by Guenther Langohr
Each day merged into the next, it had been weeks since he washed, and he was sure the Russian soldiers across the line could smell him in his hiding places. Actually, their odor was as bad, or worse, then his. The short days and long nights of winter were waning and the relative protection of darkness grew shorter. Now in April, day and night were equal – 12 hours of darkness and spotty rest, followed by 12 hours of continuous bombardment and life-threatening danger. Besides the artillery, machine guns, and tanks just raising your head a few centimeters to high would invite the snipers’ wrath.

Kurt knew this because he too was a sniper, and one of the best at that. The Ritterkreuz with Eichenlaub, hung around his neck, one of 6 snipers to win the Ritterkreuz and the only one to receive the Eichenlaub personally from the Führer. He had 263 confirmed kills, but it was the Russian general he shot at Khartov that won him the Eichenlaub. That was a complicated setup also, he had to crawl through a field for 500 meters and then cross a stream to find his hiding place. He had almost given up when a car with flags on the fenders approached. Several officers got out, starting looking through field glasses to the German lines behind Kurt, while one fat red-faced officer became very loud and animated. Kurt understood no Russian; but it was obvious this officer was unhappy about something. Despite the groups’ protests, the paunchy Russian climbed on the hood of the car with a great effort. Still unhappy with his view he proceeded to move clumsily up on the roof, stand bolt upright, and shake his head with an apparent assent to this new view. Right then a crack came from Kurt’s K98 rifle and put a 9mm bullet between his eyes. Kurt had placed the T of the scope on the man’s mouth, since he knew it was only 200 meters from him to the target and the rifle would shoot high at that range. The impact sent the officer flying backward and off the car roof and what was left of his head was spread 180 degrees behind him now.

The others immediately hit the ground, and one by one worked their way into the car, backing away quickly and finally turning around in a big sweep to head back to the safety of the Russian lines. Another shot would give away his position, so he waited a few minutes and crawled up to the dead officer. He then saw the stars on each shoulder. Kurt realized he had killed a two-star general – probably a Corps commander. He ripped the boards off the officer’s shoulders and worked his way back to the friendly lines. His company commander Hauptmann Ziegler sent the boards up through channels and one month later he was ordered to report to Hitler’s headquarters to receive his medal. That was only a year ago, but it felt like a lifetime had passed.

Since then his “kills” went up but only because there were so many Russian soldiers to aim at. His new Gewehr 43 semi-automatic had also made the job easier, yet Kurt still trusted his K98’s superior accuracy. Over 300 meters and the new rifle was not as accurate, so he would carry both weapons with him everywhere he went. He also found it more difficult to obtain the 9mm Mauser bullets loaded with 196 grains of powder he preferred. Most of the ammunition coming to the front was now 165 grains, with headquarters theory that less charge per bullet made for more available bullets. Still without the high-charge ammo his ability to do his job was hampered. No more 400 meter shots, he would have to crawl dangerously close to hit his target exactly – one shot, one kill.

The first of May dawned with beautiful spring weather. He had just been promoted to SS-Sturmscharführer, about as high in the ranks he would go without attending the SS officer’s school in Bad Tolz, Bavaria. Brigadeführer Wisch had called him in and offered the posting, but they would not guarantee he would return to SS Division Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler, so he respectfully requested to stay where he was, and it was granted. Lying in the Russian farmhouse he heard the distant rumblings which he knew to be the Tiger Tanks of the division. If they came near the house, there was no way to sleep any longer so he rose, and searched for the closest food.

With his unique position, he did not have to report to any particular place every night, but it was only necessary to let the regiment commander know his daily plans. The commander was not at his headquarters so Kurt found his aide, Obersturmführer Lange, and briefed him on the plans of the day. Then Kurt and his small group of 4 other sniper specialists moved towards the sounds of fighting. The newest man, SS-Sturmmann Haase, only with the group for 3 months, had foolishly sewn on his Grade One Snipers Badge to his sleeve. The rest of the group was teasing Haase for his stupidity, much to the wonder of Haase, who obviously did not understand. Kurt took him, walked a few paces ahead of the others, and explained, unless he wanted to be immediately shot by the Russians if captured, he’d better remove the patch and throw it away. Both sides hated snipers and they never survived captivity if their specialty was discovered. Kurt himself had the Gold edged third grade, but it was still on his black dress uniform at home in München, he hadn’t been home since he won the Eichenlaub a year ago. That uniform in all probability didn’t even fit since he lost so much weight in the past months.

Suddenly, the chatter of a MG42 broke the silence, reminding Kurt they were getting close to the lines of death. He broke his tight group, slowing and moving in a half-crouch before deciding to go further forward. The Sturmführer in command of the area briefed Kurt on the overnight happenings. Nothing had really moved since yesterday so the officer suggested Kurt’s men move to a small mound of jagged rocks 100 meters left and forward of the German line. They would provide great cover and the extra height would improve the visibility. As the men crawled forward the ground began rumbling, they knew tanks were coming but whose and from which direction was impossible to determine without rising up and giving away their location. The only option remained to continue to crawl to a hiding spot, and that decision was reinforced when machine gun bullets starting whizzing over their heads. Now the problem was to decide if the Russian has seen them, or it was their own MG42s firing. When a big shell hit the rock ahead Kurt got his answer. They were in the middle of a full battle with the Russians attacking and the German 88s responding in kind. Suddenly, a shell exploded, two of his men were instantly gone without a trace. Then a Russian plane appeared and its machine guns strafed the field killing Haase with a line of bullets. All Kurt and his last man, Achim, could do was take the chance and sprint to the nearest cover. As they stood a single shot rang out and Achim was hit, most likely by a sniper, Kurt heard the Russian’s rifle bolt, he ran at full speed as a shot hit the rock directly ahead of him. He dove behind the rock just as another shot screamed by. Now he was either safe – or trapped – depending on your outlook.

That relative safety quickly evaporated when a shell hit the rocks above him and shrapnel and rock fragments rained down all over the area. Now he knew the trap was sprung, he couldn’t fight the artillery that was too far away, the machine gun could be a target, but as soon as he raised his head to aim the Russian sniper would fire, with skills as good as Kurt that shot would most likely connect. The only chance he had was to eliminate both the machine gun, and the sniper, and then try to outrun the persistent artillery. He first threw his helmet, with a string connected to the chinstrap, into the grass to the right, this immediately brought the wrath of the machine gunner, and Kurt moved to the left and setup for his shot. A quick tug on the string was enough movement for the gunner to fire again; Kurt’s semi-automatic rifle fire twice and the gunner and his loader were both dead. Two shots from the Russian sniper responded in succession with the second catching Kurt in the shoulder. That was enough to give away the shooters’ position in a tree about 300 meters to the left. Kurt rolled right and aimed to K98, a second later the Russian fell from the tree.

Kurt felt the blood pooling on his chest, and he knew stopping it was the only option. As he crawled towards the German lines he realized now, if he lived, another wound badge was his, several weeks in the hospital, and then right back to the lines. He stopped, fell asleep, dreaming of his home in Münich until they came to get him – dead or alive.

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1 Comment

1. So that´s really well written. For me the thinking behind fighting men is aptly put: “Now he was either safe – or trapped – depending on your outlook.” But at the same time the writer is talking to the reader with the use of “your”. And then the frustration at the end of being only ever temporary away from the action though injury = meaning death the only permanent way out. Grim but real.

   Comment by timmyd — October 29, 2010 @ 4:22 pm

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