Stalingrad
Page 28
Those comrades who were left behind on AC-34 never got that help. Only the following night did three sailors make it to the cutter in a dinghy. Over the next few nights the dinghy returned several times. They managed to rescue the radio operator Reshetnyak, who was still alive and who had taken sensitive documents and the more valuable instruments and brought them to shore. [ . . . ]
The heroic Reshetnyak was the only survivor from AC-34. He spent the day of November 3 in the radio room and, despite the devastating enemy fire and repeated aerial bombardments, conducted himself in the most heroic manner. He continued to maintain radio communication with his command post, there among the dead bodies in that scene of total destruction. Reshetnyak was nominated for the title of Hero of the Soviet Union, but was awarded the Order of Lenin. Seamen Belyayev and Zayats, who were the ones who took a dinghy to the wrecked cutter, were also decorated: the first got the Order of the Red Banner, and the second the Medal for Valor. Captain Lysenko was taken to a dugout at Shadrinsky Bay, where he died an hour later, apparently from loss of blood. Moroz died in a hospital two weeks later.
Yakov Vasilievich Nebolsin (Senior lieutenant, flagship artilleryman, brigade of river cutters, Volga Military Flotilla): While approaching the site from Shadrinsky Bay, AC-34 ran aground and was shelled at close range from a battery at Latoshinka. Captain Lysenko, the AC divisional commander, and Lieutenant Moroz, the AC detachment commander, were both on board. The entire crew, including the divisional and detachment commanders, were wounded, and some were killed. All except for the radio operator Reshetnyak. When the motorboat came to remove the crew from the cutter, Captain Lysenko, who had been critically wounded by a thermite shell, told them “not one of us will be taken away, we’re going to fight to the death.” When he lost consciousness Captain Lysenko was brought to the 300th Division’s medical battalion, where he died of his wounds seven hours later.
Ivan Kuzmich Reshetnyak (Petty officer 1st class, signals officer of armored cutter no. 34): During the landing operation at Latoshinka on November 3, 1942, our armored cutter was ordered to scout out the shore and see what the landing parties were doing. AC-34 and AC-379 took part in this operation. On board AC-34 were detachment commander Moroz and Captain Lysenko. Captain Tsybulsky, chief of staff of the 1st Brigade of River Ships, had also arrived at the reconnaissance site. He had his own radio and operator. We were told to maintain contact with this radio, which I did throughout the operation.
At midnight we left Shadrinsky Bay and set a course for the riverbank, which was under enemy control. As we approached the shore, the enemy artillery opened fire. Lieutenant Glomozdin was in command of our cutter. He was demanding and very brave. He never backed down from a mission. No amount of artillery fire was going to make him go back on his decision. Glomozdin decided to land at another location. As we were approaching the bank, an incendiary shell struck the conning tower, which was where the divisional and detachment commanders were located. Volkov, the helmsman, and Tropanov, the signaler, were also there. That shell wounded Captain Lysenko, Lieutenant Moroz, and Lieutenant Glomozdin. It also knocked out our steering. We lost control of the cutter and got stuck in the sand. I was in constant radio contact with Tsybulsky, but when we went aground, the detachment commander ordered me to tell brigade command that we’d gone aground and needed assistance to evacuate the wounded. That message was transmitted to the brigade chief of staff. At the same time I sent a message to AC-379 (formerly AC-44): “Come help pull AC-34 from sandbar and take her to Shadrinsky Bay.”
AC-379 received the message and got started on their orders. They tried to tow AC-34, but the boat was so stuck that the steel cable they were using snapped in two. They tried a second cable, but that one also broke. On their third attempt to pull the cutter out of the sand, AC-379 had a mechanical failure. I was instructed by Captain Lysenko to inform the brigade chief of staff about AC-379’s mechanical problems. We got a reply saying that a motorboat had been sent for the wounded. Once its engine was back in order, AC-379 came alongside AC-34, inviting their crew to come aboard. But the crew resolved to stay with the ship. Petty Officer Mukhin had taken command [ . . . ]
The motorboat left after taking some of the wounded. AC-379 also left after they fixed their engine. The crew of AC-34 stayed at their posts. There were also two soldiers and a sergeant from the reconnaissance group. The next shell killed both soldiers and the sergeant.
We kept trying to get ourselves off the sandbank. German spotlights were searching for our boat. Eventually they managed to find out where we were. After that we began taking heavy fire. Soviet U-2s, which were attacking enemy searchlight installations, had reduced the accuracy of the German artillery.
There were ten of us still alive on the cutter (out of thirteen). We got down into the water to try to push off, but it didn’t work. Comrade Mukhin—a petty officer 1st class and secretary of the detachment Komsomol organization—took command after Krasavin. He ordered everyone back onto the boat. Then I got in touch with chief of staff Tsybulsky, who had me contact AC-12 and AC-36. They were to come to our assistance. I established communication with them. Those cutters set off, but they were twelve to fifteen kilometers away, but toward daybreak they were subjected to heavy shelling by the enemy. They were ordered to withdraw. Before dawn Mukhin gathered the engineering crew and told them to stay down there until nightfall. Then they would be able get things ready so we could get underway. With help, we could get back to base. The sailors all supported this decision.
I was in the tower, still in contact with Tsybulsky, who sent us a message telling us not to lose heart. There’s an exact record of his message in the radio logbook, but I don’t know where that is.
We weren’t sure why, but from dawn, from about 6:00 A.M. until 1:00 P.M., there was very little enemy fire (there was fog at around ten o’clock). At 12:30 P.M. on November 4 the enemy started to zero in on the cutter. At 1:00 P.M. they began to inflict severe damage. The Germans had four 76mm guns. We were taking direct hits. Two or three shells were landing every minute. At 1:30 P.M. a shell hit the engine room below the waterline. We were badly breached, and the housing of the right engine was damaged.
Petty Officer Mukhin gave orders for the breach to be sealed. When that proved impossible, the crew moved to the aft machine-gun turret. There were about eight men in there. At 2:30 P.M. a shell hit the tower and exploded inside. Seaman Volkov and Petty Officer Svergunov were wounded. Another NCO whose name I can’t remember was seriously wounded, and Seaman Vetrov and Petty Officer Shevyrda were both killed. There was a large breach in the tower and water was starting to come in. Petty Officer Mukhin, the helmsman Volkhov, a senior seaman, and a petty officer from engineering decided that, since the situation appeared hopeless, they would try to swim to our side of the river. They got out onto the top deck, grabbed some life preservers, and got ready to jump ship. The radio room hadn’t been hit, so I asked if they wanted to come in. None of them accepted my invitation except Volkhov the helmsman, who was still on deck. The others jumped overboard. A German Messerschmitt was flying overhead when he noticed people on deck, went into a dive, and started strafing the ship and the swimmers. Volkov got hit for a second time. Then he jumped overboard. The plane came back around and shot again at the sailors in the water. I never saw my comrades again. They were all killed.
The bridge was destroyed in this attack, and the antenna was damaged. The cutter had no communications. But I was determined to remain until my last breath. The enemy continued this intensive artillery fire until 3.30 P.M. They must have figured that the cutter was completely destroyed, so they stopped firing. But when the smoke cleared they could see it was still there, and they sent four planes to finish us off with bombs. After twelve passes the German planes had dropped a dozen bombs, and we were being shot at from the planes and from the ground. Six or seven bombs hit their target. One exploded above the crew’s quarters, another to starboard opposite the fuel tank, a third in the engine room, one on the deck
and another in the radio room. But there wasn’t any serious damage. The most affected areas were the crew’s quarters, the fuel tank, and the galley. At 5:30 P.M. they fired fifty shells but hit nothing because of poor aim.
At 6:00 P.M. the Germans stopped firing. When it got dark I went out on deck. First I went down to the engine room and yelled: “Is anyone alive?” No answer. There were two wounded men in the machine-gun turret. Svergunov and Komarov were badly wounded. I pulled them out of the turret. They were soaked and shivering from the cold. I dragged them to the radio room where I wrapped Komarov in a sheepskin coat. I tore up a sheet to dress their wounds. We started talking about what to do next. After looking at the situation, we decided to wait for help from the other cutters. I was on deck until 9:00 P.M. watching the water, waiting for the Germans to show up. Our cutter was 200–250 meters from the German-occupied riverbank. I had three grenades, a submachine gun, and a revolver. I gave the submachine gun to Seaman Komarov and asked him to open fire if the Germans showed up.
Apart from that, I had to assist my wounded comrades, give them water, dress their wounds. By 9:00 P.M. Komarov was feeling worse. After losing all hope of getting help from the other cutters, and bearing in mind that the wounded were only getting worse, I decided to swim for the east bank, get hold of a dinghy, and return for my comrades. I told Komarov that if the Germans approached he was to shoot at them with his submachine gun. At the same time I put life preservers on them. As I was getting ready to go, I happened to notice this dark spot approaching from a distance. I informed Komarov, saying that he should prepare for a probable encounter with the enemy. I hid in the machine-gun turret. I got my grenades ready and grabbed my submachine gun. That dark spot turned out to be a small boat. We guessed it was German and planned to let it approach to ten meters before shooting. When the dinghy reached that point I yelled: “Who’s there?” I heard the familiar voice of my comrades from AC-11 and AC-379. After that we transferred Petty Officer Svergunov and the other wounded to the dinghy. I removed the radio equipment and all sensitive documents and sent the wounded to the hospital at Shadrinsky Bay. At Shadrinsky Bay we met the commander of the other detachment, Lieutenant Peryshkin, who had sent the dinghy out to the cutter. The wounded were taken to the hospital on another dinghy. When Captain Tsybulsky arrived, I gave my report on the cutter’s condition and the damage it had sustained. I said there was no point trying to retrieve AC-34, since this could easily lead to the loss of another boat. Tsybulsky gave the order to remove whatever could be taken from the cutter. His men went out to the cutter that night and the following night, and they managed to remove enough parts and equipment to render the boat entirely useless. The bolt assemblies were removed from the guns.
For this operation I was awarded the Order of Lenin by decree of the Presidium of the Supreme Council of the USRR on May 31, 1943. Also by decree of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the USRR, I was awarded the Medal for the Defense of Stalingrad on July 1, 1943.
Ivan Alexandrovich Kuznetsov (Lieutenant captain, commander of the gunboat Usyskin): A landing operation was effected at Latoshinka at the end of October. Many of the men in the landing parties were taken prisoner—national minorities, Kazakhs and Uzbeks. It seems that someone had given up our position, because at the end of October the Germans launched an intensive bombardment and mortar attack on our location. I didn’t leave my post, but after 2,300 rounds our gun barrels needed replacing, and since there were none available here I was forced to move so that another boat could take my place. The gunboat Chapayev took my former position and stayed there for exactly twenty-four hours. It was decided that they would be sent away from there because it was completely impossible to stay—they were being bombed day and night, people were getting wounded and killed.
Vasily Mikhailovich Zaginaylo (Deputy commander of the gunboat Chapayev): Some of the landing troops were taken prisoner, and it was because of them that the Germans discovered the positions of our boats.
In the morning the enemy sent nine aircraft to destroy the Northern Group. The bombs came close. But when the planes came on their third approach, the Chapayev left its position, and it was this alone that saved her from being sunk. [ . . . ]
The operation could have been successful if there had been a plan. But not even Gorokhov knew what was going on. So there was no way to assist the operation. The 300th Rifle Division provided no artillery support to the landing forces. Which is why they were almost completely annihilated at Latoshinka.
Yuri Valerievich Lyubimov (Senior lieutenant, navigation officer for a detachment of armored cutters, communications officer for Northern Group, Volga Military Flotilla): They tried to scuttle AC-34, but for some reason it failed to explode, so they left it. There’s no need to blow it up—it’s nothing more than a mangled, shapeless heap, no good for anything. That winter it was stripped piece by piece, and still now the hull sticks out at the place of her heroic demise, bearing witness to the terrible and bloody things that happened during the great epic of Stalingrad.
THE CAPTURE OF FIELD MARSHAL PAULUS
On January 6 General Konstantin Rokossovsky offered terms of surrender to the surrounded Sixth Army. On January 10, after receiving no response from Field Marshal Paulus, the Soviets began a major offensive. In two weeks they had reduced the size of the Kessel considerably, driving enemy troops inside the city limits. On January 26 the Soviets divided the encircled Germans into a southern pocket in the city center and a northern pocket in the industrial district. Soviet leaders suspected that the army high command (AOK 6) was in the southern group but were not sure whether Paulus had fled Stalingrad in the meantime. On January 28, the 38th Motorized Rifle Brigade joined forces with the 29th and the 36th Rifle Divisions and pushed into the city center from the south.137 In the early morning hours of January 31, German peace envoys approached soldiers from the brigade and led them to a department store basement, where the Soviets were surprised to find Paulus and his staff. The basement had initially been a command post for the 71st Infantry Division under Major General Friedrich Roske.138 In the final days of January, Paulus and the 250 remaining officers and staff of AOK 6139 sought refuge there after abandoning their previous quarters—in Gumrak, an airfield west of the city, and in a ravine at the southwest edge of the city.140 As many of his fellow officers later testified, Paulus had not expressly opposed Hitler’s order that the army hold out to the last man, but neither did he enforce it across the board; rather, on January 29 he informed his unit commanders to use their own discretion.141 Furthermore, Paulus defied Hitler’s command to die a “hero’s death.” As noted in the Introduction, Hitler’s promotion of Paulus to field marshal in the early morning hours of January 31 was a roundabout way of telling him to commit suicide or fight to the death, given that no German field marshal had ever been taken alive. Paulus hardly reacted to news of his “promotion.” When the Soviets entered the basement, they found him lying in a bed next to Roske’s room, where other German officers were negotiating the terms of surrender. Paulus had declared himself a “private” civilian to Roske and his officers, and as such he considered himself not responsible for the German surrender.
On the evening of January 29 Roske reported that the department store could not be held much longer. The army’s chief of staff, Arthur Schmidt, urged the officers not to put down their weapons, since the next day marked the tenth anniversary of the Nazi seizure of power. Nevertheless, on January 30 several German officers made contact with the enemy in an attempt to stop the fighting. That evening Colonel Günther Ludwig, the commander of the artillery regiment of the 14th Panzer Division, was received by the battalion command of the 29th Rifle Division. When Ludwig later told Schmidt about his unauthorized actions, Schmidt did not reprimand him; instead, he asked him to arrange for the Soviets to send peace envoys to AOK 6 the following morning.142
The Stalingrad transcripts are the first published records to show how the Soviets perceived German efforts to broker a cease-fire and
how they responded. They document multiple negotiation attempts between representatives from different units on January 30–31 and explain the confusion that resulted when on the morning of January 31 soldiers from the 38th Rifle Division appeared at the same site to which Colonel Ludwig had asked the command of the 29th Rifle Division to dispatch high-ranking peace envoys. The transcripts also reveal the rivalry between the Soviet units, each wanting to be the first to find Field Marshal Paulus. The interviews contain the reports of proud soldiers of the 38th Rifle Brigade as well as several representatives of the 36th Rifle Division, who came up short in the hunt for Stalingrad’s most important trophy.
For most of the Red Army soldiers in the department store basement it was the first time they had seen German officers up close. Informed by Marxist ideas of class, they believed that German generals and officers were all members of the noble elite.143 Only a few seemed to know that the man they called “General fon Paulyus” grew up the son of a schoolteacher. The supreme high commander of the 64th Army, Mikhail Shumilov, also fell victim to this misconception. The first thing Shumilov did when Paulus arrived at his command post in Beketovka was thoroughly inspect the field marshal’s identity card. “The card said,” he later explained to the Moscow historians, “that he served in the German army and was von Paulus—the soldier of the German army von Paulus.”144
The Soviet commanders, most of whom rose from humble origins,145 were impressed by the German officers’ medals and demeanor. Some remarked approvingly on the Wehrmacht’s discipline and the respect the officers enjoyed (the implication being that Red Army officers were not held in the same regard). Divisional Commander Roske—one Soviet eyewitness noted his “Aryan blue eyes”—left a lasting impression when he demonstrated his largesse by offering cigars to the “gentlemen” in attendance before the negotiations.146 But the cultural superiority stereotypically ascribed to the Germans was at odds with the filth and stench Red Army soldiers found in the department store basement. Together with the Nazi racial ideology—Soviet soldiers later recalled that the Germans required their Russian helpers to use separate toilets—this squalor belied the idea of Germany as a great cultural nation.