Battleground Prussia: The Assault on Germany’s Eastern Front 1944

Walter Weiss (second from left) and Friedrich Hossbach (fourth from left), summer 1944. (Bundesarchiv Bild)

Konstantin Konstantinovich Rokossovsky (left), speaking to Georgi Konstantinovich Zhukov, Poland, late 1944. (akg-images, RIA Novosti)

Members of the military council of the Third Belorussian Front, 1944. (akg-images, RIA Novosti)

A Jagdpanther similar to the vehicle used by Bix, summer 1944. (Bundesarchiv Bild)

German officers march into captivity, Königsberg, April 1945. (Bundesarchiv Bild)

LIST OF MAPS

AUTHOR’S NOTE

This book was conceived from a chance conversation with an elderly lady, who told me of her life in East Prussia, and her flight from her homeland in 1945. I am indebted to Gretel Caton for introducing me to this almost forgotten episode of World War II.

The list of those who have helped me with this project is enormous. My good friend David C. Clarke was instrumental in more ways than I can list, and Tom Houlihan, John Mulholland and Euan Ferguson tirelessly read the various drafts as I produced them. Doug Nash and David Glantz encouraged me at various points along the road, for which I am grateful, as I am to Fee Rushbrooke, who gave me insights into the geography and climate of the region. Contributors to two World War II websites – the Axis History Forum and Feldgrau – were a constant source of information and encouragement. Amongst them, Jan-Hendrik Wendler and Michael Miller were especially generous to me on several occasions.

My agent, Robert Dudley, showed great patience in introducing me to the world of publishing, and the staff at Osprey, in particular Jaqueline Mitchell, Jon Jackson and Emily Holmes, helped me turn the original manuscript into something far more presentable.

And last but not least, my family put up with my obsession with this project for many years, and without their encouragement I would have given up long before the end.

PREFACE

This book is the story of the last months of World War II in Northeast Europe. These months saw the final death of any lingering hope that, once the war was over, the old order in the old continent would be restored. Even as one war came to an end a new Cold War began, and would dominate the world for nearly half a century. Specifically, this book describes the Soviet assault into East and West Prussia in 1944 and 1945. The fighting was as tough as any phase of the bitter conflict on the Ostfront (Eastern Front), and it changed the map of Europe forever. The campaigns resulted in one of the largest migrations of Europeans in history and, before the fighting was over, three of the five worst recorded losses of life at sea, which in themselves accounted for about 17,000 lives. And yet, in the English-speaking world, these campaigns and battles in what was northeast Germany remain comparatively unknown.

Western accounts of the last year of World War II in Europe describe momentous events: the invasion of Normandy in June 1944, and the bitter fighting that followed; the American breakout and the envelopment of thousands of German troops in the Falaise pocket; the jubilant liberation of Paris; and lower-key but nevertheless equally important moments as the German occupying forces were driven from other parts of France and Belgium. After the bloody failure of the Western Allies to secure a bridgehead across the Rhine at Arnhem, the narrative passes to the final German offensive in the Ardennes. Thereafter, the tale is one of an unbroken series of Allied victories – the crossing of the Rhine, the envelopment of the Ruhr and the final German collapse. If other European theatres are mentioned at all, it is usually only in the context of the Red Army’s final assault on Berlin in April 1945.

Compared to the war in Western Europe, the fighting on the Ostfront was bitter and brutal, huge in terms of the terrain involved, the armies deployed and the destruction and bloodshed that they wreaked. Both sides treated enemy prisoners and civilians in a manner that was shocking even at the time, and completely at variance with the Western viewpoint, as exemplified by the Hague and Geneva Conventions. The Ostfront war was not just one of territorial ambition or strategic gain; from the very start, it was an ideological conflict, a clash between two incompatible visions of the future of mankind. The men who fought in the east, and carried out the most terrible deeds, were portrayed by their enemies as sadistic killers, further stoking the hatred and the ideological differences between the two sides. And yet, for the great majority of the ordinary soldiers this was a war like so many others. They fought because they had to, conscripted into the vast armies that battled their way back and forth over hundreds of kilometres. Many of them were driven by a love of their homeland; for the Soviet soldiers in the first half of the war in the east, and for the Germans in the second half, there was also the great motivation of wishing to protect their beloved homeland from a brutal, implacable enemy. Whilst such factors existed in the west, there was not the additional ideological edge to push the terrible inhumanity of war to the same heights as in the east. The psyche of Germany and the Soviet Union was also different from that of Western nations. Both countries had been under totalitarian rule for many years, and an entire generation of Germans, and two generations of Soviets, had grown up in systems where they were denied access to objective news reports, and were encouraged to believe that their own system was inherently superior to any other. It was inevitable that when these two cultures clashed, the result could only be the complete destruction of one or the other.

Wars are fought for many reasons. Hitler’s war against Poland and the Soviet Union was to gain territory, and to destroy communism, while his war against France and Britain was to secure a free hand in the east. Stalin’s war with Hitler was forced upon him by the German invasion of 1941, but there is plentiful evidence that the Soviet leader was considering a pre-emptive war against Germany. From the Soviet point of view, what started as a war of survival slowly changed to one of revenge and conquest: the suffering of the Soviet Union was so great, that there had to be some territorial gain by way of compensation, and the map of Europe would need to be redrawn in a way that would prevent any future war from devastating Soviet territory. Given Stalin’s record with his own population, it is unsurprising that he spared so little thought for the millions of Poles and Germans who would be displaced as a result of this policy.

The victims of this final phase of the war in the east were the civilians of East and West Prussia, who faced a terrible ordeal either during their attempted flight in the middle of winter, or at the hands of the conquering Red Army. Whilst some of them may have been ardent Nazis, and many may have voted for the National Socialists in pre-war Germany, it would be wrong to place all of the blame for Nazi Germany’s crimes at their door. They were no more guilty than the Japanese civilians who endured American air raids on Tokyo, or the atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The soldiers who fought for the Wehrmacht and the Red Army witnessed, and in many cases carried out, terrible acts of violence. Determining guilt amongst them is just as difficult an issue. Those of us fortunate to grow up in democracies, with free access to information and the right to speak our minds, and constantly encouraged to question our political leaders, sometimes underestimate how tightly Germany and the Soviet Union conditioned their citizens during the 1930s. We also forget that while we condemn the racism that formed such a major part of National Socialist ideology, this was an era in which the US Army was still segregated, and the British Empire denied self-determination to much of the non-white world.

The justice that followed the end of the war has been criticized as ‘victors’ justice’. Many Germans were punished for the crimes they had committed, but many more guilty parties escaped. Few, if any, Soviet personnel were ever charged with crimes perpetrated during the terrible campaigns across Prussia. In the years that followed 1945, both sides would attempt to portray themselves as victims – if they acknowledged their own crimes, they placed more stress on those of their enemies.

The purpose of this book is not to allocate blame. War is truly terrible, and drives people to terrible acts. Whilst the atrocities of World War II were on a huge scale, atrocities had occurred in previous conflicts. Indeed, we have even seen them since 1945 in Europe, when Yugoslavia disintegrated in the 1990s. The aim of this book is simply to describe what happened when the Red Army reached German territory, and the desperate battles that followed. The consequences of these campaigns defined the shape of the post-war map of northeast Europe, the full significance of which has only become clear since the fall of the Iron Curtain.

INTRODUCTION

THE SLAVS AND THE TEUTONS

Poland shall be treated as a colony; the Poles shall be the slaves of the greater German World Empire.

In 1934, Gretel Dost was a young child living in the village of Friedrichstein, near Königsberg, in the German province of East Prussia. One of the most memorable days of her childhood came when Marion Dönhoff, the daughter of Graf August Karl Dönhoff, whose family had lived in their estate in Friedrichstein for centuries, visited her school. Dost was struck by the young aristocrat’s beauty, and promised herself that if she ever had a daughter, she would name her child Marion. After the war, Marion Dönhoff wrote a personal account of her escape from East Prussia, and her introduction to her book paints a vibrant picture of her homeland during the early 20th century:

This is a book about departure. Departure from the images of my youth: a vast sky, which arched over wide fields, modest villages, cobblestones, sunflowers in front gardens, geese on the roads, and everywhere those wonderful avenues that in the west were choked with motorized traffic. Departure from a lost world, in which the seasons still determined the rhythm of life: cows grazing in summer meadows, rain-clouds over empty fields of stubble, the cry of wild geese, heading north in the spring, the call of jays in the autumnal woods, the tracks of foxes in fresh snow in the forests.²

This idyllic picture hides certain harsh truths. The aristocratic Junker families who controlled much of the land (and produced such a large proportion of German officers) were traditionally conservative, and had been reluctant to embrace modernization before World War I. Consequently, their farms struggled to compete with those in the richer lands of western Germany.

As World War II drew to a close, this rural, deeply traditional land was destined to become one of the bloodiest battlefields of the entire conflict, in the depths of a bitterly cold winter. The brutality with which the Red Army would treat the Prussian civilian population was shocking, but the seeds for this terrible harvest had been growing for years.

East Prussia had been a German region, in character at least, since the arrival of the Teutonic Knights in the area in 1226. Carved out of Slavic territories, the area was settled by Germans as far north as Riga. The rulers of Brandenburg and Poland variously owned the rapidly developing town of Danzig, before the Teutonic Knights seized it. Germans and Slavs continued to contest possesson of the territory, often settling these claims on the battlefield. Religious differences between the various communities – most Prussian Germans became Protestants, while the Poles remained Catholics and the Russian populations to the east remained Orthodox Christians – were strong barriers to integration, and helped preserve a sense of identity in the Prussian duchy, which was established in 1525. The Hohenzollern family inherited the dukedom in 1618, resulting in a shift in the centre of gravity for the German province. Most of the lands belonging to the Hohenzollerns lay to the west of the Vistula, and although their collective possessions were generally referred to as Prussian territory, the original Prussia was now increasingly called ‘East Prussia’.

In 1701, Prussia became a kingdom. King Friedrich II, or Frederick the Great, became embroiled in fighting with the French, Russians and Swedes in the Seven Years’ War (1756–63); backed by the British and the tiny resources of Hannover, he found himself facing overwhelming threats. The survival of Prussia owed much to his military skill, but by the end of 1761 it seemed that it would be only a matter of time before Prussia was crushed by its enemies. The turning point in the war came when Czarina Elizabeth of Russia died in early 1762. Her successor, Peter III, was far less hostile to Prussia, and signed a peace treaty with Frederick. The Swedes also withdrew from the anti-Prussian alliance, and Frederick turned on the Austrians, defeating them decisively at Burkersdorf in July 1762. In just a few short months, Prussia had moved from the brink of defeat to decisive victory, something that Hitler constantly held in the forefront of his mind in the dark days of 1945.

In 1806, Prussia suffered a humiliating defeat at French hands at the battles of Jena and Auerstedt, and was forced to join Napoleon’s ‘Continental System’ against the British. A corps of Prussian troops commanded by General von Yorck formed the northern flank of Napoleon’s invasion of Russia in 1812, and its commander soon received representations from Prussians fighting against Napoleon, calling on him to change sides. Von Yorck asked for advice from King Friedrich Wilhelm III, but was merely told to ‘act according to circumstances’. Faced by a conflict between his orders and his own conscience, von Yorck hesitated again and again before finally turning against Napoleon. To his dying day, he remained unsure of whether he had done the right thing, a crisis of conscience that was to be all too familiar to a later generation of Prussian officers who wrestled with whether they should continue to obey orders sent to them in the name of their Führer.

In 1870, Prussia – now ruled by King Wilhelm I – was plunged into war with France. Before the war was over, Wilhelm was persuaded – somewhat against his wishes – to become Kaiser of a unified Germany. Wilhelm was a spartan figure, rarely out of uniform. If any word could sum up the character of this archetypal Prussian, it would be the almost untranslatable Nüchternheit, an approach to life combining sobriety, simplicity and austerity. Other strong traits, both admired and ridiculed elsewhere in Europe, were a powerful sense of duty and a willingness to accept sacrifice; the Garnisonkirche in Potsdam, the spiritual home of everything Prussian, had a glockenspiel that played a well-known song: ‘Show loyalty and honesty until your dying day.’³

Wilhelm’s son Friedrich ruled only briefly before he succumbed to cancer, and was succeeded by Wilhelm II. During his reign, most traces of the traditional Prussian virtues were swept away from the German capital in a blizzard of extravagance. It was perhaps the beginning of a rift between on the one hand the urbane world of Berlin and the heights of political power, and on the other the German Army, which remained in many respects (particularly amongst the officer corps) very Prussian in its outlook. These differences would resurface again when the Kaiser was gone, and Germany was once more preparing for war.

After the Great War of 1914–18, Poland – which had been divided between its powerful neighbours for more than a century – was re-created, at least partly because the French saw political advantages in surrounding Germany with pro-French states to guard against any future German attack on France. Immediately, problems arose concerning the borders of Poland, and the status of the different ethnic populations within those borders. The years of occupation had failed to eliminate Polish culture, but tracts of territory that would fall within the new Poland had large German, Russian and Austrian populations. The western and southern borders of Poland were decided by the victorious powers. Poland would have access to the Baltic coastline, but the key city of Danzig would be a ‘free city’, a designation it had enjoyed in previous centuries. The Polish response was to establish a new port immediately to the north of Danzig, named Gdynia. From humble beginnings, this grew into the busiest port in the Baltic by the mid 1930s. Danzig itself, with a stronger German identity than the countryside around it, now found itself isolated.

To the north of Poland lay East Prussia. Masuria, its southern province, was an area of lakes and woodland. It had a large ethnic Polish population, and a plebiscite was organized after the World War I in the expectation that the population would vote to join Poland, thus further weakening Germany. To the surprise of almost everyone, a large majority of Masuria’s ethnic Poles voted to remain part of Germany.

The real difficulty with Poland’s borders, though, lay in the east. After the surprise victory of the Poles over Lenin’s armies, the Treaty of Riga in 1921 granted control of considerable parts of former Soviet and Ukrainian territory to Poland. Much of this new territory of eastern Poland had large Russian, Ukrainian and Belorussian populations, and the Poles themselves were a minority. The British Foreign Secretary, Lord Curzon, had proposed a frontier along a line that was subsequently named after him far to the west of the Riga Treaty frontier, but events passed this proposal by, leaving it to resurface at various stages, with minor but critical alterations, over the decades that followed.

The inter-war years, therefore, saw an arrangement that was unsatisfactory to all three of the major countries involved. Germany resented having had to concede what had been the province of West Prussia to Poland, and that there was no land connection between East Prussia and the rest of Germany. The Poles resented the fact that they had no control over Danzig, and the Russians resented Polish territorial gains at their expense. The city of Danzig remained strongly German in identity, though Polish inhabitants dominated the surrounding countryside. Poland also had considerable difficulties with the large non-Polish populations within its borders – about a quarter of its total population was made up of Ukrainians, Jews and Germans. In addition, there was constant tension in the Polish parts of Silesia and the former West Prussia, where large ethnic German populations resented being part of Poland.

The rapid industrialization of other parts of Europe in the first half of the 20th century had only a limited effect on the former Duchy of Prussia, perhaps because the region had few of the deposits of ore and coal that drove other regions forward. Furthermore, the isolated nature of East Prussia, which resulted in constant uncertainty about whether it would in the long term remain part of Germany, acted as a disincentive for financial investors. The cities of Königsberg and Elbing were the homes of some heavy industry, particularly in connection with shipbuilding, but the rest of East Prussian economic well-being was due to the area’s agriculture and a rural lifestyle that had changed little for decades. Propped up by state subsidies, without which the agricultural economy of East Prussia would have collapsed, the landowners supported the Deutschnationale Volkspartei (DNVP; German National People’s Party), with its anti-socialist policies and its support for what it called ‘Christian values and German family life’. But despite Prussia’s relative poverty, and the huge sense of injustice and isolation that resulted from the severance of a land connection with the rest of Germany, the rising fortunes of the National Socialists made little impact. In the May 1928 elections, the Nazi Party secured less than 1 per cent of the vote, its worst performance anywhere in Germany. The local Party organization was chaotic and poorly led, and Hitler decided something needed to be done. At the same time, the Party faced a different problem in the Ruhr, where several powerful figures were at loggerheads, seeking to undermine each other in their personal scrambles for power. To resolve both problems at the same time, Hitler ordered Erich Koch, one of the leading Party personalities in the Ruhr, to take over control of the Party in East Prussia. His removal from the Ruhr brought to an end the infighting that threatened to fragment the party, and Koch’s boundless self-belief and energy provided a welcome boost for the demoralized Party officials in East Prussia.

Koch was one of four children, born in the town of Elberfeld in the Ruhr. He served in Russia during the Great War, where he spent only a brief time in the frontline before his peacetime skills with telegraphy, learned during his employment in the railways, were put to use. He spent a long spell in a military hospital suffering from illness, something that he later used to create a story of how he had been seriously wounded on active service. After the war, he was active in a number of paramilitary campaigns, including an ill-fated attempt to resist French occupation of the Saarland, an experience that left him with a conviction that the Weimar Republic was too weak to lead Germany effectively. Koch was an early adherent of the Nazi Party, though at first he didn’t entirely sign up to some of Hitler’s views, such as those concerning racial superiority. He was delighted to accept the role of Gauleiter of East Prussia, as it gave his political ambitions full rein and simultaneously provided him with a good income.

In East Prussia, Koch set up a Byzantine system of ‘black accounts’, allowing the diversion of considerable amounts of money. The precise sum is now impossible to determine, and the final disposal of this cash also remains a mystery. Part of this process involved the creation of the ‘Erich Koch Institute’, a vehicle ostensibly designed to help industrialization, and to organize training for young East Prussian Party members. In reality, it grew into a major commercial concern, with interests in many companies, both industrial and commercial, often with associates of Koch as their managers and beneficiaries. Some of these were acquired under dubious circumstances, sometimes after their previous owners were arrested and imprisoned for trivial offences. Whilst such practices were commonplace amongst the Party’s Gauleiters, Koch earned a reputation for being particularly unscrupulous in this regard. He took advantage of the resources of the Institute for his own ends, moving to the Institute-owned Friedrichsburg estate close to Königsberg in 1938. He was careful, however, to keep his own involvement in the more questionable aspects of the Institute’s affairs to a minimum, preferring to work through the Institute’s manager, Bruno Dzubba.

By the early 1930s, the DNVP was a declining force, and briefly formed an alliance with the National Socialists, who rapidly eclipsed and replaced it. The other political parties in the area rarely stirred outside the larger towns. Given the extensively rural nature of East Prussian life, they therefore failed to keep in touch with a large part of the electorate, unlike Koch and his deputies, who tirelessly addressed several meetings a day in order to ensure that their message was heard widely. The citizens of East Prussia, who regarded themselves as dangerously isolated as a result of the Treaty of Versailles, welcomed the strident calls by the National Socialists for the return of Memel and the Polish Corridor to the Reich. From barely 1 per cent of the vote in 1928, the National Socialists rose to secure 47.1 per cent in 1932.

Despite subsidies for East Prussian agriculture, the economy remained fragile, not least because of the province’s isolation from the rest of Germany. Unemployment remained a major problem, and the success or failure of Koch and the Nazi Party would to a large extent depend on how this problem was resolved. Fortunately for Koch, the level of unemployment in East Prussia was not as severe as elsewhere in Germany, and he was able to use his good relations with Hitler and Hermann Göring, Hitler’s deputy, to ensure sufficient funds to allow several major projects to proceed, thus mopping up some of the urban unemployed in a relatively short time. Far more effective was a ruthless massaging of unemployment data, creating the illusion of almost complete employment, to the extent that East Prussia was held up as an example to the rest of Germany. Nevertheless, the narrow corridor of land that allowed Polish access to the Baltic was now increasingly a source of tension between Poland and Germany, as was Danzig itself.

Danzig was one of the last cities to endorse the Nazi Party. In the 1927 elections for the city’s senate, the Party succeeded in securing only a single seat out of a total of 120. For a while, Koch attempted to have Danzig included within his realm, thus increasing his personal power, but Hitler had other plans. First, he expelled senior local officials from the Party. Göring was sent to Danzig twice in 1930 to make important speeches and to try to pull together the disparate local factions, and when he returned to Munich he advised Hitler that a new personality should be sent to Danzig. Albert Forster was the name that was suggested.

Forster was the son of a prison official from the town of Fürth, in the part of northern Bavaria known as Franconia. His early life was unremarkable; he struggled at school, spending an extra two years before completing his basic education. In a town with a large, prosperous Jewish population, the relatively impoverished Forster rapidly came to resent the successful Jewish families around him, and was an early and enthusiastic member of the Nazi Party. He proved to be a very capable organizer and public speaker, and was responsible for the rapid rise in Party fortunes across Franconia. He was therefore an ideal candidate to be sent to Danzig.

Forster arrived in Danzig in October 1930, to find a city where the main issue was unemployment, something that was of far greater local importance than the political turmoil that dominated Germany itself. Armed with a document from Hitler granting him complete power over the local Party, Forster threw himself energetically into the election campaign that was currently under way. Over the coming years, he presided over an increasingly dominant Party: in November 1930, the Party increased its standing to 12 seats in the newly restructured Danzig Volkstag of 72 seats, and became a coalition partner of the minority government; in May 1933, the Party won an absolute majority of 38 seats in Danzig; and in April 1935, 43 seats.

The reasons for the success of the Party were multiple. Other parties had been extensively undermined by violent means. Forster had also played a prominent part, as a member of the minority coalition, in creating a public works programme to find employment for the city’s 40,000 unemployed. There was also a growing feeling amongst the city’s German population that their best hopes for prosperity lay with reunion with the German Reich, and they saw the Nazi Party as the strongest means of achieving this goal.

The Poles grew increasingly unhappy with developments in Danzig, aware that whatever its international status Danzig was being treated more and more as if it were part of the Reich. Indeed, in October 1936, Forster declared in a speech that: ‘Danzig today is already as good as German, and soon will be completely German. To be sure, people talk of treaties. But treaties are just paper, which can be torn up.’⁴

Koch and Forster were very different characters. Hermann Rauschning, who was briefly the president of the Danzig Senate before he was driven out by Forster, later wrote a book in which he compared Forster unfavourably with Koch, describing them as ‘Siegfried and Hagen in the Party’.⁵ He went on to suggest that while Forster was from the ‘nationalist’ wing of the movement, and a ‘genuine Nazi’, he was limited by his complete belief in everything that Hitler said, regardless of whether he understood it himself. Such subservience reduced him to the status of a ‘primitive mouthpiece of Hitler’.⁶ Koch, by contrast, was from the ‘socialist’ wing of the Party, more receptive to new ideas and genuinely able to laugh at himself. Other contemporaries paint a far less flattering picture of the East Prussian Gauleiter: ‘He had not the slightest training for such an important office, but still spoke volubly on the subject. Possessed by an unparalleled need for recognition and an insatiable hunger for power, he made his way upwards, constantly seeking to be noticed by his Führer in his new actions.’⁷

At a meeting with Göring and others in May 1939, Hitler made his views about Poland clear to his subordinates. Austria and the Sudetenland had been incorporated into the Reich, and the way was now clear for a resolution with regard to Poland. Hitler told his subordinates:

Poland will always be on the side of our enemies. In spite of treaties of friendship, Poland has always had the secret intention of exploiting every opportunity to do us harm.

Danzig is not the subject of the dispute at all. It is a question of expanding our living space in the East and of securing our food supplies, of the settlement of the Baltic problem. Food supplies can be expected only from thinly populated areas. Over and above the natural fertility, thoroughgoing German exploitation will enormously increase the surplus. There is no other possibility for Europe.

Colonies: Beware of gifts of colonial territory. This does not solve the food problem. Remember – blockade.

If fate brings us into conflict with the West, the possession of extensive areas in the East will be advantageous. We shall be able to rely even less in time of war than in peace upon record harvests.

The population of non-German areas will perform no military service, and will be available as a source of labour.

The Polish problem is inseparable from conflict with the West.

Poland’s internal power of resistance to Bolshevism is doubtful. Thus Poland is of doubtful value as a barrier against Russia.

It is questionable whether military success in the West can be achieved by a quick decision, questionable too is the attitude of Poland.

The Polish government will not resist pressure from Russia. Poland sees danger in a German victory in the West, and will attempt to rob us of the victory.

There is therefore no question of sparing Poland, and we are left with the decision:

To attack Poland at the first suitable opportunity.⁸

Beyond Poland, though, was the Soviet Union, the ideological enemy of National Socialist Germany. Again, Hitler had no illusions about who was the real enemy, and was frustrated by the failure of the western powers to see this, as he told his inner circle on 11 August 1939: ‘Everything I undertake is directed against Russia; if the west is too stupid and blind to understand this, I will be forced to come to terms with the Russians, to strike at the west, and then after subduing it to turn against the Soviet Union with my massed forces.’⁹

Fortunately for Hitler, Stalin and the Soviets also had a low opinion of the Poles. In a letter to Vyacheslav Molotov (Stalin’s Foreign Minister) in 1944, Ivan Maisky, formerly the Soviet Ambassador in London, wrote:

The purpose of the USSR must be the creation of an independent and viable Poland: however, we are not interested in the appearance of too big and too strong a Poland. In the past, Poland was almost always Russia’s enemy, and no-one can be sure that the future Poland would become a genuine friend of the USSR (at least during the lifetime of the rising generation). Many doubt it, and it is fair to say that there are serious grounds for such doubts.¹⁰

Whilst this letter was written as the war was coming to its close, its sentiments were not new. The Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact was announced to a stunned world on 23 August 1939. Germany and the Soviet Union agreed not to go to war with each other. Yet the most important part of the treaty was the unpublished secret additional protocol, which was not finalized until Poland had fallen. This carved up northeast Europe between the two countries; Article II of the protocol dealt specifically with Poland:

In the event of a territorial and political rearrangement of the areas belonging to the Polish State, the spheres of influence of Germany and the USSR shall be bounded approximately by the line of the rivers Narev, Vistula and San.

The question of whether the interests of both parties make desirable the maintenance of an independent Polish State and how such a state should be bounded can only be definitely determined in the course of further political developments.

In any event both governments will resolve this question by means of a friendly agreement.

Neither dictator had any long-term intention to abide by the terms of the treaty, but for the moment it was in both of their interests. Within hours of signing the treaty, Stalin was telling his confidants: ‘Of course, it’s all a game to see who can fool whom. I know what Hitler’s up to. He thinks he’s outsmarted me but actually it’s I who have tricked him.’¹¹ Molotov explained matters to the Supreme Soviet in even more detail, even as German troops flooded into Poland: ‘A quick blow against Poland, first by the German Wehrmacht and then by the Red Army, and nothing more will be left of this hateful offspring of the Versailles Treaty.’¹²

The Germans invaded Poland on 1 September 1939, in what Hitler deliberately portrayed as a different kind of war. Immediately before the outbreak of war, he told a conference that ‘I have ordered my Totenkopf units to the east with the order to kill without pity or mercy all men, women and children of Polish race or language.’¹³ As the fighting began, he instructed his troops to be merciless: ‘I have given orders – and I will have anyone who says a word of criticism shot – that the purpose of the war is not to reach a designated line, but is the physical destruction of the enemy … close your hearts to sympathy. Brutal action. Strength is right.’¹⁴

The first shots of World War II are claimed to have been fired in the Bay of Danzig by the elderly German battleship Schleswig-Holstein. The ship’s four 280mm guns battered the small Polish garrison just outside Danzig at Westerplatte, and the bombardment was followed by a ground assault by a variety of German naval infantry and local SS units. To the surprise of the Germans, the tiny garrison of fewer than 200 Polish soldiers held out for a week before surrendering, despite being bombarded by land, sea and air.

Elsewhere in Danzig, Polish administrative buildings were seized without incident before dawn. Resistance was minimal, except at the Polish post office buildings in Heveliusplatz. Albert Forster, who had been declared the supreme civil authority in Poland overnight, was taken to the square in an armoured car. The frustrated commander of the police unit that had been tasked with taking the post office, Polizeioberst Willi Bethke, told Forster that he intended to blow up the building and its 50 defenders. Forster refused to allow this, for fear of damage to surrounding buildings. Instead, Bethke’s men pumped petrol into the basement and set fire to it. Five men of the garrison burned to death. Six others, including a 12-year-old girl, were left badly burned, and died the following day without receiving any medical treatment.¹⁵ It was a clear sign of the brutal nature of Hitler’s new war in the East.

There were thousands of ethnic Germans on Polish territory at the beginning of the war, and in many cases their Polish neighbours turned on them. The German residents of the small corridor of land running to the Baltic coast immediately west of Danzig were rounded up by the Polish authorities in August 1939. When the war began, they were marched on foot towards Lowicz, near Warsaw. Many were badly treated en route, and those who were unable to continue were often shot. The Wehrmacht caught up with them on 9 September, bringing their ordeal to an end. In the city of Bromberg, about 10 per cent of the population of 117,000 were ethnic Germans, and this group suffered greatly until the city fell to the advancing Germans on 6 September. Somewhere between 3,500 and 5,800 ethnic Germans were killed in such incidents.¹⁶ A report was later produced for Hitler, who rejected it out of hand, insisting that the report’s findings should be increased tenfold. This action resulted in a figure of 58,000 Germans being allegedly killed by their Polish neighbours, a number that was used to justify harsh measures against the Polish population. Some ethnic German communities had organized Selbstschutz, or self-defence groups, in the brief days before the German troops arrived, and these groups were now used for ‘reprisals’ against the Poles. By October, the groups boasted a strength of more than 17,000 in the Danzig–West Prussia area alone, and had killed over 4,000 Poles. Anyone with a previous record of having spoken out against Germany was liable for arrest. Decisions about who should live or die were made in the most arbitrary manner, without any legal process. The Selbstschutz were formally disbanded at the end of the year, and many of their personnel were incorporated into SS units, where they continued their activities.

In addition to the Selbstschutz, several Einsatzkommandos (‘task forces’) were deployed in Poland. Their main task was to round up the Polish intelligentsia; it was the intention of Heinrich Himmler, head of the SS, to decapitate Polish society, leaving a pliable mass of relatively unskilled workers for German exploitation. Lists of victims had been prepared in advance, and the Einsatzkommandos acted swiftly to execute their orders, in a very real sense. Their activities were particularly intense around Danzig and what was now known as West Prussia – this area was to be cleansed completely of Poles. By the time that their activities wound down in early 1940, the Einsatzkommandos had killed between 60,000 and 80,000 people.¹⁷ Only a few Germans raised any protests at this mass murder. Generaloberst Johannes Blaskowitz, commander of German Army units in the east, complained about the indiscriminate nature of the shootings, and made clear his strong opposition to plans to execute the entire male Polish population of certain villages. Hitler replied by deriding the childish attitude of the army leadership, adding that he had always disliked Blaskowitz, and had never trusted him. Lily Jungblut, the wife of a farmer from Hohensalza, who had been a Party member herself since 1930, wrote to Göring in his role as President of East Prussia to complain that the mass executions and arrests were surely not the will of the Führer. Göring made Himmler aware of this letter; Himmler promised to investigate. As a result, Jungblut was arrested by the Gestapo.¹⁸

The Soviet Union joined the attack on Poland on 17 September, when the vast bulk of the Polish Army was committed in the west. The Soviet forces claimed to be saving the Poles from fascist invaders, which must have led to some awkward moments when the Red Army and Wehrmacht held a joint victory parade in Brest-Litovsk. The result of the invasion was that Poland was again partitioned by its powerful neighbours, and the boundary between the two powers was remarkably close to the Curzon Line. All territory to the east was annexed by Stalin, though he agreed to pass part of it to Lithuania. The following year, with the consent of the Germans, Stalin absorbed Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia into the Soviet Union. The Germans took possession of the territories they had lost to Poland in 1919.

The conduct of the war in the east – against the Untermenschen (‘subhumans’) as Hitler termed the peoples there – would always be different from its conduct in the west. To their great credit, many German officers and ordinary soldiers ignored the more brutal orders that came down from above; but a great many others were only too willing to carry them out. An example of the different ways in which German authorities behaved can be seen in the case of Major Sahla. In late 1939, the major, a renowned equestrian champion, was drinking in a hotel in the town of Preussisch Stargard, a short distance south of Danzig, with the local mayor, Johnst, SS-Scharführer Schicks and a public health official called Dr Völkner. The conversation turned to the issue of removing people deemed to be ‘biological inferiors’. Völkner and Schicks, who had already been involved in the execution of people infected with syphilis, commented on the large numbers of German soldiers who had acquired infections after encounters with Polish prostitutes. Johnst immediately ordered the police to round up eight women, who allegedly had sexually transmitted infections. The women were taken to the cells attached to the court in the town. At midnight, the drinking party – without Johnst – went to the cells, and selected five women, who were taken to another cell. There, Völkner attempted to strangle them with his braces. He failed, and Sahla decided to shoot the five women through the neck, claiming later that he was acting to put the suffering women out of their misery. The men left the cells, only to return later, when they discovered to their alarm that there were only four corpses present – one of the women, badly injured but not dead, had managed to escape. She was found, and taken to the prison hospital. The presence of a woman with gunshot wounds resulted in a report being written, bringing the matter to the attention of higher authorities.

When he became aware of the incident, General Fedor von Bock, the local German Army commander, immediately ordered Sahla’s arrest. No action was taken against any of the Party officials involved – Johnst was a long-standing comrade of Forster, who acted quickly to protect his colleague. He even tried to intervene on Sahla’s behalf, telephoning von Bock to say that he intended to discuss the matter with Hitler himself. He made light of the incident, suggesting that it was inappropriate to punish Sahla for his involvement, and even saying that he could see nothing criminal in the major’s behaviour, and that Hitler would doubtless see things similarly.

Von Bock refused to be swayed by Forster. Sahla was court-martialled and found guilty, and condemned to death. Hitler promptly intervened, granting Sahla a pardon, though he was reduced to the ranks and sentenced to six years’ imprisonment. He served his time in a penal battalion, and was killed on the Ostfront in 1942. No legal action was taken against any of the others present at the killing of the Polish women. The Reich Ministry of the Interior dismissed Johnst from his post as mayor, but within two weeks Forster had found him a new position.¹⁹

Koch had reluctantly ceded parts of West Prussia to Forster, but in return received substantial parts of Poland, amounting to more than 16,000 square kilometres and more than a million inhabitants, few of whom were German. The area to the east of East Prussia, around the town of Suwalki, was the scene of several mass executions and deportations as local Nazis – with the full backing of Koch – attempted to drive out the Polish majority to make way for German ‘settlers’. Many of these settlers were ethnic Germans repatriated from the Baltic states; other Baltic Germans were resettled in the former Polish parts of Danzig and the surrounding territories. The area around the Polish town of Ciechanow, now renamed Zichenau by the Germans, became part of East Prussia, and was intended by Koch as a future industrial centre.

The executions of Polish ‘intellectuals’ in the Zichenau area reached a peak in 1940, with some 3,000 people being killed or left to die in the squalid conditions of the Soldau prison camp, 50km northwest of Zichenau. In later years, the death toll in the camp continued, but was more due to efforts to suppress the burgeoning Polish resistance movement than a continuation of the attempt to exterminate the Polish intelligentsia. Meanwhile, ordinary Poles found their lives more and more constrained. Germans were given priority in shops and restaurants, free contact between German and Polish civilians was greatly restricted and employment opportunities for Poles were reduced to those areas of work deemed most essential. Mass deportations from the annexed parts of Poland were organized from late 1940 to early 1941, with many of those deported – particularly Jews – being sent to the ghetto in Czestochowa. More deportations followed until March 1943. The impact of these executions and deportations on the population was enormous. When German troops seized the Zichenau district in 1939, it was home to about 80,000 Jews. By the summer of 1944, this number had fallen to only 350. In total, the district’s population fell by 160,000 during the German occupation.

In Soviet-occupied Poland, conditions were no less harsh. More than a million Poles were dispatched to Siberia by Stalin’s NKVD police organization. Several thousand Polish officers who had been taken prisoner by the Red Army were executed and buried in the forest at Katyn. When the Germans later found this mass grave, the western Allies did all they could to suppress the evidence of this atrocity committed by the Soviets, for fear of its effect on the difficult alliance with Stalin.

On 22 June 1941, Hitler unleashed his armies against the Soviet Union. It was the ultimate manifestation of his desire to see Germany expand its territories to the east. In order to achieve this, the Slav populations of the occupied lands would have to give way to new German settlers. Many Soviet people were to be reduced to serf status, while others would simply be starved to death. From the very start, neither side showed any compunction about respecting established rules of war. Erich von Manstein, commander of the German XLVI Panzer Corps in the north, was shown the bodies of a German reconnaissance unit that had been cut off and wiped out. Many of the corpses had been deliberately mutilated.²⁰ Elsewhere, German units also showed no hesitation in using the most brutal measures against prisoners.

THE ASSAULT ON GERMANY’S EASTERN FRONT 1944–45

PRIT BUTTAR

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

LIST OF MAPS

AUTHOR’S NOTE

PREFACE

INTRODUCTION

THE SLAVS AND THE TEUTONS