Faced now with a lengthy regrouping of his forces for an assault on the inner belt of defenses, time that the Germans did not have and that would have given the hard-pressed Soviet defenders the chance to reorganize as well, Manstein decided on an unorthodox and risky operation. During the night of 28–29 June, as the Thirtieth Corps assailed the Sapun Heights to the south, elements of the Fifty-fourth Corps crossed Severnaya Bay in one hundred assault boats and took the steep, heavily fortified shore in a wild rush before the stunned defenders could respond. By the evening of the twenty-ninth, with the Fiftieth Infantry Division pressing through the breach in the north toward Sevastopol itself and other Axis forces rolling up the front in the south, the battle was effectively won. Deeply impressed by the courage and fanatic spirit of the Russian defenders, however, and having already paid a terrible price in German lives for his triumph, Manstein resolved to avoid costly house-to-house fighting by having his artillery and air units pulverize the city. As a result, the occupation of the city and port on 1 July took place against only slight resistance, although some Russian units fought fiercely on the Khersones Peninsula until the fifth. Soviet troops had, in fact, fought so heroically and so impressed many German observers that Goebbels forbade any mention of such courage in press reports—it undermined the propaganda image of the Soviet opponent as being subhuman.11
Manstein had again directed a brilliant battle of annihilation (for which Hitler promoted him to field marshal), one that cost the Soviets tens of thousands killed and 95,000 prisoners. German losses, too, had been heavy, estimates ranging from 75,000 to 100,000 total casualties, with perhaps 25,000 dead. The key question, however, as Manstein himself put it in his memoirs, was whether the success attained at Sevastopol had justified tying down the entire Eleventh Army or simply encircling and besieging the fortress would have been sufficient. A good jumping-off point for the summer offensive had already been secured with the triumph in the Kerch operation, while seizing Sevastopol cost the Germans dearly in lives, materiel, and, what they perhaps had in shortest supply, time. Although Hitler was jubilant at the spring triumphs in the Crimea and North Africa, where Rommel had stormed Tobruk, the benefits gained from seizing Sevastopol, despite the humiliation to Stalin, seem far less than the costs.12
If victory in the Crimea had done much to reinstall confidence in the Wehrmacht, the larger tank action to the north at Kharkov did even more to send German spirits soaring. As a result of the confused and desperate winter fighting, the front line in the south, as elsewhere in Russia, was a tangled web of protrusions and salients that planners on both sides regarded as both a threat and an opportunity. For the Germans, who began thinking of regaining the initiative even before the late winter fighting had abated, these bulges had to be eliminated in order to secure favorable jumping-off positions for their planned summer offensive. Nowhere was this more apparent than in the Izyum bridgehead, a protrusion some sixty miles in depth and breadth into the German line on the west bank of the Donets River. Not only did it tie down numerous German formations, but Soviet forces jammed into the salient also posed a constant danger to the key industrial city of Kharkov, less than forty miles to the northwest, as well as threatening to roll up the entire southern front.
The menacing Soviet position, however, also posed an opportunity. To planners envisioning a summer campaign based on the rapid encirclement and destruction of enemy forces, the Izyum bulge, where the Red Army had already stuck its head in the noose, cried out to be snapped shut. As with the Crimean operation, elimination of the Izyum bridgehead would serve to create an advantageous starting point for Operation Blue as well as provide a morale boost for German troops left shaky by the rigors of the winter. To that end, Bock designed a cautious plan in which the Sixth Army, to the north, would strike along the Donets River, using the spring flood to protect its exposed left flank, while troops from the Seventeenth Army under Ewald von Kleist would attack from the south, with the intention of annihilating the enemy near Barvenkovo. Code-named Fredericus I, this operation aimed for a late April start date, when the spring flood would be at its height, but logistic problems caused its postponement. Both Hitler and Halder, moreover, raised objections to Bock’s plan, favoring a much bolder operation that would have the Sixth Army first driving east across the Donets, then turning south. Although risking a Soviet counterthrust against the German flank, a deeper strike also promised a greater haul of prisoners once the trap sprang shut. Bock, perhaps remembering the nightmare in front of Moscow, was reluctant to accept the revision. He asked Halder whether the Führer was not worried about the prospect of a Russian attack at Kharkov, to which Halder replied, “No, such strong German forces are assembling near Kharkov that the enemy . . . will take care not to attack us there.” Not happy, but recognizing the inevitable, Bock bowed to Hitler’s will and drew up plans for Fredericus II, with a start date of 18 May.13
The Soviets, too, saw temptation and opportunity at Izyum, for, just as the Germans, they underestimated their opponent. Stalin, like Hitler, drew the lesson from the winter fighting that the enemy was on his last legs and, thus, favored aggressive offensive operations aimed at delivering the fatal blow. To senior leaders on the Stavka—both the chief of staff, Shaposhnikov, and his deputy, Vasilevsky, as well as Zhukov—the most sensible approach in 1942 was to remain on the strategic defensive, continue to build Soviet strength, absorb the anticipated German blow (which was expected to be aimed at Moscow), and only then, when the Germans were exhausted, go over to the offensive. For an army whose doctrine was based on “deep battle,” however, and ruled by a dictator they were loathe to cross who favored aggressive action, it was hardly surprising that many Soviet generals proposed plans for local offensives within the overall defensive context. To Stalin, a limited offensive out of the Izyum bulge seemed especially appealing, not only because the commanding general, Timoshenko, was an old ally from Civil War days, but also because, if circumstances fell right, even a short breakthrough might have a strategic impact. Although the stated intent of Timoshenko’s operation was simply to encircle and destroy German forces at Kharkov, by implication success here might well allow the entire southern front to be rolled up. Although both Shaposhnikov and Vasilevsky were horrified at Timoshenko’s plan, which meant stuffing even more forces into a constricted space, the old warhorse convinced Stalin to approve it. Although the operation was originally scheduled to start on 5 May, difficulties in assembling his forces caused Timoshenko to postpone it until 12 May. Amazingly, then, the focus of both armies along the entire length of the Russian front had fallen on a small protrusion to the west of the Donets River.14
Despite repeated warnings by Foreign Armies East of the likelihood of an enemy attack out of the Izyum bulge and the fear expressed by Bock to Halder on 5 May that “the Russians might beat us to it and attack on both sides of Kharkov,” the Soviet offensive caught the Germans unprepared. As Bock anticipated, Timoshenko’s operation was designed as a dual pincer movement: a lesser attack to the northeast of Kharkov from the Volchansk bridgehead across the Donets would tie down German forces, while the major operation would be launched from the Izyum bulge to the southeast of Kharkov. The aim of the southern pincer was not merely to envelop Kharkov but to send forces to the west to seize Krasnograd and possibly threaten even Poltava, where Army Group South had its headquarters. Moreover, the Soviet command had learned the hard lessons of 1941 and reorganized the Red Army along German lines. Rather than rely on masses of poorly trained men, the Soviets now employed a smaller infantry component supported by massively expanded tank, artillery, and air formations. Although these new tank corps performed poorly in the spring and summer of 1942, primarily for lack of motorized infantry and antitank units, they nonetheless presaged a new style of waging war that aimed to match the Germans in shock, mobility, and coordination of the supporting arms. Significantly, as well, in planning the attack, the Soviets carefully aimed their initial blow in the north at the weak Hungarian 108th Ligh
t Infantry Division, and in the south at the poorly equipped German 454th Security Division.15
Thus, although Timoshenko severely underestimated the size and skill of his opponents, almost entirely neglecting the presence of Kleist’s forces to the south of Barvenkovo, for example, his attack achieved considerable tactical surprise. Early in the morning of 12 May, following massive artillery and air bombardments, Soviet forces struck a powerful blow against the Germans that resulted, in some sectors, in profound shock and even panic. Although the inexperienced troops of the Soviet Twenty-eighth Army struggled to make headway against the prepared German defenses, the Thirty-eighth Army ripped through the Hungarian lines. To the south, the lightly armed German security division was no match for heavy armor and quickly gave way, enabling the Soviets over the next two days to open a breach in German lines over thirty miles in depth and breadth. General Paulus, in his first action as commander of the Sixth Army, reacted hesitantly and cautiously to the Soviet breakthroughs, intending, much as the Germans had done in front of Moscow, to conduct a defense based on using bypassed units as strong-points. Paulus also demanded from Bock reinforcements, which could come only from the units designated for Fredericus. Reproached by Halder for worrying about every little “blemish” in the line, Bock exploded in anger that it was “no blemish, rather our very existence is at stake.”16
Still, although the Soviet attack had struck hard, rapid German reaction, swift movement of troops and air units, and local counterattacks had checked the enemy advance in the north twelve miles from Kharkov, even as the situation in the south remained threatening. Both sides now had to make key decisions, and, in the event, it was the Germans who acted more decisively. Having saved his armored reserves for use at the right moment, Timoshenko now, on the fifteenth, hesitated to insert them into the battle. In part, this reflected his unease at strong local German counterattacks in the north. In part, it also resulted from inexperience: Soviet forces in the south had advanced so rapidly that getting reserves to the front proved far more difficult and time-consuming than anticipated. For the Germans, the situation appeared to offer much promise: with the northern sector stabilized, substantial numbers of Richthofen’s squadrons heading north, and extensive Soviet forces to the west of the Izyum salient, a successful attack by Kleist’s tanks from the south would nab an immense haul of infantry and armor. The Soviets had thrust their head deep into the noose, practically inviting the Germans to act.17
Although it was in retrospect a brilliant tactical maneuver, at the time Bock voiced pessimism as to whether Fredericus would succeed. An operation conceived as a dual envelopment would now have to proceed with only the southern pincer and no operational reserves, so he found it “difficult to see how the attack by . . . Kleist . . . will be sustained.” Hitler nevertheless decided in favor of the thrust out of the Izyum pocket. This offensive, supported by a massive array of air power and a furious artillery barrage, kicked off on 17 May, just as Timoshenko compounded his dilemma by belatedly committing his Twenty-first and Twenty-third Tank Corps to exploiting the breakthrough in the south. The German attack, spearheaded by General Eberhard von Mackensen’s Third Panzer Corps, struck northward through totally surprised troops of the Soviet Ninth and Seventeenth Armies, seizing Barvenkovo by the end of the first day, and by the evening of the eighteenth completely caving in the southern flank of the salient.18
Despite the stunning German success, senior Soviet leaders reacted remarkably slowly. A huge Soviet force faced the imminent danger of being trapped, but Timoshenko and his staff officers, including his political commissar, Nikita Khrushchev, failed to appreciate that the offensive had gone wrong. Instead, they continued to hammer away wildly in the mistaken belief that the German counteroffensive could be contained. Nor could Vasilevsky convince Stalin, who had gloated in the initial success of the Kharkov operation, to recall the tank spearheads and redirect them against Kleist’s forces. Not until the evening of the nineteenth did Timoshenko awaken to the full gravity of the situation, but, by then, only immediate retreat could save any of the Soviet forces. Timoshenko, however, had made no contingency plans for such a withdrawal, nor did his forces have sufficient quantities of fuel and ammunition. Even attempting to supply the troops trapped in the shrinking pocket proved suicidal since the Luftwaffe ruled the sky and, one by one, German troops seized the vital bridges over the Donets on which Soviet survival depended. In addition, by the twentieth, Soviet command and control had largely broken down. The confusion was so great that German reconnaissance aircraft reported two large columns of Soviet troops and tanks: one was moving westward toward the front, while the other, the original attacking force, was desperately streaming toward the east.19
By 23 May, the Germans had snapped the trap shut and, amid terrible carnage, on the twenty-fifth turned away a desperate Soviet attempt to break out. Bock, watching events unfold from a hilltop observation post, was stunned by the “overwhelming scene.” Ferocious fighting continued for the next three days, but, on the twenty-eighth, resistance collapsed. In addition to 267,000 casualties, the Red Army lost 240,000 men taken prisoner, 1,200 tanks, and 2,600 guns. In a brilliant display of skill and aggressiveness, the Germans had not only fought off a Soviet offensive but also encircled the would-be encirclers. Despite vast supplies of new weapons and an organizational restructuring, the Red Army remained plagued by command weaknesses, poor planning, supply difficulties, and inadequate control of the battlefield. Although elated at their success, thoughtful German observers remained troubled by the other constants in their Soviet enemy: his seemingly bottomless resources and the continued ferocity of his resistance. Kleist, surveying the battlefield, was startled by “the harshness of the struggle”: “In places of the heaviest fighting, as far as one can see, the ground is so thickly covered with the bodies of men and horses that it is difficult to find a passage through for one’s command car.” Mackensen, too, observed soberly that, if anything, the Russians had been “more fanatical, more ruthless” than the year before and had displayed “incredible courage and determination.” This was an annihilating battle, but one won “only by an all-out effort.”20
Victory, moreover, had demanded deployment of virtually the entire Luftwaffe on a limited area of the front, while the supply and logistic system was as dismal as ever. The panzer units on which the success of the summer campaign depended had suffered significant losses in men and materiel, while time was slipping away as schedules were constantly revised. Finally, the Germans were fortunate that the Soviets had attacked first and in an area where they had built up forces for the summer campaign: the enemy could not always be expected to be so cooperative in his own destruction. Indeed, the defeat at Kharkov convinced many Soviet leaders that it might, after all, be better to stay on the strategic defensive for the time being and as much as possible avoid encirclement battles. All these were sobering thoughts considering the main German operation was still to come.
Such gloomy assessments seemed not to trouble Hitler. The failed Kharkov offensive had seriously weakened the Soviets precisely at the Schwerpunkt for Fall Blau, and the Führer intended to exploit German successes by annihilating as many enemy units as possible as quickly as possible. As early as 27 May, he ordered that the remaining Soviet penetrations near Volchansk and Izyum be cleared up. The Volchansk bulge, to the north, was to be tackled first since Blau was to unfold from north to south. The operation, code-named Wilhelm, was set to begin on 7 June, but heavy rain postponed the attack for three days. Once again, the Germans caught the Soviets by surprise and finished the operation by 15 June; although Wilhelm was successful in gaining territory, the hoped-for bag of prisoners never materialized as the Soviets, in a significant new trend, managed to pull out the bulk of their forces in time.21
The quick success at Volchansk raised the issue of whether the Izyum operation should be undertaken at all since the Wehrmacht now had a good launching pad for Blau and any action at Izyum would simply delay the main campaign e
ven more. Bock argued that every day Blau was postponed meant a loss, but, on 14 June, Hitler nonetheless decided in favor of Fredericus II, a pincer operation whose goal was to seize the key transportation junction of Izyum as well as destroy enemy forces. After repeated delays caused by continuous thunderstorms, Kleist finally attacked on 22 June, the first anniversary of Barbarossa. As with Wilhelm, the German advance was swift but not entirely successful owing to continued rain that hampered mobility and the evasive maneuvers of the enemy. Although completed by the twenty-sixth and resulting in a more favorable jumping-off position for Blau, the operation had signally failed to annihilate the enemy. Bock, moreover, worried that the Soviet reaction showed that “he intends to avoid any major defeats now in order to gain time for the Americans to intervene.” Foreign Armies East also shared this assessment, predicting that the Red Army would turn away from an extravagant wastage of its forces and would seek instead to “withdraw most of its forces from German surprise thrusts and attempts at encirclement.” Now, more than ever, the Germans needed deep thrusts into the enemy rear, but fuel and supply limitations as well as Hitler’s insistence on short encirclements raised the very real possibility that the summer campaign would simply punch into air. Even worse, Foreign Armies East now forecast that the expected material and manpower losses to be inflicted on the enemy would not appreciably affect his ability to continue the war, a grim conclusion that called into question basic German assumptions for the summer campaign. Halder might have shared these doubts but seemed not to have passed them on to Hitler. After all, the Führer was at the height of his self-assurance and once again basking in the glow of German triumphs. The warning from Foreign Armies East was accurate but too late—and, in any case, Hitler believed that he had no other option but to attack. “The crisis,” Bock had already realized in late January, “was to be solved by offensive means.”22
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