BY THE LATE SUMMER OF 1939, an intensive Nazi media campaign was stridently demanding that Germany be granted a land corridor through Poland that would link East Prussia to the rest of the country. Because the hated Treaty of Versailles had imposed this separation of German territory, there was widespread public support for what was seen as Germany’s just territorial claim. The anti-Polish mood was further heightened by repeated accusations of Poland’s severe mistreatment of its ethnic German population.

On August 23, 1939, the Treaty of Nonaggression between Germany and the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics was signed in Moscow. While the bitter ideological hostility between the Nazi and Communist regimes made the agreement paradoxical, this diplomatic move seemed to ensure peace with Russia if military hostilities broke out between Germany and Poland. Since Great Britain and France were not expected to go to war over Poland, a wider European conflict now appeared less likely.

When I arrived back at the house in Hagen from a trip to Lüneburg on the morning of Sunday August 27, Aunt Dora handed me a special delivery telegram that had just arrived. It was an order from the Wehrmacht directing me to report the next day to the barracks in Lüneburg for a short period of military training. Until that moment, I still believed that I had another four months to complete my apprenticeship before I would be called to military service. Now it was clear that my plans might have to change.

Despite this uncertainty, I was immediately swept up in a wave of eager anticipation that one feels at the start of an adventure. In my excitement, I did not know whether to call my parents or pack my belongings. When I reached my parents by phone, their reaction was more subdued. Naturally, my mother was particularly concerned. She made plans to come visit me that first week, though I saw little of her since boot camp was already underway.

This unexpected induction into the army left me feeling something between a volunteer and a draftee. My earlier plans to enter a Panzer unit in Berlin where the army had assigned me would not work out. Instead, the army had conscripted me into the newly established 58th Infantry Division.

Pursuing a meticulously designed plan of expansion, the Wehrmacht created new divisions using a nucleus of troops from existing active-duty divisions. The already existing 20th, 22nd, and 30th Infantry Divisions based in northern Germany each provided a cadre of troops to train the freshly inducted recruits for the 58th Infantry Division’s regiments. These divisions also provided the 58th Division with a veteran core of personnel comprising about 20 percent of its final troop strength.

In accordance with this plan, most of the Lüneburg-based 47th Infantry Regiment of the 22nd Infantry Division departed for the French border to deter any potential military action from the west. Only a cadre of experienced officers and sergeants from the regiment remained behind to instruct raw recruits who would bring the new 58th Infantry Division to full strength.

For the duration of our basic training, the army temporarily called up Great War veterans to fill out the ranks of the 58th Infantry Division in order to strengthen the German defenses on the French border. Once our instruction was completed, we would replace these older reservists at the front. At this time, I still believed that my preliminary training period would only last a short time.

When I arrived early that Monday morning at the former base of the 47th Infantry Regiment in the western part of Lüneburg, my initial excitement had somewhat cooled, though I did not share the sense of anxiety that most of the other conscripts seemed to feel. I thought to myself, “This is it. I am going to be a soldier now and have to do my best.” From the start, my competitive nature compelled me to prove myself and seek to become the top soldier in my unit. My aim was to obtain recognition in order to ultimately earn a leadership role.

On reaching the barracks, all recruits were directed to the armory where we were issued a uniform, helmet, and boots. Because no one wore their hair long at that time, there was not a routine shaving of the recruits’ heads. Following a lesson in how to salute properly, the drill instructors broke us into training companies.

Eight conscripts shared a room sparsely furnished with four bunk beds and a table. Having worked inside similar buildings during my apprenticeship as an electrician, I was already intimately familiar with the solid three-story brick and concrete structures typical of German barracks. Though they contained relative luxuries like indoor plumbing for community toilets and showers, recruits were in no way treated indulgently. Very strict maintenance regulations ensured that the buildings remained immaculate at all times. If the sergeant conducting an inspection spotted even some minor violation, it would mean extra duty for the guilty conscripts.

At seven o’clock the next morning, we headed out to an open area in the pinewoods behind the barracks where the instructors placed our new company in line according to height. At this point, each recruit was officially inducted into the army and received the rank of private (Schütze). During the remainder of the week that followed, our drill instructors concentrated on teaching us how to march in close order and to goose step as we began our transformation from civilians into soldiers.

That Friday morning, September 1, 1939, we woke to hear the radio solemnly announcing that Germany was at war with Poland. Among the conscripts around me, there was immediate recognition that we would not be released back into civilian life any time soon. Though we would not be involved in the immediate campaign, my mother understood clearly what the news meant, telling my family, “Now Wilhelm must also go to war.”

Few Germans doubted the government’s allegation that the Poles had started the war by staging a cross-border raid against a German radio station, and no one I knew questioned the basic justice of the war, even privately. Like most other citizens, I believed Germany had legitimate grievances and had launched the invasion of Poland following the exhaustion of diplomatic efforts. In retrospect, however, it is clear to me that Hitler sought war and simply exploited these issues to accomplish his aim. For him, the attack represented the next step in an aggressive plan of military conquest designed to impose Germany as the dominant power in Europe.

The day after the start of the war, our induction ceremony was held in the drilling area behind the barracks. Standing at attention at the end of the event, we raised our right arms and swore the oath of loyalty for Wehrmacht soldiers:

In the days that followed, my fellow recruits and I generally tried to follow the progress of the war in Poland and regularly discussed the unfolding events among ourselves. While we had anticipated a short conflict, most of us nonetheless felt disappointed to have missed out on it when the war ended a few weeks later. Perhaps naively, we did not expect to have another chance to engage in combat, even though Britain and France had unexpectedly declared war on Germany in early September. None of our officers led us to believe differently.

TRAINING IN LÜNEBURG

September 4, 1939–January 9, 1940

Once we had learned how to march that first week, our company commenced its field training, which took place every day, regardless of rain or snow. It was about evenly divided between physical exercise to build our stamina and instruction in the use of weapons and other equipment. More basically, it was about learning unquestioning obedience to orders.

On most mornings, we would wake before dawn for a shower and breakfast. After strapping on our 25-pound backpacks, we formed up for the three or four mile hike out to the firing range in Wendisch-Evern. At the start of the march, the second lieutenant (Leutnant)or sergeant in charge would shout, “Ein Lied” (A song), and then call out a title. Singing these marching tunes with enthusiasm, we set out down the road.

Reaching the site that first day, we immediately commenced drilling in an area of sandy terrain of low hills and pines. After an introduction to the bolt-action Karabiner 98K Mauser rifle that would serve as our primary weapon, our first days were spent at target practice. Both in daylight and darkness, we practiced how to disassemble and properly clean the rifle, a task that was essential to perform a couple of times a week in order to prevent jamming. In addition to working with the Mauser, our instructors soon taught us to handle and maintain a variety of other weapons as well.

All members of our training company received a cursory introduction to larger weapons like the 75-millimeter howitzer. This allowed us to have a basic level of familiarity with such weapons if we needed to operate them in an emergency. Our brief instruction in how to calculate the coordinates of an enemy target and direct the fire of the heavy guns was especially interesting to me and would prove invaluable later.

Even more elemental to soldiering, our veteran drill instructors passed along essential combat survival skills. In particular, the lesson that a good infantryman should dig a foxhole and get below ground whenever possible would save my life many times.

Though usually returning from the firing range before dark, we occasionally engaged in training at night. The return march back to the barracks was sometimes converted into a race among the hundred or so men of my training company. Jogging most of the way, I regularly completed the three or four miles before the others. Perhaps because I usually led the way in these races, the lieutenant in charge of our drilling assigned me the job of leading his horse to the stable, whereas the other soldiers had to clean the barracks or perform a similar less desirable task.

While a portion of the troops in the company acquired more extensive instruction with mortars and the 75-millimeter short-barreled howitzer, I was assigned early on to our company’s communications platoon. With my civilian background as an electrician it was natural for me to join this unit. It also made sense to have the fastest members of our company in the communications platoon since they might be called on to serve as runners to deliver messages on foot, if communication links had not yet been established or had been destroyed.

After the first couple of weeks, I spent the majority of time drilling with this communications unit. Our instructors gave us specialized training in the operation and repair of radios, field telephones, telegraphs, and other equipment. Most of our time, however, was spent practicing the stringing and maintaining of communication lines. On the battlefield, these lines would be used to deliver targeting information from the forward observer’s position back to gun batteries and company headquarters, as well as from the company headquarters back to the regimental command.

On many mornings that fall, the platoon practiced running a line the entire distance from the barracks to the firing range. Each of us carried a large reel on our backs with a portion of line that would be linked to the end of the preceding length of wire and then spooled out. As the line was released, those following would use long poles to hook it over limbs up in the trees where it would be less vulnerable to shellfire in a combat situation.

Since my grandparents’ villa was located near our training area in Wendisch-Evern, I chanced stopping off there a couple of times on the way back to our barracks in Lüneburg. Despite the risk of punishment if I was caught, a cup of coffee with my grandmother provided a great momentary escape from our routine.

About once or twice a week after our return from the firing range, the lieutenant overseeing our drilling would announce, “It’s five o’clock now. In fifteen minutes, you will be outside in formation in a clean uniform.” After changing into a fresh uniform, we would wearily head out to the drilling area in the pinewoods behind the barracks. In general, my efforts to prove myself and gain top marks proved successful, but I struggled with one particular facet of training: tree climbing.

Even with a sergeant loudly badgering us, “Get up in the tree you monkeys!” I usually only succeeded in ascending about 10 feet. If I avoided sliding backward from that point, I would just hang there like an old sack. Fortunately, I performed better when the drill instructors required us to build entrenchments or to crawl on our hands and knees under barbed wire without becoming entangled as a sergeant yelled at us to keep our butts down.

A short time after the commencement of our training I befriended a couple of other conscripts, Willi Schütte and Willi Sauke, who would remain my closest comrades in the coming years. In particular, I came to know Willi Schütte with whom I frequently played cards. He was a nice guy who came from the small town of Blekede. Standing only about 5’8,” he was squarely built and strong. Schütte was generally quiet, but also, like me, a bit of a prankster. He was eventually assigned to serve with one of our gun crews.

Our meals from the mess were decent and filling, but we never knew for sure what we were eating or drinking. Every morning, someone in each platoon in the barracks had to go pick up a big pot of coffee from the mess hall. If a conscript committed some violation of the regulations, his platoon leader would delegate him to deliver the coffee for the week.

After fulfilling this duty for a couple of weeks one of the men in our platoon was finally informed that his punishment was complete and he would no longer have to retrieve the coffee pot. He replied with satisfaction, “Good, then I do not have to piss in the coffee anymore.” While the other troops found this prank amusing, our platoon wondered what we had been drinking.

In another instance, one first lieutenant in our regiment brought his horse up the stairs into the barracks. Though he may have been half-drunk at the time, I have no doubt that this officer was demonstrating to us that his aristocratic Prussian background entitled him to flaunt the regulations with impunity. Later, we would encounter a far different type of Prussian officer in our first company commander.

As recruits, we were only permitted a couple of hours out of the barracks on Sunday evenings. Occasionally, I visited Aunt and Uncle Stork to see my brother Hermann and have supper, but most of my free time was spent with Anneliese. Just as before the war, we would sometimes go dancing or see a movie. More often, we would go for a walk or just sit on a bench and talk. Of course, kissing was not unknown in these few moments together, but she was always much more concerned than me that we might be seen.

Taking Anneliese back to her residence at the florist shop one Sunday night after a stroll, I became so engrossed in our conversation that I lost track of the time. The distant blaring of a bugle from across town alerted me that only minutes remained before our ten o’clock deadline to report to the barracks. With a quick kiss goodnight, I took off in a mad dash. Covering the mile as fast as my legs could move, I passed the sentry post minutes later, completely exhausted, but just on time.

On another occasion following a leave from duty spent with my family in Püggen, I missed the train on which I had planned to return from Salzwedel to Lüneburg. Not seeing any alternative, I caught a taxi all the way back in order to reach our barracks before ten. The hour-long trip cost me a small fortune, but I knew that my failure to return on time would have resulted in stern disciplinary measures. Our training staff would tolerate a late arrival due to a missed train no sooner than they would excuse any other infraction.

The officers and sergeants imposed a rigorous regimen during our basic training, but I found deep satisfaction in the discipline, camaraderie, adventure, and ascetic routine of soldiering. At the end of boot camp on January 9, 1940, my sense of accomplishment and pride was great, especially given the recognition I received as one of the top cadets.

ORGANIZING FOR BATTLE

January 9, 1940–May 9, 1940

Immediately after our initial training concluded, the army shipped us 90 miles west by train to Delmenhorst, home base of the 58th Infantry Division’s 154th Regiment. On our arrival, we joined additional troops of the 154th Infantry Regiment who had also just completed their training under the guidance of other cadres drawn from the 22nd Infantry Division.

Since the size of different military subunits varies among armies, it is perhaps worthwhile to outline briefly the composition and relative strengths of the infantry components in the German Army in 1940. A squad consisting of 10 soldiers was the smallest operational unit, and a platoon of four squads was the primary subunit of a company. A regular infantry company contained about 180 men, though specialized companies could be significantly larger. Each battalion contained four companies, while each regiment included three battalions and two specialized companies.

An infantry division was made up of roughly three infantry regiments, an artillery regiment, a battalion with anti-tank weapons, a reconnaissance battalion, a headquarters unit, and support troops, possessing a total strength of approximately 17,000 men. Above the divisional level, the corps, army, and army groups varied greatly in size and composition.

Once the regimental organization in Delmenhorst was completed on February 5, the new 154th Infantry Regiment made the roughly 250-mile journey south to the large training area at Ohrdruf in the hilly wooded region of Thüringen. On our arrival, our regiment united with the newly trained soldiers of the 209th and 220th Infantry Regiments and the artillery regiment, bringing together for the first time all the elements of the 58th Infantry Division.

Over the next two weeks, our regiments were organized into companies. Assigned to the communications platoon of the 13th Infantry Company of the 154th Infantry Regiment, I would be part of the largest of the regiment’s 14 companies, which had a full strength of about 300 troops. In our communications platoon, there were about 25 men, all of whom had trained together in Lüneburg. Subtracting the soldiers in our platoon who drove the wagons carrying our communications gear and took care of the horses, there were about 15 of us whose primary assignment was to set up communications links and, if necessary, to serve as runners.

The 13th Company’s two short-barreled 150-millimeter howitzers and six short-barreled 75-millimeter howitzers would be positioned half a mile to a mile behind the front and provide the regiment with an independent light artillery capability in support of the regimental infantry in its frontline actions. In contrast, the division’s artillery regiment had long-range guns that would be deployed a number of miles back behind the frontlines and generally conduct fire missions against the enemy’s more distant rear areas.

While the regiment’s 13th company deployed howitzers and its 14th company operated anti-tank weapons, the other 12 companies making up the three battalions in our regiment were regular infantry troops, possessing only small arms, machine guns, and small-caliber mortars. While these 12 regular infantry companies primarily reported to their respective battalion level commanders, the 13th and 14th companies operated independently and reported directly to the regimental commander because of their unique missions.

As our new regiments organized, the Wehrmacht demobilized the Great War veterans who had been temporarily called up to fill out the ranks of the 58th Infantry Division on the French border during our training period. The demobilization of veterans also released the leadership cadre from the old active-duty army to join our company, though these members of the regular army only comprised perhaps 20 percent of our total strength.

Soon after our company had taken shape in Ohrdruf, an officer named Robert Miles Reincke introduced himself and the other new senior platoon leaders to us. A veteran of the Great War in his fifties, he was referred to as Rittmeister (cavalry captain) for his earlier service in the army’s equestrian arm. In fact, Reincke’s horsemanship was so exceptional that he had served as the Kapitän of Germany’s polo team in the 1936 Berlin Olympics.

Though a highly experienced officer, he had been working as a businessman in Hamburg when he was called back to duty. As was customary for those in the Prussian officer class, he maintained an aloof distance and businesslike attitude toward subordinates, but his commanding presence only magnified our respect. Our confidence in his ability to lead our company would prove fully justified.

Under Reincke, there were two first lieutenants, but the non-commissioned officers (NCOs) played an equally essential role in running the company. As the highest ranking NCO, Senior Sergeant Jüchter was the most important because he served as quartermaster, overseeing the distribution of food and ammunition supplies from the Tross (rear area). Highly proficient in his work, he was referred to as “the mother of the company.”

In Ohrdruf, our communications platoon was placed under the command of Staff Sergeant (Oberfeldwebel) Ehlert who had come over with the cadre of career officers and NCOs who had been serving on the French border. An easy-going, well-educated man in his mid-twenties, he would remain my immediate superior throughout the next three and a half years. Ehlert always maintained a certain distance from us and was reserved by nature, but was a good soldier and a highly competent NCO who served as our primary role model.

Following our arrival in Ohrdruf, the army forbade us to reveal our location in letters to our families and girlfriends back home. Since such restrictions appeared to be unnecessarily secretive to me, I would sometimes enclose a photograph that would “incidentally” include a public sign identifying the name of the village or city near which we were stationed in order to get around the censors.

In addition to exchanging letters with my family, I also corresponded with Anneliese back in Lüneburg, though our relationship still remained less than serious. She never expressed any particular fear about my fate as we prepared for war, though at that time I myself was not really concerned about what might happen in combat. In the vigor of youth, you naturally feel indestructible and tend to view war as a chance for adventure. If we had been older and wiser, our fears about the future would have been far greater.

During our training in Lüneburg, we had developed our basic soldiering skills and received specific instruction in some type of specialized function, such as communications. At Ohrdruf, we now engaged in advanced military exercises designed to teach us how to fight and defeat the enemy in battle. Repeatedly, the officers drilled us in basic offensive and defensive infantry tactics. Starting with our heavy weapons company, we gradually learned to operate in larger and larger formations. Eventually, the entire division joined together in field maneuvers.

Despite the cold and snow in Thüringen, we trained continuously and soon began engaging in simulated full-scale battles. Our officers made an effort to approximate actual combat conditions as closely as possible. In addition to maneuvers, the division also continued with the other aspects of our training and worked on improving our marksmanship.

Knowing that we were preparing for combat, there was no lack of motivation on our part as we drilled intensively from early in the morning until dark. There was little time for anything other than military exercises and sleeping in the homes or tents where we had been billeted. Occasionally, we also trained at night.

In the winter cold, none of us looked forward to our turn on regular sentry duty. However, it was a privilege to be assigned as an honor guard for Heldengedenktag (Heroes Memorial Day), commemorating the millions of German soldiers lost during the Great War.

It fell on March 10 1940, which turned out to be an icy Sunday. During my 45-minute shift posted in front of the war monument in Ohrdruf, local kids approached and tried to make me laugh. It was easy to ignore them, but almost impossible to keep my body from freezing while remaining rigidly at attention. Only later would I learn what it meant to be truly cold.

Four days afterward, the division boarded trains for a roughly 275-mile trip through the night to an area south of the city of Trier in the bend of the Saar River near the town of Orscholz. Moving into positions just opposite the northern corner of France’s Maginot Line defenses along the Franco-German border, we were deployed as part of the XXIII Corps of the 16th Army in Army Group A.

While our infantry company obtained living space in the elaborate frontline bunkers of Germany’s West Wall defenses, other troops were housed in local villages or in tents. Soon afterward, a number of promotions were issued, following the observation of our performance at Lüneburg and Ohrdruf. Receiving the rank of private first class (Gefreiter), I felt like my efforts to prove myself in our training had been rewarded, even if the greater test of combat had not yet arrived.

The politics of war were rarely discussed at the front, but most Germans I knew accepted the necessity and justice of our struggle against France and Great Britain. They had declared war on Germany in reaction to the invasion of Poland. As we saw it, they were attempting to defend the unjust settlement of the Treaty of Versailles. They would not accept a new political settlement unless Germany imposed it on them with military force.

Already, there were sporadic border skirmishes with French troops in our sector of the front as well as occasional clashes between the Luftwaffe and enemy aircraft. If ordered to fight a full-scale war, we were confident in our ability to conduct operations rapidly and efficiently. Rather than another long stalemate in the trenches like Germany had endured in France during the Great War, everyone expected that a new campaign in the west would be rapid, following the model of the recently conducted war against Poland.

As the weather grew warmer that spring, the mood among the troops around me was one of anxious anticipation. Though motivated by love of country and possessing a sense of pride in our company, regiment, and division, we would quickly learn that the most basic priorities in combat were simply to obey orders and look out for ourselves and our comrades.