Wolfgang Faust, published 1948.
My apologies for not having an ISBN (I tea it on my kindle).
A firsthand account of the fighting on the Eastern Front by driver of a Tiger 1 in the last year of WW2. Concentrating on the desperate efforts of a diminishing number of panzer men to defend an anonymous bridge. Ultimately futile in this the author is sent to recover from his wounds. There is a latter book by the same author recounting the last battles of the war in Europe geared around escaping from Soviet encirclement in order to surrender to a more forgiving British and American army.
Anyone who thinks war is exciting would be quickly dissuaded by this. The German tanks are mechanical wrecks, the army rejoice when a detachment of SS are wiped out as it means they can retreat without being executed for desertion, both sides, and the driver himself carry out casual acts of atrocities without blinking an eye. In that respect, as is often the case in war stories, it is a very potent anti war novel.
Anything with a vague historical bent
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