Slovakia, Autumn 1944 - p.9: Descent
October 27, 1944
Friday afternoon in the middle of the pleasant glade, almost surrounded by trees.
I stood there with a few others, hot food in our mess tins the first time in four days. Suddenly one of our sentries came screaming out of the forest. Within seconds the captain and the commissar were running around, giving orders: "Put out the fire. Nobody eats. Throw it on the ground. Get ready to move out." Those of us who already had soup in their tins spilled it on the ground. All of us scrambled to get our belongings. Then the whole platoon, over forty people, disappeared into the forest to begin another walk or march, this time steeply downhill.
It was then that I discovered our hidden provisions, some food held in reserve. It was my turn to carry a suitcase-size metal container with partly corrugated sides and a large handle. The box was spraypainted in the familiar Afrika-Korps light tan colour and was originally designed for carrying the long-handled "potatomasher" hand grenades. The box's handle was slipped over the barrel of my rifle, this way the load rested on my rucksack which was strapped to my back. I managed to stagger downhill for about fifteen minutes when two guys lifted the box and opened it on the ground. That metal Packkasten did not contain any hand grenades. What made it so unusually heavy was that it was filled solid with pork cracklings (Slov.: škvarky, Hung.: töpörtyü) and lard. We all received a large spoonfull of this nourishing, fat food before we continued our descent southeastward, toward a road and a narrow river which we could see in the distance.
We were finally leaving the Velká Fatra mountains.
Friday afternoon in the middle of the pleasant glade, almost surrounded by trees.
I stood there with a few others, hot food in our mess tins the first time in four days. Suddenly one of our sentries came screaming out of the forest. Within seconds the captain and the commissar were running around, giving orders: "Put out the fire. Nobody eats. Throw it on the ground. Get ready to move out." Those of us who already had soup in their tins spilled it on the ground. All of us scrambled to get our belongings. Then the whole platoon, over forty people, disappeared into the forest to begin another walk or march, this time steeply downhill.
It was then that I discovered our hidden provisions, some food held in reserve. It was my turn to carry a suitcase-size metal container with partly corrugated sides and a large handle. The box was spraypainted in the familiar Afrika-Korps light tan colour and was originally designed for carrying the long-handled "potatomasher" hand grenades. The box's handle was slipped over the barrel of my rifle, this way the load rested on my rucksack which was strapped to my back. I managed to stagger downhill for about fifteen minutes when two guys lifted the box and opened it on the ground. That metal Packkasten did not contain any hand grenades. What made it so unusually heavy was that it was filled solid with pork cracklings (Slov.: škvarky, Hung.: töpörtyü) and lard. We all received a large spoonfull of this nourishing, fat food before we continued our descent southeastward, toward a road and a narrow river which we could see in the distance.
We were finally leaving the Velká Fatra mountains.
posted by Observer at 10:40 PM
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