Bloody Citadel

by Andrew McGregor

  The sniper grinned once more, pushing the young Russian ahead of him in jest, ‘The next target is a bridge…they will fire mortar rounds at the blockhouses on either side. We have set up two machine guns and will attack the fascists in force. If we blow up the bridge once the trains have passed, it will take at least two days to repair…we are doing this up and down the front, especially to the north.’ He leant forward excitedly, ‘Apparently there they have disabled some locomotives, causing one to even crash.’

  Pavel seemed impressed, his footing lightening with excitement as he smiled, seeing further silhouettes ahead on a rising slope, most carrying rifles and PPSH submachine guns, the sky above cloud covered and dark, Mishka glancing fondly round at him briefly as his heart jumped.

  Progressing further and meandering along the winding path, they glimpsed the dark open terrain ahead, Mishka indicating for them to join some others at the edge of the forest, slipping into the trees to the right as she recognised the unit commander talking furtively with some other men. Pavel watched longingly as her slim hide clad figure receded into the trees, swallowing hard as Oleg grinned next to him, his eyes sparkling and noting his friend’s interest and tongue running across dried lips, ‘Dirty little dog…she will never look at you, she has all these men to choose from…’

  Pavel stuck his tongue out, giggling as his cheeks flushed, ‘I am the youngest and have the most energy…I am better looking than you too!’

  Oleg pushed his friend’s arm in mock irritation, indicating to his rifle, ‘I am a better shot…and I think all she cares about is killing the enemy…besides, you are a mongrel and cannot survive without me. I will ask her first…’

  Pavel shook his head, frowning in disapproval as his eyes strained, ‘But I like her the most…she should be with me…’

  The older sniper interjected solemnly, glancing across the twenty or so silhouettes lying with heads low on the slope above them, ‘She will have no interest in either of you. Her father was killed and she is possessed by vengeance, there is no room in her heart for love or friendship now.’ He indicated to the incline, seeing Pavel’s shoulders sag as he stared into the trees where Mishka had gone, a fleeting smile crossing his lips, ‘Come on, let’s join the others…we will be moving up soon. There are other men in the trees opposite readying to attack.’

  Pavel’s eyes widened then narrowed in sorrow, his voice a low nervous whisper, ‘She must be very unhappy…Mishka needs friendship…’

  Oleg grimaced and shook his head sighing, moving the DP28 across his shoulders and twisting his neck from the strain as they stepped forward.

  Slowly climbing the slope, he glimpsed the beams of spotlights sweeping across the undulating terrain above, his head lowered below the ridge with several others as they waited with baited breath. The sniper drew next to him, breathing heavily as he crouched, pulling the rifle from his back and glancing back at the young and older men behind them, all nervously awaiting the order to attack.

  Mishka emerged from the trees, glancing round for sight of them, Pavel raising his hand as she smiled furtively, stepping towards them as several of the other men stared with lustful interest towards her, the young Russian on the incline glaring back at them as she approached at a half crouch.

  Mishka dropped next to the young Russian, Oleg smirking as the sniper drew breath, Pavel grinning widely as she whispered, his eyes staring at the side of her face as she smiled faintly, ‘There are two fascist blockhouses on this side of the bridge and one on the other side. The mortars will announce the attack…we have three snipers to take out the searchlights and then target the upper observation decks.’ She indicated to the DP 28 machine gun and Oleg, ‘You will fire at the higher levels whilst we attack.’

  She glanced at Pavel, smiling at his longing and innocent stare, the sniper gritting his teeth and glancing away, ‘There are possibly forty fascists at the bridge…several in the blockhouses and at least six on the bridge itself.’ Mishka looked round before lowering her voice, ‘There is a weakness…the blockhouse on the other side of the bridge has been built opposite the one on this side, so the Germans to the east cannot fire on us until we reach these two.’ She nodded knowingly, ‘That is where they will target the mortars after the first salvo and we have some men to fire on them from the other side of the ravine as a distraction.’

  They glanced round as figures emerged from the trees, the Russian commissar indicating for the men to move up, hissing to his second in command to run to the mortar position, before turning back to face the slope, ‘Once the first explosions are heard, fire on the searchlights and we attack.’ He lunged forward, drawing his pistol and raising it to his side, lowering to a crouch to climb the slope.

  The searchlight beams swept above them through the darkness, the six German sentries slowly trudging across the bridge to return to their garrison building, the time to change over reached. Grasping their rifles across their chests, they glanced from side to side, staring out over the thick wooden sides and into the darkness below.

  Their eyes accustomed to the gloom, they stared across the trees bordering the ravine, several dim lights glowing and flickering in the distance, the local farmers and village residents having locked themselves in for the night…suspicions rife of what was to come in the darkness.

  Then the sentries stiffened and ducked, a shout of alarm coming from one of the blockhouses. Two explosions erupted next to the western side of the bridge, one hitting the side of the right blockhouse, the distant shouts in Russian from further along the tracks.

  Shots rang out, the spotlights abruptly extinguished as glass shattered, the terrain abruptly plunged into darkness apart from flames flickering against the blockhouse, candles blown out as the German and collaborating defenders rushed to fire points.

  Oleg thrust himself to the top of the slope, heaving the long barrel of the DP 28 before him, a gasp coming from his lips as the sniper dropped next to him, raising his Mosin Nagant rifle. Lowering his eye to the scope, the older man panned the weapon across the darkness before them, aiming for the briefly illuminated upper machine gun positions of the right blockhouse. Drawing breath as the silhouette of a helmet appeared, the German gunner lifting an MG34 into position, the rifle kicking against the sniper’s shoulder as the muzzle flashed.

  The bullet cracked against the lower sill, the German gunner ducking back in shock as the DP 28 fired a short burst, wood shattering on the second blockhouse surround as Oleg attempted to gain the correct trajectory. The sniper rifle swept across, jerking from side to side in attempt to gain a target.

  Silhouettes surged low from the bank before them, Pavel running at a crouch with Mishka as they advanced cautiously, the sniper rifle cracking behind before another burst from the machine gun. Muffled shots rang out from the other side of the bridge as Pavel scrambled forward, Mishka giggling in raised adrenalin as he half fell, the young Russian male forcing himself upwards as he bit his lower lip in determination and annoyance.

  Bullets splattered against the blockhouses, the three snipers aiming for each fire point or opening, Oleg firing short bursts as the partisans neared the two darkened buildings. Flashes erupted from the rear sides, four sentries using the blockhouses for cover as three advancing figures fell, the sniper lowering his rifle as he glimpsed a figure run between the two buildings, the muzzle flashing as the silhouette twisted and fell.

  Then the DP 28 clicked empty, Oleg swearing as his hands fumbled for the spare drum next to him, shouting frantically that he was reloading. Flashes as an MG34 fired from the upper left blockhouse, the bullets clanking against the rails as three more advancing figures twisted and fell, their screams filling the air. Stick grenades were tossed from the upper openings, the partisans dropping to their knees as further rifle flashes came from the other side of the buildings, the German defenders lying on the gravel and earth. The sniper rifle fired next to Oleg, the MG gunner thrown backwards as the bullet cracked through his helmet.

  The explos
ions flashed across the terrain, several more partisans hit by shrapnel or blast waves, Pavel firing at the riflemen to the sides of the blockhouse, his heart pounding and breath short as he realised he had lost Mishka in the dark.

  Bullets whipped past, the snipers attempting to hit the concealed sentries as more rifle shots rang out, two more explosions next to the right blockhouse illuminating the terrain, Pavel glimpsing two or three defending Germans thrown upwards as muzzles flashed from the fire apertures.

  Then the shout from behind to retreat as Pavel’s eyes widened, the mortars firing again as two shells hit the buildings, the structures seeming to swirl through his teared vision, smoke engulfing the blockhouses as the DP 28 opened fire once more. Ducking and glancing round desperately, Pavel’s eyes strained as attempted to see Mishka, the moaning from shaking and struggling figures almost overwhelming his senses.

  Then hands grabbed him from behind, dragging him upwards, a frantic female voice shouting in his ear, ‘Grab one of the wounded…let’s get back!’ Pavel stole a look at the obscured blockhouses, a billowing shroud around them as two further smoke shells erupted against the walls, his sight broken as Mishka slapped him across the face, ‘Get one of the wounded and retreat…or I leave you here!’ A further distant shout to retreat just audible above the rifle and machine gun fire.

  He shook his stunned head, looking up into her eyes, then forced himself from inaction, lunging for the nearest crawling body and grabbing the shoulders forcefully as the man below squealed in pain, Pavel dragging him upwards and supporting his body as he stumbled round, heading back along the track.

  Further figures ran past, grasping the last couple of moving or writhing figures, a couple of wounded stumbling to their feet to retreat on their own. Two further smoke shells erupted against the buildings, the defenders firing out blindly into the billowing mass, a couple of partisans twisting in pain as they were dealt glancing wounds, the DP 28 still firing short bursts to limit or suppress the defensive fire.

  Finally reaching the bank, Pavel slumped to his knees with exhaustion, the figure next to him shaking in pain as he lowered the wounded man onto the concealed slope. Mishka dropped to one knee beside him, several older Russians moving forward from the trees to retrieve the casualties as Pavel gasped, ‘Why the retreat…we failed…’

  Mishka’s chest was heaving for air, her frame slumped forward and supported by one arm as she coughed uncontrollably. Oleg slid next to them, his eyes wide with shock, voice exasperated, ‘We lost several men and retreated…the fascists won…’

  Four German soldiers ran onto the bridge, heading to reinforce the western blockhouses obscured with smoke, their own attackers to the east having been driven off, their officer frantically attempting to contact the next garrisoned building in vain for help…the lines were cut.

  His subordinate was watching through binoculars further east from the next blockhouse, the three soldiers around him shuffling nervously and unwilling to venture outside, three others staring through fire points on the floor below with their rifles raised in readiness. Alarmingly, there was further sporadic shooting along the track behind them.

  A distant shrill whistle sounded as a hospital train was stopped two kilometres further east, all defending soldiers and wounded ordered to make ready as the bolts on numerous machine guns were pulled back.

  Then several brief flashes illuminated the darkness, the officer staring in disbelief through his binoculars as a low rumble swept through the night air.

  The four German soldiers on the bridge screamed in terror as they were engulfed in acrid chemical smoke and a rising shock wave, throwing themselves forward as the robust wooden and steel structure shook violently, then collapsed beneath them, the rumble of shattering logs and torn tracks and sleepers collapsing into the dark ravine below. Only one sentry was fortunate to escape as the middle supports disappeared into the dark ravine below, throwing himself forward in terror as the bridge below him trembled, his legs now dangling in open air where he had just stood as dust and smoke engulfed his coughing frame.

  Russian engineers had accomplished their mission…the partisan ground attack had just been a necessary and inexpensive distraction.

  Chapter Sixteen: The Time has Come

  Major Wolff ran his hand across the map on the makeshift table, his eyes scanning the crude markings that had been placed across the paper after interrogating prisoners. Glancing upwards, he drew a sharp breath as he stared into the eyes of Leutnant Hausser and three other commanders, the candles flickering on either corner of the table. Clearing his throat, he indicated to the lines drawn on the paper, ‘This will be our sector’s advance…once the tanks move forward, our soldiers will advance behind. Grossdeutschland now have Tigers, so they will lead the attack with Panzer IVs and IIIs covering the flanks. There are also some Stug IIIs for support and self-propelled artillery to the rear.’

  He straightened, stretching his back and glancing across towards the radio operator, ‘Heinrich…let’s have a couple of drinks please and a snack…I want to talk through each officer’s route. It looks like we will be following some Panzer IVs in our sector, the Tigers will be advancing on our left flank.’

  The major smiled thoughtfully, glancing up at his officers, ‘I will arrange a couple of drinks for you and your men later tonight gentlemen…tomorrow at first light, we finally attack.’

  The Austrian sniper crept through the undergrowth, the Kar 98 scoped rifle held before him as he stared into the distance, wincing, back aching painfully from a continually lowered position. From his several favourite vantage points along the line, he had continually moved positions, wary that Russian snipers were now hunting him and that a reward had probably been placed on his head.

  The last three and a half months had been relatively quiet across the front, but had proved extremely busy for the lone predator…and dangerous. His tally of kills had reached nearly sixty, not including three of the hunting enemy snipers and two officers, but he was becoming increasingly aware that the Russians were now heavily dug in, his targets rapidly diminishing over the past two weeks. Ordered to move further south in the morning, he had been enticed to venture out just one more time to reconnoitre the line and seek unsuspecting targets, selecting a nearby spot he had not been to for three days in the hope some complacency had set in opposite.

  Slipping between bushes and young saplings, he drew near to the camouflaged hide he had set up, meticulously improving over time and adding additional branches and foliage to conceal the position. Some two hundred metres out from the German line, he crept forward, slipping the rifle over his shoulder, the ground before him slightly raised and previously offering a good view towards the Russian positions, several of their bunkers in easily targetable spots, the sniper hesitating and considering why he had left the position for so long.

  Lowering further, he dropped to his hands and knees to crawl under branches and dense ferns, the path he had forged through the dense bushes now overgrown as branches dragged against his tunic and combat breeches, a field cap on his head.

  Nudging further forward, he drew breath as the deep rattle of an MG42 fired a burst behind him, cursing the overeager gunner, the enemy soldiers probably now at an elevated state of alertness and less likely to make a relaxed mistake. Finally crawling underneath denser bushes, he emerged into the low position he had prepared and created, smiling to himself as he saw the spare mud smeared tarpaulin, several basic tinned rations wrapped within the waxed covering.

  Slipping the rifle from his shoulder, he adjusted his position, carefully dragging the tarpaulin across his body and over his head, his breath held as he extended the cloth wrapped weapon before him, the muzzle slipping through the thick ferns and branches that shielded the sniping position, his eye lowering to the powerful sight, the light soon to fade.

  Leutnant Hausser trudged slowly back to their assigned bunker, the effects of several powerful tumblers of Korn (Schnapps or Corn Brandy) having dulled his senses,
his thoughts as confused as his uneven steps across the rough and uneven walkway between the logged walls. Passing a couple of rear area sentries, his bleary eyes and flushed features had amused the stiffening soldiers, his salute informal as he smiled warmly at them, the expression concealing the deepening dread of what the morning would bring.

  Reaching the bunker entrance, he clumsily removed his helmet, hearing the muffled chatter from within as he lowered, half-stumbling down the two steps. Lunging through the tarpaulin covering, he winced as he heard the distant thump of artillery, the late evening barrage exchange now a common feature of the static front. Knowing the high toned Russian plane would sweep across the lines later, he vowed to only smoke inside the bunker, concealing the light from above and allowing the enemy pilot to drop his grenades on the decoy lights set in isolated areas.

  Turning into the first room, he grinned wide eyed at the numerous soldiers sitting around the larger space, candles flickering across the walls as they played cards or swigged from shared bottles, a number cleaning their rifles and eating from mess tins, one shaving with his bayonet in the corner by the one oil lamp. The major had released a quantity of beer bottles for his unit’s consumption, the commander advising no spirits would be forthcoming on the night before the attack, Hausser struggling to comprehend in amusement why his commander had no issue with his subordinate officers attacking with a hangover, but not the soldiers.

  Most of the bunks accommodated one or two soldiers, approximately half the commander’s men sat in the first larger room, his hand waving for them to remain seated as several smiled at their officer’s flushed features. Nodding a greeting to the many teenagers and four older soldiers, he smiled wearily, ‘Alles Gute (everything is ok)?’ He grinned confidently as many nodded, a couple nervously returning the smile, realising the time left for relaxation and routine sentry or frontline duties was gradually running out. Many had seen or heard the accounts of new artillery pieces being moved up, the engines of tanks warming to the rear and the arrival of new smaller support units on the flanks.