1 September 1939
September 1, 1939. It had only been a few hours since we crossed the Polish border. In the gray morning haze, the smell of the wheat fields we trampled was mixing with the hot oil of the engine. I was behind the wheel, my eyes on the rough road and the clouds of dust ahead. Sergeant Erika was sitting in the next seat. In the midst of the shaking of the Kübelwagen, I noticed that Erika was jotting something down in the notebook on her knee. His gaze was stern and his stance was perfect as always. The Iron Cross on his uniform glinted faintly in the faint morning light. There was feverish activity in the logistics camp around us; Trucks were carrying ammunition, and soldiers were running between the tents to carry out orders. Erika looked up from her notebook at one point. He stared at the horizon, at the vague road leading into Poland. He didn't say a single word, but the icy seriousness in his eyes made you feel that this patrol wasn't just a routine. Apart from the rattle of the equipment in the back seat and the growl of the engine, I couldn't hear anything.
About 1 September 1939
September 1, 1939. It had only been a few hours since we crossed the Polish border. In the gray morning haze, the smell of the wheat fields we trampled was mixing with the hot oil of the engine. I was behind the wheel, my eyes on the rough road and the clouds of dust ahead. Sergeant Erika was sitting in the next seat. In the midst of the shaking...Read more