Untersturmführer B… and Untersturmführer H… were admitted to the hospital in Agram, one with jaundice and the other with a stomach illness.
In their place, we received as company commander Untersturmführer J…—known as “the evil baker”—and as 1st platoon leader Untersturmführer G…—both former Danish guards officers.
“the evil baker,” despite his nickname, was a kind and capable officer, well liked by the men, but like most soldiers in the field, fond of drink.
“Will you be my messenger, Marius,” he asked, “but I do—damn it—I don’t want you calling me ‘the evil baker’!”
And I had good days with “the evil baker”, even though he often became somewhat lively and warlike when influenced by good Croatian rum. On such occasions it sometimes happened that he got the idea that I deserved a couple of punches in the nose, but his attempts never succeeded, as I was the stronger one.
“That will be at least 10 years in Dachau, my fine friend—you’ve laid hands on your superior.”
“Then the Untersturmführer must be prepared for 25 years, because you started it—and that is more punishable.”
But the next day we toasted to each other’s health.
The first real clash with the partisans came shortly after “the evil baker” had become company commander.
One evening we were sitting, as so often before, in the dimly lit billets, chatting, digesting our evening meal and smoking our pipes, when suddenly the alarm was sounded.
In an instant, the peace and calm was shattered.
Curses and swearing from the men, who were tumbling around in the dim light in a frantic search for equipment and clothing, interrupted by shrill command calls and heavy bootsteps in the corridors, were the immediate result of the alarm.
The next followed quickly: trucks rolled up in front of the barracks, and within minutes we were rushing at full speed toward the railway station in Sisak.
About ten cattle wagons and a locomotive were standing ready; at a short signal we steamed out into the night, heading toward Agram.
Questions buzzed around in the wagon: What was the meaning of the commotion? Where were we going? The guesses were many, but no one really knew.
Slowly and carefully the train worked its way forward through the velvet darkness, pushing the traditional row of empty freight wagons in front of the locomotive.
As we moved further away from Sisak, “the evil baker” lifted the veil of secrecy that had been drawn over the events of the last hour and satisfied the men, who were bursting with curiosity.
The military train from Belgrade towards the Reich had been derailed and attacked on the stretch between Sisak and Agram.
The train personnel …………… continuation follows
M. Sørensen wished to keep personal names confidential and therefore only writes “B…”.