by Eric Meyer
He smiled. “Yes, he helped me out a lot when I was younger. When I joined the Hitler Youth he taught me to shoot.”
“Are you any good?”
He smiled. “Artur Vinckmann helped me get my sniper qualification.”
“Excellent, that may well come in useful, Merkel.”
Von Betternich turned to Mundt, “Did you find out, Scharfuhrer?”
“Yes, Sir. Their Sturmscharführer Artur Vinckmann, as you suggested, Sir.”
“Thank you.”
He saw my expression. “I merely asked Mundt to find out who is the best shot in the regiment.”
“So you think it’s Vinckmann?”
He shook his head. “It’s too early to draw any conclusions. Don’t forget that we’re looking into the records after Kharkov is decided, until then we mustn’t jump to conclusions. Let’s get back to your unit, Hoffman, I need to contact Berlin.”
I wondered should I mention that Merkel had known Vinckmann before the war, but I decided to keep quiet. In any case von Betternich probably knew already. I was surprised he’d been put off so easily. Surprised and uneasy, there was something he wasn’t telling me. As usual.
We drove back along the icy track. Snow was still falling and the temperature was dropping fast, when we got back to HQ von Betternich commandeered Muller’s armoured car and used the long-range radio while Muller stood out in the snow tapping his foot. We waited nearby for our orders. When he climbed out, he was all smiles.
“I am to report to Division, so you and your men will get your wish to go back to being ordinary soldiers, at least for now, Hoffman. General Hausser is sending a car to collect me, the Reichsfuhrer has one of his personal representatives there waiting to discuss my findings.”
“Anything more we can do for you, Sir, you’ve only to let me know,” Muller said. I had to hide a smile, he’d done his best to obstruct the SD man ever since he arrived.
“Thank you, Muller. And all of you, thank you for your help, I am sure I’ll be seeing you all again once we’ve decided on our next move.”
Divisional HQ was only five kilometres away and ten minutes later a long, black Mercedes limousine drew up and von Betternich got in and drove away. Muller stared after him with relief.
“That’s it, Hoffman. You can rejoin your platoon, I’m calling a meeting of all my officers later today, you’re aware of the difficulties we’re facing around Kharkov?”
“The Russians threatening to encircle, Sir?”
“Exactly. The 1st SS Division Leibstandarte Adolf Hitler is holding the line at Kharkov, but intelligence reports that the Ivans are gathering their forces to attempt a classic encirclement. General Hausser wants his 2nd Division Das Reich to be ready to move against them. Staff meeting is at eleven hundred hours, you’ll find out all you need to know then. A good job with the SD man, by the way, you seemed to keep him happy and off of my back.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
I saluted and left to find my platoon, utterly confused. One moment I was the black sheep of the regiment for escorting the SD officer, now that he had gone I was back in favour. With the departure of von Betternich it was as if a black cloud had been lifted off the regiment. I found the men shivering underneath a canvas shelter and warming their hands on a fire made of wood and old engine oil, it stank terribly. I told the men about the forthcoming operation at Kharkov. There was the usual SS competitiveness.
“So the Leibstandarte need us to bail their arses out, do they?” Beidenberg said with a degree of satisfaction.
“Josef, I think they are facing two Soviet armies, it’s hardly surprising that they’re having trouble holding the line.”
It was obvious from their jeers that they didn’t agree with me, but I ignored it and started on an inspection to check our ammunition inventory and equipment. While I was talking, there was the sudden clamour of an armoured half-track clanking into the camp and I looked around to see our Sonderkraftfahrzeug 251 being driven into the camp. Grinning at us from the open cockpit was Stefan Bauer, recovered from his wound. He jumped down and winced as he hit the snowy ground, came up to me and saluted.
“Schutze Stefan Bauer reporting for duty, Sir.”
“Are you fully recovered, Stefan?”
“Near enough, Sir, thank you. I am ok to fight, if that’s what you mean. I gather we’re going to need everyone to deal with this business around Kharkov.”
So he already knew, clearly the difficulties of LAH were being discussed all around the Corps.
“Very well, check your weapons and ammunition, we may be in action very soon.”
I completed my inspection and had a chance to see the repairs they had done to our vehicle. The mechanics had welded a steel plate over the hole in the bodywork and fitted new wheels and a track. We were fully mobile once more. Almost for the first time since I’d taken over the new platoon I felt confident, the SD were out of my hair and we had a formidable armoured division, Das Reich, that would soon be rolling towards Kharkov to obliterate the Soviet threat to our SS brethren in Leibstandarte. Who knew where we’d go from there, maybe even Moscow, what more could a young officer want? Even the platoon seemed more cheerful and optimistic, no more gloom about thousands of Soviet T34s appearing out of the mist, this time we meant business. The cookhouse even outdid themselves with huge helpings of meat pie and gravy to fill our empty bellies. The meat was a little tough and I recalled seeing a pair of horses being led to an empty building nearby and the sound of two shots. Sometimes it was better to not see or hear certain things. The talk was about what we would be doing after we’d defeated the Russians, Voss was contemplating driving into Moscow in a limousine stolen from one of Stalin’s commissars. He was still fantasising about the Russian beauties that he’d get to ride with him in his vehicle when I left them and reported to Muller for the officers’ briefing.
There were more than fifty officers present, including two new arrivals, I was pleased to see that I was no longer the most junior officer in the Regiment. Muller outlined the battle plans, which involved a mixed fighting group comprising Der Fuhrer and Langemarck Regiments as well as some of the LAH units to assemble at the town of Merefa, ready to launch the main counterattack that would either destroy or drive the Soviet armies away from Kharkov. Our regiment, Deutschland, was to occupy the flanks and prevent our SS battle group being encircled. Although we faced several Soviet armies, intelligence reported that they were so under strength and ill equipped that they would be no match for a determined attack.
“Is that clear?” Muller asked. There were nods and shouts of assent. “Good. If this goes well, and it had better, we can push on towards Kursk and retake the city. From there, who knows, let’s make sure we give the Ivans a bloody nose. Rejoin your men, we’re moving off to our assembly points at four o’clock, ready to jump off for the attack at dawn tomorrow.”
We hurried back to get started. I outlined the operation to the platoon and they started to load the half-track with supplies and ammunition. At four precisely, we drove away in a cloud of exhaust smoke, at last I was going to war, a proper battle. We drove for two hours and as it was getting dark, the Feldgendarmerie guided us to a temporary camp. A regiment of SS Panzers was already in position with a mix of Tiger tanks and STuGIII assault guns. In the artillery park, rank upon rank of guns was lined up ready to lay down a barrage and we had a dozen vehicle-mounted Nebelwerfers with which to pound the enemy. The Nebelwerfer 41s were fitted to firing frames, grouped together in a bank of six rockets that could hit the enemy at a range of two kilometres. Some said their accuracy was lamentable, others that they had a devastating effect on enemy morale. We also had an anti-tank section with towed twenty-eight millimetre PAK guns that should be able to blunt the effect of the T34s. It was an imposing mix of might and armour and we were only the flank guards, the main battle group would be substantially larger. The following morning we woke up in the dark, a snowstorm was blowing hard.
The camp was alive with the clamour of shouts f
rom NCOs, engines being warmed up and equipment being given final checks. It was still dark, but the real problem was the snow. It literally fell from the sky in thick, rich flakes, visibility was less than fifty metres. Mundt came and told me that the cookhouse was serving breakfast.
“Stew and black bread, Scharfuhrer?”
“How did you guess, Sir?” he answered with a smile. “Snow’s going to be a problem.”
“More of a problem for the enemy,” I replied. “They won’t see us coming, we’ll roll straight over them.”
“Yes, Sir. The armourers have been around in the night fitting new machine guns to the half-tracks, we’ve got the MG42s now.”
“Are they any different to the previous guns?”
“Armourers say they have a much higher rate of fire and they are more reliable, so yes, they’ll be an improvement.”
“Good. Let’s get some breakfast while there’s still some left.”
I wolfed down the food and went to prepare the platoon, in truth there was nothing much to prepare, the half-track had been warmed up, refuelled and rearmed and was ready to go, the men assembled nearby. Promptly at five o’clock a whistle blew and we climbed aboard, along the line dozens of engines started and we roared off, following the Panzers.
The terrain was crazy, all we could do was follow the vehicle in front who was in turn following the vehicle in front of him. We drove a kilometre and came to a halt, the Russian front lines were immediately ahead. Suddenly our artillery crashed out and began laying a shattering barrage down on the enemy, it went on for an hour. Then the whistles blew again and we started the attack. Ahead of us, I heard the roar as our tanks opened fire, then the flatter sound of the T34s as they replied. How the hell could anyone see to shoot in this, I wondered? Soon we came upon the wreckage of Russian tanks destroyed by our Panzers, then abruptly we were in the middle of the battle. The Soviets had deployed their infantry into anti-tank formations and they were firing at our tanks with their PTRD anti-tank rifles. They may as well have thrown rocks for all the good these feeble weapons achieved. We came upon a huddle of Soviets who had just fired at a Panzer, there was a clang as the projectile bounced off the heavy armour. The Tiger swung its coaxial machine gun around and hosed down the gunners, they were flung to the ground like dust in a storm. The tank charged on without even slowing and we followed it looking for our own targets. We soon found them, a small group of Russians who were desperately trying to deploy a ZiS3 anti-tank artillery piece. I shouted at the driver to turn towards where they were positioned, our half-track swung over and we bore down on the Russian gunners. Bullets hammered all around us, they had a machine gun set up in a defensive position behind a low stone wall. I looked around for support, but we were on our own.
I shouted orders at the men. “Mundt, get on that machine gun, give us covering fire. Voss, drive straight at the anti-tank gun.”
Mundt opened up, Merkel had detached the rear-mounted MG42 and brought it to the front of the vehicle, both guns fired incessantly, the loaders continually fitted ammunition belts as the empty ones rolled through the breech. Mundt’s gun overheated and he called for a new barrel, we didn’t need that in the middle of this fight. The Soviet artillery piece was clearly loaded ready to fire and the gunners were rushing to crank it around to hit our half-track. Then we slewed around, one of our tracks had become detached. We weren’t hit, it was probably a faulty pin on the new track they’d fitted, but it stopped us dead. Without thinking, I leapt out of the vehicle and landed heavily in the snow, I scrambled up and ran towards the anti-tank gun, pulling a stick grenade from my webbing and arming it in one fluid motion. The Russian machine gunner saw the danger and swung his gun over. He fired a burst, it went wide and I flung myself to the ground as his second burst ripped over my head, then the grenade exploded. The machine gun stopped firing as the two-man crew was cut to pieces by the flying metal fragments. The anti-tank gun crew looked shocked, one of them was lying on the ground, also hit by my grenade and the others stunned by the force of the explosion. My platoon wasted no time, before I could get up they ran past me and sent burst after burst at the gunners.
“Cease fire, cease fire!” Mundt shouted. “Are you ok, Sir?”
“Yes, thank you, Sergeant. We need to try and get that gun ready to defend ourselves against the T34s, who can fix the half-track?”
“Voss and Beidenberg, Sir, I’ll get them straight on it, if it’s just a shackle pin we carry spares, we’ll soon have it fixed.”
We checked over the anti-tank gun, it looked similar to our own. We turned it around and Merkel checked that the breech was already loaded with a shell. The snow was still coming down heavily and there was nothing in sight, none of our armour, no enemy, nothing, we were alone on the steppe.
“What now, Sir, there doesn’t seem to be a target?” Mundt asked.
“Destroy the gun and then we’ll follow the line of advance, it shouldn’t be a problem. Can you double shot the gun and stand back while it fires?”
“Yes, Sir.”
They loaded a shell nose into the breech and extended the lanyard that fired the weapon. I went to check on Voss and Beidenberg, even in the freezing cold they were sweating with the heavy work of lifting the broken track back into place.
“It’s almost done, Sir,” Voss said. “We slackened off the idling wheel and we’ve nearly closed the two ends of the track. Another five minutes and we’ll be ready to lock up the pin. Say twenty minutes all up.”
“Very well, do your best, I don’t like hanging around here on our own, we’ve no idea where Ivan went off to.”
“Running like hell from our Panzers, I think, Sir.”
“All of them, are you sure about that, Voss?”
“Right, we’ll get a shift on.”
While we waited, the men rifled through the possessions of the dead Russians. I left them to it, they knew the importance of documents and if they found any food that was edible they were entitled to it. I didn’t ask about personal possessions, if they wanted a souvenir Russian pistol or cigarette lighter, I preferred not to ask, there were more important considerations on the battlefront. Like the two surviving crew members of the anti-tank gun being guarded by two of my troopers.
“What do we do about the prisoners?” Merkel asked.
I’d been thinking about that. “We’ll search and disarm them, then tie them up and leave them for our support group. If we take their boots it’ll stop them from going very far.”
I turned around and lifted my MP38, an engine was getting louder as a vehicle approached, but it was the familiar roar and clatter of one of our armoured half-tracks. It stopped next to us and an officer jumped down carrying an MP38 like mine. He was an Obersturmfuhrer from the Der Fuhrer Regiment and I saluted him. He nodded an acknowledgment.
“What’s going on here?”
“We’re fixing one of our tracks, nearly finished now so we’ll be able to follow the Panzers.”
He looked at the anti-aircraft gun and the broken machine gun nest.
“Your work?”
I nodded.
“Excellent. The gun is to be destroyed?”
“Double shotted, we’ll blow it when we leave.”
“Good. What about the prisoners?”
As he was speaking, he walked across to look at the two Russians. One was a private, the other a sergeant from the Thirty Eighth Army of the Voronezh Front, I explained it to the Obersturmfuhrer.
“Have you questioned them?”
“Yes, but they don’t know anything worthwhile.”
“I see. Well, we can’t leave them in our rear and we can’t spare any men to guard them, I can deal with this for you.”
Before I could protest, he raised his machine pistol, pulled the trigger and aimed a short burst at the two men. I noticed that he had a gleam in his eyes as he fired, his expression strange and far away, as if he was performing some sort of a private ritual. I realised he was enjoying it.
“Sir,
I must protest, they were my prisoners!” I shouted at him.
“They were Russians, man, hardly worth the bullets.”
“I believe we have a regiment of Russians within the SS.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps these two should have joined it then.”
He jumped back up on his half-track. “Good luck, try not to be too late for the party.”
As they drove off my men looked at me. It was an unwritten rule in the SS not to shoot prisoners. That kind of behaviour would lead to our own men being shot when they became prisoners of the Russians, even the Fuhrer’s order to kill captured Commissars was often quietly ignored. Yet here we had just witnessed what amounted to murder. I cleared my head, it was too late to worry about it now.
“Men, we need to hurry, Voss, how long until you’re finished?”
“Two minutes, Sir. We’re almost there.”
In the event, it took another ten minutes before the job was completed, they started up the engine and we piled into the half-track. Merkel was on the ground and he paid out the string that led to the trigger of the anti-tank gun. We drove fifty metres away, he lay down in a shell hole and pulled the string. The gun fired and instantly blew up in spectacular fashion. Merkel ran up, jumped aboard and we followed the chewed up terrain after our main force. Panzers made a chewed up mess of the snowy ground, which was fortunate, they were not difficult to follow. Voss was driving and he went flat out to catch up. I made sure the men kept a wary eye out on all sides, the threat from both Russian stragglers and partisans was very real. Finally, we came to a halt on top of a long slope that swept away in the distance. The view of the battlefield was incredible. The snowstorm had temporarily stopped and we could see for several kilometres.
The whole of our Panzer Corps was on the attack, charging at the enemy who were firing back from positions at the top of a low rise two kilometres away. The enemy had anti-tank guns deployed and while we watched they found the range of a Tiger tank and destroyed it, but our own gunners were already in action. Our guns fired repeatedly, mobile artillery pieces, STuGIIIs and PAK anti-tank guns kept up a withering rate of fire to add to the onslaught of the Tigers deadly eighty-eight centimetre main guns. I’d seen photos of artillery barrages on the Western Front during the last war, this looked similar, hundreds of guns firing, except that so much of the artillery was mobile. The battle was still very fluid, pockets of T34s and mobile guns stood their ground and took on our armour, others were turning and fleeing. I felt a hand touch my arm.