Hello dear friends, today we will take a
look at the memoirs of Erich Bissoir. He served as a soldier of the 12th SS Panzer
Division "Hitlerjugend". With his memoirs, we with you will learn about what the German
soldiers had to suffer in the Battle of Normandy. This division was known as the "Baby Division",
but the stubbornness with which they struggled for every meter of the French land was something
that surprised everyone. Their resilience and fighting spirit were way higher than the other
German divisions in this battle. Had all the divisions of the German Army in Normandy fought at
the same high level, it could have resulted in the Normandy landings being a complete disaster....
The thing I liked about these memories is that they overlapped so closely with those
of Kurt Meyer, known as "Panzer" Meyer. After the loss of Fritz Witt in Normandy, Kurt
Meyer had taken command over the SS division "Hitlerjugend" on June 16, 1944. He described
those Normandy battles in great detail in his memoirs. We have a possibility to compare their
memories, and to have a look at those battles through the eyes of an ordinary German soldier....
Well now, let's go ahead and begin. In September 1942, Hitler gave orders to all
members of the Hitlerjugend organization to begin their military training in the Waffen SS military
camps. By that moment in time, I was 17 years old. After six weeks of training, I formally joined
the Waffen SS, but I was again sent back home. My military service began for me nine months
later, on June 15, 1943, in Bitche, France. After completing three months of military training,
my comrades and I were sent to a location called Mailly-le-Camp, where the 12th SS Armored
Regiment was being formed. I was training as a motorized infantry soldier. In January 1944, the
regiment was moved to Belgium, to join the Waffen SS Hitlerjugend Division. The combat training
lasted a few more months until the spring of 1944, and then the division was returned to France. Near
the town of Evreux, our division, which earned the name "Baby Division" among the Allies, began
preparations for repulsing the Allied landings... On June 6, 1944 around 2 a.m. our company
was alerted. As we were ready to march, we were informed that the Allies had begun
their landing. We were 130 kilometers away from the site of the landing, where
we were going to fight with the enemy. There was a baptism of fire ahead
of us, the young guys. The officers were all experienced veterans, so we were
assured that we would execute the order. The mission of our motorized reconnaissance
platoon was the marking of routes for the movement of troops in compliance with the
regimental headquarters instructions. We were setting up the tactical road
signs, so-called Wünsche signs, at crossroads (they were named after
the regimental commander Max Wünsche). Since the day the landings occurred, we had a
definite feeling of Allied dominance in the air. All our vehicles were covered with branches
in such a way that they looked like shifting brushwood. Over and over again we were forced to
hide in the roadside ditches because the Allied attack aircraft were bombarding everything in
sight that moved. It was the first time in my life that I experienced the air firepower, as
everywhere along the roadsides there were damaged and destroyed vehicles from air attacks. We were
forced to pass around the burning metal piles, trying to keep as far away from them as
possible, in order not to get hurt by possible explosions of ammunition. We were
almost undefended against enemy aircraft attacks and were only able to move at night
or in the early morning when there was fog. But there were also Allied casualties. One day
I saw the anti-aircraft gunners shooting two planes that were flying at a low altitude.
The pilot from the second plane jumped out, but fell down to the ground close to us before
he had time to open his parachute. The poor guy had not much left of him: something that
looked like a shapeless sack of potatoes. I was always on the move, driving my motorcycle,
delivering packages and taking out the officers or war correspondents. It was not easy
to find my way to the command posts of our companies without a thorough knowledge of the
territory, with troops constantly moving around. The hardest part was moving at night.
It was impossible to use headlights, and I had to look in the darkness red-hot
exhaust pipes of tanks someplace ahead. Moreover, I was frequently so exhausted that I
would notice the bomb and shell craters too late, or would pass very close to the walls. I did not
sleep much at all, and whenever the opportunity arose, I would lie down and rest anywhere
I could. Other times I just rested on my motorcycle - with my back on the seat, my head
on the spare tire, and my legs on the wheel. At that time there was heavy battle raging along
the highway and railroad between Caen and Bayeux. We were defending our positions against
the vastly superior numbers of the British and Canadians. However, our main
problem was not a lack of strength, but a lack of covering from the air, which
made any movement extremely difficult. There was a dirt road along a railway embankment
near the town of Villeneuve, along which I chose to drive to the 1st Battalion tank position. I
was constantly coming across vehicles destroyed by the enemy, which delayed my movement, but there
was no other way. All the tanks were fighting, and the thick fumes from the burning vehicles
made the search for the commander's tank much more difficult. When I found it, I was happy that I had
transmitted the orders of my command and quickly escaped from this hell. On my way back I picked
up two wounded men and brought them to the nearest dressing station. After such day I was just happy
to have several hours to sleep in a secure place: in some basement or under the tank.
Between June 24 and 26, the headquarters of the tank regiment was located at
a place called Rauray, and my platoon was positioned in a garden near there.
Searching for a good place to entrench, we had found a liquor warehouse that had
once been owned by a Dutch firm called Bols. In it was a large assortment of all sorts of hard
liquors - a temptation we could not resist. We were so engaged in our passion that we did not
notice the battery of reactive mortars located nearby. After every shelling, the battery
immediately relocated to a new place, because the enemy could now easily recognize its position
through the smoke trails. After only a very short time the Allied artillery opened up fire on our,
now former neighbors, so that we were forced to dive into our trenches. The next thing I remember
is that my comrades found me lying asleep in the trench under a piece of tarp. I have no idea
whether it was exhaustion or the alcohol I drank… Being a messenger, I once saw a British
attack against our positions. We were in shelters and met the British with machine-gun
fire, and having suffered heavy casualties, they retreated. The second wave was backed
by tanks, and again the British suffered severe losses in manpower and equipment. It is
only after a series of stubborn enemy attacks that we were forced to retreat. In our defense
area between Fontenay and Saint-Manvieux we were heavily behind the enemy in numbers. There was
no matter of any balance of strength in the air, because the Luftwaffe aircraft in the
sky was practically non-existent .... As a consequence of the overwhelming superiority
in numbers of the advancing Allied forces, our tanks and the regimental headquarters
had to constantly relocate. Each relocation required a messenger to be sent to the combat
unit. Driving at high speed was impossible, as everywhere there were craters and
dead cattle. The sun was merciless and the stink of it was awful. The whole area looked
macabre - dead cows with legs sticking upwards. Besides, I was also responsible for
transporting Obersturmbannführer Max Wünsche to the battlefields. In most cases
he was driving the motorcycle himself, while I was sitting in the sidecar, because
besides smoking cigars he loved to drive a motorcycle! He was a demanding officer,
and some days I wanted in my heart to see him burn in hell. Once, for example,
he left his cigars at headquarters, and he sent me back to get them... But I watched
how he cared for his soldiers, watched him never leave the wounded or killed, and my rage subsided,
and the respect for this man returned instead. The heaviest fighting raged in the area
of Hill 112 near Malto. The British and Canadians took this height after an unbelievable
intensity of shelling. On the morning of July 10, I brought Obersturmbannführer Wünsche
to the position of the tankers, who were lining up behind the embankment
preparing for a counterattack. The grove located at the top of this hill was taken up
by the enemy's armored vehicles. After firing from rocket mortars, our tanks launched an
attack, pouring fire on the enemy on the way. We succeeded in taking this hill from
the enemy, though only for a short time. The moment our infantry took position at
the top of the hill, the Tommies went on the counterattack. I recall that this peak - Hill
112 - had changed from one hand to another several times with heavy casualties for both sides.
Our motorized platoon also took casualties, although we barely ever participated in the front
line fighting. Our losses were due to the enemy's gunfire and his air attacks. We were receiving
such orders that we had to be driving around on open roads with hardly any protection from the
Typhoons and Spitfires going everywhere. Our routes were often extended and covered the entire
sector of our division's combat operations, so it was often only a few days after the incident that
we learned that one of our men had been killed.... While visiting Normandy in 1994, I found
a memorial to British and Canadian fallen soldiers on the side of the road, right at
the foot of Hill 112. I also noticed a wreath with the name of the 9th SS Armored Division
"Hohenstaufen" near the monument. The Allied and German soldier graveyards here look to be
in great condition, there is no provocative graffiti of any kind here, as is common in Germany
itself. Obviously, the French show more respect for their fallen enemies than do the Germans
themselves for their dead soldiers at home… During the six weeks of battles our division
lost 5,000 soldiers and officers. Afterwards it was pulled back for regrouping and rest. The
men and vehicles that were supposed to replenish the division had never arrived due to the
continuous Allied air attacks on the supply lines. After only about one week of rest,
we were thrown back into the combat. The following Allied offensive began
with heavy air attacks. Numerous tanks were destroyed by direct hits or temporarily
put out of action as the optics and engines were covered with dust and sand. One time, we
were advancing toward Cagny in the twilight to make out the location of the enemy and what
his strength was. The visibility was so bad that we sighted enemy units when we had just
pulled into their positions. The British and Canadians were so busy getting prepared for
another attack that they did not notice us at once - we made a full throttle turn and
rushed to our units. On the next morning we succeeded in fighting back the Allied
attack, in which they lost about 60 tanks. Next morning the British tanks assaulted our
headquarters from the north-west. This attack was repulsed with no casualties on our side. The
two British tank crews experienced extreme bad luck. While trying to hide themselves behind the
buildings of the farm, they became bogged down in a cesspool. The British abandoned their vehicles
and ran away. We had the opportunity to get some food to add to our rations, which was left inside
the tanks by the British. Besides, one of our senior officers, Hauptsturmfuhrer Schlauss, made a
fool of the enemy by reporting on the radio about our possession of more tanks than we actually had.
At Chateau Quenois, together with several comrades, I was awarded the Iron
Cross II Class and the next rank. On August 10, in the early morning hours, I was
ordered to leave for a small unit near the town of Omenil. I was driving my motorcycle alongside
the N-158 highway, making my way very slowly because of the sinkholes and burned vehicles. At
the top of a small hill between Kenua'i Langanri, I halted to orient myself. Settling
on my motorcycle to move on my way, I was suddenly caught in the fire. My
left arm was hit hard and I fell off the motorcycle into the ditch of the road.
Then I saw two M5 Greyhound armored vehicles about 500-600 yards northeast of the road. I
stayed low and waited until they disappeared from my sight. As I gathered myself to move
forward again, I was in really bad pain - I just could not move my arm. The motorcycle
was damaged too, and metal shards hit my arm and upper body. I walked back to headquarters
on foot and reported what had happened. Our orderly - Unter Scharführer Fabian treated
my wounds and led me to the field hospital. This was the final stage of my battle for
Normandy. I was sent to Germany, recovered for several months and never came back to my division.
On April 12, 1945, I surrendered to the Americans, and in February 1946 I was moved to a French
prison camp. I returned home in May, 1949. And that's it for today! If you enjoyed
the video, please like it and support the channel with your subscription! Goodbye
to everyone, and see you all later
