TRAINING IN LUNEBURG
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 Luneburg. 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 Schutte and Willi Sauke, who would remain my closest comrades in the coming years. In particular, I came to know Willi Schutte 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. Schutte 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 Puggen, I missed the train on which I had planned to return from Salzwedel to Luneburg. 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.
