Episodes of the War: Report by then 17-year-old German soldier Luitpold Reus on the fighting in the Schneifel region in September 1944 (Published on 21/11/2025)
One of the most vivid accounts of the fighting in the Hürtgen Forest comes from US soldier George Wilson, who fought there as a member of the 22nd Infantry Regiment of the 4th US Infantry Division and wrote about his experiences in the book “If You Survive”. Before his deployment in the Hürtgen Forest, George Wilson took part in the heavy fighting for the Siegfried Line pillboxes in the Schneifel ridge in the southern Eifel in September 1944, which he describes in his book on page 85 ff.
There is also a detailed account of these battles by Luitpold Reus, then 17 years old, from Darmstadt, who was thrown into battle as a German soldier with the so-called “Kampfgruppe Kühne” northeast of Sellerich in order to stop the advance of the American troops.
This is one of the rarer cases – at least to my experience so far – in which battles are described in detail by participants from both sides. The battle described by Luitpold Reus for 15/09/1944, from the direction of Hontheim-Sellerich appears to have been observed by George Wilson from the edge of the Schneifel Forest northwest of Hontheim.
Luitpold Reus’ report, covering the period from September 12 to 16, 1944, is printed in Klaus Ritter’s book “So kam der Krieg” (~“And the war started”), published in 1989, on p. 108 ff. (translation from German language):
“On September 11, 1944, we young soldiers born in 1926, high school students and mostly reserve officer candidates, mainly from Darmstadt, Mannheim, the Neckar, Moselle, and Ahr regions, were put on alert after seven weeks of training in Wittlich/Eifel with the mission of clearing the incursion of British paratroopers at the Reich border with Belgium.
Inadequately equipped, we waited until around midnight for the order to march. We Darmstadters at least knew each other from the schoolyard, from serving as air force assistants with the 8.8 cm anti-aircraft gun, and from labor service in Styria. This was during 7th grade.
During the night of September 11 to 12, we heard that our hometown had been attacked by British bombers. With concern for our mothers in our hearts, we headed for the front.
From midnight until the morning of September 12, we marched and dragged ourselves via Himmerod and Kyllburg, then along a continuous mountain trail to Prüm. I already had a coin-sized open blister on my foot; I didn’t feel it anymore. We rested in the abbey and were left to our own devices until evening. In Prüm, which had apparently been evacuated, I bought some bread rolls and a bottle of raspberry syrup at Kaiser’s coffee shop. The bottle flew into the ditch during the first artillery barrage near Sellerich.
Assembled in front of the abbey, the unit I belonged to, the 2nd Company, was loaded onto trucks, tracked vehicles, and a bus. The vehicles belonged to the Waffen-SS. I sat with others in the bus. It only went as far as the bends in the road near Niedermehlen. The driver did not dare to go any further because of the possibility of coming under fire.
We walked along the road to Sellericherhöhe. Residents told us that the enemy was up in the forest. Enemy artillery fire began. We left the winding roads there and reached the forest via a fairly straight path, passing a sand pit on the right. There was a solitary building there, perhaps a shed, but it was difficult to make out. The commander of the fighting group, Captain Kühne, also seemed to be there.
Our company, as far as could be seen in the darkness of the forest, was ordered to comb through the Eifel forest in a wide arc to the left. Barely seeing our comrades, we advanced without encountering the enemy until the morning of September 13. At a stream not far from the Schneifelhaus, we met a farmer with his cow. He warned us that the Americans were ahead. We were quietly assigned our positions. Machine gun fire from the Schneifelhaus shattered the silence and broke the branches above our heads. Two or three men from the Waffen-SS appeared and led some of us to an upper attack position. Lieutenant Westerweller himself led the first attack from the rear of the Schneifelhaus. The reserve group, to which I belonged, remained in a trench-like ravine under Sergeant Schumacher.
The soldiers stormed forward with cheers, hand grenades detonated, rifle shots rang out, then enemy machine gun fire. Our two outdated MG 08/15s chugged slowly. As we advanced with Sergeant Schumacher, the machine gunners came down from the forest. The cooling jacket of one machine gun had been shot to pieces, and the other was no longer working either. Lieutenant Westerweller had been shot in the head. One soldier was carried away with a shattered knee. Another’s hand was nothing more than a bloody lump. Apparently, the Americans had fired explosive ammunition. Wherever they thought we were, they aimed their machine guns or threw egg grenades. A narrow piece of shrapnel, still hot, hit the ground in front of me. When it had cooled down, I put it in my breast pocket. Even today, it reminds me of that day. The losses were heavy. Sergeant Schumacher called off the attack. The approach of tanks could be heard.
When questioned some time later about the incident, comrades reported that Lieutenant Westerweller was the first to climb over a fence. He ordered the soldiers in a trench in front of a house to surrender. They raised their hands, but had hidden egg grenades in them, which they threw at their comrades as they stepped out of cover. They immediately threw themselves back into the ditch. A machine gun mowed down the attackers from the upper floor of the building.
We gathered. The enemies listened. Having lost our commander, we wandered around in the dense and hilly forest east of the ridge path, pursued by artillery and grenade launcher fire. Because of an observation plane circling close above the treetops, we huddled against thick trees. It was a miracle that no one was hit, because it was targeted fire that was raining down on us. The wall thickness of the shrapnel was about 1.5 cm.
Over the course of that day and the next, we dug ourselves into shallow hollows here and there for short periods of time. We only had a few spades and bayonets to dig foxholes. I had lost my bayonet in the darkness of the forest. Most of the time, we only had visual contact with a few comrades.
Twice I saw a Siegfried Line pillbox at the end of forest paths leading uphill. They were obviously unoccupied. There were probably too few of us to occupy them, and there was certainly no order to do so.
The night of September 14 was quiet. After changing positions several times, I was now lying alone on the ridge path, about 50 meters away from my nearest comrades. Perhaps where the transmitter stands today, I thought about my chances of survival. Heather and grass grew around me. I picked a small bouquet within my reach and placed it at the head of my hollow. Would it become more than just my hollow?
A sergeant I didn’t know instructed me to take up a more favorable position. I was now lying in a forest of pole-sized trees. It was difficult to find cover behind the trunks, which were barely thick enough to wrap your arms around. When I looked out of the forest across the heath and over the ridge, where I believed the others to be, I saw dark, towering spruce trees. Most of the noise of battle came from there. To the east, we lay in double posts far apart, with my schoolmates Bauer and Werner Grein from Darmstadt 30 meters to my right. I lay with Kindhäuser from Gernsbach/Rhine, to the left on a path sloping upwards, with my comrades Buder and Bartels from the Neckar with an MG 34. Beyond the path, a group of older soldiers whom we didn’t know, but who probably also belonged to our unit, lay closer together. I recognized radio operators and air force insignia on their uniforms. They were strangers to us and did not make contact with us. We lay on our stomachs most of the time.
During the night, there was a ban on shooting during reconnaissance patrols. An enemy three-man reconnaissance patrol was moving toward our double hollow, which was located behind two beech trees as thick as an arm. My comrade was asleep, and my two-hour watch would actually have been over. I could hear the Americans for a long time in the silence of the night, even though they were moving quietly. They kept going in our direction and came closer. Those were awful minutes as they got closer, but even worse ones as we stayed still. Kindhäuser was snoring on and off. But there wasn’t enough time and it was too dangerous to wake him up. So, I kept pushing my body against him a little to muffle the noise. I made myself as small as possible and was super tense. The first one passed me by, as he had to avoid the two trees. The second one followed closely behind, stepped on the branches at the edge of the hollow and quickly pulled his leg back. Thank God the third one passed a few meters further away. I dared to breathe again. They moved away. Kindhäuser was still slumbering.
The reconnaissance patrols we saw during the day were not fired upon either. I had seen one just the day before. The soldiers appeared to be armed to the teeth. A sling strap ran across their shoulders. We thought they were wearing flat helmets and therefore believed that we were being deployed against the British or Canadians. Perhaps it was the camouflage nets that made the helmets appear flatter. Whether British or American, we were glad they didn’t come.
On September 14, our opponents reinforced their troops. The sound of tanks could be heard from afar. A fierce battle broke out in the area above the train. Anyone who came to our side was shot at from here. The attacks were preceded by heavy grenade launcher fire and machine gun fire. Low-flying aircraft also attacked. The tops of the young trees were torn apart, and the branches fell to the ground like rain.
They must have reinforced their positions considerably, because when they weren’t attacking, we could hear the loud clattering of spades and cooking utensils. Occasionally, music drifted over to us, and they urged us to defect. They obviously felt very secure.
I mean, it was around noon on September 14, when, after heavy grenade launcher fire slightly above us and the ensuing noise of battle, three Americans suddenly appeared out of the undergrowth in my line of fire and crossed the two woodpiles in front of me. Surprised by their proximity, I aimed my rifle at the gap between the two woodpiles, which the first one had already passed. I hadn’t quite gotten the second one in my sights when the third one came, so I pulled the trigger. It must have hit him hard, because he screamed long and loud and fell forward. His feet disappeared from the gap as his comrades pulled him into cover and moved away, out of my sight.
Werner Grein called out to me questioningly; everyone had their own field of vision and line of fire. I hope that the unknown soldier survived my defense. At that moment, I thought of my brother, who had been killed in Russia in August, and I was determined to defend myself, as we had been taught to do. We didn’t dare to look back.
I can’t remember anyone ever running off into the bushes. We hadn’t eaten anything for a long time. It was only on the 15th that two men were given a tin of sausage. The seven sacks of bread for the unit were still lying on the road near Obermehlen a day later, where the team had been surprised by an artillery attack.
When there was no fighting, it was quiet and peaceful up here, and a kind of modest, boyish happiness and love of nature flowed through you.
In the afternoon, the enemies did not show up. Heavy rain set in and continued throughout the night. The gas cover, which had been opened in an emergency, was torn to shreds. We spent the night completely soaked.
On the morning of September 15, lying on our stomachs as we almost always did, we heard heavy rifle and machine gun fire to our left, coming from the valley in the direction of Hontheim-Sellerich, for about half an hour. Enjoying our deceptive calm, we commented in our simple language: »Something’s going on there!« It seemed to be a major event. We weren’t surprised that it was happening down there, because there were no defenders left between Schneifelhaus and Schwarzer Mann [Black Man hill]; the last ones were lying here on their stomachs. Since I had been withdrawn from the edge of the ridge path, no one of rank had passed by.
With heavy grenade launcher fire lasting about fifteen minutes, threateningly well aimed, and heavy machine gun fire in the trees, the Americans launched a broad-front attack in the afternoon of the same day. I had just breathed a sigh of relief when silence fell after the barrage. Then we saw strange figures approaching us through the forest from all directions. They advanced, seeking cover behind the thin trunks with grotesque leaps. Our MG-34 rattled. Shots were fired. They stopped, afraid of the serious situation, just like us. There were many of them, almost one behind every tree. An officer with a bright, piercing voice ordered them forward, his pistol raised in his right hand for protection. Three men in front of him. Maybe thirty meters away. The machine gun to my left has jammed. They call out for covering fire. They change the hot barrel. My brain is heating up too! One of the soldiers turns briefly to his officer and asks something. I think I saw something white at chest height on the soldier to our left and a shy, meaningful glance in our direction, a turn of the head, probably, towards us and the attackers. Horrified, we see the group of older soldiers rise, their rifles falling to the ground. With their arms raised, they stumble towards the approaching attackers. Our left flank is now clear. Hopefully they will finish with the machine gun soon.
Surprised and relieved that they don’t have to advance any further for the time being, our opponents turn to the battle-weary soldiers, ignore us, drive away their prisoners, ten or twelve in number, and remove themselves from danger.
Hesitantly, our machine gun starts firing again so as not to endanger our own defectors. In the dense forest, there is soon no more field of fire, and everywhere, to the right front and right rear, there is already shouting, commotion, shots, and detonations. Now only sporadically, then silence. They will come back! They are gathering. Next to me is the machine gun, 20-30 meters to the right are my two schoolmates. What’s the situation over there? A messenger comes from below with the order to withdraw immediately. The enemy has broken through on all fronts. The others have already left from above. We provide mutual covering fire and retreat.
Some comrades from beyond the ridge join us, among them Heinz Carius from Darmstadt. There are now about fifteen of us, including a sergeant and a corporal. Sergeant Bell had stepped on a mine near the heathland shortly before. The Darmstadt men had only found his passport photo. Strange!
Noise on the ridge, they’re coming back. We can already hear them at our abandoned positions. Now they’ll find half our sausage tin and the cartridge cases next to it. Then they’ll find their dead comrade, whom we found far behind us, his jacket open, white lambskin.
We descend steeply across a wet forest meadow, over two streams covered by a board. Dusk, evening, and night fall quickly. Silence descends on the Eifel forest.
We keep going diagonally downwards, always on our guard. Even the detector can’t find its way anymore. Should we go left or right now? Who knows if they’re still there in the command center.
We come across a long clearing on the slope and follow it. Somewhere nearby, a few dead cows lie side by side. A narrower, winding clearing. Then a wooden gate, posts. The first ones go through. Detonation! »Mines!« another one shouts. Another explosion. He jumps to the side, onto a mine. Detonation! I cling to the side post. Forest soil and stones rain down from above. Nothing from our unfortunate comrades, nothing in front of the gate either. We hardly dare to move from the spot. The private pokes a path back with his bayonet. We leave the clearing and head downhill. There is no point in continuing in the darkness. We wait for morning under a mighty tree. There seems to be water in a valley cut.
In the rising morning sun of September 16, we leave the forest, high above the village of Gondenbrett. Wascheid is visible. We walk along the edge of the forest, the forest on our right, open meadows on our left. A German guard calls out to us in front of the houses in Gondenbrett. German soldiers! They had heard the explosions during the night and thought the others were coming. It had been German mines.
We turned toward Obermehlen, where we suspected the command post was located in the forest. At the highest farm, we encountered SS anti-aircraft guns. In the morning hours, we washed and dried ourselves and tried to satisfy our hunger with the few remaining plums. The SS men scolded us: »They can see you from above, from the forest.« They seemed to be right. With the MG 34, we secured the enemy side.
Around noon, contact was established with the combat group’s commanding officer, Captain Kühne. At around two o’clock, we prepared to leave the farmyard and follow the dirt road leading into the forest. A violent blow to my right leg spun me around. I pressed my thighs together, and blood filled my trouser leg. I staggered back toward the house. I saw another man stumble backward, and a third lay motionless on the ground. The first grenade of the preparatory barrage that followed had injured three of us at once: the man from the Moselle very seriously on the head, the man from Mannheim on the left thigh, and me from Darmstadt on the right thigh. I was bandaged in the room next to the kitchen. Bauer from Darmstadt brought me water. He said, »It’s over for you now.«
When the fire subsided, Heinz Carius and Volkmar Strack, a brother of the actor Günter Strack, carried me to the village to the first-aid station. The artillery fire intensified again when they both went back. An attacking enemy aircraft was shot down and crashed into the village.
Later, I learned that Werner Grein had also been wounded by our grenade. They had to advance once more. Carius and Strack were seriously wounded while rescuing the wounded, Strack fatally. Those who remained were sent to the Hürtgen Forest. The final battle of the Reich took three of us »Schneiflers« to the Eastern Front.
Fritz Kaltbeitzel from Heimersheim/Ahrweiler, to whom I owe my knowledge of the Schneifel area, dutifully retrieved the machine gun entrusted to him but left behind. He remained with his rifle.”
(Head picture: The so-called “Bunker Trail” along the Siegfried Line
in the former combat zone around the Schneifelhöhenweg, May 2024)
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