Panzer Commander

Zusatztext "For sheer breadth of recorded experience! no soldier´s memoir can match it." -- Military History Quarterly "One of the more valuable World War II memoirs...an exceptional volume." -- Booklist "A soldier! a warrior! and a leader who never failed his men! and whose courage never faltered." -- LibraryJournal "The ultimate professional soldier...a personal history that may provide guideposts for the future." -- Topeka Capital-Journal Informationen zum Autor Hans von Luck was born in 1911 in Flensburg, Germany, the son of a naval officer. Although he would have preferred to study law, he followed the path of duty and in 1929 entered the Reichswehr as a cadet officer. In 1939 his motorized unit was one of the first to cross the frontier into Poland, marking the start of World War II. Thereafter he was constantly in action in every major theatre of war. He was wounded twice and received two of his country's highest awards for gallantry, the German Cross in Gold and the Knight's Cross. He ended the war a full colonel, one of the youngest in the German army. He is married, for the second time, and has three sons. Klappentext A stunning look at World War II from the other side... From the turret of a German tank, Colonel Hans von Luck commanded Rommel's 7th and then 21st Panzer Division. El Alamein, Kasserine Pass, Poland, Belgium, Normandy on D-Day, the disastrous Russian front--von Luck fought there with some of the best soldiers in the world. German soldiers. Awarded the German Cross in Gold and the Knight's Cross, von Luck writes as an officer and a gentleman. Told with the vivid detail of an impassioned eyewitness, his rare and moving memoir has become a classic in the literature of World War II, a first-person chronicle of the glory--and the inevitable tragedy--of a superb soldier fighting Hitler's war. Leseprobe Prologue RELEASE It was a cold winter's day at the end of 1949 in a special camp for prisoners of war in the neighborhood of Kiev; at two o'clock in the morning a barrack door flew open. "Ganz von Luck," shouted a Russian guard. "Davai, to the office." I still have to smile: the Russians cannot pronounce the H sound. How amused we had been a few years earlier when at the shout of "Goggenloge" no one had stirred. Intended was Prince Hohenlohe. We German prisoners of war had been in Russia since June 1945; since the late autumn of 1948, former members of the SS and the police, and also all those who had fought against partisans, had been collected into a kind of punishment camp. Also included- something none of us could understand-were all staflf officers. Drunk with sleep I stood up. The Russians were fond of interrogations by night. It was easier to extract something from a tired pasoner. A few weeks earlier, the camp interpreter, a Jewish doctor with whom I had become friendly, had told me what was in the wind. "I have heard that under pressure from the Western Allies Stalin has agreed to observe the Geneva Conventions and release the prisoners. In the ordinary camps the releases are almost complete, but even here releases will be made. Fifteen percent will be condemned and remain here. We don't want to send home any war criminals. Besides, we need manpower." Not long after, commissions had indeed arrived from Moscow. At nocturnal hearings, by some system incomprehensible to us, 15 percent had to be sorted out; the rest really would be transported home. A five-person commission from Moscow would make the decision. And now it was my turn! My nerves were at breaking point. I forced myself to keep calm. I spoke good Russian; while a prisoner I had been able to improve my knowledge of the language and had often been used as an interpreter. At the office, the commissioners' interpreter, a young woman I knew ...

quot;For sheer breadth of recorded experience, no soldier´s memoir can match it."
--Military History Quarterly

"One of the more valuable World War II memoirs...an exceptional volume."
--Booklist

"A soldier, a warrior, and a leader who never failed his men, and whose courage never faltered."
--LibraryJournal

"The ultimate professional soldier...a personal history that may provide guideposts for the future."
--Topeka Capital-Journal

Auteur
Hans von Luck was born in 1911 in Flensburg, Germany, the son of a naval officer. Although he would have preferred to study law, he followed the path of duty and in 1929 entered the Reichswehr as a cadet officer. In 1939 his motorized unit was one of the first to cross the frontier into Poland, marking the start of World War II. Thereafter he was constantly in action in every major theatre of war. He was wounded twice and received two of his country's highest awards for gallantry, the German Cross in Gold and the Knight's Cross. He ended the war a full colonel, one of the youngest in the German army. He is married, for the second time, and has three sons.

Texte du rabat

A stunning look at World War II from the other side...

From the turret of a German tank, Colonel Hans von Luck commanded Rommel's 7th and then 21st Panzer Division. El Alamein, Kasserine Pass, Poland, Belgium, Normandy on D-Day, the disastrous Russian front--von Luck fought there with some of the best soldiers in the world. German soldiers.

Awarded the German Cross in Gold and the Knight's Cross, von Luck writes as an officer and a gentleman. Told with the vivid detail of an impassioned eyewitness, his rare and moving memoir has become a classic in the literature of World War II, a first-person chronicle of the glory--and the inevitable tragedy--of a superb soldier fighting Hitler's war.

Échantillon de lecture
Prologue

RELEASE

It was a cold winter's day at the end of 1949 in a special camp for prisoners of war in the neighborhood of Kiev; at two o'clock in the morning a barrack door flew open.

"Ganz von Luck," shouted a Russian guard. "Davai, to the office."

I still have to smile: the Russians cannot pronounce the H sound. How amused we had been a few years earlier when at the shout of "Goggenloge" no one had stirred. Intended was Prince Hohenlohe.

We German prisoners of war had been in Russia since June 1945; since the late autumn of 1948, former members of the SS and the police, and also all those who had fought against partisans, had been collected into a kind of punishment camp. Also included- something none of us could understand-were all staflf officers.

Drunk with sleep I stood up. The Russians were fond of interrogations by night. It was easier to extract something from a tired pasoner.

A few weeks earlier, the camp interpreter, a Jewish doctor with whom I had become friendly, had told me what was in the wind.

"I have heard that under pressure from the Western Allies Stalin has agreed to observe the Geneva Conventions and release the prisoners. In the ordinary camps the releases are almost complete, but even here releases will be made. Fifteen percent will be condemned and remain here. We don't want to send home any war criminals. Besides, we need manpower."

Not long after, commissions had indeed arrived from Moscow. At nocturnal hearings, by some system incomprehensible to us, 15 percent had to be sorted out; the rest really would be transported home. A five-person commission from Moscow would make the decision.

And now it was my turn!

My nerves were at breaking point. I forced myself to keep calm. I spoke good Russian; while a prisoner I had been able to improve my knowledge of the language and had often been used as an interpreter. At the office, the commissioners' interpreter, a young woman I knew well, was waiting for me. "I don't understand or speak a word of Russian," I whispered to her. "Understand?" She smiled and nodded; she would go along with my charade.

I was led …