After talking personally with every enlisted man, Meunch went back to the Red October Plant to drink with fellow officers. One of them, a forty-year-old captain, suddenly shouted, “What is this whole battle good for?” and pulled out his pistol.
“Let’s all shoot each other!” he roared. “This is all nonsense. None of us will ever get out of here.”
Stunned by the outburst, Meunch calmly replied, “Now take it easy.” But the other captain kept looking wildly about him. Continuing to speak in a soothing voice, Meunch sat down with his friend to argue the merits of suicide.
Sgt. Albert Pflüger’s broken arm hurt too much for him to care about the holiday. With his wound probed and dressed, and his arm in a sling, he wandered into a bunker where a rush of warm, sale air engulfed him. His head reeling, Pflüger stared at a crowd of thirteen other patients who were standing and sitting in a room meant for four. Seeing that Pflüger was about to faint, one man jumped down from a top bunk and gave his place to him.
After climbing laboriously into the cot, the sergeant promptly dozed off. Several hours later, he woke because of a terrible itch inside the cast on his right arm and, pulling back the covers, he saw a line of lice marching from the mattress over his hand, under the edge of the plaster mold. In shock and disgust, Pflüger jumped down from the bed and tore at the bugs. Grabbing a stick, he jabbed frantically at them, but they crawled deeper into the cast and hid. His arm was now a mass of gray parasites, feasting on the wound.
In thousands of bunkers in the sides of balkas, in concrete pillboxes at the edge of no-man’s-land, German soldiers snatched a few brief hours from the horrors of encirclement. Despite the absence of trees on the steppe, creative minds had cleverly improvised a semblance of the Christmas spirit. Iron bars, drilled with holes and filled with slivers of wood, stood as centerpieces on dirt floors; puffs of cotton snatched from medical aid stations served as ornamental bulbs. Stars made from colored paper adorned metal treetops.
At Ekkehart Brunnert’s party, his comrades outdid themselves. A beautifully carved wooden Christmas tree dominated a shaky table. Someone had brought a gramophone with records and amid riotous singing, Brunnert received a bag filled with delicacies: a small cake smeared with chocolate frosting, several bars of chocolate candy, bread, biscuits, coffee, cigarettes, even three cigars. Overwhelmed by the banquet, the starving private asked where all the food had been stored for so long. No one knew. Dismissing his suspicions, Brunnert gorged himself, then lit up a cigarette. Basking in the glow of improvised Advent wreaths sparkling with candles, he momentarily forgot his anguish over the truckload of warm clothing, burned in his presence just a few days before.
Several hours later, when his turn came to stand guard, he stared into the star-filled sky and tried to imagine his parents and wife, Irene, celebrating at home in Boblingen—the tree and the presents and Irene thinking of him and perhaps crying. Pacing up and down the trench, Brunnert wanted to cry himself.
On his way to a church service, Quartermaster Karl Binder had seen mounds of unburied bodies lining the road. Shocked by this breakdown of army organization, he brooded about it for hours until he wrote a letter to his family. Now filled with a sense of foreboding about his own fate, Binder sought to prepare his wife and children for the worst:
Christmas 1942
…During the past weeks all of us have begun to think about the end of everything. The insignificance of everyday life pales against this, and we have never been more grateful for the Christmas Gospel than in these hours of hardship. Deep in one’s heart one lives with the idea of Christmas, the meaning of Christmas. It is a feast of love, salvation and pity on mankind. We have nothing else here but the thought of Christmas. It must and will tide us over grievous hours…. However hard it may be, we shall do our utmost to master fate and try everything in our power to defeat the subhumanity that is wildly attacking us. Nothing can shake our belief in victory, for we must win, if Germany wants to live….
I have not received any mail from you for some time… there is a terrible longing for some dear words from home at Christmas, but there are more important things at present. We are men who know how to bear everything. The main thing is that you and the children are all right. Don’t worry about me; nothing can happen to me any longer. Today I have made my peace with God….
I give you all my love and a thousand kisses—I love you to my last breath.
Yours,
Karl
Affectionate kisses for the children. Be dear children and remember your father….
Oblivious to the noise in his bunker, Lt. Emil Metzger sat reading a letter from his wife, Kaethe. It was the best Christmas present he had ever received, and at 10:00 P.M., he quietly withdrew from the celebration to go out—into the clear, frosty night, where a lonely sentry walked his post. Metzger relieved the shivering man of the responsibility and shouldered his rifle. He wanted this time alone.
Under a bower of brilliant stars he paced back and forth, ignoring the Russians and the war. Concentrating intensely on Kaethe, Emil relived their life together: the first dance when they fell in love, the exhilarating hikes through the cathedral hush of forests, the four brief days of honeymoon they shared before he rushed back to duty, the furlough he had given up in August because he believed the war was about to end.
For over an hour, Emil held a spiritual communion with Kaethe beneath a thousand miles of stars. It was the only gift he could give her.
While German soldiers sought escape in celebration, their generals were discussing the diminishing prospects of Sixth Army’s salvation.
Teletype: General Schmidt—General Schulz
+++ Dear Schmidt, tonight the field marshal and we all are particularly thinking of the entire Sixth Army. I do not have much new information for you today.
Hoth [the German relief column south of the Kessel] is still engaged in defensive operations. It appears that the enemy… [around Vassilevska at the Mishkova] …has received further reinforcements…. As regards your situation, we still did not receive a decision from the Supreme Command of the Army. The field marshal wants you to know that you had better reconcile yourself to the idea that the solution will in all probability be “Thunderclap.” [Even Field Marshal Manstein did not believe this anymore, but Schulz did not have the heart to deny Schmidt one last hope of freedom.] We are waiting for better weather so that we may commit all available airplanes to provide you with the necessary fuel and provisions. What’s new on your side?
[Schmidt was querulous, demanding:] +++ Is it certain that the airplanes can start although Tatsinskaya is threatened? [Schmidt did not know that Tatsinskaya was already in Russian hands.]
[Schulz lied:] +++ Their start is ensured and alternative airfields were prepared.
[Sensing that Hoth’s relief attempt from the south had already failed, Schmidt asked:] +++ Will [Hoth]… be able to hold the Mishkova [river] section?
[Schulz:] +++ We hope so. However, there is a possibility that he will have to narrow the present bridgehead. [At that moment, the bridgehead had already been evacuated by the German rear guard.]
[Schmidt:] +++ Was an armored division withdrawn from… Hoth… to the west bank of the Don?
Again, General Schulz was unable to strip his friend of hope.
+++ One armored division [the 6th, which had left the previous evening] had to be withdrawn to the west bank of the Don in order to protect Morosovskaya [Airfield]. However, as of tomorrow the SS Division Viking [a fully motorized division] will be arriving in the area of Salsk by train and road….Besides, we have again urgently requested considerable reinforcements from Army Group A [in the Caucasus], but we are still waiting for the decision of the Supreme Command of the Army.
I have nothing else, the Commander-in-Chief and I cordially return your Christmas greetings.
During Christmas Eve, the Stalingrad front remained alarmingly quiet. Little was heard from the Russians, except the squawking of loudspeakers urging the German
s to lay down their arms and come over to good food, shelter, and friendly Tartar girls. Crouched in their snowholes, German soldiers still listened with detached amusement to the propaganda. Most of them feared the Russians too much to trust such alluring proposals.
In the early hours of Christmas Day, a violent blizzard broke over the Kessel. Visibility dropped to less than ten yards; fiftymile- an-hour gusts howled across the balkas, and the men of Sixth Army slept off the effects of wine, cognac, and rum. But at 5:00 A.M., the Katyusha rockets screamed in a multitudinous cadence as thousands of flaming missiles soared from beyond the perimeter into the Kessel. Heavy-throated mortars and artillery also overwhelmed the moaning wind. The ground heaved and trembled under a ferocious cannonade. “And then, out of the gray white… appeared tank after tank and, in between, trucks crowded with infantry….”
In the sector held by the 16th Panzer Division, groggy soldiers climbed from their bunkers to fight a desperate delaying action. The attack had come too fast and Russian tanks and soldiers were suddenly among them in the swirling mist of snow. Opposing infantry fired at shadows indiscriminately; dead men heaped up in front of field guns. German .88 artillery crewmen quiekly ran out of ammunition and blew up their pieces with the last shells before retreating to a second line of resistance.
As the morning of Christmas Day passed, Sixth Army intelligence officers stated positively that the Russians suffered a “frightening number of…casualties….” But they also had to acknowledge that they too had absorbed similar “shocking” losses.
The battle blazed on into the afternoon as, on the other flanks, Russians smashed against the reeling but well-dug-in Sixth Army. The entire Kessel reverberated to the terrifying sounds of thousands of big and small-caliber weapons.
At his overcrowded hospital, Dr. Kurt Reuber paused in his treatment of patients to conduct friends to the door of his private quarters. When he pushed it open, they sucked in their breath at what they saw.
On the gray wall facing the door, a lamp illuminated a picture of the Virgin and Child, whose heads inclined protectively toward each other. Both were shrouded in a white cloak.
Reuber had labored secretly for days on his surprise. Perched on a stool, he had scrawled several themes on bits of paper until he remembered a verse from Saint John about light, life, and love. The words gave the doctor the ideal image, the Virgin Mary and Jesus, who best symbolized those qualities to him. Several times Russian bombardments scattered his pencils and artwork, but the doctor doggedly retrieved them and created the Madonna and Child of Stalingrad on the back of a captured Russian map.
Now, as fellow officers maintained a hushed vigil in front of the drawing, Kurt Reuber drank with his friends from his last bottle of champagne. While toasting each other, a series of triphammer explosions rocked the room and Reuber rushed outside to the cries of dying men.
In minutes his “chapel” became a first aid station. One of the officers who had just left Reuber’s party after singing the carol “O du Froliche” was brought in with massive wounds. He died under the picture of Mother and Child.
At Gumrak, Arthur Schmidt was absorbed in another frustrating exchange with his friend in Novocherkassk:
25 Dec 42, 1735 hrs. to 1800 hrs.
+++ Here Major General Schulz. Is General Schmidt there?
+++ Yes sir, General Schmidt here.
+++ Good evening, Schmidt. We hope Christmas wasn’t too bad for you and the entire army.
On Christmas Day, 1,280 German soldiers died in the Kessel, and Schulz had more disappointing news for Sixth Army:
+++ All day today… [Hoth, south of the Kessel] was compelled to ward off heavy attacks by superior enemy infantry and armored forces….Major casualties were inflicted on the enemy, but there were also considerable casualties on our side. Although bridgeheads in the Aksai section were compressed, the section itself could be held. According to reconnaissance results the enemy has assembled yet another armored corps in the area and southeast of Aksai…. There can be no doubt that the enemy has concentrated major forces in the space between the pocket and… Hoth… We have not yet received a decision from the Supreme Command of the Army regarding our proposals for further operations with the objective of relieving the Sixth Army. General von Richthofen told the field marshal [Manstein] today that, if the weather should improve, he will be able during the next few days, to supply the Sixth Army with 120 tons of supplies daily, and later on with 200 tons daily. The decrease in the amounts is due to the increased distance the aircraft have to cover from Novocherkassk and Salsk [new shuttle airfields]. I wished, in particular today, I could give you better news. The field marshal is still trying to get approval for armored forces and motorized infantry from Army Group A, to be brought up to 4th Armored Corps as speedily as possible, in order to facilitate “Thunderclap” for the Sixth Army.
What’s the situation on your side?
Arthur Schmidt dictated the stark facts to the operator, who typed them into the teleprinter:
+++ Today we suffered fierce attacks against boundary 16th Armored Division and 60th Motorized Division on a small frontage, which temporarily led to penetration on a front of 2-km and 1-km depth. On the whole the counterattack was successful, but the Russians are still holding the frequently mentioned and important Hill 139.7. We hope to regain it early tomorrow…. The army’s provisions and fuel have decreased dangerously. In view of an icy east wind and very low temperatures, we need a considerable increase of rations, otherwise we will have numerous men on the sick list from exhaustion and frostbite. We cannot manage with an air supply of 120 tons daily. Measures must therefore be taken to increase our supply rapidly or else you might just as well forget about the Sixth Army right away. Is [Hoth] still in the Mishkova section?
Schulz still refused to admit that the bridgehead over the Mishkova River had been abandoned:
+++ [Hoth] holds the Aksai section with small bridgeheads north of this area.
At this point, Schmidt indulged himself in some sarcasm:
+++ According to information we received today, some of the aircraft which were intended for our supply were again ordered to fly combat missions. In the opinion of the Commander in chief [Paulus] this is very unwise. Please do not regard our supply situation too optimistically. We suggest that the Luftwaffe should rather supply us with bread than drop a few and not always effective bombs before the Tatsinskaya front. I have nothing else.
Schulz hastened to reassure him of Army Group’s continued interest:
+++ Believe me, your supply situation is our greatest concern. I shall immediately and again report to the field marshal on the situation and he is in constant contact with Richthofen and the Supreme Command of the Army, with the aim of increasing your supplies. We are aware of your desperate situation and shall do our very best to improve it. I have nothing else. Please give my regards to the Commander in chief. Until tomorrow.
[Schmidt:] +++ I have nothing else either, greetings—ending.
As General Schmidt signed off it was finally clear to him that the German High Command had lost control of events in southern Russia. The entry in Sixth Army’s War Diary for December 25, 1942, reflected that fact: “Forty-eight hours without food supplies. Food and fuel near their end… the strength of the men is rapidly decreasing because of the biting cold… we hope for food soon…. No decision as yet on battle plan for the Sixth Army….”
Lonely German soldiers spent the last hours of Christmas twirling radio dials to pick up shortwave broadcasts from home. On Christmas Eve, many had listened to the popular singer, Lale Anderson, as she sang special requests for the troops. Now, on Christmas night, the men of Stalingrad were treated to Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels’s “Ring Broadcast,” supposedly originating from the frontiers of the Third Reich. It was aimed primarily at the civilian population.
While Goebbels chanted the names of conquered cities, the German people toured the battlefronts.
“And now from Narvik,” he
announced grandly amid a rising chorus of male singers stationed at that Norwegian port. “And in Tunisia,” brought forth another strident rendition, this time of “Stille Nacht, Heilege Nacht,” from soldiers holding American and British troops away from Bizerte and Tunis. “And from Stalingrad!” Goebbels suddenly said. While thousands of soldiers inside the Kessel stared at each other in disbelief, a joyous melody burst from the radio to assure the homefront that all was well at the Volga River.
Goebbels continued with his fabricated broadcast, and his voice shrilled out the impressive boundaries of the Nazi empire. But most of his countrymen trapped on the Russian steppe had already turned off their radios.
Chapter Twenty-four
Buoyed up by the false hope that Manstein was coming, the soldiers of the Sixth Army had endured the rationing and freezing weather with a remarkable stoicism and elan. However, when Christmas brought the sobering realization that the Kessel was probably going to become their grave, physical and moral defenses began to crumble and the gaunt occupants of Fortress Stalingrad started to lose their ability to hold out. Drastic measures instituted by Paulus to preserve the food supply only added to the decline. The beleaguered general had no choice. Once again, the airlift had failed to step up deliveries beyond a hundred tons a day.
Enemy at the Gates Page 29