I Lived on the Eastern Front for Six Years

War, military, history, anti-war, German perspective June 22, 1941, 3:15 in the morning. The shelling began. The shockwave traveled through the halftrack's chassis and into my chest. I opened my mouth, but the air in my lungs seemed to be grabbed by someone. This is how the war on the Eastern Front began. I was twenty-two years old at that time. Born in the Hitler Youth. We have fought in Poland and France. Believe that the Führer is right, believe that Germany needs living space, and believe that the war will end before winter. Everyone said so. No one said anything after that. Because most of the people who said these things are dead. The rest, including me, learned to keep their mouths shut. Six years on the Eastern Front. From the Baltic Sea to the Caucasus, it retreated from the Moscow frozen soil to the Dnieper River. I froze my toes off in Leningrad, ate moldy bread in the ruins of Stalingrad, and was so shocked by shock bombs that I couldn't hear for three days in Kursk. I watched the people around me fall one by one. The veterans died and new recruits came in to replace them. Recruits become veterans, and veterans die. Later, I no longer remember their names. Can't remember. It's no use remembering it. In 1945, the war ended. Our company originally had 220 men, but 37 are still alive. I was put in a prisoner of war camp. Released after one year. In 1949, I returned to Königsberg. Standing at the door of my mother's apartment, I heard the radio playing inside. I didn't knock. This six-year war on the Eastern Front finally came to an end for me. This is a win