A cheer spread across the bunker as the realisation of a party became instantly apparent, Tatu beginning to prise the metal lids from the full containers of food allowing a nourishing steam and aroma to fill the bunker. He glanced to his countryman, ‘Here Petru…join us, you helped carry it all.’ With this, Petru smiled warmly and shuffled forward on his knees to be near his friend, in his hand a spoon. ‘You can also take the blame if they don’t like the food!’ Tatu delivered the punchline as his friend leant forward to help, causing him to hesitate and look up disapprovingly. The room exploded with laughter, with Petru grinning as he appreciated the joke was to break the ice and introduce him. Tatu continued, ‘We have been friends for years have we not Petru?’ He looked at his friend with obvious fondness in his eyes, slapping him on the shoulder, ‘We used to make furniture together in Bucharest, joined up together and here we are…far from home, entertaining the troops…eh, my friend?’ Petru nodded, a cautious embarrassed smile slipping across his face. Tatu continued, ‘He doesn’t say much…but when he does, it is usually important. Mind you…I believe he does not get much time to talk when I am here!’ Tatu smiled, glancing around the grinning group, ‘Now let’s eat and drink together as friends!’
The expectant grinning soldiers began to rummage and locate their spoons from their pockets and packs in the expectation of the feast on offer.
Tatu passed a bottle of the Secarica to the officer, ‘Here my friend, lets drink to both our units’ success!’ He retrieved another bottle from the inside of his jacket and removed the cork with his teeth, spitting it onto the floor of the dugout, ‘Petru and I are now both your humble friends, Herr Leutnant.’
The officer grinned, indicating to both with the extended bottle, ‘Thank you Tatu…and welcome Petru.’ He swigged deeply, passing the bottle to Hase and indicating he should drink too. Nodding, he stated with a wink, ‘This will help you sleep before your early start.’
Tatu looked across, ‘Ah, young Hase, you must drink too…we are all friends here.’ Pointing the head of his bottle at him, the stout quartermaster was beaming with a smile from to ear to ear, ‘I told Petru I would introduce him to you all so let us have some introductions so we can all be friends…eh, Hausser?’ He turned back to the officer again. ‘We met your unit’s baby, Udet, outside, Herr Leutnant. He seems to not like the cold of the steppe, maybe more suited to a fireside chat, eh?’
Hausser smiled, ‘He is a good soldier…if young and cheeky. We should look after him Tatu, he will maybe look after us when we are older, even if we have to teach him some manners.’ The smile broke into a grin, ‘As for the others, they are Gunther, Raynor and Meino.’ He indicated to the men individually with an outstretched hand, the soldiers returning a nod to Tatu and Petru as all were now chewing vigorously on the food that had been provided. Meino raised his bottle in salute and swigged from it, a cheeky smile spreading across his unshaven face.
The gathering continued, with Tatu holding an audience as he described the actions and the persuading he had completed to gain the rations they had received tonight from the nearby supply depot at Novosad and elsewhere. The Leutnant agreed that it was difficult to obtain some supplies but that they should be all happy to be fed such good food this far from home. This prompted the subject to move onto loved ones and those that were left at home, with the men passing crumpled photos around and recounting happy times with their families and sweethearts.
Petru had become visibly emotional as he had recounted his family in Bucharest. Tatu had placed a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder as Petru explained his family of three children and spoke warmly of how he had met his wife. One of his three children was ‘of sickness’, he disclosed, so they would spend extra time and care with him. Tatu explained that they would regularly meet at Petru’s house for a meal and drinks and that the generous hospitality that Petru and his wife displayed should prompt them to open an Inn. Tatu had winked as he reminded Petru that at all times only his wife should complete the cooking in this inn and this re-established the high spirits within the group as Petru frowned in jest, embraced by grins from around the room.
Wary that he would have to rise early for guard duty, Hase had shuffled to the corner of the room and found a spot that would enable him to half lie on the straw that cushioned the bunker floor, reducing the cold from the earth below. With his feet near the stove, a full stomach of hot food and a warm friendly atmosphere he began to be overcome with drowsiness. He listened to the men talking, with the candles flickering across their faces. The camaraderie creating further warmth in the isolated dugout.
He sleepily watched as the men chatted, occasionally swigging from their communal bottles and telling stories of their previous exploits, their voices becoming strangely distant. Sleep was approaching as he wrapped himself snugly into his greatcoat. Curled up near the stove, he was now quite warm, yawning occasionally his eyes becoming heavy…the voices even more distant until he heard them no more. Submitting to his exhaustion, he closed his eyes for the last time that day.
Chapter Two: The Darkest Hour
‘Hase!’ He could hear his name being whispered firmly in the distance. ‘Hase!’ Then a firm prod to his shoulder, jerking him from his deep slumber and towards reality. His eyelids flickered, then opened.
He sat up quickly, Meino’s face close to his. ‘It’s your time my friend,’ Meino whispered. He shook his head, to fight off the groggy sickness and rubbed his eyes wearily. Next to him, Udet stirred in his sleep, having lay down beside him to gain warmth.
Slowly he looked round the dugout, now darker apart from one flickering candle and the glow emanating from the stove.
Meino flicked his chin with the top two fingers of his right hand, ‘Time to get up sleepy.’ He grinned, ‘Use my scarf as well as yours out there as it is very cold.’ Meino picked up his helmet from the ground and started pushing a handful of straw into it with his fist, ‘Here, this may help.’ He handed him the metal helmet and extended his hand, offering to pull Hase up.
Hase grasped Meino’s arm at the elbow, the strength lifting him up to a crouched position, allowing him to refrain from wakening the others. Udet shifted in his sleep next to him, his young almost childlike face just visible under his greatcoat collar. As he stepped over the young soldier, Meino slowly and purposefully changed places with him, the vacated spot the only available space on the bunker floor with everyone sleeping.
Meino winked, whispering, ‘The Romanians are to your right and left if you need company and their patrol should be back soon. So stay alert.’ He raised his finger to his lips, grinning, ‘Now get out of here…can’t you see I am trying to sleep.’ Meino’s eyes then narrowed in concern, ‘Remember…fall asleep out there and it will be the last thing you do. So take care my friend…keep moving.’
Hase carefully picked his way across the dugout avoiding the sleeping men, grasped his rifle from near the door where he had left it the previous night and walked sideways through the first tarpaulin flap. Stopping just inside the second set of material, he could feel the creeping cold touch his face and spread across his features, the frost seeming to reach out to him. Hesitating further, he purposefully and slowly wrapped the scarves across his mouth, doubling them up when he could and using Meino’s across his forehead. This would make his eyes the only part of his face that would be exposed to the elements. Placing his helmet purposefully onto his head, he pulled it down onto the scarf, pushing any stray straw up under the rim. Drawing breath, he pulled the flap back and stepped out of the dugout into the snow and freezing air. Feeling the ice crack under his initial footstep, the crunch of tightly packed snow the only sound with each step as he walked out into the darkness.
The engulfing air was bitterly cold with the frost seeming to nip at his flesh under his greatcoat and uniform. It had now stopped snowing and the sky was clear with the stars shining brightly. He paused for a moment to look at the splendour of the late night sky, his condensed breath freezing on th
e scarf as soon as he exhaled. This air was considerably colder than the previous night, and stung at his eyes as the moisture began to freeze. This increased his blinking to combat the slightly misted vision, his breathing becoming short and rasped as the air was restricted through the freezing scarf.
He decided to keep moving to attempt to ward of the creeping cold, slowly and purposefully trudging through the snow to the edge of the emplacement the bunker was situated in. Facing slightly to the south east he peered cautiously out through a gap in the top of the earthworks. They had dug this position some 4-6 weeks ago, creating a high earth wall for cover and to restrict any enemy snipers view. Over time and with heavy snowfall, the wall had now become a slope on the other side, the addition of barbed wire placed to delay or perturb attackers.
Hase knew that facing him was a field which stretched off into the distance and declined away from their position at approximately 500 metres. The decline led into a gully with a wide stream and a small copse of trees to the right on the edge of the depression. Beyond the gully were some further fields and beyond that more open land that led to the banks of the Volga, or so the Leutnant had told him, as yet they had not advanced that far. To the north and slightly to the east lay the banks of Lake Sarpa, and some distance to the south, another large expanse of water, Lake Tsatsa. The soldiers regularly joked with irony that their close proximity to the water at this time of year chilled the air and increased the likelihood of thick freezing fog drifting across from the lakes. This had caused the nicknaming of these positions, ‘the blinding defence’ by the neighbouring units.
The flatness of the land offered little protection from a biting cold wind, but he was encouraged that this was not the case this early morning. The air was freezing but still, a welcome rest from wind-chill. A low deep white mist seemed to hang in the air for some distance away across the fields, but this could not be determined due to the darkness. He considered this mist would disperse in the morning sun, but would offer reduced visibility until then.
Hase squinted to stare into the distance, trying to see further…but realised there was little point. He had always been taught to spot a particular landmark in mist or darkness, then he could judge if conditions were becoming better or worse as time passed. He determined to do this once the edge had come off the darkness and remembered a grouping of bushes to his left that he had utilised before for this purpose, making a mental note to look for them in a short time.
He turned to the left…north, and slowly trudged through the deep snow towards the neighbouring Romanian unit, glancing to his right over the emplacement wall every few steps. Cautiously, he peered into the gloom, being mindful to keep moving and keep the glances brief and sporadic to avoid predictability, a precaution against someone looking in towards their position down a rifle sight.
The snow crunched beneath his boots and he began to feel the temperature in his feet reduce, the cold nipping at his toes first, Hase having to half crouch in places to ensure he did not expose his head above the snow covered earthworks. He entered a trench, and after some twenty metres, reached the end of the section his unit was responsible for, peering out towards the Romanian position some fifteen metres further to his north. Seeing a briefly raised hand in greeting from the edge of the Romanian trench, he returned the greeting and turned to retrace his steps and repeat the exercise to the south.
Hase considered he could start a fire for some warmth, but discounted the temptation, reminding himself that a fire in darkness provides excellent silhouettes for snipers. Even in this reduced visibility and with obstacles protecting him, the fire and any comfort he could gain from it would have to wait until it was lighter.
Reaching a slight bend in the trench, he peered out to the east once more, becoming aware he could now just make out the outline of the bushes he had considered a good marking point, these were now directly to his front. It was slightly lighter than earlier, but the mist was reducing visibility considerably as it hung in the air, hugging the landscape, distorting images on the steppe. He surmised it was unlikely he would see the copse of trees at this early hour or even in these conditions…so the bushes would be his marker on his return to this spot.
He turned back south and continued trudging through the earthworks and on into the southern trench, reaching the edge of the defensive position after a short time. Receiving the same brief wave from the Romanian position to the south, this time a machine gun emplacement, he returned the gesture, turned and began the trudge back north again. The frost was now attempting to seep through his clothing, his feet having become numb in the intense cold. He hesitated briefly to try and see the copse of trees to his east, but this landmark was still shrouded in mist and darkness and beyond his sight. He considered it may be another hour before he could see the trees in any detail.
Hase returned to the earthworks and paused to stamp his feet, blowing into his gloves, the escaping warmer condensed breath rising slowly into the early morning sky. He was tempted to re-enter the bunker for a snatch of warmth to reduce the chill he was now feeling, but realised the temptation to stay in the comfort of the dugout room would be probably too much to resist. He discounted this, estimating that it would be only a matter of time before he could light a fire now as the dawn was approaching…he just had to be patient…this was his duty.
He continued into the northern trench, the snow crumpling below his feet to keep him company. Only now he had his own foot prints from before to guide his footing, so this reduced the effort considerably. His mind wandered in the early morning cold, first considering that he would gather some of the stored firewood on his return to the emplacement to prepare for an early morning fire, his focus returning to his basic need for warmth. This thought led him to recall the collections of firewood he had completed for his father and family in his childhood, the fond memories of the family around an evening fire discussing the day. His father puffing on his pipe in the corner of the room as they chatted about the dinner they had just consumed, his mother’s considerable efforts in their small kitchen and what they intended to do the following day. He smiled, realising he had a warmth towards people that smoked pipes due to his childhood experiences, relating this to his father’s kindness and efforts to educate and protect him from harm through advice.
Hase reached the slight bend in the trench and paused to look out over the snow towards the bushes, lowering the rifle from his shoulder and leaning it against the trench wall, making a mental note to keep the muzzle clear from the snow. The bushes were now a little more distinct in the early morning light. Although it was still dark, the edge had come off the darkness and he was able to see right up to the frozen foliage, no longer just seeing an outline, but more clearly. Beyond this the mist hung heavily in the air, restricting further vision.
He blew on his gloves again and stamped his feet, the cold seeming to creep through his greatcoat and uniform in waves, trying to find the thinnest spot or gap. It nipped at his toes through his boots, straw and the two pairs of socks and froze the condensed breath in his scarf, making his breathing more laboured with the slight rasp as the warm breath fought against the frozen cloth.
Hase smiled to himself as he remembered coming in from the cold as a boy, his mother would always make sure a roaring fire was awaiting him and his father’s return home to warmth when the weather was bitter outside. They would sit talking like excited children about the day, eagerly awaiting the food his mother was preparing, the mouth-watering aromas escaping from the small kitchen simply adding to their excitement.
A chill suddenly went down his spine…but this was not the cold. He squinted out across the snow, leaning forward as he did so, straining to peer further into the gloom. Concentrating his gaze to the right of the bushes where he had glimpsed what he thought was movement, realising immediately he had forgotten to collect any flares as he left the dugout. The use of a flare was the way of warning the neighbouring units to a potential threat to the line and he had left them in t
he emplacement, his weariness undermining his thinking. Momentarily he was entranced by his mistake, cursing himself for a serious error if indeed there was a threat out there, hidden in the snow.
Continuing to stare at the bushes, Hase began mentally scolding himself for his stupidity and potentially letting his comrades down. He squinted into the gloom further, becoming aware it now seemed to be colder than before, aware that this was now his senses sharpening to the potential danger. He consoled himself with the idea if there was nothing there he could retrace his steps and pick up a flare at the dugout as he passed.
Then a jerk of nervous energy, his suspicion confirmed as he glimpsed the bushes move slightly. He reached down slowly for his rifle, considering fleetingly that a small animal could be responsible for the movement and then discounting this. His mouth became dry in his realisation this was probably a Russian engineer, checking the ground for mines or traps…as yet unaware that he had been seen as the darkness receded.
Now he could just glimpse the top of the Russian soldier’s helmet, confirming his fears. The man obviously thought he was still enveloped by the mist and could not be observed. He was slowly sweeping snow to the side, feeling for any mines that may have been concealed…his role in a Russian penal or punishment battalion confirmed due to a previous mistake. The only salvation to survive the posting and be deployed back to an ordinary unit, thus making him a desperate and dangerous adversary.
Bloody Stalingrad Page 2