collapsed.  In September 1944 the surviving elements of the 15th Waffen SS division and the 19th Waffen Grenadier Division, were sent by boat to Danzig, Poland.  They fought on the Pomeranian Wall defences before retreating through Pomerania and Germany to Berlin.

Summer 1944

The Red Army have reached the Baltic Seavat Memel. 

Although I have seen grenades thrown, German grenades with long handles like a wooden stick, no one in my Latvian Waffen SS Legion unit have been issued any.  As well as stick grenades, the German soldiers have larger round ones but not us. 

I saw a stick grenade thrown which did not explode.  As my unit do not have any, I waited for a little while before picking it up.  I waited a good while in fact before moving forward.  I decided to bring it along with me in the hope of repairing it. 

Drying out an old gas mask canister, I put the grenade inside to make it easier to carry.  I can usually mend most things when I try, so I should be able to mend one grenade. 

When I found it, I hadn’t realised what the canister was.  I only received one days training with a gas mask but then just like the grenades, masks were not included in my equipment pack.  It is a good job I have never needed a gas mask.  At a guess, my unit is not the first to be sent out without a full kit.

German WW2 Gas Mask with Canister.

The German stick grenades are not very good; they do not explode in the same way the allied grenades do.  The German ones just go ‘poof’ rather than ‘BANG’.  If that is not bad enough, the stick grenades are useless in snow.  When thrown, all they do is go ‘puff’ before showering men in snowflakes.  

Some men can throw a grenade really far by the stick but I have not had the chance to try.  I saw some men tie three or four grenades together before throwing them.  Their invention worked properly, better than the allied grenades even in the snow, but they could only do a few because supplies ran out.

Older men, those with more experienced, keep stick grenades stuffed down their boots (by the stick end).  I tried it but found it very uncomfortable.  Carrying the grenade in a canister is a much better idea.

German Naval Infantry marching with stick grenades in their boots.

2 November 1943

The enlistment commission are foolish.  I will not be going home immediately, this evening I am away to Lilaste, (Latvia).

The invading Germany army arrived in the region during 1942.  At first they only introduced compulsory labour but it did not take long before the military began urging Latvian men to join up, to push Russia away from Latvia's boarders.  It was around that time I accepted my inability to walk properly as God’s great plan.  I am thankful I can no longer march.  I am grateful I have one lame, ulcerated leg.

Unfortunately, the German's are quite determined to get me into uniform.  As commanded, I reported to Ranka Guard House on 20 March 1943.  I had received a  conscription call-up card.  I expected to fail my medical, to be returned home as a labourer unfit for military service, just as I was in 1942, but I underestimated Hitler’s determination to fill uniforms.  

The recruitment doctor dismissed my aching leg with the wave of his hand.  As the rest of my body is healthy, I am to be conscripted into the Latvian Waffen SS Legion as a volunteer. I may only be nineteen but I know the difference between a volunteer soldier and a conscripted one.  In addition, the doctor’s reassurance that marching great distances will be beneficial for my ulcerated leg are not comforting.     

Latvian Legion 'volunteers'