Sir Richard
Member
I was being punished.
That was the best explanation that I was being forced to continue my service to II Battalion of the Leibstandarte Rifle Regiment. The maneuver that I orchestrated, to surround and capture the bulk of the defending force on the east end of the city, substantially put an end to Polish resistance there. As a result, <<commander>> insisted that I stay around, at least to the end of the Polish campaign.
I was a civilian. Technically, I could quit. In fact, as soon as I did, I would be conscripted into the army, probably trained as a spotter for artillery or coordinating close air support, and sent right back here. I would get paid a heck of a lot less and would no longer have the freedoms that I enjoy. Quitting was not an option. In fact, the only option that I seemed to have was to do my job so well that the military brass would not want to get rid of me.
Doing my job meant helping in the slaughter of the Polish citizens who were doing nothing but defending their homes from a hostile invader. I had not thought that a war like this, a war that was directed as much against civilians as against soldiers, could occur in modern times. It was a relic of the religious wars of the middle ages. But, here it was, and I was a witness to it.
What type of person was I that I could sit here and hope for my country's defeat? I grew physically ill thinking about it.
For the moment, I had plenty of time to think. After our involvement in recent battles, the leadership decided that the unit needed a bit of a break. The <<regiment>> was made a part of the ring around Warsaw, preventing any reinforcements from entering the city, while artillery and aerial bombardment weakened those who were defending the capital. We were told to expect peace and quiet while the last defenders were pummeled into submission.
Colonel von Oberkamp had taken a nice house in the town of Plochlorin as his headquarters. It had belonged to a wealthy Jewish family. I had no idea what had happened to them. However, I suspected that the house would soon be listed as abandoned. The German government would, then, auction it off to raise money for the war effort. That is, if it did not catch the eye of some German with powerful connections before the auction took place.
Mitzer and I were given one of the side rooms in the house, where I sat and worked on my observations. I was supposed to be telling the German military how they could fight more effectively. I was also supposed to be telling them about their opponent's weaknesses and how they could be more efficiently exploited. In short, I was supposed to be telling them how they can more efficiently kill and steal and pillage the nation of Poland.
While all of these thoughts were going through my head, I found myself making an honest report of the battles I had seen. The habit of doing a good job, following orders, and obeying my supervisor had simply overruled the concerns I had for right and wrong.
I noted how differently the battle along the Mzura River would have gone if the enemy had dismounted its cavalry before attacking, or combined its tanks, tanketts, and armored cars with its infantry attack on the right flank. I noted how, at Pruszcow, we left our right flank entirely exposed, and yet the enemy did not think to attack us there because it was not on the way to Warsaw. I noted exactly those things the German army needed to know to more efficiently destroy the people trying to save the lives, property, and sovereignty of the Polish people.
I felt detached, as if I was watching myself writing the report, rather than writing it myself. Perhaps it was my way of getting the job done without thinking of what would follow as being my fault.
That detachment ended when the sirens went off.
Mitzer rolled off of his cot and grabbed his radio as his feet hit the floor. I dropped my pencil and yanked my jacket from the back of the chair as I headed for the door. Everybody who spoke asked the same question, "What's going on?"
I headed straight for Operations, while Mitzer put the radio to his ear.
Inside the room, an aide was putting pins, representing Polish units, on the map. It suggested an attack by two battalions, spread out over a wide front. This was one of the problems with Polish operations; they were spread out too far. The bulk of the attack aimed for the town of Swiecice, at the center of the German line. The bulk of the attack was less than a kilometer away. I tapped Mitzer and motioned for him to follow me.
That was the best explanation that I was being forced to continue my service to II Battalion of the Leibstandarte Rifle Regiment. The maneuver that I orchestrated, to surround and capture the bulk of the defending force on the east end of the city, substantially put an end to Polish resistance there. As a result, <<commander>> insisted that I stay around, at least to the end of the Polish campaign.
I was a civilian. Technically, I could quit. In fact, as soon as I did, I would be conscripted into the army, probably trained as a spotter for artillery or coordinating close air support, and sent right back here. I would get paid a heck of a lot less and would no longer have the freedoms that I enjoy. Quitting was not an option. In fact, the only option that I seemed to have was to do my job so well that the military brass would not want to get rid of me.
Doing my job meant helping in the slaughter of the Polish citizens who were doing nothing but defending their homes from a hostile invader. I had not thought that a war like this, a war that was directed as much against civilians as against soldiers, could occur in modern times. It was a relic of the religious wars of the middle ages. But, here it was, and I was a witness to it.
What type of person was I that I could sit here and hope for my country's defeat? I grew physically ill thinking about it.
For the moment, I had plenty of time to think. After our involvement in recent battles, the leadership decided that the unit needed a bit of a break. The <<regiment>> was made a part of the ring around Warsaw, preventing any reinforcements from entering the city, while artillery and aerial bombardment weakened those who were defending the capital. We were told to expect peace and quiet while the last defenders were pummeled into submission.
Colonel von Oberkamp had taken a nice house in the town of Plochlorin as his headquarters. It had belonged to a wealthy Jewish family. I had no idea what had happened to them. However, I suspected that the house would soon be listed as abandoned. The German government would, then, auction it off to raise money for the war effort. That is, if it did not catch the eye of some German with powerful connections before the auction took place.
Mitzer and I were given one of the side rooms in the house, where I sat and worked on my observations. I was supposed to be telling the German military how they could fight more effectively. I was also supposed to be telling them about their opponent's weaknesses and how they could be more efficiently exploited. In short, I was supposed to be telling them how they can more efficiently kill and steal and pillage the nation of Poland.
While all of these thoughts were going through my head, I found myself making an honest report of the battles I had seen. The habit of doing a good job, following orders, and obeying my supervisor had simply overruled the concerns I had for right and wrong.
I noted how differently the battle along the Mzura River would have gone if the enemy had dismounted its cavalry before attacking, or combined its tanks, tanketts, and armored cars with its infantry attack on the right flank. I noted how, at Pruszcow, we left our right flank entirely exposed, and yet the enemy did not think to attack us there because it was not on the way to Warsaw. I noted exactly those things the German army needed to know to more efficiently destroy the people trying to save the lives, property, and sovereignty of the Polish people.
I felt detached, as if I was watching myself writing the report, rather than writing it myself. Perhaps it was my way of getting the job done without thinking of what would follow as being my fault.
That detachment ended when the sirens went off.
Mitzer rolled off of his cot and grabbed his radio as his feet hit the floor. I dropped my pencil and yanked my jacket from the back of the chair as I headed for the door. Everybody who spoke asked the same question, "What's going on?"
I headed straight for Operations, while Mitzer put the radio to his ear.
Inside the room, an aide was putting pins, representing Polish units, on the map. It suggested an attack by two battalions, spread out over a wide front. This was one of the problems with Polish operations; they were spread out too far. The bulk of the attack aimed for the town of Swiecice, at the center of the German line. The bulk of the attack was less than a kilometer away. I tapped Mitzer and motioned for him to follow me.