Bloody Citadel

by Andrew McGregor

  Hase grinned in rising excitement, whispering further, ‘Jawohl, Herr Leutnant!’

  The young commander grimaced, reaching out and pushing the helmet playfully down next to him, ‘Dummkopf (fool)!’ He glanced across at the sergeant’s shadow, indicating forward, the flare now extinguished and hissing in the undergrowth far ahead, ‘Move slowly…keep down and listen for the mortars to fire. There are foxholes around us so silence at all times. Hase, cover the flank as we agreed.’ Hausser shivered as the drizzle dripped from his helmet, the moisture from the leaves and bushes beginning to soak through the camouflaged combat jacket, the other twenty drenched soldiers shifting their stances uncomfortably as the sergeant’s helmet turned to issue the hushed orders.

  Silhouettes moved forward half crouched, rifles and MP40s raised, the soldiers braced nervously for a sudden burst of fire, their ears straining through the darkness for any sound, boots sliding across moist earth to avoid the crack or splinter of a branch, their breath held as hearts pounded in anticipation.

  Hase darted off to the right, his body low as he scrambled across the earth and through bushes, his breath held as he slipped behind the advancing patrol, roaming out onto the right flank and reconnoitring the uneven ground, a small wood in darkness ahead. Cold nervous sweat clung uncomfortably to the sides of his chest as he exhaled slowly, slipping in between the closely confined tree trunks, water droplets and a wet mist cascading onto his camouflaged jacket from the drenched branches, his eyes darting from side to side in attempts to pierce the pitch darkness.

  Lowering to a crouch, he stared off to the right, his senses straining as he considered he had heard something, his body lowering further to creep forward. Nearing the edge of the trees, he strained his eyes, staring into the gloom beyond, a small field bordered by further darkened trees, his Kar 98 rifle rising slowly in anticipation.

  His helmet lowered further, glimpsing a shadow move on the other side of the narrow field, the man seeming very low. Hase smiled faintly as he realised the Russian was at the end of a trench amongst the trees, the man staring out southwards, his head bowing to light a cigarette, the soldier’s cupped hands hiding the illumination.

  Hase’s smile widened, knowing if the man was smoking his eyes would become unaccustomed to the darkness once more because of the cigarette glow, the Hiwi backing further into the trees slowly as he heard muffled voices from the trench ahead, one of the sentry’s comrades requesting use of the man’s lighter…the defending Russians were relaxed and seemingly unaware of their presence for now.

  Leutnant Hausser lowered once more, raising his hand as the other soldiers slowed and stopped, the men now having adopted two single lines with submachine gunners on the flanks. Skirting the edge of some low trees, they were careful to have their moving silhouettes against a backdrop of darkness, their boots sinking into the wet earth at the side of a ditch, cold murky water seeping through the stitching.

  Glancing upwards, Hausser glimpsed the stars above, biting his lip as he realised the cloud cover was passing, that they would be more visible in a clear sky. He turned slowly to the older sergeant to whisper, the bearded man breathing heavily as he stared ahead, ‘We will move a bit further to check the ground, but it seems our mortar gunners are not firing tonight…’ He sighed in frustration, ‘…soon the sky will be clear…’

  They stiffened as sudden dull thuds echoed across the darkness from some distance ahead, brief flashes through the trees and saplings further up the gradual slope, the sergeant’s arm rising to point triumphantly, ‘Mortars, Herr Leutnant!’

  A distant burst of gunfire from far to the left and an explosion, then distant eruptions far behind, the mortar shells landing on pre-spotted positions in the German lines. They ducked further as a whining drone filled the air, the high pitched plane engine seeming to engulf them briefly before passing overhead, Hausser nudging the soldier next to him and indicating forward.

  Alone, Hase lay low in the bushes and trees, hearing the plane turn in the night sky overhead, his eyes widening as it circled wide across the terrain, a realisation the pilot was looking for them filling his chest with dread, his heart rate rising. Sucking the stale night air, he lunged forward, glancing upwards to see the dark outline of the plane pass over to his right, the stars obscured momentarily as the biplane banked lower, fewer grey clouds visible above than before as he grimaced.

  Slipping between the damp trees and branches, he gritted his teeth in frustration, understanding that enemy infantry could be following the plane’s directions, moving through the darkness towards the isolated combat patrol.

  The German soldiers moved slowly and carefully northwards along the treeline, strained eyes scanning the field to their left, an abandoned and broken cart sitting nearly fifty metres away at an angle, the shadow breaking the terrain before further darkened trees in the distance.

  Leutnant Hausser mentally marked the sound from the mortar fire, considering it some three hundred metres further, his eyes narrowing nervously as they crept up the field, hands tightening on his MP40 as nervous sweat ran uncomfortably down his back. The sergeant raised his own submachine gun as their boots slipped and slid across the wet earth, feet wet and cold above the leather soles as they neared the end of the trees. Eight infantrymen with rifles pointing outwards followed each man ahead, two further troopers with raised MP40’s kneeling in the trees, staring out across the darkened field.

  Hausser glanced over his shoulder, his muddied boots slipping once more on the wet earth, his head turning back and eyes widening sharply in horror. Two Russian soldiers in greatcoats stepped from the trees in front of them, one chuckling as the other reached for his cigarettes, the two men spinning round as they sensed others.

  The sergeant lunged upwards, swinging his MP40 round as the nearest Russian yelped in surprise, his rifle rising from across his chest as the other ducked to frantically raise his own bayoneted Mosin Nagant. The commander gasped, boots sliding on the wet earth as he charged forward, his own MP40 rising as he slipped, losing his balance.

  Crashing into the Russian, he ducked as the butt of the rifle slid across the top of his helmet, propelling himself forward into the sentry as his leg muscles strained painfully to sustain momentum, the MP40 smacking against the underside of the rifle barrel as he twisted sideways, avoiding a glancing return blow as the soldier above toppled backwards.

  Twisting back, his chest swept onto the lower legs of the Russian, his hands clawing upwards across the soldier’s waist to prevent him from rising. The sergeant’s MP40 cracked against the raised rifle next to them, the bearded German pushing forward with all his might as both men fell backwards into the ditch, the German soldiers behind frozen in brief inaction with aghast stares.

  Boots raked Hausser’s chest as the man attempted to kick out, a hand clenching the commander’s shoulder tightly to push him away as pain swept agonisingly through his chest and collar bone, the Russian raising the rifle in one hand to bring down on the back of his assailant.

  The Russian whined in frustration as Hausser grabbed his belt forcefully, dragging back, the boots attempting to gain traction on the wet mud as one knee banged against the side of the German’s helmet, the other boot kicking his side, the rifle butt bouncing off his shoulder as he groaned. Frantic crashing from the ditch as the two soldiers fought each other through the slurry and mud, spluttering and grunting as they grappled hand to hand, the weapons lost from their grips.

  Then figures surged forward from inaction, Hausser feeling his grip loosen as the Russian kicked out once more, the young commander raising his head briefly before forcing the helmet down into the soldier’s groin, the man crying out in pain and panic as silhouettes neared them. The body shuddered beneath the Leutnant, then again, the crunching of bone as a rifle butt swept down into the Russian’s face, another crack and then a sickening thud as the legs shook, the defender’s nose and lower jaw shattered.

  Further thrashing in the ditch as figures surged forward, r
ifle butts smacking down on the muddied Russian, a gurgled shriek before a bayonet was thrust through his right chest and twisted, the ribs splintering and imploding inwards as a lung and heart were perforated and torn. The brief moaning of a dying man eclipsed as his head was thrust back into the muddied slurry by a powerful boot forced across his neck and twisted mercilessly, the oozing water surging into his broken nose and mouth.

  Rough hands grasped Hausser, pulling him upwards as he coughed and drew breath painfully, a young concerned voice in his ear, ‘Are you injured, Herr Leutnant?’

  Hausser shook his head, still coughing and heaving for air, his camouflage jacket and face soaked and coated in mud and blood splatters as he wheezed and stared into the young eyes above him, the youth smirking as he helped the commander stand. Lowering to bend double, he spat into the soil, coughing and heaving once more, the boots of the dying man twitching beneath him.

  Unable to speak, he shook his head, leaning down for the silhouette of the MP40 on the earth before him, his chest shaking as he coughed and retched. Intense pain surged through his upper frame as he dragged the weapon upwards, the soldier lowering with him, ‘I am sorry Sir…we were caught by surprise…’

  Hausser raised his hand, shaking it to indicate he would be alright before resting it on the young soldier’s shoulder, nausea filling his stomach and throat as he spat once more, hearing the sergeant’s breathless hiss nearby, ‘We move up…the mortars are just ahead…place both the Ivan bodies in the ditch.’

  Rifle fire erupted from the left, Hausser dropping instinctively and dragging the young soldier down next to him as flashes illuminated the field. Two surprised screams rang out, the bodies crumpling as the Germans fell to the earth, two bursts of distinctive MP40 fire ringing out from the trees as the soldiers pushed themselves desperately down into the mud.

  The young commander raised his head briefly, glimpsing several more flashes from the darkened trees across the field, the trees and undergrowth illuminated briefly, his breath caught as he coughed uncontrollably once more, the young soldier next to him rolling over and raising his own Kar 98 to fire.

  Screaming from behind as one of the wounded was dragged painfully into the ditch, the other soldiers scrambling for cover as another shrieked in pain, a further volley of shots from across the field as more sporadic fire was returned through the darkness, Hausser gulping for air before shouting hoarsely, ‘Move back down the treeline…stay in cover…we need to escape!’

  The rifle bucked next to him, drowning out his virtually inaudible shout as the muzzle flashed, the young German soldier edging sideways to fire again, aware of shooting from the same spot. Hausser’s eyes widened as he scrambled to the side, three bullets smacking into the earth next to his left shoulder, his teeth clenching in pain and irritation.

  The MP40’s fired again in unison, distant cracks of branches and a loud moan echoing across the field as the Russians ducked down for cover, Hausser raising his own MP40 as the sergeant’s barked from behind. The drone of an aircraft engine above, the pilot tossing a grenade out towards the muzzle flashes, Hausser’s MP40 firing a brief loud burst, his hand frantically grasping for the bolt as he realised the weapon was damaged or had mud or water in the mechanism.

  Distant gunfire erupted from further down the slope, the German line immediately ordered to cover any retreat or draw the fire of enemy forward positions rather than allowing them to turn on the combat patrol. The MP40s opened fire again, three in unison as Hauser gritted his teeth, hissing to the infantryman nearby, ‘Get back to the trees…I will cover!’ He yanked the bolt back frantically several times and raised the barrel, bullets pouring forth as he exhaled in relief.

  The explosion lit up the field, the damaged cart disintegrating and wood fragments tossed skywards, the earth briefly bathed in light. Hausser scrambled backwards, wary more grenades would follow, the puffs of several flares causing him to hasten his efforts, his shout now defined and becoming desperate, ‘Shield your eyes until the flares die, then run…the Russkies may be blinded. Stay in the trees…lay smoke! Drag any wounded with you!’

  Leutnant Hausser pushed himself upwards and turned sharply, his breath coming in wheezes as he lunged forward towards the trees, muzzle flashes blinding him from either side as the German rifles fired out, another burst of MP40 fire as he slipped and fell, bullets smacking next to him on the earth and cracking against tree trunks.

  Still winded, he felt a hand grab his shoulder, a whine from his clenched teeth as pain once more surged through him, the young soldier shouting next to him, ‘Not much…’ Then the grip loosened, the young man coughing and whining before the grip intensified once more, the two men floundering into the ditch and up the other side, crashing through branches and against tree trunks as ricochets cracked against the wood, their faces scratched and bodies showered with splinters.

  Hausser coughed once more, grasping the man next to him as the young soldier winced, carrying a right upper arm wound, the commander rasping as the lights pulsed across the field, ‘Move south…more will come now they know where we are!’

  Captain Medvedev was screaming frantically to his men, seeing the flashes and hearing gunfire to the south east, ‘First section has found the fascists…run to them! Support them!’ He spun round to his second in command, shouting into the man’s face as the soldier jerked backwards in shock, ‘Get our artillery to target just short of the German line…we kill any relief and cut off their retreat!’ The soldier nodded warily and turned to run back to the command post, Medvedev’s excited voice ringing in his ears, ‘We will have these fascist pigs roasted now!’

  Distant rumbles from the south, Grossdeutschland calling in artillery in support of their missing combat patrol and the reports of a firefight behind Russian lines, one junior commander running from Major Wolff’s forward bunker, his shouts echoing across his section’s position, ‘Move forward…stay low, we get our men back! Cover their retreat!’ Soldiers scrambled from their trenches, rifles moved to one hand as they ran forward half crouched, explosions rocking the slope as the shells rained down on previously spotted Russian positions. The darkened landscape lit up ahead of them, plumes of flame and black smoke rising upwards as the high explosive shells detonated, trees and bushes torn burning from their roots and tossed skywards.

  Hase was running, pushing himself through the trees as branches cracked and scratched at his face and dragged on his combat jacket. He could hear Russians shouting further north and some behind him, several commanders gathering men to advance on the Germans behind their line, his heart pounding as he realised a potential deadly trap was closing in around them.

  Leutnant Hausser watched the flares fall to earth, the lights pulsing as gunfire swept from side to side, his pupils contracted as he shouted, ‘Now we run…head south…back to our lines!’

  The sergeant’s voice was stern to combat any hesitation, ‘You heard the Leutnant…move, or die here…Grossdeutschland is not taken prisoner!’ The second shout invigorated the men, two orders turning them to run as one, three men supporting their wounded countrymen as they struggled forward. Bullets cracked against wood around them, a brief singular shout of pain as the soldiers scrambled low through the undergrowth and trees, firing blindly out towards the Russian positions.

  The Russian section hesitated, partially blinded by staring through the dying flares as darkness abruptly fell, the others confused as to what the Germans were doing. Then the shout of their captain behind, Medvedev breathless as he neared the trees, ‘After them…keep in the trees, they will have a submachine gunner covering the fields!’

  A rattle of MP40 fire splattered against tree trunks and bushes, one Russian falling, the thirty bullet burst spraying the opposite end of the field from side to side to cause the enemy to hesitate. Nearing the trees, Medvedev knew better from previous experience, shrieking instinctively as he heard the full blast of the weapons magazine, ‘Forward now…that is the last man…he is trying to stop you!’
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  Several Russian soldiers lunged forwards into the field, their bayoneted rifles lowering with relish as they charged out into the open. Medvedev reaching the small wood and thrashing through the branches and undergrowth, numerous soldiers behind him as the branches cracked.

  The sudden bursts of MP40 fire made his eyes widen, several shrieks and screams as men twisted and toppled in the open field, collapsing into the mud, his gasping shout desperate, ‘Get down!’

  The experienced German sergeant smiled in satisfaction, slapping the submachine gunner’s shoulder next to him in relish as he hissed, ‘After the others…I will follow!’ He wrenched another magazine from his belt holster, dropping the spent cartridge into the undergrowth as the man beside him darted away, the sergeant taking one last look at the twisting figures on the darkened field before turning after his countryman, a wry grin spreading across his face as he ran southwards after his men.

  Chapter Eleven: Behind the Lines

  Pavel stared at the sparkling lights in the distance, the flickering glow dancing off the dark furrowed earth, his breath held as he gripped his rifle tightly, the figure next to him stiffening as they glimpsed a lone sentry walk out from the side of one of the farm buildings, the great coated soldier’s shadow highlighted against the flickering illuminations from one of the outhouses. The farm was of single storey, with a number of small storage sheds as well as the main building, two barns across a compact cobbled courtyard. The dwelling had a number of fields for both livestock and crops, the land situated in a pleasant valley surrounded by trees and a small stream. With low stone foundations and walls, the roof was beamed and wooden, the upper parts covered in straw for extra insulation, a style typical of the Russian terrain.

  Oleg stiffened, grabbing his younger countryman’s upper arm as three muffled shots rang out, the echoing sound wave seeming to resound around them in the darkness of the ditch at the end of the field adjacent to the property. They lowered their heads solemnly, Pavel turning to his friend in despondency, ‘If the fascists have found these people were helping us there will be nothing to eat tonight…’