Panzer Commander Part 21

Jupp Link, a German noncommissioned officer, as commandant? Was he to be trusted? What part did he play with the Russians? As was very soon to appear, we all had a lot for which to thank him.

Born as a so-called "Danubian-Swabian" German in the former Austro-Hungarian Empire, modern Yugoslavia, he spoke Serbocroatian, Hungarian, and Russian fluently and was suitable therefore as a go-between with the Russians. Here again the typical Russian tactic appeared, namely, of keeping themselves in the background and letting others solve the problems.

Jupp Link had come to Tkibuli some months before us and had helped to construct the six 518 camps.

The men in the upper main camp 518/1, about 2,000 of them, had been going to work ever since their arrival as "pit brigades" or as brigades for outside duty. Specialists were sorted out and employed in the camp as mechanics, radio eperts, cobblers, tailors, etc., or were sent down the mine as mechanics. Since the Russians lacked qualified craftsmen, and since those there were did their work in a slovenly way, our specialists had to work in place of the Russians.

I remember an amusing story which the German watchmaker told. One day a Russian guard turned up in his workshop with an alarm clock that he had brought back from Germany with the request, "This clock too big. You make me two watches from it for wrist." When the watchmaker tried to tell him that this was impossible, he grew angry and threatened him, saying, "You sabotage. You n.a.z.i swine." It took help from Jupp Link to calm him down.

In the days that followed, Jupp Link enlightened us about the work structure."

"All prisoners are 'hired' by the state mining authority, which is responsible for all work in the locality. For this a certain sum per head and hour of work has to be paid to the camp commandant. From these receipts the Russian commandant has to defray all the expenses of the camp, for provisions, clothing, and the maintenance of the accommodation. Every prisoner has a wage sheet kept for him. From the balance left over each is supposed to receive monthly pocket money; the remainder of the money is credited to him until such time as he may be released." That was the theory. In practice things were rather different.

Considerable sums were "privately diverted" by the Russian commandant for himself and one or two familiars. I know of no case in which anyone received pocket money or a look at his account. The best example was our fellow prisoner Oehlschlaeger, a Communist of long standing who had been in a German concentration camp to begin with and had then got into the notorious "Diriew.a.n.ger Brigade" on "probationary frontline service." Although this was known to the Russians, he worked for years on end as a welder down the mine, and the only privilege he received was a double portion of watery soup per day.

In 1949, when the first prisoners were released and Oehlschlaeger was a.s.signed to a transport home, he tried to get the camp administration to pay him the credit balance for which he had worked. He was told that the transport officer had his money; rubles could not be taken into Germany, so his money would be exchanged at the frontier with East Germany. He never saw a kopeck of it and, disappointed as he was, had himself discharged, not in his old homeland in East Germany, but in the West.

"I'm fed up with all that I have seen and been'through," he wrote on a postcard that reached us. "This isn't the Communism for which I went to a concentration camp." Some fellow prisoners, however, received a small sum credited to them.

The next morning we all had to fall in on the parade ground to In the Coal Mines of the Caucasus Mountains 279 be detailed for work. The Russian commandant, an army officer, accompanied by the NKVD officer (now the KGB), appeared with Jupp Link. In a loud voice and with much gesticulation the commandant told us that we now had to atone for Hitier's misdeeds and work off all that we had done to the Russian people.

He then gave the order, "Everyone to the doctor now, the strongest down the mine, others for road building, everyone is to work, davai (hurry up)!" The Russian camp doctor was Dr. Hollaender, who was a.s.sisted by his wife. Both were Jews and for understandable reasons not well disposed toward us. Not only had they to make the sick fit for work again as soon as possible, but they were also responsible for the delousing and disinfection of the barracks.

Dr. Hollaender's standard remark was, "If not clean, you wipe with caps, must all solid white." We understood his Yiddish, and also that he was not to be trifled with.

After the examination the detailing began. For those of us who had to go down the mine the simplest clothing was issued.

Shifts were formed, one for the morning, the afternoon, and the night. We were away from the camp for twelve hours altogether: eight hours down the mine and a further four hours taken up by the march out and back. If we came back tired and with clothes wet through, the thin soup was quickly slurped up and then it was on the bunks to sleep.

To my great surprise one day I was appointed German camp commandant. Jupp Link became inspector of work. The Russian commandant even insisted that I wear my insignia of rank and my Knight's Cross as "signs of my dignity." I received a propusk, an exit permit, which ent.i.tled me to leave the camp, alone and without supervision, up to ten o'clock at night. Among my duties I had also to maintain contact, in collaboration with Jupp Link, with the overnatchainik, the head of the coal mines and the most powerful man in the town. It was with him and his officials that the work norms had to be negotiated. Here too, for the most part, the Russian camp administration kept out of things.

When this great man heard that I had fought in Russia in 1941 as a German colonel, he asked me one day, "Where were you in action? With what division?"

"In the middle sector, with the 7th Panzer Division, via Smolensk and Vyazma to Klin and Yakhroma, north of Moscow."

"Tell me about Yakhroma," he went on, "exactly when were you there?" I was surprised by his interest but told him, "In December 1941 I advanced with my tank reconnaissance section via Klin to the Moscow-Volga ca.n.a.l and was able to cross it, the first unit to do so, at Yakhroma, about 30 to 40 kilometers north of Moscow.

I can well remember how we went into a little Russian inn to get warm. On the table stood the steaming samovar and an almost untouched breakfast, which we ate up with a good appet.i.te." I was interrupted by his roar of laughter.

"That was my breakfast. I was a colonel in the reserve and during your surprise attack I had to leave Yakhroma and my breakfast rather abruptly. So small is the world, polkovnik, now you are here as a prisoner of war, and I am the boss of this town, in which I found myself at the end of the war. If you have any requests, I'll try to help you, although your camp commandant is responsible for you and I have merely engaged you for work." After this meeting, our ways were to cross more often.

My activity as German camp commandant was only of short duration. The Russian camp commandants were replaced. The six camps in the Tkibuli area were in the province of Colonel Laroche, who came from a Huguenot family that had fled to Russia. With him, however, we had practically no dealings.

Our camp 518 came under Guard Captain Samcharadse, a Georgian.

His deputy was a Russian colonel (this too is possible in the Russian army). Both were army officers and were watched over by the NKVD, to which the notorious "Black Nena" also belonged, a politruk who came from Armenia.

I was summoned to Samcharadse and asked to specify by name all those in the camp who had been SS officers, members of police units or units that had been employed in partisan warfare. In return he offered me special rations and other privileges.

Beside him stood a NKVD officer, who watched me with mistrust.

My answer was confined to the words: "I don't know of anyone in the camp who was a member of these military units." Naturally, there were several fellow prisoners whom I knew had been in the SS or the police, and several others of whom I suspected as much. But I took the point of view-and still do today-that every German prisoner of war was to be respected as such. If he had incurred any guilt he should, after his eventual release, be In the Coal Mines of the Caucasus Mountains 281 brought before a German court. In no event however, was he to be handed over to the Russians.

Since I declined to name any names, even after being given time for reflection, I was replaced as commandant. Jupp Link was given the post once more. At the same time I had to remove all my insignia and orders. Now we were all equal, and that was good.

The state of the barracks was wretched. Apart from periodic disinfection, delousing, and the whitewashing of the rooms, nothing was done. We suffered terribly from thousands of bugs, which nested in wooden bunks or dropped down from the ceiling at night. We got hold of some old tin cans from the mine and filled them with scrounged petrol, to prevent the bugs from climbing up. Every few weeks we took the bunks outside to burn them off with blowlamps, likewise scrounged, and destroy the hatching bugs. In all the years' it remained a hopeless struggle.

We suffered most from the rations. The 300 grams of bread per day, which officially was allowed to contain up to 30 percent water, drove some people to throw their portions angrily against the barrack wall, where the bread then stayed, stuck. The thin soup contained nothing nourishing apart from some millet flour or maize. Bread and watery soup formed the basis of our diet.

Sometimes we received all kinds of fish. Fellow prisoner Winand told me that he used to boil down the fish heads to get a soup and that he grilled the bones for another meal.

There was hardly any fat, no seasoning, no vitamins. As a result, the mortality rate from malnutrition rose rapidly.

While the familiar diseases of civilization were virtually absent, almost all the prisoners had retention of fluid in the legs. If this reached the heart, here too death was certain.

Further causes of death were the frequently occirrring cases of twisting of the intestine, through lack of fat. The medical team was helpless.

Our German doctors pointed out to the Russian commandants time and again that more workers would perish if the diet was not improved. But since the rations were fixed by Moscow, there was nothing to be done. On the contrary, we were cursed all the more because our "imperialist war" had made the food situation in Russia so bad.

A further disease of frequent occurrence was the infectious paratyphoid fever. Since it usually ended in death, the Russians were very anxious about the danger of infection and for this reason set up a closely guarded isolation ward.

One night Graf Hohenlohe, a young lieutenant, appeared by my bunk. He had been in the isolation ward with paratyphoid and in his delirium had walked out of the hospital barrack. The guard had obviously been asleep. We at once alerted the Russian doctor, as we were terribly afraid of infection. Hohenlohe died two days later.

None of us will forget the sight of the dead from the sick wards being piled onto old carts each morning and drawn out of the camp by emaciated prisoners of war, then to be hurriedly interred. We were not allowed to bury them 4pd furnish their graves with crosses and names. Despite the fact that it was forbidden, we wrote their names on sc.r.a.ps of paper, but these were then taken away from us again during the regular searches.

So we arranged that each person would make a mental note of one or two names, so that if he should go home relatives could be informed.

In the first two years, especially in the severe winters in the Elbrus mountains, about 50 percent of the prisoners of war died To be fair, it should be said that even the Russians, in the years 1945 and 1946, were not much better off than we as far as food was concerned. Many of them, however, had the chance of procuring something at the little market, where peasant women from the vicinity sold maize, eggs, and millet cakes.

After two years, we who had been spared by diseases and had not yet abandoned hope of going home had become acclimatized.

Hunger indeed remained, but so astonishingly did our strength.

There was a German dentist in the camp, who was supervised by Dr. Hollaender. His only equipment was a hand-driven drill.

There were also no anesthetics, so when necessary diseased teeth were extracted without any.

Worst of all were the military guards, who examined us for gold crowns and when they found any, broke them off with a pair of pincers without our being able to resist, so as to sell them later and thus supplement their miserable pay. For me personally, the result was that when I returned home I had to have my lower jaw chiseled out, as it was full of pus and the roots of the teeth had rotted.

One other peculiarity struck us. Moscow had ordained that officers, in addition to the bread ration and the watery soup, which were the same for everyone, were to receive twenty grams of b.u.t.ter and a little sugar every day. Via Jupp Link we requested the Russian commandant to treat us exactly like the rest of the men. With a reference to the Moscow regulations, this was rejected out of hand. Jupp Link collected 400 signatures from among the officers and In the Coal Mines of the Caucasus Mountains 283 finally succeeded in getting the special rations -distributed equally to the whole camp, in the way we were accustomed to in the armed forces.

I was replaced, then, as German commandant and a.s.signed to work in the pits. In the circ.u.mstances I felt fit and was glad in some ways not to be in an exposed position anymore, caught between two sides as it were, where it was a question of helping my many fellow prisoners and at the same time of keeping the Russian camp administration happy. I can understand better today how difficult the task must have been for young Jupp Link and how grateful we should all be for his efforts.

The main pit, in which I worked, had what was for European miners an incredible seam, which in parts was up to 15 meters thick. Rich bituminous coal, gleaming bright, was mined on a kind of chamber system. We worked alongside Russians and Georgians, who proved to be good mates and often shared their last bit of bread with us.

The authorities had forgotten to take away my propusk, so I could leave the camp at any time. The guards, who meanwhile knew me well, often asked me to get them something from the market and for this pressed their kopecks trustingly into my hand.

As in every enterprise in Russia, a "norm" was fixed for the extraction of coal, which everyone had to fulfill each day.

Although we were in poor physical shape, our mine workers in the early days worked at fulfilling the quota with German thoroughness and appli-, cation. One day one of the brigades exceeded the norm. The Russians pounced on them at once. '.Are you mad," they cried. "As soon as the norm is exceeded even once, it is immediately raised for everyone the next day, and in spite of that we don't get one kopeck or one gram of bread extra. Fulfill the norm and that's it." It was a lesson to us.

On the other hand, I have seen some Russians, usually saklukhont s, in protest against their bad treatment, not fulfill the norm, or down tools for a while. To this the reaction qf the management was as simple as it was effective: for "transport reasons" there would be no bread for a few days, and the norm was soon fulfilled again.

In the pits hard coal was mined to a depth of up to 15 meters.

Safety measures in the pits were virtually unknown. On the one hand the management, centrally controlled from Moscow, could not get the necessary articles such as protective helmets, etc., diverted to the Caucasus, and on the other it was for them merely a matter of criminals and prisoners of war, among whom one more or less was not of great consequence.

In place of protective helmets we wore primitive caps. The mined areas were scantily supported. I am still astonished today at how few serious accidents occurred.

In the cold winter months we had to see to the heating of our barracks ourselves. The Russian commandant was in fact liable for this too, but since there was enough coal in the pits, he spared himself the expense. The mine administration strictly forbade the taking out of coal, but after every shift the mine workers had fairsized lumps of the rich mineral undertheir arms, which they carted back to the camp. There it was distributed equally between all the rooms. Thus the right hand did not know what the left was doing.

At the start of 1946-after only a few months down the mine-I was suddenly taken out and transferred to a road construction brigade. I do not know to this day whom I had to thank for this "transfer," Jupp Link or the over-natchalnik, my "breakfast colonel" from Yakhroma.

Another chapter of my captivity began.

Kultura and Corruption: The Russian Mentality The terrible, never-ending hunger remained. So too did the exhortations of the Russian guards and overseers. Their inevitable "Davail Davai!" was our daily accompaniment. We, the "survivors," s'lowly found our own rhythm and began to adapt ourselves to the Russian mentality. Not only the mine workers but even the outdoor detachments were soon regarded as the specialists, honest and industrious and not as corrupt as our Russian "colleagues." If we were shouted at, we shouted back.

To our surprise we were then implored, "Please go on working or we shall be in trouble." Anyone who imaned that working on Russian roads meant repairing macadam surfaces or laying out new roads with earthmoving equipment, as would be done in the West, would have been very much mistaken. We had rather to pave and make fit for traffic a mud road that led to the wooden houses of the natchalniks, which lay somewhat apart. For this, Studebaker trucks, which the Americans had supplied by the thousand, brought us rough, unhewn stones. Kneeling on the ground, we set these in the mud.

Sometimes I saw the over-natchainik, my "breakfast colonel" from Yakhroma, drive past in his state limousine. One day he recognized me, stopped, and spoke to me. "What are you doing here? Why have you been set to work as a mere -laborer and not as a 'specialist'? I shall speak to your commandant." He obviously did so, for a few days later I was summoned to Samcharadse. "From tomorrow on you will be working as leader of a concrete brigade. Pick yourself a few specialists in the camp. An escort will take you to your new work place." Jupp Link helped me to find a few of the strongest men who were left. The only "specialist" among them was a bricklayer. The others were physicists, farmers, and clerks, who were too weak for mine work.

Next morning the escort came and took us to a building site above the mine, where a Russian brigade was already at work.

"Clear off, you sons of wh.o.r.es," the Russian manager shouted at this brigade. "You've stolen most of the cement and sold it.

The Nemetzkis, the Germans, will show you how to work." What was there for us to do? We had to dig out a hole roughly four meters by four to a depth of eight meters and then sh.o.r.e it up with balks of wood and line it with concrete. It was supposed to form a cuff for the filling in of an exhausted section of the mine. By' way of equipment we had balks of wood, gravel, and a few sacks of cement, as well as shovels, an iron plate for mixing, and the famous, notorious nasilkas. Nasilkas are simple hand-barrows with two grips at each end. These are used throughout Russia for carrying materials.

With the help of a simple diagram that had come from Moscow, the Russian overseer then told us what was to be done, and then once more came the "Davai, get going!" And "Dig hole deeper, sh.o.r.e up hole and line with concrete. Mixture should be one to seven.

I'll come back in a few hours. Heaven help you if you steal cement." He then abandoned me and my men to our fate.

He had hardly turned his back on us before the first Russians and Georgians came along. "Comrade, you sell us cement," they begged. "House falling down. We give you bread and rubles." So that was how it was with corruption!

Since many of the necessities of life, then as now, are not available and cannot be bought by the ordinary citizen, for everything had to go through state organizations, they have to be "fiddled.,, Thus corruption is a matter of course, almost "legal." So I allocated my men according to their strength and told our Russian sentry in unmistakable terms to guard our materials.

"If one single sack of cement is missing, you'll be for it," was my terse comment.

After little more than a week we had dug out the pit, lined it, and begun the backbreaking work of mixing the gravel and cement by hand with our shovels and carrying it on the nasilkas to the pit. Then the over-natchalnik appeared.

"I must say, the Germans are all specialists and good workers.

I am very pleased. The norm is fulfilled and no material sold." And turning to me: "You're a good concreter, polkovnik. So I , have a special job for you. Can you build me a stone staircase onto my house and a fountain? All the materials will be there."

"That's okay," I replied, "but you must ask the camp commandant and pay us every day with bread and kopecks." Next day he was there again. In the meantime he had "arranged" everything. I do not know how much he had to pay Samcharadse.

Kultura and Corruption: The Russian Mentality 287 To carry out this commission I chose the bricklayer again', the physicist, who was still very weak physically, and a farmer from my home district. The natchalnik took us personally from the camp.

"No escort for you. Here's a chleb, a loaf of bread, for each of you.,, "And where are the kopecks?" I asked.

"Saftra, money comes tomorrow."

"No, now, or we won't even start." At that we received our money, with which we at once bought some vegetables and a Georgian maize flat cake at the local market.

After a week the fountain was finished, though without any water, as the pressure was too low.

"It doesn't matter," said the natchalnik, "the fountain is very, nice as it is." Next, we set about building him his spiral staircase out of concrete slabs. Each day we received our bread and kopecks before the start of work.

Word had gotten around about our "skills." Other under-natchainiks and functionaries appeared to see for themselves. One of them spoke to me.

"Wonderful. You soon finished here. Will you build my house?

All materials there and well guarded." Again I gave the same answer. "Ask the camp commandant and then a loaf and a ruble each for the four of us every morning." He too apparently came to an. agreement with Samcharadse, f6r when we had finished the first job, he took us to another hill, on which his house was supposed to be built. We found a lot of materials there, which had all been fiddled together during the past months, as the man told us with pride. But there was only a little cement. Four Russian convicts had already been working there and had just laid the foundations and raised a bit of walling.

"The sons of wh.o.r.es have been working here for two weeks already. Come and see what they've done." He gave the finished piece of wall a kick and it fell over at once. Instead of working with the correct mixtre of cement, they had sold as much of the cement as they dared and mixed it in a ratio of only one to twenty.

I looked at everything; naturally I had no idea of house building, but said to the man in a convincing tone: "Good, I'll build your house. You pick the four of us up each morning.

Don't forget the bread and the ruble for each of us. Now tell me, where are your plans? How is the house supposed to look?"

"I no plans, I need two rooms with windows and entrance. You can make everything all right. And tomorrow cement will be here again, and then at night a guard will always watch over everything. Here, your bread and rubles." What was to be done with my three weak comrades?

The weakest, our physicist, had only to hold up a piece of string with a stone as plumb line. The farmer and the bricklayer had to stir the mixture and bring along the bricks and mortar on a nasilka. To "save face" with the Russians, I had to do the bricklaying, with professional advice from the bricklayer. I soon got the hang of how to work correctly with mortar and cement. Once again the villagers tried to buy cement from us. But we remained firm and made it a point of honor to build our employer a solid house.

On the second day the man was already in raptures: "Good house this will be, can kick it and nothing falls over." We built the two rooms at our own discretion, the windows facing the Elbrus mountains, and also a doorway. We put up the walls in little more than a week.

"We are only specialists in masonry. For the wooden roof you'll have to find others." We wanted to give the other prisoners too a chance to earn something extra.

When we had finished our work, I said to the natchalnik, "Listen, if you will pay us something extra, you can have something special from us, something no one else has in the whole Caucasus. All you have to provide is a bit more cement and some chalk." He agreed at once, and we painted the red brickwork with white stripes.

"That is the most beautiful house I have ever seen. You give me monopoly of this. I want to be the only one in the town to have this marvelous thing." In return for the payment of further rubles, I gave him my promise.

On the next day, our last, a stream of inquisitive people came up the hill to admire the marvel. A lot of functionaries now asked for the same decoration for their houses, but I kept the promise I had given.

After a few weeks, my "building master" took me and, full of pride, showed me the completed house and its bedroom suite, consisting of two beds, a wardrobe, and a table. It had been allocated to Kultura and Corruption: The Russian Mentality 289 him from Moscow and was to remain the only,one to reach the area in three years. A fresh stream of marveling people from the little town made the pilgrimage past the house on Sunday, this time to admire the bedroom through the window.

This was a further impression of conditions in the great Russian empire, together with its corruption.

During the period in which I was still building the fountain and the spiral staircase, I saw the SIS state limousine of the over-natchalnik leave his property almost every morning to drive his two children to school. On the return journey the chauffeur then bought milk, b.u.t.ter, cigarettes, flour, and sugar in the special shop for functionaries and natchalniks. To my dismay, I saw one day that the milk was fed to the pigs. I was equally dismayed at the sight of sacks of flour and sugar being unloaded in front of his house, at the same time the inhabitants were lining up at the state shops for a piece of bread or the rare sugar and flour rations.

I still had my propusk (exit permit), which I often used so that I could come back to the camp on my own after work. In doing so I often had conversations along the way with Russians and Georgians, and many confided in me, the stranger. They were discontented, but powerless in face of a system which they could not change by their own efforts. I enjoyed talking in particular with an old gentleman who had been a professor in what used to be Petersburg and was now exiled here for life. He lived out his days in humble circ.u.mstances and earned his keep as a letter-writer for the, many illiterates.

With regard to our camp life, too, a certain amount had happened in the meantime. By order of Moscow, something was now supposed to be done about kultura. First, with vigorous support from Jupp Link, a library was set up, in which there were only Russian books and newspapers. Much more important for us was permission to start a camp orchestra and a theater group, and the fact that we were allowed to pursue sports. In our camp, with about 3.,500 prisoners, there were musicians, music arrangers, stage designers, producers, actors, writers, and others ready at once to put plans into action. To our astonishment we were supplied with all the instruments necessary to form a complete orchestra. As an offshoot, there was a jazz band. The technicians and lighting experts, by order of Samcharadse, had to scrounge everything required for decor from the mine or on outdoor work. Props were made by our stage designers and painters from stolen materials.

Thus, in the course of time, the operetta Der Fischerjunge von Capri ("The Fisherboy of Capri") came into being, composed by Walter Struve and "Koebcs" Witthaus, who also made the armnge-, ment for the orchestra, and text by Helmut Wehrenfennig. The whole score of the operetta Die Cmriksfuerstin ("The Csardas Princess") was written down from memory by E. Kalman, the composer of the operetta. Professional singers were on hand, among them the tenor Reini Bartel. The women's parts were played by young amateurs, who before long were already acting like pros. The rehearsals alone evoked memories and longings in all of us.

In the winter of 1946/47, the first performance was attended by Samcharadse with his officers and NKVD minders, the over-natchalnik and the functionaries of the district, the dignitaries, so to speak. The production was a great success.

When the over-natchalnik asked about the origin of the floodlights, cables, etc., Samcharadse replied: "The prisoners found them." At that a benign and understanding smile spread across the face of the over-natchalnik.