With 5th Company, Regiment Nordland
(As recounted by Dagfinn Henriksen)
In January 1941 I volunteered, and was called up in February for examination. Seven doctors: one for the ears, one for the nose, one for the legs, and so on — we were quite thoroughly inspected.
I subsequently reported to Bjølsen School in Oslo, from which I was sent, together with roughly 100 other volunteers, by air to Aalborg in Denmark, thence by train to Munich — where we stopped a couple of days to look about — and then on to Graz.
Initial recruit training took place in Graz with the regiment Der Führer, and lasted until Easter 1941. At Easter we were sent to Heuberg on Lake Constance, where Regiment Nordland was formed up with artillery, flak, and all appurtenances — though no armour.
Divisional commander: Steiner. Regimental commander: von Scholl.
I was assigned to 5th Company, that is to say Battalion II.
We then made for the front — by rail through Nuremberg to Breslau, and thence by lorry to the Lemberg area. We departed Heuberg in early June 1941 and reached the front a couple of days before war broke out. We lay in a tented camp and one morning were woken by the tremendous explosions of Stukas that had commenced bombing the Russians.
We knew there would be war, though not much beyond that. We had been told at Heuberg that we should march through southern Russia and the Caucasus to join up with the Africa Corps in Egypt, and that the Russians were peaceably disposed and would permit such a march. One received this information with the appropriate degree of credulity.
In broad outline, my war went as follows: Heuberg — the frontier — an area some 7 km north of Rostov — back to the River Mius, where I was wounded in the face by a shell splinter — then to Vienna by hospital train on New Year's Eve, and three months in hospital. Replacement battalion in Klagenfurt, then convalescent home in Toppelbad near Graz for six months. Thence to SS-Hauptamt Berlin for a fortnight, and then welfare officer in Oslo. Demobilised February 1943.
Decorations: Iron Cross 2nd Class, wound badge, assault badge, Eastern Front medal, War Merit Cross.
The war began early in the morning — I believe at around five o'clock. The Germans advanced along the entire front; we, however, were not among them. I believe we lay where we were throughout that first day.
The company commander arrived with a map and read out an order forbidding us to drink water, accept food, enter Russian dwellings, or go about alone — a great many such prohibitions, backed by severe penalties for non-compliance. They feared poison in the food and water.
Pioneer and armoured units crossed the border first. When we came across, we found colossal quantities of Russian tanks and vehicles lying burnt out and hideous in long columns. We ourselves had no contact with the enemy until we had passed Lemberg, where we were received with flowers and cigarettes.
I was initially second machine-gunner, later first. I laboured all summer until I was nearly deranged. The first gunner fell at Dniepropetrovsk. Pay was one mark a day, two at the front; and every ten days there was a pay parade, so one had a little to spend at the canteen lorry — for we had no canteen as such, only the lorry, looked after by the Spiess — the senior NCO, the company's 'mother', two bands on his arm.
Rations were often wretchedly poor. I have seen German soldiers take the iron ration from fallen comrades — that is, the emergency provisions — but not trouble to collect their paybooks, which they were duty-bound to do.
On the 7th of July 1941 we came to a town — large, handsome, with fine streets. There I recall the Poles requesting permission to fight alongside us; the Germans would not allow it. They were permitted, however, to round up Jews, and one then witnessed the ferocious hatred the Poles bore towards them. That I should live to see such a thing, and before I had even been in battle. The house we were billeted in lay on the outskirts of the town, near the cemetery. And thither the Poles drove the Jews — young, old, men, women, and children. The wretched people were lined up by open graves and told to remove their shoes.
That was all. They were then shot and tumbled in — or shoved in, when they did not topple in of themselves. The hatred was so absolute that no form of words can adequately characterise it.
Our first engagement with the Russians did not come until after Lemberg. The battalion's real baptism of fire was the fighting for Hill 24, immediately west of Kiev. There came the order: Absitzen! Fertigmachen zum Gefecht! — Dismount! Prepare for action!
The lorries drove back whilst we advanced by bounds. We had been detailed as cover for the other troops pressing forward to take Kiev. We arrived on Sunday the 20th of July at first light and lay there, as best I recall, for about a day before moving off in the night.
The Russians had positioned a fearful quantity of artillery and shelled us throughout the day; they also sent forward great numbers of tanks, which we knocked out. Here Rolf Halmrast from Drammen fell — the first Norwegian amongst us to be killed.
The battalion was deployed with 5th Company on the right and 7th Company on the left; we could see across to each other. Foul weather that day — rain and mud.
The sections lay in small holes, two men to each, and the first thing one did was make them deep enough to provide cover.
Every now and then the cry went up: Panzer vorne! There were many kinds of tanks, some with and some without turrets. One turret was shot off, but the tank continued to roll forward. Six or seven of them passed us. We had no anti-tank guns to speak of. The 3.5 cm Pak was useless against the armour. The Russians drove around the hill and wreaked havoc; then German tanks arrived and drove them off.
The Russians were prepared for our arrival and had everything ready. The bombardment they brought down on the hill killed three men. What saved us was that we had advanced into a finished position. In the midst of the shooting I flew across to the next hole to cadge a cigarette for myself and my companion. I risked my life for that cigarette.
On the evening of the 20th of July we were pulled back and relieved by the Wehrmacht. On the 21st the advance on Kiev continued. We came to a village I have forgotten the name of; dismounted, shouldered our packs, and marched eastward towards Kiev. We simply zigzagged around the city for two days without casualties — then were set in motion southward, and some days later came into action near Smela, west of Dniepropetrovsk. I was engaged in clearing some houses — we were burning the entire village, every single house, because they had concealed Russians in them.
We were not seriously committed until the Dnieper. Until then we had been spared. Now we were to screen Guderian's panzer army. Since the Russians lay on our side of the river, a reconnaissance patrol preceded us; but when we arrived we had a pleasant time of it, taking over security along the bank with a couple of hundred metres between each post.
In August 1941 the Wiking division was drawn southward along the Dnieper to Dniepropetrovsk, which lay with its greater part on the western bank. The western bank had been taken by the SS Regiment Germania, also part of the Wiking division — the other regiments being Nordland and Westland.
We reached Dniepropetrovsk early in the morning and found a small pontoon bridge across the river — a few planks, really. Coming under Russian fire, we had to creep along the walls. The bridge was shot to pieces again and again; we crossed it fifty paces apart.
On the far side, hell was even hotter. We lost men freely and dug ourselves into a park. All went tolerably well at first, as the soil was loose near the surface; but then we struck gravel, and hacked at it like madmen with our bayonets. Having dug myself a hole, I lay in it and did not stir until evening.
We then went into billets further out in the suburbs, where I suffered the great shaking. No food, nothing to drink, heat like a furnace, and the shells raining down. And the crack when the Russian tanks fired between the housing blocks — bang! Lord.
Crossing the great railway yard, a shell — certainly a twenty-centimetre — arrived and took the legs off a Finn. The poor wretch lay moaning, and Bjørn Johansen and I dashed out after him. We lifted him between us, but at that very moment a shell arrived and nearly knocked us both down. Our clothes were riddled throughout — trousers and tunic both — and one of my boot-toes had been cut off. But neither of us had a scratch. Quite extraordinary: a whole shower of holes through our clothing.
We dragged the Finn to safety, but he died as we attended to him.
In the evening we had fought our way to a pump, where we drank ourselves full of water — though there was such a crush that we practically came to blows over it. We then went into billets in the long street containing a power station.
Outside Dniepropetrovsk lie vast stretches of sandhills. Sand, sand, and more sand. Here we lost, among others, our first machine-gunner; and many others besides. District Physician Hansen of Holmestrand lost both his sons on the same day — one in the morning, the other at about ten o'clock.
LARSEN, who is listening: "Lord, yes. It was dreadful. The only time I began to feel faint. We fought all day in that sandy desert, but when the Russians once began to run, they ran fast enough! We came upon the Russians rather too quickly. There were several senior Russian officers up in the front line on an inspection visit, and they were killed. We got a dressing-down for it, because we should have tried to take them prisoner."
HENRIKSEN continues: The Russians had no idea we should launch a major attack the day after taking the city. But that is what we did. We fought our way through the entire sandy desert and found ourselves well ahead of the Wehrmacht, so we had to fall back — a weary business. But we did at least find some water in a village and managed to knock some apples from a tree. Then we dug ourselves in for the night.
During this attack, Leif Gunnar Overn of Modum (aged 20) and Arne Mathisen of Drammen went missing. Unable to conceive that the attack would halt, they ran straight on. They ended up ahead of us, in a village full of Russians — but found cover and returned to us during the night.
(Leif Overn's brother Hans tells the story of a front fighter who described just how cool Leif was: during a Russian artillery bombardment, Leif went strolling along, whistling. We heard a shell coming; Leif threw himself flat, the shell burst close beside him, and Leif continued on his way, still whistling the same tune.)
Overn fell subsequently.
HENRIKSEN continues: On the eastern side of the sandhills we lay on a height, with forest below. At about ten or eleven at night I was on forward sentry duty in a hole. It was pitch dark, but I had binoculars, which I used diligently. Suddenly I saw something dark in front of me. It moved, and I heard a clink — which turned out to be a fixed bayonet. A Russian was creeping up on our position.
I was uncertain what to do. But I had the advantage that I, through the glasses, had spotted the Russian while he had not seen me. He came right up to me and started violently when I shouted "Hands up!" twice. I knew no Russian, and in my alarm I sang out in English. The effect, however, was excellent. The Russian was dumbfounded and dropped his rifle.
Leaving my companion in the hole to keep watch, I took the Russian back to the company command post. The commander had a interpreter with him, and extracted from the Russian the information that the Russians intended to attack at one in the morning, driving through the forest to the left of me. The company commander immediately alerted the battalion commander, who made his dispositions — directing artillery and other weapons against the forest.
When the Russians came storming forward with their hurrahs, the battalion commander opened fire and shot the forest to pieces. Good Lord, the screaming and howling from over in the trees! It had been packed with Russians, and was now utterly devastated.
But had we not known of the attack and been ready for it, with our ammunition prepared, it would have gone very badly for us.
The strange thing is that when, the following day, I tried my pistol and my rifle, I could make neither function. Both were choked with sand.
I received the company commander's thanks for a good watch. It is the finest thing I did.
The Wehrmacht had been driven back north of Dniepropetrovsk, and we were sent up through the city to relieve them.
In August 1941 we had our 'textbook attack'. We were supported by Italian artillery using airburst shells. An old woman said that the Russians had taken their artillery back.
First we advanced through a maize field tall enough to afford good cover. But emerging onto a tomato field where we could be seen, we switched to bounds — executed quite splendidly.
We moved forward at great speed, with only one man in each group moving at a time. We went through the field, through the Russian position, and through a village. We found 86 Russian dead in the trenches. My company had only two killed and four wounded; the other companies' losses were similarly light, if not lighter. The regimental commander was lavish in his praise, and the battalion commander walked about as proud as a cock.
That night a Russian air attack came in, and three bombs were dropped. Two fell in open ground; the third fell on a schoolhouse full of Russian prisoners, killing 20 to 30 and wounding 40 to 50. None of our people were hit.
A day or two later we took part in a large advance in attack formation, some 70 km east of Dniepropetrovsk. We marched many, many kilometres through maize and flax fields — the maize being particularly unpleasant, as one had to shove the stiff stalks aside to make progress.
LARSEN: The third gunner had been wounded, so I had to carry an ammunition case in each hand. Wretched work — I couldn't have managed it today.
HENRIKSEN: I went along carrying things in every conceivable posture — now upright, now crouching. The sweat poured in streams.
LARSEN: I had a packet of cigarettes in a pocket and thought I'd have a smoke. But when I got the packet out, it was nothing but a soggy mess of sweat, so I had to throw the whole business away. We had a hard time of it then. We lay out in the open for nights on end.
HENRIKSEN: We pressed forward by day in attack formation, and when one thought one might at last get some rest at night, one was sent on patrol all night instead. Next day, forward again — and then suddenly the shells came raining down, and it was a matter of digging in at speed.
We came one day to a village that turned out to be thickly held, snipers even in the trees. We were peppered abominably and many fell. I was slightly wounded and reached a dressing station that was crammed full and resembled a slaughterhouse. Several other Norwegians were wounded that day — Tvedt and Svendsen among them. How the fight ended, I do not know, as I was on the table by then.
LARSEN: I was lying with Odvar Ness from Rena. He fell later. We lay together behind a haycock when something struck Odvar's helmet. A bullet had passed clean through it — without wounding Odvar.
HENRIKSEN: Have you heard about Aalholm? We had been fighting all day in those sandhills, and in the evening, when Aalholm took off his helmet to breathe, he found a Russian bullet inside it. He had not noticed the helmet being hit.
LARSEN: I very nearly had a mortar round straight in the head! I was sitting with a comrade in a slit trench, and next to it we had dug a small latrine. I was about to get across to it — had one leg up on the parapet and was supporting myself on my hands, ready to swing over — when we suddenly heard the whine of an incoming mortar bomb. My comrade grabbed me and yanked me back into the trench, and the instant I took cover the round struck the ground precisely where my head had just been.
HENRIKSEN: Once when I was lying shooting, a shell burst 15 metres from my head. I was not hit, but my shoulder strap was cut clean through.
HENRIKSEN continues: We did not take the town we had been advancing on. We were relieved.
One ammunition case weighed 12.5 kg. We were entirely exhausted by carrying one about all day — throwing oneself down, getting up again, and so on. But we had one man, Eivind Jonassen of Drammen, who ran about with four cases — though he was, admittedly, in the Legion.
We pressed steadily forward, moving ever further south. One night we received orders to make ready, and the entire division — and more besides — drove flat out in the pitch dark straight through the Russian lines. We went at full tilt, and when we had broken through we occupied all the villages behind the Russian positions. The Russians wandered about in complete bewilderment, encountering German tanks wherever they turned.
We took over 80,000 prisoners. My company lost only two men on a patrol.
(For this action, see Liddell Hart: The Other Side of the Hill.)
I was billeted in a village where 16 Finns had shot down a couple of hundred cavalrymen, and was sent out on patrol immediately. We were two sections. Having gone some distance, we dismounted from the lorry to continue on foot, while a NCO stayed with the driver, who had driven all night and was quite done in. It turned out that both of them fell asleep. We heard shots and returned — only to find two Russian tanks arriving, which opened fire on us without hitting us as we flung ourselves flat. The tanks drove on; we ran after them and, coming up onto a rise, saw that one was towing our lorry.
On a later patrol to another village, I came across the lorry — stripped completely bare. I had lost a watch and a camera.
The NCO we found shot through the head. The German driver had been taken prisoner — so some Russian civilians told us.
We then marched on, approaching Rostov. The division came to a village; our battalion was in the lead, my section as the spearhead. We went through the village and when we neared the political commissar's house — a brick building — we advanced most carefully. Suddenly there was an enormous explosion and the section commander vanished. He had trodden on a mine and been blown to pieces, his remains scattered into the ditch. Taking over command, I went to him and took his paybook and sub-machine gun. While I was doing this, a hellish fire broke out from every direction, and we had no choice but to make our way out to the right across a bog, crawling up a slope to a house that stood there. It was a wretched business — we sank into the bog, the Russians fired, we ran and fell and crawled, and arrived at the house completely spent. We decided to hold there for a time, but prudently sent a man across to the slope by the stream — which was well judged, for he came sprinting back to report the stream bed swarming with Russians.
We made off, through a great cornfield and across to a village. We lost only the section commander; and I received a commendation from the platoon commander for having brought back the section commander's paybook and sub-machine gun.
We advanced north of Rostov, consistently kept away from all towns. I have not a single amusing incident to report from there. Once we were brought forward, we were always at the front.
When we came back into rest billets, it was parade from morning to night — drill and guard duty around the clock. Dreadful. We were glad to get back to the front.
The SS was moved from one place to another without pause — entirely motorised. When things became critical, the SS was called in. Certain Austrian and German mountain troops from the Wehrmacht were an exception; they were fully the equal of the SS.
On the 16th of November, our section was on patrol some 16 km ahead of our village. We had encountered no Russians, but coming to a railway embankment and crawling up it, we saw the other side thick with them.
Some Russians came forward to intercept us. A unit was sent round to outflank us, and a cavalry detachment also set itself in motion. We ran down from the embankment and into a stream bed, which we followed at the double.
The Russians then wheeled in towards us. We took up position and fired at close range with all weapons. The Russians ran; we made off at full speed and arrived, quite spent, at a village unlike any we had previously encountered — cleaner and finer, and the people quite different. They took care of us, served wine and food, and posted sentries to warn of any approach. The village was an oasis.
We bade these people a heartfelt farewell and made our way back to our village.
On the evening of the 18th we were brought up as the battalion's last reserve. We had jackets, shirts, trousers — but no underclothing, all that having gone missing in the village — and no greatcoats.
We set about digging positions in pairs, and this saved us — we were just able to keep warm. It was minus 35 degrees with a biting wind. We lay on the ground and hacked at the earth with our bayonets. By morning my German companion and I had dug a hole for three men.
We had no greatcoats because our lorry had been taken by the Russians.
This was a terrible piece of cold work, and the Germans suffered appalling losses when the Russian offensive developed into the greatest catastrophe of the war for us, spreading across the entire front.
In the morning the Russians attacked us, just as they attacked 7th Company. We were ordered to hold until we received the order to retire, our task being to defend the bridge. The river was not solidly frozen; and there my platoon lay.
Only when the Russians were twenty metres from us did we receive the order to fall back. We fired everything we had. We fired until the platoon commander signalled us to go — then we snatched up our rifles and sprinted across the bridge.
By firing with all our might we had made the Russians fling themselves down before our position. But climbing up from the bridge and onto the high ground, the Russians fired like madmen. Even so, exposed as we were, not one of us was hit.
At the crest we held for a moment, then ran on again. It was continuous retreat; but towards evening we reached a place with a great many fine haycocks. There I found Arne Mathiesen from Drammen. We burrowed into a haycock and fell asleep at once, and did not wake until someone trod on us. A German. Do you know why he trod on us? Because he was German and had the German discipline drilled into him. When he had retreated, he had forgotten the spare barrel for the machine gun behind him, and had accordingly run back — alone — to find it. And he did find it. We then joined forces with him and ran back. But had he not trodden on us, we should have been killed or taken. As it was, I found my unit again — though in those days I had neither eaten, nor slept, nor been under a roof.
Now the entire battalion was assembled in the village where I found it, and we were ordered to make off and manage as best we could.
And make off we did. Some on foot, some on lorries. But the guns were blown up.
Our section had no lorry. 3rd Section got a seat on a Russian Ford.
While looking for a lorry, we had fallen behind, so the driver wanted to push ahead to make up time. But he drove us into a ditch. We took what was most necessary, blew up the rest, and set off on foot. By this time we had come up onto a main road and tried to board the lorries streaming past — but they were all full, so we were left standing quite alone. We ran — ran and walked, ran and walked, until morning, when we reached a village full of all manner of units. We slept a little there, but then came the cry: Die Russen kommen!
I slipped into a delivery lorry with a Volksdeutsche from Romania, and we drove to another village, where we were put down. We were billeted after a fashion, but were soon roused again: Die Russen kommen!
This went on again and again until we found ourselves at a Wehrmacht field kitchen. Four of us had kept together — a Dane, a Finn, the Volksdeutsche, and I; and at that kitchen we were well treated.
Then one day I ran straight into my damned platoon commander. Naturally I reported back. "Are you mad?" said the platoon commander. "Mad?" said I. "Haven't we got it nicely here?" said he.
So I stayed at the kitchen, peeling potatoes, until a column of vehicles arrived carrying the whole of Wiking. The city commandant told us to stand by the road and jump on when our unit came past. And when 5th Company came along, we jumped on. We had been on our own for a fortnight.
We came to a village where a thorough check was carried out. Of 5th Company, 36 men remained.
LARSEN: Then we met Germania at full strength. But we were a sorry lot. Of the entire battalion, only 90 men remained fit for action; of our platoon, only 12.
During the retreat, one night the road ran straight through the Russian lines, who lay on either side and took us for Russians.
On one occasion we managed to hitch a ride on a German tank.
We ended up finally in a small village just before the front, slaughtered cows and pigs, and lived extremely well whilst performing postal duties. Then we were relieved — and the next day the Russians came like a thunderbolt. Of those who relieved us, not one got away.