Tigers East (Kirov Series Book 25)

by John Schettler

  Then again, that is more mouths to feed here, and no trains will get through if I yield that ground—they won’t get through even now, not unless Balck can master the situation, which could take weeks. Totenkopf is still screening Oblivskaya with Balck’s help, but now I am told the enemy is threatening Morozovsk. That rail line west we labored so hard to rebuild will soon be useless, and for months. So I must consider my situation carefully here.

  He turned to an aide. “Get Goring on the phone at Luftwaffe Headquarters.” He was going to see what the Reichsmarschall could do in terms of supply deliveries to the airfields he now controlled east of the Don. Then he would contact Gorodin, the head of Volkov’s troops, which was something he never wished to do. The man was a Russian, and worse yet, a traitor to his own people. While Germany needed the windfall alliance with the Orenburg Federation, Steiner did not like dealing with Volkov’s men, and did not want to make this call either. But he had to do so now, the supply situation was the key thing on his mind.

  Volkov could keep the trucks and vehicles running with gasoline, and he can even send us food. He controls that rail line from Krasnoarmeysk south of Beketova all the way to Astrakhan. That is our life line now, at least for the next few months. So then if I can get Goring to deliver the ammunition we need, this situation can be resolved favorably. I will call it Festung Volgograd, and so now I give the order to pull in that outlying infantry behind the water walls of the Don. We will hold a strong bridgehead west of Kalach—the Castle gates, so I can sortie with my armored knights once Hansen relieves them here. This isn’t a defeat. I will beat the damn Russians here one way or another. It is only a redeployment to make best use of the circumstances and terrain.

  He could tell himself that, but even as he did so, another voice was whispering that he was now moving pieces on the board simply to save them from destruction by an enemy he should have defeated long ago.

  * * *

  The second division Manstein had counted on was now making a very timely arrival at Morozovsk. The shortage of rolling stock saw only one regiment pull into the train station the morning of October 20th, along with the division artillery. The rest was on the road to Tatsinskaya, and would likely arrive before noon that same day. This would allow him to secure a front from Morozovsk all the way to Oblivskaya. Better yet was the news that KG Herr from the13th Panzer Division had tangled with the enemy 2nd Shock Group column, and forced a good portion of it to engage him. Then, as that fight began to thicken, General Scheller arrived with the 9th Panzer Division.

  Good, he thought. This will force Ivan to look over his shoulder and realize that his right flank and rear must now be defended. He can’t very well continue pressing 3rd Shock Army southeast with Scheller’s division nipping at his heels.

  The Russian 30th and 60th Light Tank Brigades had been probing the makeshift defensive arc north of Morozovsk, but they soon learned that the main road behind them had been cut, and that significant reinforcements were arriving in the town that had been their objective. Had they come here a day earlier, they might now be fighting inside that city, but 2nd Shock group was a day late due to the little ambush KG Herr had staged 30 kilometers to the northwest. That group was now on the defensive, and soon the Germans would be pushing on the exposed right flank of the 3rd Shock Army.

  Now the Russians passed a moment of indecision as to how to proceed. Three tank corps had stormed south, encircled Surovinko, driving Steiner and Hansen out with their HQs, and then forced the Wiking Division out as well, looting all the supplies that the Germans had failed to take with them. 1st Guard Tank was still west and now south of the town, its HQ in the 25 kilometer gap between Surovinko and Oblivskaya, but that latter town had not been taken. 24th and 25th Tank Corps were east of Surovinko, along with the bulk of the 2nd Guards Rifle Corps with three infantry and one motor rifle divisions.

  It was now clear that the Germans were abandoning the ground west of the Don which was slowly being occupied by advancing Russian infantry from the 9th and 11th Rifle Corps, and Rokossovsky’s 24th Army. Zhukov had three major objectives along the Chir, and considered that if even one were taken and held, his operation would be deemed a success. That he had done, but how to proceed?

  “In another two or three days we will have them bottled up east of the Don, he said jubilantly to Sergie Kirov. And we have prevented any major breakthrough towards Volgograd there as well. Now we must decide what to do next. Supplies are tighter, but at acceptable levels. There is only one situation that could be troublesome—3rd Shock Army.”

  “What is wrong there?” asked Kirov. “Aren’t they ready to strike at Morozovsk?”

  “They were, until a fresh German Panzer Division came on the scene—the same outfit that broke up Operation Mars—11th Panzer, and it seems it has been everywhere. It stopped the push east of Oblivskaya, then vanished. The next morning it turned up here, at Popov, where it stopped Volsky’s 4th Mech Corps right in its tracks—quite literally. Then, when 3rd Shock Army began to enfilade that position and approach Chernyshkovskiy, it suddenly appeared there and stabilize the German front. Now they have brought up a fresh Infantry Division, and another is reportedly coming into Morozovsk from the south as we speak.”

  “That panzer division was reported well south near Rostov.”

  “No longer. It is here again, and up to its old tricks. The only armor we have to really contest it is in Volsky’s Mech Corps, and he can be somewhat… lethargic.”

  “What will the Germans do?”

  “At the moment, they will fight to stabilize that front, and I do not think we have the strength there to prevent that. In fact, the flank of 3rd Shock Army is now exposed, and I would recommend we withdraw those units.”

  “Withdraw? After fighting so hard to get where they are, you would ask them to retreat?”

  “Mister General Secretary, you know full well the virtue of a timely strategic withdrawal. You have been ordering me to do this for the last 30 days. Yet another Panzer Division has been identified northwest of Morozovsk, the 9th. Together with the 11th Panzer, the Germans now have a formidable mobile force ready to counter-operate against that flank. They could roll it up if we do not take precautions immediately. I suggest we fold it back, while remaining anchored against the 3rd SS division at Oblivskaya. Let 4th Shock Army continue to fight there, but 3rd Shock should switch to defensive operations, its primary mission being to screen the flank of 4th Shock. Understand?”

  “Then we will not take Morozovsk, or Chernyshkovskiy? We will not be able to enfilade Oblivskaya from the west?”

  “That was Volsky’s job, and with this 11th Panzer Division backstopping the enemy lines there, I do not think it will be possible. We must therefore adopt our strategy to do things we can accomplish, and that is where our position around Surovinko still holds promise. Understand what we have just done—we have chased Steiner and three infantry divisions back to Kalach and trapped them east of the Don. We are pushing that other SS Division, the Vikings, south to the railway crossing north of Nizhne Chirskaya. This is a significant victory.”

  “But you have not answered my question,” said Kirov. “If we do fold back 3rd Shock Army, what will the Germans do next?”

  “They will undoubtedly wish to restore the line of communications to Kalach, but this I believe we can prevent.”

  “What about this 5th SS Division, shouldn’t it be pursued, even destroyed? You could do that with all three of your mechanized divisions, and then try to force a crossing at that railway bridge.”

  “That would be much more difficult to do than to say. No, we do not have the force to cross there just yet. It will take another reserve army to do this. Instead, I would now suggest we order all three tank Corps near Surovinko to form a new army, call it what you will, perhaps the 5th Tank Army would be good. It will make the Germans think there are four others out there somewhere.” He smiled. “They should move west immediately, and threaten Oblivskaya. This will take the pressure off o
ur extreme right flank, and allow 3rd Shock to move as we have discussed without undue harassment. We might even take Oblivskaya with that maneuver.”

  “Agreed,” said Kirov. “It is premature to think of forcing the Don under these circumstances. Alright, General Zhukov, do all these things you have suggested, and congratulations. This was a much needed reprieve, considering the situation we still face east of Voronezh. Keep me informed of your progress.”

  When Zhukov left the room, Kirov looked at Berzin with a knowing glance. “We have Surovinko,” he said, “and we’ve cut the damn rail line in taking that town. Now the General thinks he can face down the forces the Germans are mustering to the west. Did you hear what he decided to call this newly established army? 5th Tank Army! The history rings true, but with an eerie echo of that depicted in the Material, an echo born of fire and pain. Didn’t this 11th Panzer Division unhinge the attacks made by the 5th Tank Army, and very near Oblivskaya?”

  “Yes,” said Berzin. “I read it over again last night. It came to be known as the ‘Battle on the River Chir.’ Very strange.”

  “Should we caution him?” asked Kirov.

  “I think he has an abundance of caution as things stand,” said Berzin. “He knows what force he has in hand, and what it is capable of. That is what made him great.”

  So it was that both sides had achieved their short term strategic goal of isolating the other. As long as the Germans still held the east bank of the Don opposite Golubinskaya, and had a watch on that river as it wound north past Vertyachi, the Russians could not reinforce the Volga defenders by that route. Now the rail line from the north was also cut, with 1st SS division firmly astride that route. Steiner was also moving 75th Infantry Division quickly over the river and then north to the Vertyachi line to relieve Das Reich. That would give him one more powerful division to throw at the defense west of Volgograd. The rest of 54th Korps was flowing down towards Kalach, over that bridge and into the self-imposed cauldron Steiner was now creating.

  He reasoned that as little as one good reinforced regiment could defend that crossing point, abandoning his idea of maintaining a strong bridgehead west of Kalach, which would have required at least a full infantry division, reinforced. The river between Kalach and Golubinskaya was too wide and marshy to permit a sound military crossing, for his own engineers had scouted it thoroughly. This way he could husband as much infantry as possible to send against what he now called “the Volga Line.” He was determined to get to that city and redeem any dint in his shield that the Russian offensive may have created, particularly in Hitler’s eyes.

  Come dawn on October 21st, the 16th Heavy Tank Brigade under General Alexey Rodin moved down the road that now ran south of the Chir behind Oblivskaya. Hermann Balck had shored up the 46th Division lines, and seen the successful linkup by the 336th and 305th Divisions. Now he was extricating his units from the line, regrouping his elite Ghost Division for renewed operations. His ‘Battle on the River Chir’ had only just begun. He signaled all units: Code Red.

  Part XI

  Awakening

  “Is all that we see or seem

  But a dream within a dream?”

  — Edgar Allan Poe

  Chapter 31

  It took Nikolin some time to recover from what he had experienced. In the beginning, he thought he was simply hallucinating, dreaming while awake, but as those minutes passed, the feeling that all these memories flooding into his brain were real lived events began to solidify. It was as if he had been in a state of amnesia for years, or a kind of waking coma, going about his business unaware of all these things. Then, suddenly, that single trigger, the cypher code Fedorov had given him, set off this cascade of memories, and he was awakened from the dullness of unknowing in this sudden rush of awareness.

  The same thing had happened to Orlov earlier, though Nikolin did not know that. The Chief at least had the guiding and reassuring presence of Anton Fedorov when his memory was restored, but for Nikolin, it was a shuddering and frightening experience. Everything he recalled was now so real in his mind, and yet he could also trace back the chronology of his life as lived from childhood, through the university, to Naval School, and then his career in the Navy itself, and all the time he had spent since he was first posted to Kirov. Nowhere, in any of those sequenced events, could any of these memories find a place to live. They were interlopers, imposters, and now intruders on the normal calm and sane progression of his days. They were impossible.

  Until he found the message….

  Sitting there, he saw himself staring at a message he had decoded in one of those phantom images flooding into his mind. Then, as if determined to test the reality of that recollection in defense of his own sanity, he reached for the special drawer where he put all non-official radio traffic signals transcripts. It was just a habit he had developed over the years, like a man who might sort his sales receipts, putting some into a box for safekeeping, others into a file to be officially registered in his expense log. Some might have been personal items, other things bought for work.

  He did that with his message transcripts, and now, if the recollection he was holding in his mind were in any way real, then there should be a transcript of it, and right there in his special drawer. He opened it with some trepidation, afraid of what he might find. On the surface, he was moving with the urgency of a detective, trying to find that scrap of evidence to prove his case in an otherwise overlooked pile of documents. On the other hand, he was chiding himself, berating himself as his unsteady finders flipped through the stacked papers. Then the internal argument stopped. He found what he was looking for, and his hand was literally shaking as he pulled it from the drawer, staring at the words, unbelieving: Nikolin, Nikolin, Nikolin… you lose!

  He closed his eyes, thinking he might again open them and find the message gone, or simply saying something else, but when he looked again those five stubborn words were still there, taunting him, a transcript of a memory he could simply not fit anywhere in the chronology of his life. And yet, as the awareness increased, he began to see that this phantom message had its own place in another sequence of events, that there were memories before it, and others that came after, and that they all conspired to present an alternate chronology of lived events, one, by one, by one….

  Now he looked at the date on the transcript, again seeing there the impossible. It was the message sent by Orlov, tapped out in Morse one night after he broke into a telegraph station while drunk in Cartagena. He had jumped ship on the KA-226, and was at large in Spain, and that errant signal had been a vital moving event, a Pushpoint, a trigger setting events in motion that ended up changing everything, the entire world, every lived event.

  Yet the longer he stared at it, the more that other life in his head solidified. Now there were two Nikolins, two versions of himself, a schizophrenic duality in his mind that made him queasy at first. He put the message in his pocket, needing to hold onto it, in spite of the impulse to simply throw it away, run from it, deny it ever existed at all. That would be the easy course to steer, throw it away, destroy it, and with it the reality of all those other recollections. Denial was a reflexive defense mechanism, a guardian at the door of his mind, there to preserve the calm order and inner decorum that he could call his sanity. If he simply threw the message away, then he wouldn’t have to face this dilemma any longer. He could return to his old self, send another riddle to Tasarov, plan how he might wheedle a second cinnamon roll from the ship’s galley, return to the history novel he had been reading in his quarters. He could forget this ever happened.

  No, he could not forget. The memories were too strong, their numbers too great, like an army that had surrounded the keep of his mind. It had been out there all along, he realized now, digging trenches in a quiet siege, building its engines to break down the walls. Now the gate of the castle was beaten down, and the horde was storming in.

  The message was dated August of 1942, another impossibility, but one he had to pardon. He had
come to accept the impossible as everyday reality. The ship was here, in that very year, as astounding as that still seemed to him when he actually thought about it. Life aboard Kirov seemed the same here as it might have if the ship were on a standard deployment out of Severomorsk. He could look out at the ocean, and it looked like the same ocean they had been sailing in in 2021. There was nothing but the sea, in every direction, nothing but the sea and sky.

  The date on that message was very recent, and try as he might, he could not remember ever recording it, or ever slipping it into that drawer—at least not in the mind he had been living in before those barbarian memories stormed his castle. It was all so very strange and disconcerting. As soon as his shift ended, he found himself hastening below decks, and his feet unerringly led him to the one place of refuge he had often sought when things went wrong. He knocked on the door of the sick bay, grateful that there was no line outside.

  “Come,” came the familiar voice of Doctor Zolkin, and he took a deep breath, entering through the hatch.

  “Ah, Mister Nikolin,” said Zolkin. “Come in. What is it today? Another headache?”

  It was so much more than that, thought Nikolin, but how could he explain any of this to the Doctor? “No sir… I’m not quite sure. It’s very confusing.”

  “What is confusing?”

  “My… My mind, sir. I’m all mixed up.”

  That got Zolkin’s attention, and he put down some instruments he had been ready to sterilize and turned, his studied eye on the young officer. “Suppose you sit down and tell me about it,” he said, his voice calm and reassuring. Zolkin had that way with the men. He was one part Physician, one part Psychologist, and a kind of grandfather figure to them all in one.”