Petru nodded grimly and disappeared back into the dugout as they heard the machine guns begin to fire again some fifty metres away to the east. Petru reappeared from the darkened emplacement and tossed a submachine gun to Tatu’s outstretched hand, lifting the strap of a bag over his shoulder and grinning at the younger soldier, winking.
Tatu checked the chamber of his weapon, a PPSH41 Russian submachine gun, and turned to face the entrance to the trench, indicating for them to follow him. As they approached the opening, the Romanian quartermaster almost collided with Hausser running towards them down the narrow passageway, his submachine gun in his right hand, Tatu grabbing the officer’s tunic to prevent him from falling backwards as he slipped.
‘Ivan is bringing up tanks.’ Hausser exclaimed, breathless, ‘This is a major attack it seems, there were no reports of them massing forces in this area.’ He gasped, ‘Tatu, how many anti-tank weapons have your men got?’
‘Not many my friend and those that we have are old. Let’s see if we can get close enough to give them a taste of Romanian brandy.’ Tatu replied sternly, ‘We will come to your emplacement to help…Let’s go!’
‘OK, this way,’ Hausser exclaimed. ‘The trenches are under direct fire.’ The officer indicated for the men to turn away from the trench and make their way round to the position from the west. Jumping out of the quartermaster’s emplacement, they slipped down a slope to the south west of the position and ran half crouched along a small depression behind the line, coming out just behind the German dugout. They ran into the back of the emplacement, jumping over discarded boxes, ducking their shoulders upon hearing a shell whistle overhead and land behind them with a loud crump as it exploded in the snow behind.
Raynor turned his head to see them arrive, his eyes wide with fear, his mouth wording, ‘Panzer Alarm’ before turning back to fire the machine gun, his shoulder shaking as the weapon fired through the emplacement wall. Gunther had stacked the spare ammunition cases opened and around his friend and was himself laying a bundle of grenades out between him and Raynor in anticipation of a Russian approach.
Hausser ran to him, grabbed his shoulder and shouted ‘Udet?’ Gunther pointed down the right hand trench and picked up his rifle, leant against the wall of the emplacement.
Hausser now turned to him, grabbing his arms, ‘Hase, you and the others cover the left trench, I am going to radio command for support.’ The young officer pushed him away towards the trench and ran to the dugout entrance, disappearing inside.
Watching Hausser disappear into the dugout, Hase turned and ran half crouched into the trench, ducking instinctively at an explosion just outside the emplacement to the right, throwing earth and snow down onto them. Glancing back, Tatu and Petru were behind him, solemn expressions of determination on their faces, a glint of fear in Petru’s eyes…a cold stare in Tatu’s.
Hase reached the bend in the trench and stole a glance over the wall. The scene in front of him was mesmerising…the mist still hung low, but was now further back…the machine guns of both sides of his position firing into the swirling gloom, the visibility low. The mist would swirl as the Russian soldiers exited its embrace to be then targeted by the machine guns as they moved into their arc of 45-90 degrees to their front. He watched as five Russians were cut down as they advanced from the misty fog in front of the MG34’s position.
Tatu grabbed his shoulder and pulled him below the wall of the trench as bullets spattered across the ground in front of their position. The Romanian was shouting in his ear, ‘Focus, young Hase or today will be your last! Keep your head down, fire a shot then move position!’
Petru had pushed past them and was now nearing the end of the trench, indicating a greeting of support to the young Romanian soldier opposite, receiving a forced terrified smile in return.
Another shell landed just short of the trench, sending scattered frozen earth and snow on top of them, all instinctively ducking further below the walls of the walkway as they heard the whoosh of another shell heading in towards their position.
Tatu shouted to his friend as the earth from the explosion fell onto them, ‘Get the brandy ready Petru…we will not have time later.’
Petru nodded, delving into the bag he was carrying and producing two bottles. Both had rags hanging from their corks and he placed them carefully onto the ground. Dropping two submachine gun magazines for Tatu’s weapon next to them, then checking the breach of his own rifle.
Tatu stole a quick glance over the trench wall and swore loudly, ‘The tanks are getting near.’
Hase raised his head above the wall briefly, seeing a flash in the mist, a dark outline behind, the mist swirling downwards and sucked under the hull of the sloped hulled tank as it emerged from the shroud. Flashes started from the metal monster’s forward machine guns directly at the German emplacement, the ducked Russian infantry emerging from the mist behind their tank, using it for cover.
His eyes widened in fear as he saw two other tanks emerge from the white gloom, their machine guns firing, infantry sheltering behind them. Ducking back down, he clenched his hands round his Kar 98 rifle. Stammering, he turned to Tatu, ‘How will we stop the tanks?’
Tatu and his eyes met and he gained the understanding that the situation was very serious. Tatu slowly placed his hand on the young soldier’s shoulder, ‘Go and help your countrymen young Hase, Petru and I will hold this place.’ The Romanian then grasped the hesitant young man’s greatcoat lapels with both hands, moving his face close to his, ‘Now GO!’
Tatu pulled him past his left shoulder and pushed him down the trench, Hase stumbling forward with the momentum, scrambling back towards the emplacement, almost on his hands and knees. He heard the shells whine overhead and crumple behind the dugout. The machine gun was firing continuously and he heard several clanks as the Romanians tried to engage the tanks with their aging anti-tank weapons, the projectiles from their weapons bouncing off the thick forward steel armour plate. The noises began to swirl around him as he focussed on the dugout’s entrance, earth splattering around him as the shells burst behind and around the emplacement. He forced himself forward towards his goal and safety, half scrambling across the snow and covered boxes and equipment.
He threw himself through the dugouts tarpaulin, landing on the floor of the room half inside the tent flap. Glancing up, he saw Hausser shouting into the microphone, a radio earphone pressed to his ear, ‘I repeat…Tank attack…enemy attacking in force…we need support!’
The radio crackled back, dispersed with the loud shell explosions and machine gun fire outside, dust and loosened earth falling from the dugout’s roof.
‘Scheisse!’ Hausser shouted in frustration, dropping the radio equipment. He turned, staring incredulously at him, ‘They say hold the line…that there is no support available. The enemy is attacking along a wider front, support deployed south of here. Enemy breaking through.’ Hausser’s eyes were widened in exasperation, his mind confused in its efforts to grasp a possible successful solution.
Hausser shook his head, mentally summarising the situation. The young officer stepped back and without warning raised his MP40 and fired a burst into the radio, shattering it. ‘Destroy equipment!’ The officer hesitated, turning to face him, then grabbed a sack next to his makeshift desk, tossing it to him, ‘Hase, take the grenades and give to the men out there…they will need them.’ Hausser took two steps towards him, indicating over Hase’s shoulder, ‘Come on, let’s go!’
Both men pushed out through the tarpaulin, the noises of war reaching fever pitch. The clunking of the old anti-tank weapons against the Russian tanks as they moved slowly up was nerve wracking, the explosions behind the position to engage possible reinforcements made the men instinctively duck as the shattered earth and snow fell onto and around them. The machine gun was still firing, with Gunther preparing a new barrel for the weapon.
Hausser realised the danger that changing the barrel would bring…without the gun firing they could be overwhelme
d by Russian infantry. The officer ran forward, shouting at Gunther, ‘How long?’
Raynor frantically shouted back, ‘This barrel is nearly done…its overheated too much, Herr Leutnant!’ His eyed were wide with fear, the sweat pouring down his face, ‘I don’t think we can change it fast enough…the Russkies are behind their tanks, but will be all over us before we get it firing again.’
Hase ran forward, half crouched, throwing himself against the emplacement wall and pushing himself against it with his left shoulder. Glancing briefly over the wall and down the decline, he realised in horror there were now six tanks in the field before them. Two had lost tracks and were stationary as a result of the anti-tank fire, but had turned their attention on the culprits and were firing at the Romanian positions in an attempt to silence the gunners. The other four tanks were slowly moving towards their positions, their tracks spinning in the deep snow, attempting to gain grip and traction.
He pushed himself up with his left hand and ran into the right hand trench, towards Udet and Meino. They acknowledged him with cautious nods as he reached them, the men both crouched in the trench. Udet’s face was contorted with fear, Meino’s hand on his shoulder for brief comfort.
Hase dropped a number of grenades on the ground before them and looked up, seeing both realised the danger of the situation from the strain in their eyes.
His mouth was dry, licking his lips, he turned to proceed back to the emplacement. The machine gun jammed suddenly, stopping him in his tracks…the barrel finally giving up, the jam occurring due to the its warping. Both Raynor and Gunther struggled frantically with the weapon, pulling it from its firing position and fighting with the barrel, their hands scorching from the hot metal. He realised they had left it too late…the bullet jammed in the barrel now far more serious.
He stole a glance over the trench wall, seeing that the Russian soldiers had now realised the machine gun had stopped firing, cautiously moving out from the back of their prospective tanks. The machine gun was still firing to the south, Hase watching the Russian tank turrets slowly turn towards it, determining to concentrate their fire.
The air filled with shouts of ‘Hurrah’ as the Russian infantry seemed to collectively realise the machine gun would not fire. They broke from the cover of their tanks and swarmed forward towards the machine gun position. As he watched, the nearest Russian T34’s barrel flashed as it fired at the Romanian machine gun, two more flashes from other tanks quickly followed. Instinctively glancing round as if following the shell, the explosion ripped the roof off the Romanian gun emplacement, killing the crew instantly and destroying the machine…the firing on their right flank fell silent.
More ‘Hurrah’s’ echoed as the Russian infantry rose from the snow in front of the destroyed Romanian gun, and began advancing towards the Romanian riflemen that had been protecting the now silent machine gun. The riflemen began frantically trying to pick off the mass of advancing infantry, attempting to make every bullet count.
Hase looked back to see the two German infantry still struggling with the machine gun, hearing the whine and rasp of one of the tank’s engines as it began to ascend the other side of the slope of the emplacement. He shouted a warning at the two soldiers, and could hear Udet shouting behind him, but the noise of battle and the tanks’ engines drowned them both out. Raynor turned slightly and made eye contact with him, looking up from the weapon briefly, desperation on his face. Then he disappeared as the wall of the emplacement collapsed backwards under the weight of the tank, burying the machine gunners. The T34 tank’s tracks spun in the air as it fell forward onto the collapsed wall and the buried soldiers, crushing them instantly. Udet grabbed Hase’s shoulder, the scream of frustration from the young soldier behind him in reaction to what they had just seen, their eyes transfixed on the scene.
Meino was shouting frantically at them, spurring him from his fixated stare on the gruesome scene. Realising what Meino’s intention was as his mind cleared, he spun round and pushed Udet back to distract him, focussing the young soldier and breaking his stare. Frantically, they both grasped at the metal objects from the snow at their feet, furiously unscrewing the stick grenade bases. The grenades primed, they lobbed them over the walls of the trench, hearing the resulting crumpled explosions breaking the attack as Russian infantry were thrown back down the slopes.
Hase looked to his right, Meino firing his MP40 furiously over the trench wall, shouting desperately for them to move, the flashes from his submachine gun surreally lighting up the experienced soldier’s face. This demonic sight spurred him into action, feeling the adrenalin surge through him. Turning, he grabbed the shoulder straps of Udet’s overcoat and pulled the younger soldier towards him, back towards the emplacement and the only way out.
The two soldiers took three steps in approach to the clearing and stopped in the trench, their hopes shattered. The Russian tank had advanced across the emplacement and was grinding its tracks into the dugout. Behind it, Russian infantry began to surge over and through the broken emplacement walls, their rifles with bayonets fixed, the ‘Hurrahs’ ringing in their ears. Udet grasped his shoulder in fear, both men realising their escape route was about to be cut. In response, he raised his rifle in exasperation, wary this weapon was no longer enough to defend them against such odds.
The world seemed to slow, as both men hesitated, tightly grasping their weapons, their stomachs churning in desperation. For a second hopelessness overwhelmed them, the situation seeming unsurmountable as the Russians surged into the emplacement. Then time moved forward dramatically, the Russians being met with an explosion of bullets from Tatu’s and Hausser’s submachine guns as they exited the trench opposite. Firing as they came, the advancing brown uniformed Russians twisting, shuddering and fell all around, screams filling the air as the muzzles flashed opposite.
Petru ran out behind them half crouched and across to the left seemingly with a flame in his hand. With one jump he landed on the back of the tank as it crushed the dugout beneath its tracks, the front of the tank crashing downwards into the room they occupied the night before. Its engine growled, the tracks skidding on the screeching broken wood as the driver revved the motor in an attempt to climb the back wall of the dugout. Under the immense weight, the wood shattered and cracked, splinters flying from the grinding tracks, plumes of exhaust billowing as the engines roared.
Petru scrambled onto the turret and grasped the hatch, wrenching it open and throwing the flaming bottle inside. He jerked his body back as the flames rushed skywards through the opening, the bottle smashing and the brandy ignited inside the tank, creating an inferno. Petru leapt off to the right side of the tank, rolling as he hit the ground, the momentum of the tank pushing him forward. Then the tank jolted, its engine stalling, the muffled crews distorted screams echoing from within the metal cabin. A burning crewman attempted to climb through the flames, his head rising through the turret as he scrambled desperately to escape the inferno below.
Tatu jumped onto the back of the tank, his immense jacket billowing behind him with the forward motion. He knocked the crewman back into the tank with the butt of his submachine gun, flipped the gun in his hands and fired a burst into the open hatch, the inside of smouldering the tank falling silent. Jumping from the tank, he joined Petru, turning to call the others forward towards them, beckoning with his free hand.
Hausser responded, firing his submachine gun through the gap in the emplacement wall, shouting and indicating desperately for the men to follow Tatu and Petru over the destroyed dugout. In response, both surged forward, with Hase half pulling Udet as he attempted to gain his footing in the snow. Both young men half scrambled across the smashed emplacement, Meino passing the hole in the embankment behind them, the experienced soldier tossed his last remaining grenade through the gap. The soldiers ran half crouched towards their Romanian comrades, Hausser covering the gap in the wall with his submachine gun. Once the men had passed, the officer quickly turned and followed them, shaking his head
in frustration. The whining of approaching tank tracks down the slope to the east and distant shooting with muffled gunfire to the south and north the only sounds now. The battle was lost.
Once the men had safely left the destroyed emplacement, they swiftly retraced their steps into and along the depression following Tatu and Petru. Wary of distant Russian voices now either side of the slight ravine, they held their weapons at the ready, moving as silently as possible. Their progress was cautious but swift, taking care not to make too much noise in their haste, with no talking. Upon nearing the Romanian quartermaster’s emplacement, Tatu led the party sharply left through a thicket and into the small wood that had bordered his emplacement. Cautiously they all disappeared into the snow laden trees and bushes.
In the centre of the small copse of trees they came upon a small narrow ditch that had been cleared. The young Romanian soldier Hase had seen in the trench greeted them with a strained smile, a look of near panic and bewilderment on his face. His relief at not being left alone evident, but the severe stress of what had just happened clear from the strained expression on his face and the white knuckles tightly grasping his rifle. Tatu, it seemed, had briefed the teenager on where to come and what to collect on the way.
Hausser indicated for them all to get into the trench and they all proceeded to drop into the narrow man-made defence, the sounds of sporadic distant shots in their ears coming from the Romanian positions. All were exhausted from their ordeal and stood half crouched in the trench gasping for air until they recovered their composure, the whine of distant tank tracks now evident to the north and south.
The rations in the mess tins the young Romanian soldier had stored in the trench earlier were readily received and welcomed, the men not having eaten yet that day. These were opened and the soldiers slowly munching on the food, a cold Romanian stew, as they began to realise the situation they were in and what they had overcome.
Bloody Stalingrad Page 4