Captured, but his parents get news months later

Certified Copy. Fieldpostnumber, 42 687 e

In the West, the 22.2.1945.
Dear Mr.Oncken ! I have the sad duty to inform you, that your son, the Senior-Gunner Jurgen Oncken, is since 23.1.45. missing.

He was at last in St.Vith, District Malmedy. About this town were already in December hard fights. So also again from 21. to 23.1.45. During the 23.1.45 the Americans succeeded in capturing this town. There the battery was commissioned into anti-tank combat. Since then, there is not any news from your son. Because nobody returned from those parts of the battery commissioned there, I cannot give you any accurate information of your sons whereabouts.

It is a probability, that your son was taken prisoner. Should this be so, you will be informed via the American Red Cross within the next months. The Battery loses in your son a keen and responsible soldier and deeply regrets this loss. We shall always have him in good memory.

I cannot return any private items, since he had these all with him.

I salute you with Heil Hitler

signed Minz(?) Staff Sergeant (Stamps)

Conformity of preceding copy with the original is hereby certified. Neuenbrok, the 5.3.1945. The Mayor of the Municipality Moorriem by order: (signature)

---------------------------- NOTE:
We were captured by the Americans and became POWs in the late afternoon of the 23.1.1945. From St.Vith transported via a few holding and questioning camps to Liege in Belgium. The American Red Cross, to my knowledge, never informed my parents. It took many months before my parents had any news of my whereabouts! The first mail came via private people in Cologne. This explains why I received mail before I could write myself.

"The yanks are here!"

New Years day 1944/45 had arrived. The news came to me that a promotion to Ober-Kanonier (Senior Gunner) for me was decided. This to me was an insult and I successfully avoided the occasion by volunteering for guard duty. This meant that I was not available at the time of issue. Never put that star, that goes with it, on to my uniform. This so-called promotion, was for sure the doing of an officer that did not like me too much.

From now on, day by day, we slowly moved back to where we had come from. First stop near a farm in Recht. A very cold night, time for me to warm up inside a shed, whilst on guard duty. Someone calling outside for the guard. That must be this lousy officer. Sure enough, it resulted in a extremely strong talking to, in the morning. Things like deserter, court-martial and other nice words.

On the 9.1.1944. I ended up in Nieder-Emmels. Our telephone operators were reported missing. This spot was under observation by the enemy. I had to hide behind a house at all times. A call for the Company to line up outside. My name was called and I had to step forward to receive the EK 2 (Eisernes Kreuz) Iron Cross 2nd class, quite an honour for me. That's funny, yesterday I was nearly shot and today I receive a medal? Something is gone haywire! Back to my beloved town St.Vith, the last place on earth for me to go to, at this moment. In one of the first houses, we all took shelter in a cellar.

Lack of ammunition for the cannons, the roads already mined and standing guard at the front line. Here I never forget the moment, when I reported a suspicious movement at our road barrier. The NCO from the Infantry said to me: "The sooner they come, the better." From that moment on, I bothered even less then before. The time had come to look after No.1 and try to stay alive.

23. January 1945, in the afternoon. My mate Albert Z. did wake me up in the afternoon with the words: "Take your belt off and come outside with your hands up, the Yanks are there." This explained why the officers and soldiers that went upstairs before me, did not return. Outside American soldiers made me stand against a wall, which was under fire from our own people. Forcing me and the others to stand straight. Bullets were hitting the wall above me.

Another one of those unbelievable things occurred. There came this Jerry running and shouting: "The yanks are here!" He had not realized, he was running directly towards them. When one of the American soldiers turned around and fired a few shots. The Jerry made a somersault, got up and held his hand, That's where he got hit. How lucky can you be?

St. Vith was on fire and in ruins. It was time to move on.

24.12.1944. Then came the big one. A huge mass of bombers flattened the whole town. Again I was right in the middle of it. I was taking shelter in the garage corner under a low window, when a bomb hit outside, close to the wall. There was a powder smell, smoke, and me covered by bits and pieces. The garage door was now inside, over the top of everything. I was OK, but the soldier who went outside a moment before the bombing started was never seen again; not a piece.

Outside were bomb craters all around. Shrapnel pieces went right through the cannon's protection shields.

25.12.1944. St. Vith was on fire and in ruins. It was time to move on. A captured Dodge pulled the cannon. Driving through town, another Jabo tried his luck. Running for my life around a corner of the nearest house, I fell flat bang on my belly. "BOOM," the third near miss for me.

Quickly we got into the car and off we went, before the plane returned. One of us found a packet of asthma cigarettes. I tried one of them; ugh! phew! They really tasted bad. Every time we passed foot soldiers we gave them a few. I wonder what they thought of us, after trying those awful smokes.

26.12.1944. Onwards we went, via Roth, Recht to Pont. In a side street with a couple of houses, I found my Company. Here were hills all round. The cannons found their place behind the houses, under trees. Our bedroom was in the cellar of the first house. Before our big retreat started from here, first another two of my well known behaviour actions or reactions were due.

In the rush of the past days my cap went missing. I was the only soldier walking around with a steel helmet on. That thing had a camouflage cover which I found somewhere. My mates told me to get rid of it; if the Yanks caught me with it they would shoot me, because it was from the SS. That thing went quick smart into the fire. The order came to look for another cap. Across the road was supposed to be a cellar, where that sort of thing could be. There was only one problem; this crossing was under enemy shelling. I would have to sprint to a little prayer building first and then on to the other side of the crossing.

Standing behind that refuge, I could hear 'bang, bang.' Cannons fired in the distance and "BOOM, BOOM" the bullets had arrived. Splinters flew over my head into the wall. Some of these gun shots exploded in the air above me, shrapnel coming by the hundreds from above, at the same time. Out in the open, they surely would have hit me. I came safely back, with or without a cap, I don't remember. But there was a strong smell of chlorine in the place over the road; do you know what that means? [Not sure, does anybody know what he means?]

Tracers, noise and fear

Something made me attach myself to one of our MG 42's (Maschinengewehr = machine gun), give it a clean and general look over. Then I went down to the street, where there were ammunition boxes left behind. I picked up a couple, making sure there were definitely no tracer bullets in them.

My best friend Albert Zucker wanted me to come along and see whether we could snatch a deserted Yankee vehicle, standing in the no man's land. We crawled along the edge of the road to get nearer. I was terrified with his idea, because the Yanks were unceasingly firing at this spot. We had to give up and crawl back. The same night the telephone cable needed repairs near that deserted vehicle. Here one of our telephone operators was killed. He was buried in front of a bush beside the road.

22.12.1944. Late afternoon a counter attack started. First there were bullets whistling through the air. This made me find a spot on the field, near the cannons with my MG 42. I made adjustments and waited. Our own big Guns started firing from behind. With a terrible mistake, they aimed too short. Now we got shot at from front and back. Pretty close too; causing quite a panic.

Tracer bullets were coming from spots on the opposite hill. It was time to act, aiming and firing a few rounds. There were no more tracers coming from that place. I repeated this action many times until no more tracers came from anywhere. This all went on until deep into the night. Somebody was looking for our NCO, who was hiding in a dug-out. The noise around was horrible. I prayed to God to please save me. God must have heard this non-believer down there, shaking in terrible fear.

To the right of us, in the bush, some soldiers started screaming. A mortar group suffered a direct hit. With explosions everywhere, this was real war. Finally it slowly ended. The attack had been repelled. After this I ended up in St. Vith in Belgium. One cannon went further forward, and the other stayed here; so did I. Talking about hair raising moments that waited for me; this was a town to be avoided.

My stay over night was in the house in which General Rundstedt had been before. His telephone switchboard was still operating in the garage. Here I found a spot in the corner of the garage, alongside the outside brick wall, to settle down. Discovering the surroundings, another Jabo (Jagd-Bomber = fighter-bomber) went for me, but he also must have aimed at something else. Next thing, I was standing in a house that had no cellar, when a bomber decided to drop his goodies. Not very nice, I can tell you.

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...