Devil's Guard- The Complete Series Box Set

by Eric Meyer

  “Sir, look, the Major.”

  About half a kilometre from us, I could see a Horch armoured car, the aerial array and unit marking made it obvious that it was Muller’s. The vehicle was at a standstill, the reason obvious. One of the wheels had been blown completely off by a hit from a shell, or possibly a land mine. The vehicle was under attack from a trio of the new Soviet armoured cars that I recognised from intelligence briefings as the BA-64, lightly armoured and carrying only a machine gun but they were capable of overcoming the lightly armoured Horch. Normally the Horch would carry a two centimetre cannon, but for vehicles equipped with long range radios, like Muller’s, the cannon was removed and all they had to defend themselves with was a single MG34. There were no other units nearby, I didn’t have any choice but to go and help him.

  “Voss, head for the Sturmbannfuhrer’s armoured car. Men, those BA-64s have thin skins, if we can send enough bullets their way we should do some damage. Hopefully enough to drive them off, at least. Use both machine guns and every man that can shoot, do it, plaster those Soviet tin cans. Let’s go!”

  We hurtled down the slope and closed the gap between us, and the three Russian armoured cars. At first, they didn’t see us, until the weight of fire from our MG42s started to hit their armour. Then they turned their attention to us. Streams of machine gun bullets arced towards our half-track, then one of our gunners scored a lucky hit and an armoured car exploded. We were lucky, the car behind it ran straight into the burning wreck and had to waste precious time reversing out of the flames. We concentrated our fire on the third vehicle, seeing it lurch as we managed to hit something vital, possibly the driver or the commander. Then it turned through one hundred and eighty degrees and fled at speed up the slope and away from us. The remaining Russian vehicle disentangled itself and turned to engage but this time he was on his own, and the concentrated fire from us and the stalled Horch turned it into a flaming ruin as their fuel caught fire. One crewman escaped but he was badly on fire, screaming with the agony of the burning fuel that had soaked his uniform. Merkel was on one of the MG42s and he casually sent a short burst that ended the man’s suffering. We stopped next to the Horch, Muller climbed out and up onto our half-track, his crew followed him.

  “Thanks, Hoffman, I need to catch up with the regiment, they’re over to the south of the slope near the bottom of the hill.”

  “Right away, Sir. Voss, head for the south east, bottom of the hill.”

  I told him about the broken track that had delayed us but he ignored me. His eyes were bright with the excitement of the battle.

  “We’re beating them, Hoffman, they’re running from us, all the way back to Moscow with any luck. When the Panzers reach their objective they will turn south and we’ll have the whole damn lot of them caught in our trap, like dogs. A whole army, maybe two armies! Damn, how stupid they were to let themselves be caught in a trap like that.”

  I thought about Stalingrad that had recently fallen to just such a trap, but wisely said nothing. It seemed that military stupidity was not unique to any army.

  We caught up with our Deutschland regiment and Muller commandeered another Sonderkraftfahrzeug 251 half-track, one equipped with a radio so that he could regain command of his regiment, the luckless crew left to join up with several groups of infantry that were advancing on foot. We followed Muller’s vehicle, the T34s and Soviet artillery had disappeared and we had an unobstructed journey through to our objective. We assembled under the cover of a thick wood, the hatch of a Tiger clanged open and General Hausser climbed out. We all leapt to attention and saluted.

  “At ease, men. The first part of our operation had gone according to plan. The Soviet Seventh Guards Tank Army currently occupies the ground between us, and Kharkov. If they are not dealt with now the city will be threatened and our troops could even be surrounded. None of us wants another Stalingrad.”

  There was a grumbling and murmuring amongst the officers. The fate of the prisoners who had surrendered on the banks of the Volga was unknown but one thing was for sure, it would not be a happy one.

  “Together with the Leibstandarte and the Wehrmacht 320th Division, we’re going to turn the tables on the Soviets and encircle them, if we do our jobs right we can completely wipe out an entire Russian army. The enemy think that they can have things their way since Stalingrad, but there were no SS units involved in that battle, in fact, many of the divisions were not even German. Romanians, Italians, Hungarians and God knows who else, it’s no wonder they crumbled. I want to give our Russian friends a real bloody nose, show them that they are dealing with a different class of soldier on this battlefield, so don’t let me down. Let’s go in and destroy the bastards!”

  We all cheered mightily, it was what we wanted to hear, needed to hear. It was quite true, as bad as the fall of Stalingrad had been for German morale, it had been a great morale booster for the Soviets. Since then they seemed to have fought with a new spirit and enthusiasm, we needed to set the record straight and show them how them how the German soldier fought, particularly the SS. As Hausser had said, at Stalingrad they had fought Romanians, Croats, Italians and Hungarians, a real hotchpotch of assorted nationalities. Das Reich and Leibstandarte were purely German SS divisions, a different story entirely. We intended to give them a lesson they would not forget.

  Buoyed up by the General’s pep talk, we set to preparing our vehicles and weapons, we needed to take on fuel and ammunition, attend to running repairs and finally help ourselves to steaming hot bowls of the inevitable stew from the mobile cookhouse. It was probably the same food as before, but served with a starter of Hausser’s morale boosting speech, it tasted like cordon bleu, the black bread was wonderful once you’d scraped the mould off it and even the coffee was hot and cheering. Not in the league of the General’s coffee, I thought ruefully, but good enough. We were on the way to Moscow and nothing could stop us now. We settled down to get some sleep, we were due to jump off again at four am and catch the enemy in their beds. I managed to claim a place in the cockpit of the half-track, a prized spot that kept me out of the snow and the bitterly cold wind that swept across the steppes. Three men joined me, the other men rigged a lean-to shelter at the side of the vehicle with a waterproof ground sheet to keep them clear of the snow, but it must have been bitingly cold.

  I was already awake when they called stand to, and I only had to rinse my face in a bowl of melted snow that Mundt had left in the vehicle so that it thawed in the morning ready for our ablutions. We rushed to help ourselves to more stew and bread and washed it down with freezing cold water, there hadn’t been time to brew coffee, then we were starting engines ready to go. Hausser stood in the turret of his Tiger and looked over his command. He gave an affirmative nod and spoke into his microphone. The driver engaged the gears and got the huge vehicle moving, the rest of the tanks and STuGIIIs followed. Then it was our turn and Voss swung our half-track behind the long column of armour. We were going to relieve Kharkov.

  The drive into the city was hell. Soviet snipers had taken up positions in many of the ruins of the suburbs, making the approach a grim business. In the end we dismounted from the half-track, leaving only Voss to drive and Bauer, who I did not feel was fully recovered from his wound, as well as another trooper, Neumann, to man the MG42s. I took four men and walked the south side of the road, Mundt took another four and took the north side, in that fashion we crept carefully from house to house. Whenever a sniper was encountered the machine guns kept them occupied, while we rushed the building and took out the sniper either, with long bursts from our sub-machine guns or hand grenades. At one stage we were attacked by a column of T34s who rushed into the suburbs to try and make a few quick kills. There were perhaps ten or twelve in all and we thought we’d have to make a run for it, but the snowstorm at that time was holding off allowing the Luftwaffe to take off. They were flying over at the time looking for targets and they swooped eagerly on the Soviet armour. The Stukas screamed in for the attack and droppe
d bomb after bomb. By the time they had finished eight of the tanks were ablaze and the survivors had swung around and were driving at full speed away from the city. We finally met up with units of the Leibstandarte as well as the soldiers of the Wehrmacht 320th Division. They swung into action to help us clear the snipers and by the late afternoon, we entered the centre of the city.

  I found our temporary regimental HQ, Muller was barking orders to bring up replacements and reinforcements, more ammunition, fuel and the one hundred and one other things that kept an army in the field. He saw me and nodded.

  “Hoffman, any problems?”

  “No, Sir, we didn’t lose any men, it all went well.”

  We both looked around as a group of men marched past, Soviet prisoners, dejected, unshaven, but their clothing was of some interest. Warm clothing, unlike ours, the Soviets had clearly been prepared. I suspected that some of their fur boots and hats together with the thick quilted arctic parka coats would ‘disappear’ en-route to their prison camp.

  “Good. We are staying in Kharkov for a few days to conduct mopping up operations and strengthen the city defences, so you can find your platoon somewhere warm to bed down. Watch out for the snipers,” he said in dismissal.

  Was he being sarcastic, we’d just fought our way through nests of snipers that had caused a number of casualties, though not to my platoon? No, I decided he just didn’t know. For myself I didn’t care, but the men had fought well and hard.

  “Sir, the men did well, all of them, they cleared out a lot of the snipers when we reached the city and saved our people from taking much heavier casualties.”

  “Thank you, Untersturmfuhrer, I will thank them when I see them.”

  It was the best I could do, I found Mundt who had sent two of my troopers to rustle up some food. I heard him shouting at them, “And try and find a pig, the cookhouse is doing potato soup today and I fancy a bit of meat to go with it.”

  He saw me and winced. “I heard that there are wild pigs running around the city, Sir.”

  “That’s good news, Scharfuhrer,” I replied drily. “I imagine there must be thousands of wild pigs running around these Soviet cities.”

  “Yes, Sir, there must be.”

  They knew my views on looting. Sometimes, especially in the depths of the Russian winter it was necessary to take food to stay alive. At the other extreme, there was the notorious Dirlewanger Battalion. Doctor Oskar Dirlewanger was an infantry officer during the Great War and won both the Iron Cross 2nd Class and the Iron Cross 1st Class. Subsequently he went back to university and was awarded a PhD in Political Science. While a teacher in 1934 he was convicted of the rape of a thirteen year-old girl, illegal use of a government vehicle and damaging the vehicle whilst under the influence of alcohol. For these crimes he was sentenced to two years imprisonment. Dirlewanger then lost his job, his title of doctor and all military honours. Soon after his release he was arrested again on similar charges. He was sent to the Welzheim concentration camp, which was standard practice for deviant sexual offenders, but was subsequently released and reinstated as a Colonel in the General SS Reserve. This following the personal intervention of his friend Gottlob Berger, the head of the SS-Hauptamt and long-time personal friend of Reichsfuhrer Heinrich Himmler. Dirlewanger later headed the Sturmbrigade Dirlewanger, a penal battalion composed of German criminals. In February 1942, the battalion was reassigned for anti-partisan duties in Belarus. Dirlewanger was known to lead his soldiers into combat personally which was unusual for someone of his rank, he was wounded many times in combat. He was also intensely disliked by many of the SS troopers and officers for the extremes of his behaviour that dishonoured us all. Part of that extreme behaviour was looting, often combined with rape and murder. I was determined to keep a firm rein on my platoon and ensure they didn’t even think about going the way of Dirlewanger’s men.

  By early evening the city had gone quiet and the mobile cookhouse once again served up their potato soup. The men had got a fire going and a pig was roasting on a spit that they’d improvised from the wreckage of a Soviet anti-aircraft mount. I sat around the fire, enjoying the warmth of the blaze, the good food in my belly, the flask of schnapps that was being passed around, thinking how good soldiering could be. For the first time I felt that I belonged in the SS Deutschland Regiment, that I was accepted as a part of it. With men like these, I could go the very length of Soviet Russia and get back in one piece. What a fine profession soldiering was. I bent down to pick up a piece of wood that had fallen from the fire. That was when the bullet cracked out, I dimly remembered hearing it even as everything went black.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “I am convinced that 1941 will be the crucial year of a great New Order in Europe. The world shall open up for everyone. Privileges for individuals, the tyranny of certain nations and their financial rulers shall fall. And last of all this year will help to provide the foundations of a real understanding among peoples, and with it the certainty of conciliation among nations. Those nations who are still opposed to us will some day recognize the greater enemy within. Then they will join us in a combined front, a front against Jewish exploitation and racial degeneration.”

  Adolf Hitler January 1941

  I heard voices, could see a bright light burning overhead. Surely I wasn’t dead, not already. Was this how the afterlife began? But no, my sense of smell was coming to me, I sensed ether, antiseptics, the tang of urine. I had to be in a hospital. The voices got louder.

  “I think he’s regaining consciousness, Doctor, his eyes are moving.”

  I struggled to focus and my eyes suddenly revealed the prettiest girl I’d ever seen, a true angel. Perhaps I was in heaven after all. A vision in blue and white, blue dress with white stripes and a white armband adorned with a red cross, white apron, white cap, creamy skin, dark hair and flashing brown eyes, huge, warm liquid eyes that were staring at me gravely.

  “How do you feel?”

  I had to think about that.

  “My head hurts. Where am I?”

  “This is the hospital in Kharkov, it has been taken over by the military. Do you know what happened to you?”

  I tried to think, I was near the campfire with my platoon, the crack of a bullet.

  “I was shot?”

  “Yes, you were, Untersturmfuhrer. The bullet came from behind, it lodged inside your skull, you were lucky. The surgeons were able to remove it and nothing vital was damaged. Very lucky.”

  I tried to move my legs and arms, I didn’t feel very lucky. “Did I suffer any other injuries?”

  She smiled at me and my world lit up with warm sunshine. “None whatsoever, I think the head wound was enough for now. The doctor is next door, he will be coming back to check on you shortly. Now, I have to attend to my other patients.”

  “Nurse, would you tell me your name?”

  The smile again. “It’s Heide, Heide Thalberg. I am a Rotekreuz Helferin, a Red Cross Auxiliary Nurse.”

  “My name is Jurgen, Jurgen Hoffman.”

  She smiled yet again. “I know that, Untersturmfuhrer, we have your records.”

  “Please, call me Jurgen.”

  She smiled. “Just lie back and relax, the doctor will be here soon.”

  She turned and walked away. Did she quietly murmur ‘Jurgen’ or was I imagining it?

  I lay there trying to work out what had happened to me, it must have been a Soviet sniper, one that we’d missed. Well, Kharkov was a big city with many tall buildings, we couldn’t expect to clear out every single Russian with a rifle. I looked around, I was in a ward with perhaps twenty beds, all full of wounded or sick men. The beds either side of me were both occupied with men who appeared to be wrapped from head to toe in bandages, they were both groaning quietly. Probably tank crew, I reflected. The Panzers carried a heavy load of petrol, when they were hit they often went up like Roman candles. Poor devils. There was a stirring at the door and a harassed medical officer came into the room wearing a Wehrmacht uniform, a
captain. He worked his way from bed to bed until finally he came to me.

  “How do you feel, Untersturmfuhrer?”

  “Just a headache, Sir. When will I be able to rejoin my unit?”

  He put a stethoscope against my chest and listened, then moved my head forward and looked at the wound at the back, I saw stars as my head was tilted. He noticed me screwing my face up in pain.

  “Hurts a bit does it? Well, that is to be expected. Three days, no less than that. Then you should ok to leave here, but you will need to rest up for another few days before you’re fit enough to go back into action.”

  He made notes on a chart at the foot of my bed and moved on to the next bed. Three days, how could I lie here doing nothing while my platoon was out fighting the enemy? Yet even as I thought about it the door burst open and four of my men came into the ward. I recognised Mundt, Voss, Merkel and Beidenberg. They clustered around my bed.

  “How are you feeling, Sir?”

  I told them I was ready to come back, it was just the hospital that was keeping me from rejoining them. Mundt looked closely at the back of my head and winced.

  “Jesus Christ, they’ve sure made a mess of you. Lucky it wasn’t the front of your head, at least you can grow hair over the wound. You’ll still be able to pull the girls, Sir. Talking of which, we’ve found a decent bar in the centre of town, just off Red Square.”

  “I thought Red Square was in Moscow.”

  “Well, it is, but they’ve got one here too. The local booze is quite reasonable and the vodka will blow your head off. Not that you need anything else to blow your head off, Sir.”