Bloody Citadel

by Andrew McGregor

  Hausser indicated to the next room, one younger blonde soldier sat on a bunk near the door grinning eagerly, ‘Our squad leaders are next door, Herr Leutnant.’

  The officer grinned sleepily, stepping forward unsteadily, one hand rising to rub the back of his neck as he glanced down at the soldier’s bed, three black and white photographs lay on the rough mattress, his camouflaged cloth covered helmet next to them. Hausser indicted to the prints, ‘Your parents?’

  The youth nodded cheerfully, indicating to the first picture, ‘Yes, Herr Leutnant…’ The teenager seemed enthused as his officer stopped next to him, most of the other soldiers returning to their previous duties, one sipping greedily from a beer bottle as another lit a cigarette. Hausser stared down at the two adults, both hand in hand, the man in a suit and his wife holding a small baby, the picture worn round the edges.

  The youth continued, ‘This is my younger sister two weeks after she was born…’ He indicated to the next picture, Hausser smiling fondly, ‘…these are my two dogs…both very small as we only had an apartment…and this is my girlfriend.’ He pointed to the third picture, glanced up into the officer’s face, his own flushed with embarrassment as his voice lowered to an innocent whisper, ‘Our unit is very young, Herr Leutnant…can I ask please…will I see them again?’

  Leutnant Hausser’s eyes widened in surprise, his hand rising to pinch the brow of his nose in tiredness as he drew breath, nodding to bolster the soldier’s confidence, ‘Follow your squad leader’s instructions and keep your head down…we are here to get you back home…’ He slowly lowered to a crouch next to the youth, several soldiers in the room smiling warmly as the commander spoke softly to the soldier, ‘Where do you keep the photos?’

  The teenager grinned widely, his blue eyes sparkling as he reflected, ‘My parents I keep in my helmet as I think about them and home often…the dogs and my girlfriend I keep in my tunic pocket next to my heart.’

  Hausser smiled fondly, groaning as he straightened up and patting the youth on the shoulder, ‘Which is your squad leader after our reorganisation three days ago?’

  The teenager glanced up proudly, ‘Sergeant Tatu, Herr Leutnant…he has given me the MG34 as I had some practice in basic training…one of the older…erm…experienced men is my loader.’

  The young commander chuckled, shaking his head and grimacing in jest as he stepped towards the next opening, murmurs from beyond, ‘Good…just don’t let him ever meet your girlfriend…he has no table manners.’

  Slipping through into the next smaller room, Hausser glanced across the at men sat on the bunks, the grins that met his eyes as the seven soldiers looked up cheering him. Several of the men were flushed from the alcohol, the bottles sitting on the floor next to their bunks, Sergeant Tatu sat on the furthest right bunk alongside Peter and Petru, Kurt Schneider and Udet sat opposite. On the next set of bunks, Hase sat cross legged facing them, his boots on the ground next to a single bottle of beer with the bearded sergeant on a nearby bed smoking, his MP40 lying across his knees. Two other older soldiers sat on the remaining bunks, both smoking and playing cards as they occasionally sipped from their beers.

  Petru rose to his feet, ‘Herr Hausser…we were just asking young Hase to recount how he escaped from the clutches of our Russian friends the other night again…’ He indicated to the bunk next to the Hiwi, ‘Come…have a drink with us…for tomorrow…well…tomorrow we are off again.’

  Hausser nodded, stepping forward and glimpsing Tatu wink, the moustached Romanian indicating to the two younger soldiers next to him, ‘We are now the older men on the Russian Front it seems Herr Leutnant…your German youth are coming to visit the elderly, to help with our meals…’

  The officer grinned as the bearded sergeant chuckled, nodding, ‘My concern is that they can run faster. I always thought if I was the fastest I was unlikely to get shot...now I am one of the slowest and that worries me…’ He leant down and collected his beer bottle, raising it in a toast towards the two youths sitting next to Tatu as Hausser lowered himself next to Hase, ‘To our new additions, may they run slower so that we can keep up…’

  Muffled laughter spread round the smaller room, the two younger soldiers swigging from bottles and returning the toast as Tatu interjected, ‘They will not run faster in my squad, that is one of my orders. I am already one of the tallest so I don’t need more attention from the Russkies…’ He pushed Peter playfully, raising his own bottle in toast and turning to stare at Hase, ‘So, you are now middle aged Hase, but I still want to hear the story again…Petru will kindly translate for our German friends.’

  Petru nodded and lowered himself once more, offering Hausser his bottle of beer. Several muffled explosions outside as the soldiers reacted by covering the necks of their bottles, dust and dirt dropping from the logged and compacted earth ceiling above.

  Hase coughed nervously, his cheeks flushed as he looked up, Hausser’s hand falling to rest on his shoulder in encouragement. Slowly he spoke, Petru translating in a hushed whisper, Hase’s voice lowered as he shrugged, ‘I was over on the right flank…east of the patrol I think and in some trees and bushes. There were Russians running past on all sides…confused in the dark as there was shooting everywhere.’ He sniffed as the officer next him patted his shoulder and handed him the beer, continuing after a brief swig, ‘I smeared mud on my collar bars and removed my helmet…then I started shouting that the main fascist patrol was further east…past the machine gun position. In the dark, some had lost their officers and many ran where I had told them. Then I slipped between the positions I had seen before…luckily Udet and Petru found me before the Russians did…I had nearly got lost in the dark.’

  Tatu chuckled in triumph, pointing his bottle at Hausser in mock taunt, ‘So our young Hiwi tricked your pursuers, Herr Leutnant…we were lucky I think. I will drink to that.’

  Leutnant Hausser’s eyes narrowed as he grinned, nodding in agreement and slapping the shoulder next to him once more, ‘It seems several are in your debt once more Hase…but let us remember we still lost six men with two wounded. Let us hope tomorrow is less costly…’

  The Austrian sniper had been lying there for nearly two hours, concealed carefully beneath the tarpaulin cover, his eye peering through the sniper scope and along the Kar 98 barrel through the overgrown bushes. Scanning the terrain opposite, he had become increasingly frustrated at the lack of movement, puzzled that the enemy seemed to have gone to ground, the forward position he was in having proved fruitful in the past.

  Glimpsing only the tops of helmets in a couple of slit trenches, he had observed them for some time through the high powered scope and small binoculars, eventually discounting the sightings as deliberately placed to draw his fire. His uneasiness had increased as he scanned the treelines and bushes on the gradual slope and the flatter landscape to the right, seeing no evidence of enemy soldiers at all. An abandoned farmhouse and outbuildings on raised ground had also proved deserted, the signs of a now unused machine gun position puzzling him further.

  He had then moved slightly to view the three known bunkers, awaiting any illumination from a cigarette or oil lamp to draw his attention on the darkening terrain. Moving the scope across the broken and cracked fences and then up towards the first emplacement, he noted it was in darkness, exhaling slowly as he drew the scope further across, past the bushes and to where he knew a low adjoining trench was situated, his eyes straining once more in disbelief as he failed to see movement or sign of life.

  The cloth wrapped Kar 98 barrel moved gradually round, the Austrian gritting his teeth in increasing irritation and suspicion, two distant muffled explosions erupting out to the west as a chatter of machine gun fire and three rifle shots rang out.

  Stiffening, the Austrian resisted the rising doubt beginning to fill his frame, the muzzle moving further to where he knew the second bunker would be. He stared into the scope, the darkened upper viewing section of the bunker empty, his eye scanning the two machine gun positio
ns that had been situated on either side, both seemingly deserted. Then he tensed, his lips curled to a faint smile as he saw the outline of another Russian helmet to the right corner of the left machine gun position, his head shaking slightly as he realised the trap.

  His eyes narrowed, confusion and further uneasy doubt spreading through his chest as he panned the rifle across cautiously, moving it to the next and final bunker. The position was also in darkness, the trenches on either side and before the cement bush covered structure seemingly vacant. Drawing breath gradually, he stared back through the scope, his eye straining as he suddenly glimpsed a brief light beneath the cement roof, the glow from a cigarette, the illumination flickering as the soldier drew in the smoke, then dulling as the cigarette was lowered.

  The Austrian drew back from the scope, cautiously wiping his nose and lowering his head, his eagerness for a kill overwhelmingly enticing after such a drought of victims. Sighing, he raised his eye to the scope once more, exhaling slowly as the barrel rose, his experience telling him to check the almost dark terrain once more before firing.

  The two Russian snipers had lain in heavy undergrowth for two and a half days, awaiting the return of the enemy sharpshooter opposite that had claimed several victims. The fascist rifleman was believed to have killed numerous soldiers and even officers across this section of the front, continually evading efforts to kill him and even claiming three of the hunting snipers as victims.

  For forty eight hours, the commissars had even deployed four snipers to hunt the suspected German in this sector, using one as bait to draw his potential fire, the keen young Russian not realising he was a soldier worth sacrificing for the death of an enemy specialist as he killed two unsuspecting German sentries.

  Then they had been reduced by two as another area had experienced several casualties, the neighbouring political officers keen to gain their own personal reward and ordering the men to be redeployed, considering the enemy marksman had now moved to their area.

  Placed on either side of their designated sector, the two remaining snipers were familiar with the terrain having marked the suspected spots of the cunning fascist opposite, the most likely positions reduced to three. Having placed numerous temptations for their prey, they were confident of potential success, but wary that time may be running out as the nearby commissars had seemed nervous, the possibility of a German advance entering both the snipers’ minds.

  In the landscape ahead of the Austrian’s position lay an experienced thirty year old veteran of Rhzev on the right flank, a twenty three year old who had seen service in the south near the Don bend on the left. Both with over fifteen claimed victims, they stared through their scopes restlessly, the hours of inaction tempting them to take further enemy soldiers, but with few opportunities presented.

  As night fell, they resigned themselves to another few hours of darkness, the opportunity once again seeming to have slipped from their grasp. Even their nearby supervising commissar was impatient, smoking continuously in the upper centre bunker and drinking vodka, the frontline soldiers all instructed to remain in their emplacements and below trench walls until after dark.

  The yawning younger sniper opened his meagre rations, chewing ravenously on biscuits and swigging from his water bottle as he stared out, his eagerness for a cigarette suppressed until later in the night when he would withdraw from the position.

  He stiffened as a burst of machine gun fire rattled to the east, several shots ringing out as the nervous Russian defenders suspected another probing German patrol. Flares rose slowly into the air from the Russian positions, twisting and curling through the night’s sky as the lights seemed to pulse across the ground and through the branches. His head rose briefly to glimpse the illumination, a grin sweeping across his face at the spectacle.

  The crack in the distance shook the stunned commissar, his head turning as he held the smouldering cigarette before his lips, his eyes darting from side to side through the darkness outside the bunker. Then another distant shot, the political officer spinning round and thrown violently from his feet, his shoulder and collar bone shattered as blood splattered across the bunker walls and the two soldiers sat behind him.

  The thirty year old spun his Mosin Nagant scope across having glimpsed a distant flash, the butt of his rifle smacking back into his shoulder as he fired at position two on the Russian map. His body rolled over instinctively to avoid any return shot, his rifle automatically rising once more as he pulled the bolt back, the barrel bucking as he fired again, the muzzle flashing briefly.

  The Austrian groaned, his eyes clenched as he dragged himself through the thick undergrowth slowly, excruciating pain sweeping through his side and upper thigh, the Russian bullet having cracked his pelvis and lodged in his fractured leg, blood dribbling from the makeshift bandage as he crawled back towards the German line leaving a crimson trail behind him.

  Further back up the slope, the younger sniper lay dead, the illuminating pulse from flares having reflected off his new helmet, a bullet from the Kar 98 having smacked through his right shoulder at an angle, tearing through his internal organs. In the observation bunker nearby, the commissar screamed as he writhed across the floor, the two stunned blood soaked soldiers attempting to bandage him as a runner was sent for a medic.

  The Austrian grimaced as he heard the dull thuds of artillery behind the Russian lines, feverishly dragging himself further through the pain, the targeting Russian battery commander determined to wipe every trace of him from existence.

  Chapter Seventeen: The First Morning: Grossdeutschland Division: 5th July 1943

  Captain Medvedev snapped to attention, staring straight ahead as the general paced across the low ceilinged bunker, the illumination from two oil lamps in the corners glowing upwards and casting shadows across the grey dusted ceiling. Two desks lined the side walls, one furnished with a large radio, the seated operator holding one earphone to the side of his head, nodding as the reconnaissance messages were repeated to him.

  The other long desk held a stack of files and two typewriters, the emplacement used during the day by the forward propaganda unit, a small printing press in the adjoining underground bunker, the purpose built defensive position consisting of eleven rooms and several firing positions in all. On the roof, two machine gun positions overlooked the declining fields to the south, the crews staring out into the darkness, knowing the forthcoming dawn would bring their relief and allow them a warm meal.

  The general turned abruptly, his voice echoing across the cement walls, ‘So…what are the reports? Any enemy movement?’

  The radio operator shook his head apologetically, ‘No, comrade General…front observation posts mention little disturbance. All is quiet…the fascists must be sleeping.’

  The short cropped haired general folded his arms, raising a hand to his mouth and drumming his fingers across his chin thoughtfully, ‘Sleeping…no. Perhaps it is not this sector…’ His eyes strained, ‘Bluff and double bluff…damn commissars…always secrets and games.’ He glanced at Medvedev, the captain still staring straight ahead, ‘So…what do you have to say for yourself?’

  Medvedev drew breath, nervously glancing at the senior commander and the red and gold insignia on his uniform, the general more than able to send him back to a penal unit and having a history of not tolerating errors, ‘Comrade General…I was ordered to intercept and destroy or capture a German combat patrol during the night. We had few details and only a location where the enemy had infiltrated our forward positions…we had no idea of their location or mission.’ He swallowed nervously, the general resuming his pacing as he listened, ‘I mobilised my men and started a sweep of the area we believed the enemy to be located in…I began to consider their target was our mortar unit as they had not attacked several positions they passed including two machine gun posts.’

  The general nodded, waving his hand for Medvedev to continue, the captain swallowing once more, ‘My men became disorientated in the dark before making contact
with the patrol, the fascist front line then opened fire with machine guns and artillery, confusing them further.’ His eyes narrowed in irritation, ‘I have completed an investigation now…it also appears two or three sections were deliberately misdirected in the dark…they were sent east when I needed them in the centre.’

  The general interrupted forcefully, stopping to stare out of the bunker forward opening, a cool early morning breeze enveloping his features, ‘Yes, yes…I know all this…I have read your report…’ His voice tailed off as he leant forward, his eyes narrowing in suspicion before widening in horror, the muffled distant thumps that swept into his ears following several dull flashes on the horizon.

  Turning slowly, he stared back at Medvedev and then the radio operator, his body tensing as he shouted, ‘Artillery…’ The flashes and eruptions threw the general forward as blast waves swept through the aperture, Medvedev ducking and falling to his knees as the bunker shook violently, the explosions deafening as he opened his mouth, his hands sweeping to his ears for protection.

  The detonations swept across the terrain, mortars, artillery shells and Nebelwerfer rockets slamming into the Russian positions and across the landscape. Targeted forward machine gun and pak positions were obliterated under the ferocity of the barrage, men and their smashed weapons tossed skywards as the shells rained down. Infantry cowered in their slit trenches, debris and earth peppering their backs and helmets as they pushed their faces into the floors of their emplacements.