Staring at a lone farmer in a field through grimy windows, the shrill engine whistle startled him, a faint smile on his lips as he watched the small Panje horse strain against his shackles to pull the plough, the older man pushing behind, the two companions working together to overcome nature’s challenges as they had done for years regardless of the insane war that raged around them.
Then the train began to brake once more, the wheels screeching and cars jolting as the driver saw the German soldier frantically waving ahead next to the track, another halted train beyond, the section of track now guarded by extra garrisoned troops. Groaning erupted across the carriage as one of the younger pilots grimaced, ‘Another delay…there are too many trains on the tracks. I am hungry…will they feed us on this train? We are in an old Russkie first class carriage are we not?’ Chuckling and brief laughter broke out, several soldiers reaching for their back packs to consume food from home, two producing bottles of beer as the men around them grinned in satisfaction.
The pilots raised their bottles, Ernst grinning at the young man’s enthusiasm and irony, the youthful flyer’s eyes sparkling as he giggled, sipping greedily from the brandy and coughing. The leutnant chuckled, waving a hand as the young flyer extended a bottle towards him, his voice pleading, ‘Herr Leutnant…please have a drink with us…’
Ernst shrugged, his second in command nodding and adding to the younger flyer’s persuasion, ‘Perhaps a toast to our future against the Red Air Force, Herr Leutnant?’
The experienced flyer leant forward and grasped the bottle neck, smiling widely as he began to relax, ‘Very well…’
He raised the bottle, glancing across at each Luftwaffe pilot before swigging from the neck, a cheer of encouragement sweeping through the group, the second in command grinning widely, ‘Herr Leutnant…tell us of Russkie tactics and aircraft…what of your experience? The major mentioned you had a commendation from Kharkov?’ Ernst winced as he swallowed a mouthful of the fiery liquid, shaking his head as he blushed, the pilots chuckling at his discomfort.
They glanced up as the door at the front of their carriage suddenly sprang open, a captain stepping along the walkway between the benches, a deep voice booming across the furtive whispers, ‘There has been an incident ahead…partisans attacking the line. Our engineers are working on the tracks and should be finished soon…have your weapons ready and stay away from the windows if we are traveling through wooded sections…the Russkies like to use us for target practise.’ More groans as the men reached for their rifles, the pilots retrieving Walthers and one Luger pistol from their holsters as the bleary eyed captain grinned, his cheeks flushed as he indicated to the distinctive firearm, ‘Don’t clean that pistol here…there is only one medic on board…’
(Authors Note: The captain’s reference is to frequent injuries sustained by German soldiers and officers whilst cleaning Luger pistols, some grimly arguing in sarcastic humour that the stylish prized pistol was more dangerous to German owners than the enemy).
Ernst raised his hand to his forehead, nodding gratefully as the weary young officer glimpsed him and stopped, ‘Herr Hauptmann, may I ask…are these attacks common?’ He indicated to the seat next to him and one of the bottles of French Brandy, gesturing for the officer to join them.
The young captain grinned further, saluting back and glancing across the Luftwaffe pilots, their tunics blue with yellow eagle collar markings, then he slipped between them, lowering himself onto the bench between the flyers. Hearing rifle bolts being pulled back around the carriage, a hand rose to his field cap to push it back as he winced, his voice a low secretive whisper, ‘The Russkie rebels attack all the time now, but there has been an increase recently…and a lot…blowing up the tracks, attempting to sabotage bridges and cutting our communication lines. There are now many troops guarding the railways and the SD and Einsatzgruppen sweep all the local villages and farms daily…still they get through though. Cunning devils…’ He drew breath sharply, reaching into his tunic pocket for some cigarettes, ‘Nights are the worst…they will shoot at the train windows, attack our blockhouses. There are orders for no German sentries to be out during darkness alone, they have to be in squads and then only stick to the tracks and in view of others. Some of the Russkies even shoot at the blockhouse observers and machine gunners in their upper windows…it’s made worse as the trains have increased, any delay is difficult to recover…my guards are travelling up to three times a day along the line.’
Ernst’s eyes widened in astonishment, his head shaking as more furtive whispers of alarm spread around the carriage, a brief glare at the more junior pilots around him to remain silent as they represented the Luftwaffe. His eyes moved back to the captain, ‘Are we helping? Spotter aircraft could find these ‘rebels’ before they attack perhaps?’
The captain shrugged, glancing round at the soldiers preparing their rifles, ‘Not my place to say…I do know my superiors are concerned at the delays, fuel trains and new equipment will only travel during daylight and then with heavy escort, sometimes even Luftwaffe planes circling…the tank crews have also to stay inside their machines on the flatcars, ready for action in case we are attacked. Most of the returning soldiers for the front have to travel at night…only one or two carriages are permitted on each train during the day.’ The captain placed a cigarette between his teeth, flicking a lighter and drawing greedily on the flame, his head thrust back to blow blueish smoke upwards as he pinched the bridge of his nose with exhaustion, one of the pilots offering him a Brandy bottle to swig from.
Raising the neck of the bottle to his lips, the young officer continued before sipping, his head shaking in disgust, ‘It is most regrettable Leutnant, but even some of the medical trains returning west are delayed, some soldiers have died or been shot through the windows in the forest sections…in the last month I have lost five men killed and seven wounded from my train section. Just last week, a young Gefreiter that escorts the new recruits was killed…one of the young soldiers panicked and ran into the woods. He chased after the soldier in the darkness…we sent twelve men out to find them, the Russkies had hacked him to pieces and nailed him to a tree. We never found the other soldier…heaven help him.’
Historical Update:
All across the central and southern sectors, railheads were straining under the addition of numerous trains to the timetables, munitions and extra supplies being transferred east for a new bold offensive. Flatbed wagons and additional carriages were added, onlookers in the woods and working in fields staring inquisitively at the outlines of new tanks and assault guns, many covered in tarpaulin or camouflaged netting. New heavy and field artillery pieces were also sandbagged and guarded by heavy machine guns, the crews for the weapons bedded down on the floors in the armoured carriages, experienced artillerymen now a valued resource.
Luftwaffe aircraft were also moved by rail forward, reassembled at the fields around Kiev for storage and the final practise flights before a looming operation. Ground crews stared in wonder at the new reinvigorated Stuka additions, the JU-87D with 37mm cannon and a few JU-87G with 30mm cannon were eventually lined along the city’s main field before deployment further forward, the guns on each wing holding twelve shells each and proving extremely effective against the growing Russian tank menace. The Stukas were also reinforced with armoured plate to protect the pilots during the new low level attacks, an interesting addition first adopted and discontinued on the German 1916-17 JU-1 and immediately utilised by the Red Airforce in the Ilyushin Il-2 Sturmovik as a result of the military cooperation between Germany and Russia under the Non-Aggression Pact before the Wehrmacht turned east.
The HS-129 was also sent forward in box cars, the plane inferior to its Junker counterpart with a vulnerable fuel tank placement and initially weaker 30mm cannons against the latest Russian armoured plate. The HS-129 B3 was also developed with the fearsome 7.5cm Pak gun mounted under the fuselage, a powerful addition that established the aircraft as the most powerful automatic loadi
ng ground attack aircraft of the war, the allied equivalents all requiring crew members to load the main weapon. With twelve shells in a rotary mechanism set behind the pilot, the used canisters were ejected after fire, the damage devastating if experienced pilots were deployed.
A rapid increase in artillery and armour was required for the forthcoming offensive, long barrelled Panzer IVs with side skirting to deflect or subdue damage from anti-tank rifles, Panther medium 75mm gunned tanks and the new Ferdinand (or Elefant) and Stug IIIG tank destroyer/self-propelled guns, Wespe (mounted on the obsolete Panzer II chassis) and Hummel (mounted on the Panzer III chassis) self-propelled artillery and extensive deployment of the Tiger I 88mm gunned heavy battle tank.
The movements did not go unnoticed…by mid-1943, the resistance in rear areas of German occupation were now rising in number, Red Army specialists dropped by night parachute to organise soldiers that had been cut off, vengeful locals and inhabitants targeted by Nazi ideology…there were now many volunteers. Radio operators, engineers and more advanced weapons were also regularly dropped at pre-arranged locations, the partisans now becoming highly organised, armed and increasingly effective at disrupting enemy operations, requiring more and more German troops to be deployed in rear defensive operations…soldiers that were desperately needed at the front.
For the first time in Russia, the Germans were struggling behind the lines all across the front and no longer in isolated places, soldiers fearful of their personal safety at all times…there was no respite away from the front. Not only was the warfare psychologically damaging, but escalated to such a degree that the insurgency affected some Luftwaffe operations due to fuel shortages and probably delayed the offensive, if only by perhaps a couple of telling days.
Leutnant Brandt shook himself awake, the train wagons and carriages clanking and shunting together once more in the darkness as the locomotive braked. Muttering around him as the pilots voiced their mutual disapproval, more groans from the Wehrmacht soldiers as the train slid to a halt, the whistle screaming ahead as muffled shouts in German came from outside, the blockhouse infantry walking the tracks on either side with flashlights.
Rubbing his eyes sleepily, he adjusted the collar round his neck, pushing his officer’s cap upwards and reaching for the leather flight jacket next to him for warmth, his frame shivering against the low temperature as he stared out through the dirt encrusted windows into darkness, his voice shuddering from the night cold as he realised there was illumination flickering behind, ‘Extinguish the lights…they can shoot at the windows as the Hauptmann said earlier.’
Brandt’s impetuous second in command stiffened opposite, straightening his back as he stretched with arms tensed to his sides, voice weary from sleep as two other pilots rose to their feet drowsily, ‘You heard the officer…’
Several Wehrmacht soldiers leant towards the candles and lanterns to extinguish them, muffled shouting in German from outside, the officer opposite Ernst leaning forward inquisitively, ‘What do you think is causing the delay now?’
The leutnant shrugged nonchalantly, ‘Partisans…perhaps…’ The glass suddenly shattered inwards, sharp fragments splintering and flying across the carriage, the interior plunged into darkness as bullets smashed against the wooden benches and supports, several screams as the rattle of a distant machine gun ceased, rifle fire and bursts of MP40 fire in response as muffled panicked shouts and orders could be heard outside. An explosion racked the exterior, shrieks of pain as German soldiers responded, firing into the trees to the right, a burst of MG34 fire, then another as the response escalated.
Broken glass crunched underneath the shocked prone bodies in the train carriage, several groans and moaning in the darkness, the Luftwaffe second officer calling out, ‘Is everyone alright? Someone get the medic…’ He shifted on the floor, grunting uncomfortably further as he twisted onto a Luger pistol, the dark metal pistol digging into his side. Drawing breath, he glanced round through the darkness, several silhouettes moving slowly, the gunfire echoing from outside as several more explosions erupted amongst the trees, the flashes illuminating the carriage briefly.
He struggled for his lighter in the tunic pocket, hearing a deep groan next to him, his voice low, ‘Herr Leutnant…are you hurt?’
The metal canister sparked but failed to light, his hands flicking the flint once more as a slim flame rose from the silver Luftwaffe eagled souvenir. His pupils contracted, further shuffling and a door opening to the end of the carriage, another moan from further down the carriage and the pained words, ‘Medic!’
The crack of rifle bolts being pulled back and one of the soldiers hissing, ‘Stay down…cover both sides. The Russkies are out there!’
The second officer strained his eyes, two bodies of pilots unmoving behind him, his head twisting round to glimpse another body slumped across the bench, his chest drawing a deep breath as he extended the lighter reluctantly, the lifeless eyes staring into his. Blood was splattered across the wall behind, droplets dripping from the bench onto a body below, the lower Luftwaffe pilot lying face down, his chest perforated twice by fire from a DP28 machine gun burst.
Lifting the lighter once more, he was briefly distracted by a crouched Wehrmacht infantryman emerging round the side of the benches, then he swallowed hard as he stared back into the dull colourless eyes above him, the body lying slumped along the bench. Leutnant Ernst Brandt had been killed by a sniper’s bullet, the high velocity projectile having cracked through his neck, shattering his spine and forcing bone fragments up into his brain. Dark liquid dripped from the experienced flyer’s open mouth and nose, his second in command grimacing as tears of emotion welled in his eyes, a hand reaching forward to tenderly touch his commander’s dangling arm.
Then shouts from the other end of the carriage, the captain returning as boots resounded across wooden floorboards, torch beams bouncing off the walls, ‘How many wounded? Any killed? Damn Russkies…we have chased them off, but keep your rifles at the ready…they may counterattack from the other side. The train will be moving soon…the medic is coming.’
At twenty five, Stabsfeldwebel (Master Sergeant) Reiner Fuchs had just become the flight leader for the new Luftwaffe flyers on the train and the most experienced…he had also just lost two of his pilots.
Chapter Fifteen: Partisan Escalations
The Russian sniper slipped back into the undergrowth, flashes from the furthest edge of the trees and angry shouts in German as the cracks of rifle fire filled his ears. Bullets smacked against the tree trunks as more grenades erupted, a sly grin spreading across the young man’s face as he withdrew, the enemy too afraid to enter the deepest part of the darkened woods for fear of ambush or traps.
The crashing and shrill snapping of branches and saplings urged him on, nervousness filling his frame as he scrambled away on hands and knees, slipping behind a rise in the terrain and undergrowth, his Mosin Nagant scoped rifle now slung across his back. Bushes and ferns scratched against his face, the sniper moving deeper into the darkness, a shrill locomotive whistle behind as the train pulled forward.
Pushing through a thicket, he emerged into a small circular clearing, the low thickly covered trees on either side providing aerial cover, three silhouettes stood breathing heavily before him. Smiling triumphantly, he nodded to the younger grinning dirt smeared soldier carrying the DP28 machine gun, ‘That scared the fascists…I think we hit several, good ambush.’ He drew breath sharply and chuckled in relish, ‘Even with their blockhouse guards we were able to attack…we give them no respite…they have no sleep behind the lines.’
Mishka turned away, indicating to the narrow path before them, ‘We had better get going, there is another attack due further along the tracks and they want support. It is nearly four kilometres from here.’
The sniper nodded, approaching the two other shorter figures and grasping one by the back of the neck playfully, ‘So young Pavel…how does it feel to be back with us?’
The young Russian nodd
ed happily, nudging Oleg next to him, ‘I am happy, you have more food here. Regular supply drops at night it seems…you also have many fighters ready to attack the Germans.’
Oleg grinned, manhandling the large machine gun and awkward circular drum onto his shoulder, distant muffled shouts coming from the direction of the railway tracks, ‘How many more attacks have we to make now? You seem to strike at the railways and patrols every night…’
The sniper nodded as he pointed after Mishka, ‘Many things are changing…’ He grinned as he glimpsed the female frame stiffen, ‘…the Red Army now supplies us regularly whereas before they would only make drops every week or two weeks, now it is almost nightly. They say the fascists are getting ready to attack once more and that we are waiting…that the battle continues behind the lines until they strike.’
Mishka turned her head as she progressed, the group heading diagonally away from the railway tracks as she spoke, ‘For every German killed or wounded here, that is one that cannot advance! We will grind them down…they already have many men protecting their railways and their air force is no longer as strong…they are unable to stop our supplies and parachute drops. Our quiet nightly planes circle the fascist positions; they cannot even smoke without us trying to kill them…’
Pavel grinned as the path turned away from the distant sounds of a train, rising up a gradual slope and between two sturdy felled logs, the charred trees having collapsed under explosions from an artillery salvo, the armoured train gunners having fired through sheer frustration as the attacking partisans once more disappeared into the mirk. Following the track further, they heard the shrill whistle from another engine heading west further north, the four disappearing into the next thicket as Mishka increased the pace.
An hour later, the four figures were once more approaching the train tracks to the north along a thoroughfare well utilised as they observed broken branches on either side, the earth hard and well stepped beneath them. Passing a couple of grim faced young soldiers crouched in the undergrowth, Pavel whispered to the sniper behind, ‘Red Army men…what are they waiting for? Will they not attack with us?’ He glanced at the men once more, seeing their uniforms through the gloom, one chewing and nodding a greeting to him.
Bloody Citadel Page 20