The officer crouched and then sat on the edge of the trench, removing his helmet and holding it in his hand, visibly tired and seeming to be lost deep in thought for a moment as the men chewed.
Hausser then began to talk slowly in a low voice. He explained that this trench was the best place to hide whilst the Russian front line passed them by, that the enemy were hopefully moving too fast to check on small obstacles like this wood. He quickly advised the demoralised men that he would go and keep an eye on the Russians and that they should wait here in the trench. The officer then stated he would make a decision on what to do when he returned. They were instructed to eat and remain as quiet as possible in the trench, but to be highly alert at all times, in case of discovery or curious Russian Infantry.
The young officer instructed Meino and Udet to assume sentry duty on opposite edges of the small wood, stating that they should inform the others of anyone approaching the trees immediately. But that everyone should avoid contact with the enemy at all costs, that this would clearly mean the end of them all as they were too few in number to defend themselves for long. The six men nodded in grim agreement, accepting the hopelessness of the situation.
Meino and Udet then checked their weapons and left cautiously to assume their positions, with Hausser advising he would move between the two as support and to gain information on the overall situation the group faced. The expressions of grim concern, the stress of their situation and danger they faced etched on their faces.
The remaining four soldiers sat in the trench and slowly ate in solemn silence, the stresses of their situation playing heavily on their minds, all lost in their individual thoughts. The food was semi congealed, and the air quality in the wood poor, the temperature in the enclosed atmosphere of the thicket low. They were all were aware that lighting a fire would immediately alert the Russians to their situation. To the north and south they could hear the distant noises of an army advancing, the squealing of tank tracks and revving of engines as the vehicles struggled in the deep snow. Occasionally they would hear the distant murmur of voices, or a distant shout causing them to tense and reach for their weapons.
Hausser disappeared for some time and returned once everyone had completed their improvised meal. He ushered them closer, assuming a seated position on the edge of the ditch. Aware he was to brief them on the situation, all four men leant forward intently as he began to speak in a whisper, ‘I have been to the outskirts of the wood. This is an excellent hiding place and we must thank our host, Tatu, to who we owe our survival. It does not look as though the Russians have considered looking in here.’
Tatu nodded appreciatively, seeming to be slightly embarrassed. Petru placed a friendly hand on his shoulder.
Hausser continued, his tone a low whisper and solemn, ‘The Russians have broken our lines and are advancing westwards seemingly at speed. They have tanks and infantry carriers and their front line is now probably quite some distance to our west. There is fighting to the north and more distantly, to the south it seems, but at present we are in the middle of the Russian advance, or perhaps slightly to the north of the centre. At the moment the Russians are advancing on both sides of this wood, and with a little luck they will not find us here. My view is to move north at dusk or after nightfall…eventually we will re-join an allied unit.’
Hausser paused to let the information sink in, then drew a deep breath and continued, ‘This is a major offensive by the Russians I think, so it may take some time to stabilise the front and for our armies to destroy this incursion.’ A brief smile crossing his face as he glanced at Tatu, ‘The Romanian 20th Infantry division should be to our north and they are a good unit, they should hold for us and others to join them I think. That is my decision gentleman and I think the best one.’
The men nodded silently, all lost in solemn thought, the loss of their comrades a heavy burden. Their eyes were wide with the shock of what had happened and their faces grim with the realisation of the position they faced.
Petru broke the silence, the others turning to hear his low whispered words, ‘Many of our men died and will die today…too many, I think that is enough. I think we must get warm clothing and more food and go north, this mess will take some time to recover. We need to sleep now, and move tonight…I think it is best too. This position on Sarpa Lakes has gone.’ His voice was shaky, but his expression focussed and determined, his eyes a fixed stare as if looking at something in the distance, looking back towards his homeland, ‘Yes…we sleep now, we must…we will be cold for a long time now I think.’
Chapter Four: Isolation
Hase knelt motionless in the bushes, having crept slowly and meticulously to this spot avoiding creating any sound, his breath heavy as he felt the chill in the air across the bridge of his nose. It was late afternoon and he had just awoken after a drifting fitful sleep, his mind still groggy from the last snatched few minutes of final deep slumber in the ditch. The light was receding slowly across the open and clear sky, and he could begin to feel the temperature dropping further as he looked out over the field to the north. This was the route they would follow shortly…leaving the safety and secluded gloom of the thick bushes and trees to head north into the open countryside. The snow crumpled softly beneath his foot as he shifted his weight, aware that his decision on the safety of the land in front of him would determine the group’s initial movement.
The field in front of him lay empty, the silence inviting. The tracks of many vehicles had disrupted and churned up the deep snow, leaving many ruts and grooves in what had been an almost perfect scene in peacetime.
He began to consider this day’s events. In the distance to his right lay the Romanian positions, overrun and destroyed. There were probably many dead there, perhaps people he could have known in a different time. He felt some allegiance with them, understanding how it must have felt to face tanks without effective weapons. He remembered the feeling of frustration and helplessness, the escalating desperation as the tanks approached, seeming impervious to their defensive fire. The descent into an emotional state of utter futility, wary at all times that any attempt to turn and run would result in instant death without cover as you were crushed or the tanks’ machine guns cut you down.
Hase swallowed hard, clearing his head, forcing his concentration to move from his thoughts. Hesitating, he became aware of a distant sound…straining to hear, his eyes moving to the horizon, then upwards…a plane was approaching, flying relatively low it seemed. He watched as the fighter seemed to hang in the air as it flew directly towards his position. He stiffened, considering if the pilot knew he was there? Then dismissed this, the plane was too high and far away…the flight path a coincidence, the pilot looking below, surveying the ground beneath him. The plane seemed to crawl across the sky, but this was simply the illusion of it flying directly towards him. Hase smiled beneath the scarf wrapped tightly across his mouth at his initial thoughts of being discovered…he was hiding from any potential enemy infantry patrols and he had briefly considered a plane above him could see him in bushes? How little faith he had in his concealment, his jaw hardening as he realised this response was an indication of how afraid he now was of discovery.
The drones of the plane’s engines were becoming clearly audible across the frozen expanse and he watched as the pilot slowly banked to the right, turning the aircraft east and probably now beginning to cross over above Lake Sarpa. Hase glimpsed the distant yellow tips on the wings of the aircraft and could just briefly make out black crosses in the fading light before the German plane levelled out and began to climb away to the east.
He swallowed again to clear his throat, this time to attempt to disperse the desperate sickly feeling rising from his stomach. The plane indicated to him how far safety was from him now, untouchable, out of reach and out with his control…they were now truly alone.
The plane had been sent out for reconnaissance, to discover the distance of the enemy breakthrough. It had taken virtually all day for the situatio
n to now become clear, for the true extent of the potential danger the army on the Volga now faced. With the chaos that had ensued after the initial assault and a heavy ground fog and cloud cover, it was late afternoon before a fighter had been sent south to finally determine the situation and to confirm the broken radio reports. The pilot had flown across the lakes and reached the fighting to the south…then circling back, checking for surviving or trapped units. He had reported back and been instructed to check again, resulting in this, his final circle in fading light with low fuel. He radioed back his findings to the airfield in Stalingrad, the report being conveyed to the command centre and then back to Berlin via enigma machine.
‘Report from Pitomnik airfield 20th November 1942 (Evening): Reconnaissance sweep, southern sector, Stalingrad front completed. Enemy breakthrough in the Sarpa Lakes area in force. No surviving defensive units seen in sector. Fighting to north and south of breakthrough ongoing. Enemy units advancing to the west. Fading light prevents further flight.’
Hausser had instructed Hase to position himself here, to monitor the route they would take to the north whilst the rest of the men prepared themselves. He had been concealed in the bushes for nearly an hour and had nothing to report, considering the Russians were probably now using the roads, the nearest to the south of them. But he had not seen any patrols…were they not patrolling the area, searching for and picking off any survivors?
The temperature was now becoming extreme as the darkness approached, the extent of his vision across the snow to his north diminishing in the fading light. He looked up, observing the sheer beauty of the clear night sky and the sharply lit stars emerging, the darkness slowly descending and providing startling clarity to the many sparkling lights across the heavens. His breath condensed and shallow now as the temperature began to bite at his chest as he inhaled, he began to experience the frost closing in around his limbs and nip at his fingers and toes, the night sky both beautiful but deadly in the extreme cold. But tonight there was no reassurance of a forthcoming warm meal or fire as a conclusion to sentry duty…the stove and sheltering dugout were gone…now a distant memory.
He thought back to that afternoon, trying to distract himself from the mood that was descending upon him…but these thoughts too were bleak. He had slept briefly in the trench after their improvised meal, the adrenalin still flowing through him with the fear of being discovered preventing any revitalising rest. His fitful sleep had been disturbed by Tatu and Petru returning from a scavenging visit to the quartermaster’s dugout. They had completed this excursion to retrieve further clothing and some more food for their night walk. It had been a bleak choice, a dangerous retrieval of supplies and clothing or potential death from exposure on the Russian steppe at night. Both men spoke Russian, so had considered their chances high if challenged due to their unconventional dress, possession and personal familiarity with Russian weapons. Hausser had reluctantly agreed to them going.
Petru had been clearly emotionally disturbed by the experience and sat alone in silence at the end of the trench after returning. Tatu explained that the emplacement was virtually untouched, as the Russians had been spurred on in their advance, with little time to explore.
They had discovered a severely wounded Romanian soldier in the dugout. Having crawled there in desperation to escape the advancing Russians, there was a blood trail across the snow in the emplacement and the young man was close to death when they found him. The young soldier was only 21 years old, but had sustained a severe stomach and leg wound and was slowly bleeding to death, knowing that there were no medics and no help available, he was fully aware the end was near.
Tatu explained in a solemn and determined manner how they had given the wounded man some brandy to try and dull the pain he was suffering. That he had accepted this willingly, knowing it would help him on his way, but that the young soldier had struggled to swallow the strong liquid, spluttering and coughing up blood from his wounds.
The wounded soldier explained painfully that the Russians had captured some injured Romanians, but that their commissar had then intervened, preventing any mercy. He had ordered the wounded be stripped of their uniforms and left in the snow to freeze. The Russian political officer then set fire to their uniforms as they watched…condemning them to their fate in the bitter cold.
The soldier had continued choking back tears, stating he had ‘played dead’ and with the blood he had lost from his wounds, the Russians had presumed his actions to be reality. Once the Russians had moved quickly away in their advance, spurred on by their commissar, he had crawled to the only spot he knew may be safe, the quartermaster’s dugout. He considered he may find clothing here to take back for the wounded, but he was too weak and exhausted upon his arrival from blood loss to return to them.
Tatu explained that Petru had crept back to the front position with some clothing to see if he could help, but that he had been too late. The injured soldiers had sustained further injuries from another Russian unit that had followed the advance. Petru placed his head in his hands at this point, a moan of frustration escaping from his lips as he began to sob uncontrollably.
Tatu lowered his voice, whispering that the wounded men had been butchered. Determining it probably had been a Russian penal battalion that had been let loose on the helpless soldiers, spurred on by a commissar’s hatred. Some men had been tortured and others simply bayoneted and left to bleed to death. That when Petru had arrived he had had to scare off some wolves, feasting on the recently deceased with their blood still warm. There was evidence that a couple had initially tried to resist the ravenous animals, but had been overcome quickly, the victims simply being too weak to fight them off. When Petru had arrived, all the men were dead…there were no survivors.
He continued, advising that the young Romanian soldier had died in his arms, choking on the blood that had filled his lungs and throat. He had held him for some time until Petru returned, then the two men collected some food and clothing and returned to the wood. Tatu leant forward to finish, stating solemnly that the hardest act had been to leave the young man in the dugout, but this would look to any prying Russians that there were no survivors.
Tatu then observed his audience closely, seeing that Udet, Meino and Hase were aghast at what had been explained. Looking directly into Udet’s and then Hase’s eyes he had spoken almost reflectively, seeming distant, ‘I will remember that soldier and that I left him alone for the rest of my life. But you too must remember him…for this shows what the enemy will do to you if you surrender. You are young, and may hesitate…the Russian will not…always remember that.’ He spoke slowly to ensure he was understood. ‘This fighting is different now…vicious and without mercy. This young man was Nicu’s best friend, so I will tell him. That is best.’ With this, he rose abruptly and turned, creeping into the undergrowth towards the young Romanian. The youthful soldier posted to the edge of the wood to observe, the message a heavy burden to carry.
As Tatu had departed, Hase had turned to look at Udet, his eyes moist. Udet was staring fixated into the trench, a desperate look of defeat in his eyes. Meino’s eyes were determined, his experience overcoming any outward emotion, but Hase saw the sadness deep within him.
It was Petru who had finally broken the grim silence. The Romanian spoke as he stared into the distance, only turning to look directly at the younger soldiers as he finished, his eyes seeming to stare deeply into them. ‘We will move soon. Hase…go to the north side of the wood. Go and check the land we will cross; it will soon get dark…we will come then. We have a long walk ahead of us tonight and it will be cold, very cold.’ With this, the Romanian had tossed him a felt balaclava and socks they had brought from the dugout, ‘Wear these, you will need them.’
Hase turned sharply, startled by a rustle of the bushes behind him. Hausser was approaching him cautiously, half crouched through the undergrowth, the officer’s submachine gun in his left hand, a pack in the other. The officer outstretched his right hand and indicated
for him to take the pack, Hase realising the others were behind the young commander, all weighted down with packs presumably filled with food and extra ammunition. All nodded to him as they caught up with Hausser, slowly spreading into a semi-circle around him.
Hausser shifted uncomfortably, turning to be able to address him and the others, speaking in a whisper, ‘Remember what I told you…spread out. We need to look like a Russian patrol to anyone that sees us.’ The men nodded grimly, all wearing the felt balaclavas and scarves across their faces, a shield from the intense cold…their helmets now glistening with the frost that was forming across the metal.
Hausser turned to him, ‘So, young Hase…what is out there?’ The officer’s breath was condensed in the extreme cold and he was now aware the temperature was considerably lower than it had been earlier.
‘There has been no movement, sir.’ He replied, wary of all eyes upon him, ‘There seem to be no patrols…are the Russians sticking to the roads?’
Hausser’s eyes narrowed, ‘Either that or they think we are all gone from here and are in dugouts and the villages.’ His eyes slowly surveying the group one by one.
Hase’s eyes slowly followed Hausser’s around the small group and it was then he realised the soldier called Nicu was next to Tatu, the young Romanian’s eyes staring at the ground expressionless, the shock of the cold and the loss of his friend evident in his strained eyes. The others, Udet, Meino, Tatu and Petru all returned the eye contact, a look of camaraderie in their eyes, Tatu winking cheekily to instil comfort in the young soldier.
Hausser’s inspection completed, he stiffened, ‘Let’s go.’ Turning, and rising from his crouched position, the young commander stepped from the cover of the bushes and into the field, the crunch of the snow announcing his departure.
Bloody Stalingrad Page 5