Eastern Inferno: The Journals of a German Panzerjäger on the Eastern Front, 1941-43 by Christine Alexander, Mason Kunze

right of the embankment. The cannon over there is out of ammunition and the Russians finish off its crew. Our machine guns are still able to keep the bastards away from us, but for how much longer? Messengers return to HQ. Verflucht noch mal ! [Damn it!] Artillery fire is the only thing that can help us here. We shoot signal flares into the sky again and again—in between, enemy flares illuminate the scene. Red tracers also soar into the air in the neighboring sector. What wonderful fireworks, what a grandiose illumination of fear and horror!
    We receive orders to retreat to our baseline positions. The entire front line must be pulled back to its original position. Damn it, it is unbelievable that we must retreat—we, the 299th Infantry Division, have to run; German soldiers have to abandon the field to those Russian schweine !
    Now the drama of the retreat is beginning, which costs us many dead and wounded. We reach our original positions around 0200 hours. Our artillery provides us cover.
    12 July: A Sturmgeschütz [assault gun] group takes over our section of the front. We are pulled back about 3km. A mass dropping of Russian paratroopers is expected in this area to the rear of our artillery positions, and we are the ones who will have to deal with them.
    Shrapnel trenches are dug in great haste. They must be dug deeper since there are no tree trunks in the area to use for cover. This is a dismal landscape. Apparently the Reds cut down all the trees years ago and kept the water, rendering large areas into swamps. Man-high bushes cover the areas of open marshes, but not us attackers.
    The Russians, masters of camouflage and the construction of tactical barriers, have erected their HQ alongside a large forest at the northern entrance to this cauldron of a landscape. The perimeter of the forest was left to grow wild and is therefore covered with hedges and swamp bogs. Beneath the hedges, they have dug escape tunnels about two meters deep, which can be flooded in case of emergency. The bunkers for the positioning of their machine guns are grown over with vegetation. Even with the best optical instruments, it is impossible to make them out. A deserter has told us that hundreds of rangers and soldiers worked for years to transform this area into its present condition. Villages that are still indicated on our maps have disappeared.
    Trails and roads were mined a month ago. Grass was then seeded above the mines, trails, and roads. Hand grenades that were suspended on wires in the bushes have also ripped apart two comrades this morning.
    The shrapnel trenches are complete, the vehicles have been camouflaged, and cannons dug into the ground in semi-circle formation. We await anything that might come. The artillery puts on a great show. The second attack started at 0500 this morning. Howitzers, right before us, incessantly spray their shrapnel into the air. Our very heavy equipment buzzes and rumbles further behind us. Their heavy shells fly close above our heads, targeting bridges, important roads, and mobile ammunition depots, which are 20 to 25km behind Russian lines.
    Meanwhile, it is now noon. Brutal heat is bearing down on the trenches and swamps all around us. The blaze of the sun is driving me insane; my eyes burn from all that staring up into the sun. My head hurts as if being pricked by a thousand needles. Damn it! Do not pass out! Hannes!
    It is disgusting—our clothes are sticking to our bodies. A stinking broth, a mixture of sweat and eight days of dirt are underneath my helmet and runs down my cheeks only to disappear into my collar. Damn this trench warfare, damn this stupid swamp without any shade or water to drink.
    Russian reconnaissance aircraft appear in the afternoon at low altitude. The obligatory attack starts shortly after; however, it does not cause any damage. From time to time they shoot at our position, attempting to locate our ordnance, yet they have no luck.
    The enemy fire slowly dies down by sunset.