Otto Carius, a German tank ace who destroyed over 150 enemy tanks, commanded a company of Jagdtiger self-propelled guns during the Ruhr Pocket campaign in 1945. The Jagdtiger, despite its heavy armor, suffered from poor maneuverability, transmission failures, and a non-rotating turret that required the entire vehicle to turn for gun traverse. Carius faced significant challenges including Allied air superiority, shortages of experienced personnel, and low troop morale. The campaign demonstrated how technological limitations, combined with strategic encirclement and overwhelming enemy air power, could neutralize even heavily armored tanks. Carius ultimately surrendered to American forces, spending time in a prisoner-of-war camp before escaping to freedom.
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Otto Carius on Commanding a Company of Jagdtigers. The Ruhr Pocket.Added:
Hello dear friends. Today we'll continue exploring Ottoarius's memoirs. Don't forget to leave your thoughts on this material and give this video a like.
Well, let's get started.
Betrayal on the production line.
We deviated from the route from Munich to Berlin at the Hala exit and took a short detour to the synthetic oil production complex in Luna.
SS officers met there with the plant's chief engineers.
If my memory serves me correctly, the conversation concerned the relocation of certain production departments underground, which were still experiencing technical difficulties.
The visit to the complex in Lewen was very interesting to me. As everyone knows and understands, fuel production plants have always been targets of enemy air raids.
However, this does not justify the fact that bombs were dropped indiscriminately and thoughtlessly on residential neighborhoods during punitive raids.
While speaking with the directors in Lewen, I learned that attacks were expected only when partial production resumed.
If the plant was inactive, the enemy bided its time.
They waited until part of the facility had been sufficiently restored by tireless women and men who worked day and night until the production process could resume.
Then they planned to bomb the production facilities to smitherines right on the evening of the first working day.
Since the enemy couldn't determine the exact time the reconstruction work ended from the air every time, it was as clear as day that there were traders inside their own factory.
But despite all the precautions and investigations, they were never able to find them. Barrier balloons hung in the sky over the entire factory grounds, which stretched far and wide. But the Americans usually flew so high that the balloons were completely useless.
The anti-aircraft guns were also ineffective. The high altitude at which the enemy formation approached also worked in their favor because the probability of shooting down a plane was significantly reduced.
Unfortunately, the Americans were even informed of the effectiveness of their raids. They continued to carry out raids on their targets as long as their bombings were successful.
Production had just resumed on the day of our visit. Therefore, the director advised us to try to leave the area before dark.
Despite this, we stayed there longer than planned.
We had barely made it to the highway when enemy bombers appeared. We wanted to see if what we had been told was true. We stopped at the nearest overpass to see with our own eyes that the Americans had been informed that day as well.
The site turned out to be horrific.
Unfortunately, our workers were absolutely right. The bombers dropped their entire payload on the factory, and we got the impression that they would no longer need to make any more combat sordies. They had undoubtedly done a fine job. Our workers continue to toil like bees at the partial restoration of the plant come what may. But this conscientiousness and diligence are useless on their own. There were traitors among them just as there are elsewhere, and the enemy could destroy the fruits of all this painstaking labor in a matter of minutes.
The catastrophe is spreading.
The trip to Berlin went without incident. I stayed at the apartment of an SS officer who gave me a ride in his car. The first thing I did the next morning was go to the armed forces personnel office. I intended to obtain an order there for my reassignment to my old company.
Although I left my old man's cane outside the door, just as I had done during my visit to Himmler, I was unable to secure my immediate transfer back to my former unit at the front.
I wanted to outsmart the reserve battalion, but the staff officers were unyielding.
They politely but firmly turned me away.
I boarded a train heading back to Westfailia.
I arranged to be transferred to a hospital in the area where my uncle was the chief surgeon. I hoped I could achieve more there. At the same time, I was practically among family.
I was told to send a telegram before my arrival, but they didn't know me very well if they expected me to actually do that. My sister, who worked in the kitchen, baked me a three layer cake, and we celebrated my arrival in a friendly atmosphere.
During my stay at both hospitals, I learned what food the nuns supplied.
I must say that all the wounded were delighted with the rations.
For example, even at Christmas in 1944, every patient in the hospital received half a chicken. I vouch for my words.
Every wounded soldier, not just the officers, as the naysayers like to claim.
The wonderful sisters performed superhuman feats.
The hospital, as you can imagine, was overflowing.
My uncle operated day and night.
Party officials in the area insisted on organizing an official ceremony in my honor at the movie theater.
They intended to invite the public. I told them right away that I had no interest in such events and that they shouldn't count on my attendance.
So the hero's tribute ceremony was not held on a grand scale, but in an adjoining room at the hotel.
Only my comrades in arms from the hospital and my uncle's friends were present.
The head of the local administration also showed up with his entourage, but quietly left the gathering after I finished my thank you speech.
I should mention that in my speech, I gave an overview of the situation from my perspective.
Meanwhile, the enemy was getting closer and closer to the western borders of the Reich.
By December, we could see train cars packed to the brim in West Failia, presumably arriving from the front.
People usually spoke excitedly about the fact that, as they believed, the Americans were already just a few kilometers away.
We, of course, had our own thoughts on the matter. Where could all this lead?
If all the forces fighting on the western front had retreated so far, then the allies would soon reach the Rine.
Meanwhile, the Western regions had already been evacuated.
I took advantage of the opportunity to see my mother again briefly after Christmas and helped her remove a few belongings from the house for safekeeping.
On the way back, I stopped in Berlin.
I inquired whether it was possible to get to East Prussia.
Meanwhile, my old company had halted there. I wrote to my comrades in arms that I could walk fairly well again and felt strong enough to somehow make it to the front, but I was unable to do so with the reserve battalion.
On December 2nd, I received the following reply.
Lieutenant, given your injury, you can certainly consider yourself lucky to still be among the living, and you shouldn't be excluded from that number next time.
When will we see you back in the company?
Needless to say, that would be a tremendous Christmas present for the company.
I, of course, felt the same way as my wonderful comrades.
I was disappointed when the armed forces personnel office informed me that it was no longer possible to reach East Prussia. The troops were being withdrawn, so it made no sense at all to send me there. Instead, I was to report to Potterborn.
The units being withdrawn lacked officers with frontline experience.
I would have found a suitable role there. Of course, I was very disappointed and immediately went to see my brother who was attending officer training in Compnit.
When I arrived there, the atmosphere was one of general excitement.
All the cadets were preparing to take up positions around Berlin.
I was lucky because if I had arrived a day later, I would not have seen my brother at all.
It should be noted that the Russians had already made an appearance a few days earlier near Kustwin.
Hedman from quickly assembled a battalion from all the training tanks available. If I had arrived a day earlier, I would have been able to take command of a company immediately because there wasn't a single suitable officer.
Halpedman from was a strong willed, battlehardened soldier whom I knew from earlier days.
It was said that he had been stripped of his rank in peace time because he had struck a commander with whom he had quarreled while intoxicated.
This energetic old warrior became an officer again during the war starting from the very bottom. By 1941, he had already been awarded the Knights Cross.
From showed the Russians near Kustwin that the road to Berlin had not always been so smooth.
He wiped out the Russian advance guard and thereby prevented them from immediately seizing the crossing over the odor.
At the hospital, I quickly packed my suitcase and left as ordered for Potterbornne.
The commander of the reserve battalion in Potterbornne wanted to immediately saddle me with a training company. I told him that I didn't feel confident enough to train a company of 300 men. I wanted to be transferred to a combat unit that was being formed.
He didn't like that. I remembered the letter Himmler had given me, and when I presented it to the battalion commander, he abandoned his plans.
But now I had to wait idly until something suitable came along.
The third company of the 5002nd battalion under the command of Helpedman Leonard had been withdrawn from Russia and was stationed in Zenalagger.
The company had received a new King Tiger and was preparing for battle.
There I found my old crew along with Oberfeld Vibel Delite who continued to lead them with his usual energy.
I also saw familiar faces in the combat units. Oberfeld Vibel Zveti was a tank commander there and Lieutenant Ruvel was a platoon commander.
How happy I would have been if I had been transferred back to my old unit because there was still hope that this company would be sent back with the battalion to the Eastern Front.
However, the commander of the reserve battalion put an end to those plans. He was already fed up with me. By evening, everything had gone completely haywire.
Everyone in the battalion lived by the dubious slogan, "Fight for your own pleasure. The world will be terrible."
Such immorality, and all those senseless gatherings based on the principle of after us, the deluge, were utterly repulsive to me.
I wasn't the only one who felt this way about how these gatherings were conducted, but our circle was relatively small.
In any case, it was clear to me that I wouldn't be staying in Patterborn for long. A dark shadow of disaster was looming.
The Rar Pocket Hedman Sher was the commander of the 512th Yagtiger Fighter Battalion.
I was grateful to him for accepting me as a company commander.
I had to disappoint the wounded from my old company.
Although these men were lying around doing nothing, their transfer to the front was strictly forbidden by the commander of the replacement battalion.
I regretted that I had no way to keep these loyal battleested men with me.
As a result of the incredible efforts I made, I finally managed to recruit Lustig as my personal driver.
The situation with our equipment was quite complicated.
The Tigers for the battalion arrived from the Hindenburg base in sunk Valentine near Lintz while the guns were delivered from Breastlaw.
However, the Russians had already advanced beyond that location, so we were able to equip 30 Yog Tigers with guns.
Each company received only 10 vehicles.
Ultimately, this proved sufficient since we were unable to find crews for more tanks anyway.
Ammunition was brought in from Magnabberg.
The ammunition transport team had radio contact to report on every stop.
That's how important our participation in the fighting was to the high command.
The tanks were transported by rail to Patterborn.
The companies were concentrated in Zenilaga.
We got the impression that we were considered a secret weapon that could still save Germany.
Since the vehicle parts were stored in Delersheim near Vienna, I had to make regular trips covering a thousand kilometers between Patterborn and Vienna.
There was little to enjoy about this in the dark and amid constant air raids.
And although I drove with my headlights off, we had a lot of trouble with the civilian population who were terrified.
But how could I have covered that distance if I had stopped at every air raid and waited for the all clear?
In Castle, I was very lucky again during one such trip.
We were in the city center when suddenly the sirens wailed.
Everyone ran to the bomb shelter.
My Hedfeld Vable, who unfortunately bore no resemblance whatsoever to Helpedfeld Vable Reie, wanted at all cost to get out of the car and take cover in the bunker. I didn't let him talk me into it and stepped on the gas to get to the outskirts of the city as quickly as possible.
We barely managed to get past the railroad crossing when bombs from our liberators began tearing through the air.
Fortunately, the carpet bombing took place further away and to our right.
The entire part of the city where the Hedfeld Vable had wanted to get out lay in ruins.
Once again, my sixth sense had kicked in, and I felt a huge sense of relief that I hadn't paid attention to my helped Vable's requests.
When self-propelled guns were being tested at Zenilaga, we suffered our first setback.
Despite its 82 tons, our Yagged Tiger refused to behave the way we wanted it to. Only its armor was satisfactory. Its maneuverability left much to be desired.
Moreover, it was a self-propelled gun.
There was no rotating turret, just a closed armored hull.
Any significant gun traverse had to be achieved by turning the entire vehicle.
For this reason, the transmissions and differentials quickly failed. And such a monstrosity had to be designed not just anytime but in the final phase of the war.
A better design for the travel lock on the 8 m gun of our Yagged Tiger was also absolutely essential.
The lock had to be disengaged from the outside during combat contact with the enemy. It was of course necessary to secure the barrel while on the move along the road. Otherwise, the gun carriage mounts would wear out too quickly and accurate aiming would be impossible.
Added to all these problems was the fact that the tanker could not feel comfortable in the self-propelled gun.
We wanted to be able to rotate the gun 360°.
When this wasn't possible, we didn't feel safe or superior, but rather as if someone were breathing down our necks.
During the zeroing in, Staff Corporal Zep Moser set up targets in the countryside outside the city. A native of Pasau, he was a man with a strong body and a heart of gold. He served in a maintenance platoon that had been withdrawn from Russia with the third company of our battalion and reorganized in Potterborn.
As soon as Zep got down to business, things went smoothly.
Moser drove a tractor trailer. In peace time he drove a beer truck. His wife handled his correspondence, laconically remarking that if he did it himself, the pen would break in his hands.
I heard from a comrade who met Zep again in Pasau after the war that he was content.
He proudly noted that he received 30 L of beer for free every week.
Then the friend asked him in amazement what he did with that much beer.
The answer to that question was classic.
Well, when I don't have enough, of course, I have to buy some. On top of that, Zep Moser devoted himself entirely to his work during the zeroing of the self-propelled guns.
We kept missing the target, so we soon got sick and tired of it. Finally, an artillery maintenance technician checked what was wrong, and then things went better.
We discovered that because of its incredible length, the gun shook so much even after a short off-road drive that its alignment no longer matched the optics.
This promised plenty of awkward moments.
The equipment was failing even before we encountered the enemy.
My company was to be loaded first. The night before I had given my soldiers the evening off and was surprised and very pleased that no one was absent in the morning. Our destination was the railway station in Ziggberg. The almost panicked rush was understandable.
We knew that the Americans had already crossed the Rine at Rayagen after the bridge fell into their hands undamaged.
Despite the complete chaos that already prevailed, everything we had was safe and sound. That alone was an achievement.
Three echelons had been prepared.
Loading proceeded according to plan because, for some inexplicable reason, enemy aircraft were not targeting the railway station in Zenaloger, even though all our self-propelled guns were concentrated there. I preferred to travel in my own car to familiarize myself with the new operational area before my company arrived.
Due to low-flying aircraft, transport operations were carried out only at night. In my car, I had to constantly drive back and forth along the railroad tracks, making sure the trains didn't get held up for too long.
Their passage along the tracks was often obstructed by fighter bombers which caused a great deal of trouble. Air defense was virtually non-existent.
Moreover, a strange mindset prevailed.
It could be summed up as follows. Do whatever you want, but don't shoot. The pilots might spot our positions. The ease with which enemy fighters flew over us in broad daylight drove me mad.
However, we had no way to defend ourselves against them. The enemy's air superiority was simply overwhelming.
For this reason, during the day, our trains stood in tunnels or under the cover of embankments where they were not entirely safe.
The field kitchen never showed up, so I had to be a jack of all trades, a driver, a courier, a transport chief, and a company commander, depending on the situation.
Sometimes I even had to heat up food for my subordinates.
Fuel and food were available in the warehouses. They either fell into American hands or were senselessly destroyed. When I finally knew for sure that the first freight train would arrive in Ziggberg in the morning, I went ahead. I learned that the Yanks were already firing at the loading ramp.
That meant things were going to get heated. In Ziggberg, after a long search, I found Major Schmidt, the former commander of the 5002nd Battalion. He was in charge of the Armor Corps communications headquarters in the West, and was somewhat surprised to see me there.
I could hardly believe my ears when Major Schmidt told me he had no idea what to do with us or where we were supposed to be deployed.
Then even greater absurdities ensued.
For example, one of my motorcycle couriers showed up and proudly informed me that our first train was being loaded in Deuceburg.
It was supposed to arrive in Ziggberg, but it was being loaded in Deuceburg.
Something strange was going on. I ordered the courier to squeeze every last drop of speed out of his bike, but he wouldn't reach the Ziggberg area until the following night.
Meanwhile, Major Schmidt had gathered all sorts of units and staffs. Even Field Marshall Modal, commander of Army Group B, was unaware of our planned deployment in his sector. I was ordered to report to him upon the arrival of my vehicles. While waiting for that, I wanted to finally get some sleep.
After all, who knows when I'll ever get to be in peace and quiet again. I was just lying on my wooden bed when a guard appeared and reported that overloot Held was asking for me. So much for sleeping.
Held had been my platoon commander when I was still a recruit. I hadn't seen him since 1941.
I was simply happy to have the chance to catch up with an old acquaintance.
We talked all night.
We couldn't get through to Sieberg because of heavy shelling, so we left the first echelon in the tunnel until dark and brought the vehicles up during the night. Not a single wheeled vehicle was running. All the tires had been shot out, and it took days just to get the supply trucks halfway back in working order. An intervention at Rayogen was no longer possible because the advancing Americans had already crossed the highway.
The Yanks must have been very grateful to Hitler for building these highquality roads. If only we had encountered such roads during our offensive in Russia, we would have reached Moscow then instead of getting bogged down in the mud along the way.
At that moment, I was attached to General Buyer line. My first platoon took up positions in a small wooded patch just behind the front line. I myself hardly ever got into a combat vehicle anymore because the individual self-propelled guns were scattered throughout the core sector.
I was constantly driving from one platoon to another, from one Yag Tiger to another, and from one regiment to another to direct the fighting.
Soon, these distances were no longer very great because the ruer pocket was closing in more and more.
An incident occurred that proved to me just how much morale had fallen among the soldiers and officers.
My chief of staff was on combat guard duty on my Yag Tiger in the aforementioned patch of forest.
He had taken my crew with him. Suddenly, my driver, Lustig, came to me on foot halfway from the front line. I already had a bad feeling. The good fellow was completely out of breath and only caught his breath just before reporting to me what had happened. I just almost punched my tank commander. If we were still in Russia, he'd already be dead.
Then he explained to me what had happened. His vehicle along with another Yog Tiger was positioned at the edge of the forest and was well camouflaged.
A long column of enemy tanks was moving across the front line at a distance of about a mile and a half. And Lustig took it for granted that the commander would give the order to open fire. Why else were our self-propelled guns there?
However, he refused to fire even a single shot. A heated argument broke out among the crew members.
The strange officer justified his refusal to fire by saying that opening fire would reveal their position and thereby attract the attention of fighter bombers.
In short, not a single shot was fired, even though the range was practically ideal for our guns.
The enemy would have had no chance whatsoever to threaten our yaktigurus.
However, it wasn't just that this strange officer refused to open fire.
Shortly thereafter, he also ordered his vehicle to be driven back out of the forest. That was precisely how he gave away his position.
Fortunately for him, there were no planes in the sky at that moment. He retreated to the rear without informing the commander of the second Yagtiger at all.
That commander immediately followed him and both of them raced off as if the devil were chasing them. Of course, there was no enemy to be seen anywhere around due to the careless driving of a completely inexperienced crew. The second vehicle broke down immediately.
The fearless overloadant didn't care about the vehicle at all. On the contrary, he stubbornly kept moving until his vehicle also came to a halt.
At least the sergeant major in the second self-propelled gun blew up his own vehicle.
Then Lustig set off on foot and insisted that I pass on his report to the battalion.
However, at this stage of the war, it no longer made any sense.
Everyone had to decide for themselves whether to meet their end with dignity or as a pathetic coward.
Hundreds of soldiers from all branches of the military lay in the woods and awaited the end. Their morale had completely dried up. In Sean, I went to my battalion headquarters to report the situation to the commander.
When I arrived at the command post, I was greeted from all sides. A rumor had spread that my men had destroyed about 40 enemy tanks. I set them straight when I reported that we hadn't destroyed a single Yankee, but on the contrary, two of our combat vehicles had been completely knocked out of action. Had there been two or three tank commanders and crews from my company, which had fought in Russia, with me, that rumor might well have turned out to be true.
All my comrades would not have hesitated to open fire on those Yanks marching in parade formation.
After all, five Russians posed a greater danger than 30 Americans.
We had already noticed this during the last few days of fighting in the west.
Meanwhile, it became clear to us that we were completely surrounded. The rarer pocket was sealed off. Field Marshall Modal wanted to break through with all his forces near Marberg and escape the encirclement while there was still time.
That would not have been difficult at all. However, the high command held a different opinion and ordered us to hold out in the pocket as long as possible.
The route of our breakout ran along the Se throughf Kirchin. The first objective was Segan which was supposed to be held for a long time.
Several self-propelled guns had already broken down while moving along the road.
Despite their best efforts, the inexperienced drivers couldn't handle the situation in the mountainous terrain. The men really tried, but they had neither the experience of driving heavy vehicles nor sufficient training.
That's all for today. If you like the video, please support it with a like and subscribe to the channel. Bye for now.
See you next time.
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