History sometimes leaves us with haunting echoes of individual voices—voices of ordinary people trapped in extraordinary circumstances. These voices, captured in personal diaries, letters, and memoirs, provide us with a window into the lived experience of historical events. When we think of Stalingrad, we often envision massive armies clashing on a battlefield of rubble and ash, a strategic turning point in World War II. But what often gets lost in the grand narrative are the individual soldiers who fought, suffered, and died on both sides of that brutal siege.
Enter William Hoffman, a German soldier whose diary brings us face-to-face with the daily grind of combat during the infamous Battle of Stalingrad. It’s a document not of triumph but of shattered illusions—where the initial confidence in an easy victory gives way to despair and horror as the brutal reality of modern warfare sets in. Hoffman’s entries start with bravado and faith in the Führer’s plan, but as the days bleed into weeks and the weeks into months, his words are weighed down by fatigue, hunger, and the creeping realization that this battle will not end in glory, but in death and devastation.
What you’re about to read is more than just a soldier’s thoughts. It’s a reflection of the moral and physical collapse of the Wehrmacht at Stalingrad. It’s a personal narrative of what happens when an army—and a man—are pushed beyond their breaking point. These entries pull us deep into the trenches of one of the most savage battles in history, a place where death was not just an enemy but a daily companion.
July 29, 1942
The company commander says the Russian troops are completely broken and cannot hold out any longer. To reach the Volga and take Stalingrad is not so difficult for us. The Führer knows where the Russians’ weak point is. Victory is not far away.
August 2, 1942
What great spaces the Soviets occupy, what rich fields there are to be had here after the war’s over! Only let’s get it over quickly. I believe that the Führer will carry this thing through to a successful end.
August 10, 1942
The Führer’s orders were read out to us. He expects victory of us. We are all convinced they can’t stop us.
August 12, 1942
We are advancing towards Stalingrad along the railway line. Yesterday, Russian “Katyusha” rocket launchers and tanks halted our regiment. The Russians are throwing in their last forces. Large-scale help is coming for us, and the Russians will be beaten.
August 23, 1942
Splendid news—north of Stalingrad, our troops have reached the Volga and captured part of the city. The Russians have two alternatives: flee across the Volga or give themselves up. Our company’s interpreter interrogated a captured Russian officer. He was wounded but said the Russians would fight for Stalingrad to the last round. Fanaticism!
August 27, 1942
We are slowly advancing. Less than 20 miles to go to Stalingrad. In the daytime, we can see the smoke of fires, at night the bright glow. They say the city is on fire; on the Führer’s orders, our Luftwaffe has set it up in flames.
September 4, 1942
We are being sent northward along the front towards Stalingrad. We marched all night and by dawn had reached Voroponovo Station. We can already see the smoking town. Everyone is saying the war is getting closer to the end. If only the days and nights would pass more quickly.
September 5, 1942
Our regiment has been ordered to attack Sadovaya Station—that’s nearly in Stalingrad. Are the Russians really thinking of holding out in the city itself? We had no peace all night from Russian artillery and planes. Lots of wounded are being brought in. God protect me.
September 8, 1942
Two days of non-stop fighting. The Russians are defending themselves with insane stubbornness. Our regiment has lost many men from the Katyusha launchers that belch out terrible fire. I have been sent to work at battalion HQ. It must be my mother’s prayers that have taken me away from the company’s trenches.
September 11, 1942
Our battalion is fighting in the suburbs of Stalingrad. We can already see the Volga; firing is going on all the time. Wherever you look, there is fire and flames. Russian cannons and machine guns are firing out of the burning city. Fanatics.
September 13, 1942
An unlucky number. This morning Katyusha attacks caused the company heavy losses: 27 dead and 50 wounded. The Russians are fighting desperately like wild beasts; they don’t give themselves up but come up close and throw grenades.
September 16, 1942
Our battalion is attacking the grain elevator, from which smoke is pouring. The Russians seem to have set it on fire themselves. The elevator is occupied by devils—no flames or bullets can destroy them.
September 20, 1942
The battle for the elevator is still going on. The Russians are firing on all sides. We stay in our cellar; you can’t go out into the street. Sergeant-Major Nuschke was killed today running across a street. Poor fellow—he had three children.
September 22, 1942
Russian resistance in the elevator has been broken. Our troops are advancing towards the Volga. Our old soldiers have never experienced such bitter fighting before.
September 28, 1942
Our regiment and the whole division are celebrating victory. Together with our tank crews, we’ve taken the southern part of the city and reached the Volga. We paid dearly for this victory. In three weeks, we have occupied about five and a half square miles.
October 3, 1942
We have established ourselves in a shrub-covered gully. We are apparently going to attack the factories. We saw many crosses with helmets on top. Have we really lost so many men? Damn this Stalingrad!
October 27, 1942
Our troops have captured the whole of the Barrikady factory, but we cannot break through to the Volga. The Russians are not men but cast-iron creatures—they never get tired and are not afraid of fire. Our regiment barely has the strength of a company now.
November 10, 1942
A letter from Elsa today. Everyone expects us home for Christmas. In Germany, they believe we already hold Stalingrad. How wrong they are! If they could only see what Stalingrad has done to our army.
December 3, 1942
We are on hunger rations and waiting for the rescue that the Führer promised. We send letters home, but there is no reply. Some soldiers have started dying from hunger.