English Translation

Sturmgefchatze to the front! Through swamps, in which a narrow railway is accessible here and there, through sent-in paths in endless Russian forests, grind themselves, always leading, the colossal storm guns. Now there is a new deployment. 4-Obersturmführer T., a highly guarded East Frisian, takes a final look at his men. He knows that the best weapon is useless if it is not mastered by truly devoted will. First of all, there is his canon, the Sturmmann H. from Meissen, then the Ladekanonier, Sturmman W. from Vorarlberg, and finally as a driver of the Rottenführer H. in Straubing in Lower Bavaria. None of these three is older than twenty-one years, but everyone knows their place and will fill it as many times before. The bridge leading near Ja . . . is to be taken. The gunman looks at the clock: it is exactly 16.35 o'clock. The machine starts to work. It is hot, the sweat runs to the men over the dusty faces. The temperature inside the vehicle is unbearable, but no one feels it right now, everyone thinks only of the upcoming fight, which promises to become hard. The forests to the right and left of the road are full of Bolsheviks who constantly shoot with infantry guns. Their efforts are pointless. They may waste so many bullets, the armor plates are set on other things. The enemy shoots without thinking, whether it be to do anything at all in sudden fear. The men in the tank shake their heads laughing. From a distance an open Soviet gun looks at them. It hits, but leaves no effect either. The journey continues without interruption. The village, which has been completely grafted with Soviets, emerges. The storm watch rolls as if it were a peaceful maneuver, towards Yes. ..... calmly and calmly the Obersturmführer overlooks the situation: There are ten tanks and three anti-tank cannons on the road at the beginning and in the middle of the village. He gives his orders briefly. The assault gun begins to fire, exactly like a 98 rifle handled by a good infantryman. In the period of only two minutes seven tanks and three anti-tank guns are incapacitated. Hell blazes up the flames. And now it goes to the bridge in hell speed. The enemy flees desperately. Two infantry companies are in complete disintegration. Between them the last three Soviet tanks, which have not yet reached their fate, take the path. Everything is storming to reach the other side of the river. The Bolsheviks drive in the confusion to shame their own people. -Obersturmfübrer T. holds a machine gun in his hands. He fires uninterruptedly to the left, to the right, forward. The assault gun rattles on the one hundred-fifty meters long bridge. The target, the other side shore, moves closer and closer. Perhaps sixty to seventy meters the storm gun has brought behind him on the wooden bridge sehon; then the gunman sees a black, quadrangular box in front of him half-left. "Damn!" he pushes out between his teeth. There is no time to think. Many of the fleeing Soviet soldiers are still in the middle of the bridge. Will the enemy consider his own people? An enormous detonation. The wooden bridge is blown up. Death cries of the wounded Bolsheviks who plunged into the depths, which were partly fired by a stabbing flame and smashed by the bellows on it or clamped between the planks and beams. At the moment of the explosion, the machine gun in hand, instinctively pulled in the head. The upper body quickly disappears in the hatch, but not quickly enough that the stab flame would not have burned his face. Ten meters down the storm gun. It survives the fall without damage. A proof of the quality of the material. And only to this circumstance it is thanks that the crew is not further affected. 73