I'd rather walk than get a lift with the SS, and a lucky escape from P38 attack

My luck again! The enemy was retreating and I was ordered to walk overnight to a site, suitable to place our cannons. This spot was only pointed out to me on a map. When I tried to get a lift, I noticed SS soldiers on the vehicle; forget about it! Still today, I very much dislike their black uniforms, with a silvery skull displayed on it. There was a general dislike attached to this type of army, by the ordinary German soldier. Another miracle was when I found the correct spot without misfortunes of any kind. It was still dark.

A small shelter in the nearby bush was already waiting for me, to have a well deserved sleep. I woke up hearing planes buzzing around. These were not the promised 3000 Germans. These were British twin-tailed fighter bombers. They went directly down onto the Jerry Flak (Flieger Abwehr Kanone = aeroplane defence cannon), until the Flak was out of action. Those pilots displayed enormous courage. Along came two officers of our company, telling me that the Americans had retreated much further than expected and our cannons had already gone past this hide-out.

On the way they disclosed very bad news. My company was attacked by those enemy planes. Four of the RSO's, and two cannons were destroyed. Four men lost their lives, whilst hiding underneath the Cannons. The No.1 Gunner position ended here; my cannon was 'kaput'. The only thing left was one of the two vehicles, on which there was my gear. Here was another reason for me to be sad but also happy. Another miracle, that I was not there, at the time of the attack.

On my way walking along a road, this bomber decided to have a go at me, at least that is exactly what it looked like. It turned around and started to dive, leaving a lot of small black clouds behind it and then an egg came out from under it. Man did I speed for shelter, and fell down on my face. "BOOM". That was a bit far away. He had aimed at the road, not me. Now I know, those little clouds represented his cannon firing real bullets. 

I finally found my Company hiding at the edge of a bush. In front of this position was a small valley and behind it, not very far, tree covered hills. Did I tell you that it was winter? There was plenty of snow and it was ice-cold outside. The idea of a warm room was always on my mind. No luck; first a hole in the ground, and on the bottom pine tree twigs as a bed, and over the top some branches to keep the snow out. In addition a couple of times during the night, was my turn as sentry for two hours. It was cold alright, very cold.

A German soldier fills an officer's boots with water, and the Battle of the Bulge begins

Nearly every night a couple of shells were returned to the opposition. Some success reports came back from the observer position. During November 1944, three soldiers of our group were wounded near our hide-out. They came screaming for help to us. We did our best. An ambulance had to take them away. We were at war and the unexpected could happen any time. I never comprehended how close it could come to me.

My unwanted job, besides bringing food to the officer, was also cleaning his boots daily. Very angry about it, I simply filled the boots with water in the evening and delivered them wet in the morning. That did it. I was part of a group sent to the front line one night. The company's lookout post there had to be moved to another position. Places on the way were under enemy fire. We had to wait until the enemy stopped firing and then run for our life.

It was still November 1944. Safely back early in the morning, there was bad news; very bad for me. My young friend and others were walking along the road to pick up the meals for the company, when a shell exploded right above them in a tree. One soldier was badly wounded and my friend died on the spot. The funeral was near Rommersheim. I had to climb into the open grave and remove the cover from his face so a photo could be taken. Firing the salute, that was all we could do for him.

From then on, my way to the kitchen was right behind us over the hill. One night I was peacefully sitting there, when a fragment went right next to my arm through the timber post, hitting the opposite wall. Was someone after me? We kept this position for some time.

During one night, in early December 1944, came the order to move to the West Wall near the township of Ormond. Here were Bunkers and Tank traps near the German-Belgian border. Pictures of deserters were displayed, with the notice of the death sentence for them, in absence.
We waited for the big event to happen. It did shortly before Christmas. The officer that made the announcement, mentioned 3000 German planes in the air, next morning.

16.12.1944 at midnight it started. We were only onlookers from a West Wall pillbox, at this stage. There was quite a noise and fireworks started. Launcher grenades, by the dozens, went over us with a terrible whistle and fire trail. It was the start of the Rundstedt Offensive (Battle of the Bulge).

It's a real story, with real people

This blog is a real autobiography of a rebellious German soldier. It includes letters to home while was a prisoner after the second world war ended in Belgium, where we worked for about two years on war cemeteries digging graves and exhuming bodies. (Henry Chapelle for example) He was also my father.

He wrote his autobiography in 1995, it's metculous and more thoughtful than I'd expect from him to have written in English. At times, he writes of things he never spoke of while he breathed. He's dead now, but I think he'd enjoy this blog technology a lot, as he was a creative, inventive guy.

I'll be adding excerpts each week or so...