from military security to the tram – I negotiated cautiously,
crawling on my elbows.
And there was the vintage tram – standing like a lonely
orphan with no glass in its windows. Its red and yellow sides
were pockmarked with bullet holes and smashed through by shell
fragments – not a single spot was intact! It was also covered with
wood chips. Inside, the wind whistled right through it. It was said
that its last run was unsuccessful; all its passengers were captured
and shot by the Nazis. First to suffer was the conductor, who was
trying to offer resistance. Now this wrecked tram was probably
the Germans’ number one marker. I had already been here earlier
more than once and was familiar with the scene down to the
smallest detail.
I settled comfortably into my deepdug firing position – to
the right of the tramline and slightly in front of the tram itself.
My observation point was well camouflaged on the side facing
the enemy and nothing was likely to be detected from above. Our
troops had long been instructed in the art of camouflage, especially
we snipers. It is no secret that the casual, slack and careless do not
survive at the front.
I did not regard myself as a slacker. Even in childhood – whether
at school or home – I taught myself to carry out tasks entrusted to
me conscientiously and carefully, even if I didn’t like them. My
mother worked hard to keep us in clothes and footwear and to
provide the opportunity for a normal education. She would come
home late from work tired and I always helped her around the
house. That is why in the army I found service easier than others
who were not accustomed to looking after themselves. And at the
front I quite deliberately spared no effort when it came to digging;
it was essential for the preservation of your own life. I passed this
on to my trainee snipers.
Several more agonising minutes passed, and indecisively,
cautiously, as if concerned that his appearance would set machine
guns rattling and cause people to die, the sun glanced out. It was
now quite light.
