Coffee and Blood (June 1918)
Diary of a Stosstrupp Leader (Part 54)
This post continues the translation of the diary of a German soldier who fought in the First World War. Readers can find links to other installments in this series in the following guide.
1 June 1918
At one in the morning, the battalion marched from Marcelcave to its new battle position. En route, we suffered heavy casualties from enemy shrapnel shells.
The accommodations for the men and us were as bad as they were in our old position.
2 June 1918
Quiet reigned until noon. In the afternoon, however, we received lively artillery fire.
Thick clouds of gas constantly roll towards, and over, us.
3 June 1918
Lieutenant Hartmann and Reserve Lieutenant Rockenberg led a trench raid. It was supposed to be prepared by a half-hour bombardment of the enemy position from our own heavy artillery (Trommelfeuer). However, our artillery fire fell short.
Lieutenant Rockenberg and two men died. Nearly all of the others suffered wounds. Two of the heavily wounded men lay next the shell hole where we had set up our headquarters.
As I gave them something to drink from my canteen, and asked if their pain was bad, they simply replied, with great sadness, ‘our lieutenant has died’.
In the morning, from six to eight, heavy shell fire fell upon our headquarters. For the rest of the day, it lay to the north of us, on the highway. At dusk, when we thought we could move again, heavy machine gun and artillery fire fell upon us. For nearly all of the night, the spell of this fire (Feuerzauber) maintained its strength. We had not had anything to eat or drink for several days.
We did not eat. Neither did we drink, or sleep!
(Our inability to sleep) owed much to the incessant detonation of artillery shells in our vicinity. It also resulted from the small size of our hole. If we enlarged it, we would deprive it of some of its ability to protect us from the shells.
We came close to losing our humanity, becoming barely-human creatures who, silent and grim, performed our duty, awaiting the certain death that we have only avoided by dumb luck and serves as the only way to escape this wretched existence!
4 June 1918
Time passed slowly. Tag came too soon, and night too late.
An unwelcome sun shed its light upon us.
Obstinately, defenseless, and powerless, we huddle in our shell craters and let the concentrations of artillery fire of an enemy who can afford to spend unbelievable amounts of ammunition, fall around us.
The smell of decay filled the air.
5 June 1918
Our coffee carrier arrived at dusk.
As soon as he began to fill the canteens of the inhabitants of our hole, a machine gun bullet hit him in the neck.
He fell on top of us.
His blood and our coffee flowed together.
to be continued …
Sources
The text comes from Alwin Lyding Meine Kriegstagbuch (My War Diary), an unpublished manuscript that I found at the Bundesarchiv (German Federal Archive) (Folder N 382/1).
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