by Eric Meyer
The third and fourth aircraft came in and unleashed their cargo of devastation onto the camp, then the four-barrelled Flak cannon hit the fifth one. The shells ripped through the cockpit and shredded the pilot, the massive firepower seemed almost to stop the aircraft dead in the air, then it exploded, showering the camp with broken and burning pieces of aluminium and rubber, as well as bloody flesh and bone. The other aircraft were undeterred, they roared in one after the other, turning our camp into a scrapyard filled with broken metal and bloody human tissue. The Flak gun managed to down another aircraft, it went away burning furiously, too low for the pilot to parachute out. It had barely disappeared from view before a huge explosion and sheet of fire shot up into the sky, marking its final resting place. Finally we got up to survey the damage, we had been hurt badly.
Immediately in front of me our half-track had been struck with machine gun bullets, the bodywork had several new holes in it. Fortunately none of the Soviet rounds appeared to have damaged anything vital, at least, not vital to the vehicle. Two of my men had been sheltering underneath it, Bosch and Kramer, they were both beyond help, their bodies riddled with Soviet heavy calibre bullets. I looked around the camp and could see that we had taken extensive damage. Everywhere men were helping to get their wounded comrades to the medical aid station, a large tent with a red cross that was miraculously undamaged. Some of our half-tracks were clearly wrecked, as were a number of other vehicles and motorcycles, two Kubelwagens were burning fiercely and piles of stores were ruined, blown to pieces and flames leaping out of them. Our ready use drums of petrol had been untouched, but even as I was looking at them flames licked around their base, probably one of them had been leaking and a spark had ignited it. As I watched, the flames rocketed up and around the drums and within seconds they exploded in a shower of burning petroleum. The cookhouse tent was only twenty metres away, some of the burning debris descended on the canvas and men ran to put out the flames before everything was destroyed. I could have made it over there to help them, but they had enough men to deal with it. The attack weighed heavier on me than I could have believed possible, one moment we were a proud, fighting regiment, now we were a smouldering heap of scrap. Muller started around the camp to inspect the damage.
“Any casualties, Hoffman?”
I told him about my two men.
“That’s about it, Sir, most of our equipment is undamaged. What about the rest of the regiment?”
He looked grave. “It’s not good, we were already understrength and waiting for new equipment to arrive. We are down to less than two hundred men, even with so few we have barely enough transport. Fuel is critical, but Division is bringing more up,” he laughed bitterly. “With any luck we can put a company into the field to fight the next Russian attack, that’s about it.”
“When do you think that will happen?”
“It could be as soon as tomorrow morning, who knows?”
I thought I’d heard wrong. “Tomorrow morning, but that’s impossible!”
He smiled. “Sadly, the Russians are unlikely to see it your way, Hoffman. The pattern of Soviet attacks is consistent. The Soviets use their aircraft differently to the way we use ours, particularly the dive-bombers. Theirs are more of a preliminary softening up process, probably as much psychological as much as anything, they’re damned good chess players, after all. First the ground attack fighters, then the artillery barrage, after that they send in the infantry and the tanks, often the infantry in front.”
“To clear the minefields?”
He nodded. “Exactly, they send over the penal units first, then their weaker divisions and finally the T34s with the Guards tank rider regiments.”
“So what do we do, Sir?”
“I’m waiting for replacements and fresh troops to come up with new vehicles and more fuel. We need anti-aircraft guns, of course, that Flak gun really paid off, but four of them could have prevented the worst of the Soviet attack. Ideally, we would move out so that the Soviets waste their shells on an empty area, but we are part of a defensive strategy, we’re the neck of the Panzer Corps salient. If we leave here, the Soviets could come through and cut off an entire division, so here we stay until we are ordered to move. Cheer up, Hoffman, there’s going to be some hard fighting but we’ll beat them in the end, even if we only have one or two platoons left when we get to Moscow. We’ll beat the bastards, Hoffman, we’ll beat them.”
I only wished that he sounded more convincing.
I returned to my platoon and set them to repairing the damage to the half-track. There were no spare mechanics, they were all overburdened after the raid and we needed to have a working vehicle. Fortunately, there was no serious damage and with a few patches and repairs to some of the wiring, the half-track was ready to go into action by the evening. The church had not been hit during the raid but I didn’t expect that to last, we ran the half-track into a nearby gully that would hopefully shelter it from the worst of the artillery shells, it would shelter us as well. Three other platoon commanders noticed what we were doing and followed suit, we moved our blankets and bedding next to the half-track and rigged a temporary shelter to keep out the worst of the weather. We stocked our makeshift shelter with as much ammunition, water and supplies as we could find and settled for the night, there were perhaps fifty of us crowded into the makeshift trench. We had fifteen half-tracks left and a variety of other equipment, including two Kubelwagens and the mobile anti-aircraft four-barrelled gun. We were well equipped with MG42 machine guns and stick grenades, we also had two anti-tank guns that were towed behind the half-tracks. That was almost our entire compliment, Muller was right, we would be hard pressed to field much more than a company. If the Russians shelled us badly in the morning and then followed up with massed infantry attacks backed by tanks, we may not be in a position to hold them off at all. I wondered where our Panzers were, they were the key to the forthcoming battle. With a couple of regiments of tanks, we could hold off a Soviet army, maybe two Soviet armies. Where were the Panzers? And just as importantly, where were the Luftwaffe? That last raid shouldn’t have happened, our own aircraft should have been in the air to prevent it. Didn’t they have enough aircraft, enough fuel and pilots to operate on the Eastern Front, surely they did? Or could what the men were suggesting be true, that the overwhelming Soviet advantage in men and munitions was swallowing us up like a giant shark? But no, that was not possible, we had the toughest, the most feared armies in all Europe, the best aircraft and guns, the best armour. And we had our soldiers, of course, we prided ourselves that we were better trained, tougher, more dedicated and more professional that any other soldier on the battlefield. I resolved to discuss these issues more with the men, they should know that we were a part of the most feared army on earth and we were going all the way to Moscow. Weren’t we?
I slept badly that night, constantly waking to expect to hear the sound of the Russian guns. At four am the camp started to wake, I stood up to see that everyone was dispersed under cover, finding niches and holes in the ground like us. Just as dawn was breaking we heard the drone of aircraft engines, a large number of them, it grew to a roar but it was coming from the west. It meant they were ours, soon the distinctive shapes of Luftwaffe Heinkel He 111 came into view, dozens of them, there must have been almost fifty aircraft. I knew that our Heinkels could carry two thousand kilos of bombs, they would do enormous damage to the enemy. They droned past us, when they were about eight kilometres away I saw the bombs falling from their bomb bays and explosions that sent smoke and flames soaring into the sky. There was no doubt they were hitting the Russian artillery hard, I think we all prayed that their aim would be accurate and there would be no Russian guns left to shoot at us. Then the Soviet fighters arrived, swarming out of the sky to take on the bombers, but our fighters were ready. The Russian fighters were more LaGG-3s, I could see them distinctly through my binoculars. There were fifteen of them, a deadly threat to the Heinkels. On their first pass two Heinkels started to bi
llow smoke, one exploded, the other turned west for home. Our fighters swooped, eight Focke-Wulf 190s, they tore through the Russian LaGG-3 s and their cannon destroyed four of the enemy on the first pass. The Russians broke off the attack to defend themselves and a dogfight developed, allowing the Heinkels to release the remainder of their bombs.
The sky was a kaleidoscope of noise, smoke, movement and colour, the fighters ranging wider and fighter, battling each other in whirling circles as each manoeuvred for the advantage. The Heinkels were still not entirely unopposed, Russian Flak hurtled up towards them from the artillery positions beneath them, streams of tracer from lighter weapons and puffs of smoke exploding amongst the bombers from their heavier anti-aircraft artillery. Another of our Heinkels was hit and literally exploded in mid-air but the rest had finished their bombing runs and turned for home and out of the range of the Flak. The Focke-Wulfs had lost two of their number but the Russians were reduced to only six fighters, the others had fallen to the superior performance of our 190s. Two more LaGG-3s were downed before the Focke-Wulfs broke off the fight and turned east to escort the bombers home, the Russians circled for a few minutes and then tore off to the east, apparently they’d had enough.
“Quite a spectacle, Hoffman.”
I turned quickly, it was Muller, making another round of the camp.
“Yes, it was, Sir. We gave the Reds a good hammering.”
“We did indeed. You’ve found a good position here, is everything buttoned down?”
“Yes, we’re ready, Sir.”
“Good. I’m expecting the Russian barrage to start soon, they’ll quite likely follow it up with another counterattack, so be ready to move. We may yet have to pull back again.”
I was appalled. “But we were told to hold here, Sir. Can’t we fight them off, they must have taken a pounding from the bombing raid?”
“We’ll do our best, of course. You’re right, it is vital that we hold as long as possible to stop the Leibstandarte in the salient being cut off.”
“Can’t the Leibstandarte pull back to straighten our line?”
“The Fuhrer says no, Hoffman. They have been ordered to hold, Das Reich is to defend the salient for as long as possible. In fact, the Fuhrer has ordered our Division to hold to the last man, but General Hausser had made it clear that he will not see his troops slaughtered for nothing. We will just have to hope for the best.”
He looked across at the monks’ camp. “Don’t they realise the artillery will be shelling this place before long?”
They were sitting around a campfire, talking, possibly praying.
“Probably not, Sir.”
“Very well, go and get them under cover, Hoffman, I don’t want the poor sods to be killed.”
“Yes, Sir.”
I walked over to the camp. The older priest in charge, Bishop Demchak, stood up to greet me.
“Bishop, are you aware that we are awaiting a Russian artillery barrage, it’s due to start at any minute?”
He looked calm. “I was not aware of it, but thank you for warning us.”
“You will need to take cover, Sir. All of your people, it’ll be bad, anyone not under cover is likely to be slaughtered.”
“We have no cover, Obersturmfuhrer, so we shall have to take our chances. But I thank you again for the warning.”
I thought about our makeshift shelter, three platoons crammed into the gully with the half-tracks. But it was all we had, it would have to do.”
“Bring your people, we have a place that will shield you from the worst of the barrage.”
He smiled. “I think we would prefer to stay here than join with your soldiers.”
I felt irritated, his calm patience, his unflappable manner in the face of the metal storm of death we expected the Red Army to throw at us. But I had my orders, ‘get them under cover’ Muller had said.
I unslung my MP38, pointed it at them and shouted. “Now listen, there’s a Russian barrage expected at any minute, I’ve been ordered to get you under cover so you will come with me. Now! If you do not get under cover I’ll shoot you myself!”
The monks all looked at the Bishop, who shrugged. “Very well, we will accompany you.”
He nodded at them, they got to their feet, and I led them over to our gully. Before we reached it, the sound of gunfire sounded from the east, the barrage had started. Within seconds, the first of the shells landed in the camp, a pressure wave hammered at us as I pushed the last of the monks down into the shallow defile. More guns joined in and the whole camp was swept by explosions and hot steel, that shredded everything in its path.
As the last of them got under cover, Merkel saw them and flinched, surprised that they’d joined us, I assumed, although his look was one of guilt. He tried to push past the Bishop and move to another part of the gully.
“Merkel, what’s the problem? Stay where you are, there’s no need to move.”
“I don’t like bloody monks, that’s the problem.”
I was amazed, I’d seen him staring at the monks’ camp before and assumed it was because of his religious affiliation. Obviously, I’d been wrong, mistaking his hatred for genuine concern.
“My son, we don’t mean you any harm,” the Bishop said.
Merkel brushed him off. “Just leave me alone, stay away from me.”
He scuttled off to find somewhere else in the gully to shelter, but as he left I caught sight of his face, mixed with the rage there was something else, it definitely looked like guilt. Demchak saw it too. In the town where I was brought up there was once a scandal involving a priest, not a monk, who had been accused of buggering one of the boys that attended catechism classes. The priest was quietly transferred to another parish, we never knew for sure how genuine the allegations were, everyone denied it and it was only the boy who insisted that it had happened. He never went to church afterwards and I once saw him catch sight of a priest, that was the look he had on his face, a combination of hate and guilt.
“I’m sorry your man is so unhappy with us being here,” Demchak said.
I nodded. “Maybe it’s something in his past, something that causes him to dislike men of the cloth.”
“Yes, I’m sure it is. It is the past that shapes our future actions, does it not? For good or for bad.”
I waited for him to explain what he meant, but he had already turned away. So I had a Bishop prone to vague philosophical statements and a Schutze who seemed to hate everything religious, to cope with. Apart from the Soviet bombardment, of course.
The barrage lasted for an hour, both the church and the monastery were hit, though neither were completely destroyed. The monks’ camp, the few tattered tents totally swept away by the heavy explosions from dozens of shells, I felt better at getting them down into cover. Several shells struck near us and fragments of metal spun all around, though most over our heads. A few of the men in the gully were hit but they suffered only minor wounds. Not all of the camp was so lucky, our remaining stores of fuel went up in a spectacular explosion, as did one of our anti-tank guns and three of our half-tracks. When the guns stopped, we stepped out to survey the damage. We had lost about thirty men killed and wounded, but we were still a fighting unit. Muller was out in the open with his radioman, calling for new supplies of fuel, vehicles, anti-tank guns and men. His voice shouting and snarling at Division rang around the camp, he was clearly having a hard time getting what he needed.
I heard the first rumble of tanks in the distance but it was our own armour, a unit of our Sturmgeschutz assault guns, the reliable STuGIIIs advancing to take on the expected T34s. Behind them, came a regiment of our SS Panzers, Tiger tanks, the formidable armour that could slice through the T34s. More tanks and mobile assault guns arrived and took up position, then they halted. I began to understand, we were setting an ambush. When the Soviets swept in here expecting to find a decimated Panzer Grenadier Regiment, they would run straight into our armour. Everyone was heartened by the huge show of force. We backed our vehicles o
ut of the gully and began to prepare for the coming action. Muller came around again to check on his troops.
“Impressive, eh, Hoffman? None of us had any idea what they were planning, trust General Hausser to have something up his sleeve. Did you take any casualties?”
I explained that we only had minor casualties, then asked him what we all wanted to know. Exactly how much of our formidable Das Reich Division was coming?
“All of it. Der Fuhrer Regiment is deploying about two kilometres away and our Artillery Regiment has dug in ready to fight off the expected Soviet attack. All three of our Panzer Abteilungen have come forward, it’s the biggest show of force on a narrow front since we reached the outskirts of Moscow.”
“Why now, Sir, what’s the strategic thinking?”
“Kursk, Hoffman. That city is the key to our forward campaign on the Eastern Front, but in order to take Kursk we have to secure Kharkov, it’s the hub of a vital road and rail network. As you know, it has been a yo-yo battle so far. The Fuhrer knows how critical the two cities are to support the renewal of our campaign, as does Stalin and his Generals of course. The next few weeks will be critical.”
“So the Russians are being lured into a trap?”
“That’s our sincere hope, Hoffman. General Hausser has prepared this plan carefully, the Fuhrer is unhappy about his frequent retreats from positions he’d ordered to hold. However, conserving his men and equipment has enabled him to harbour his resources and keep his Panzer Corp intact. This is his big plan to regain the initiative.”
Muller went away to speak to the next platoon and I gave the men the news.
“So you see, this is the big one. We have not been abandoned and the Russians have not got the advantage in men and materiel, we’re going to hammer them.”
Mundt got one of his unending bottles of schnapps out of his pack. “I’ll drink to that, Sir.”
“Just a small one, Mundt, we’re expecting the Russians at any moment.”