Hausser reached the corner and concealed himself out of view of the window occupied by the sentry. Composing himself, he turned and indicated for Hase to wait before following him.
He watched as Hausser breathed heavily, the short run in the extreme temperatures having proved very taxing. Then the commander glanced around the corner, observed no movement from the sentry and indicated for him to follow.
He looked round, making sure there were no observers, then back to the window. The sentry’s silhouette clearly visible off to the right side of the window, but his attention in the other direction, into the room. Over to the left he noticed a movement, he tensed, holding his breath. Then he exhaled, quickly recognising Udet slipping from his cover behind the outhouse and beginning to approach his target building. Checking the surroundings again, he tensed, considering someone may be about to open fire. Dismissing this, he thrust himself from the woodpile, running at a crouch across the short distance to the exterior wall, slipping next to Hausser. His back against the building and rifle held upright in front of him.
Hausser nudged him with his left shoulder, both of them out of breath from exerting themselves in the extreme cold. As the commander nudged, Hase leant out, looking to the left and seeing Tatu approaching the building across the side of the lake, his PPSH41 held menacingly, the large fur overcoat now open to permit greater movement.
‘Ready?’ the commander whispered quietly, his breath still laboured.
Hase nodded, his grip tensing on his weapon, his finger extending towards the trigger.
‘Now!’ The commander pushed his back from the wall and disappeared round the corner, the distance to the lodge’s main entrance now only some 5 metres. He followed, keeping low below the window and reaching the side of the doorway, looking across the entry point at Hausser. Both realising they were now less than a metre from the sentry on the other side of the door.
Their eyes met and Hausser seemed to smile at him. He nodded in return and the commander raised his submachine gun, stepping away from the side of the door, turned and lifted his foot as a splintering noise came from the direction of the outbuilding behind him. With this, Hausser kicked forward and the doors gave way under the impact, swinging inwards with him advancing into the room. Twisting his MP40 upwards and hitting the surprised Russian in the mouth, knocking the sentry backwards as the Russian dropped his rifle, the officer lowering his weapon to fire a short burst into the roof of the room.
Hase stepped out, his rifle at the ready, gripped tightly in his hands. Turning to advance into the light of the building through the open doors, he stepped over the threshold. He felt a wave of warm air engulf his face, the reaction making him slightly dizzy. Shaking off the distracting feeling, he advanced, hearing Tatu’s deep voice barking a command in Russian from the other side of the building, ‘Don’t move! Surrender or we shoot!’
Chapter Eight: Blood and Ice
The Russians in the wide main hall were caught completely by surprise, their astonishment at figures emerging from the bitter cold evident on their faces. Their weapons, out of reach against the wall were a reflection of the complacency that had overcome them. The alcohol dulling their reactions, they simply remained sitting on the floor, their faces twisting to meet the new arrivals, disbelief evident in their expressions. Slowly a number raised their hands in front of them, their eyes vacant and empty, the shock evident on their faces.
Hausser advanced into the centre of the room, his submachine gun pointing at the assembled audience, the plaster and dust dislodged from his gunfire dropping onto his helmet and shoulders. He stood legs apart, facing his enemy, a look of grim determination on his face.
Tatu moved along the wall, his PPSH41 held tightly, pointing menacingly in front of him at shoulder height at the group of Russians…the weapon’s magazine contained over 70 rounds, more than sufficient to destroy his foe should they react unfavourably. He stopped as he came to the collection of Russian weapons, ensuring he stood between the captives and the guns, sending a clear message to undermine any attempt to gain access to them.
Hausser glanced across at the Russian sentry, now cradling his face in his hands, the blood seeping through his fingers. He hesitated seeming to consider the situation, then calmly looked towards the door, ‘Hase!’ He commanded, indicating with the sway of his submachine gun for his comrade to move the injured man across the room to the others.
Stood just inside the door, Hase lowered his rifle, moving the weapon into his left hand and nudging the sentry’s leg with his right boot. He interjected in a low but firm tone to the prone man, ‘Davai!’ Gesturing an indication with his right hand for the soldier to join his countrymen.
The Russian dropped his hands abruptly, staring up at him, his eyes moist from the blow to his lower face that had connected with his nose, the blood oozing from both nostrils. Their eyes met, and he saw a look of uncertainty, even puzzlement in the Russian’s blue eyes. Then the gaze was broken as the injured man realised the importance of compliance, the soldier purposefully crawling across the floor to join the nearest section of the seated group.
Hase watched as the man adopted a place amongst the others, assuming a cross legged seated position with his countrymen, his expression blank, but glancing at him once more with a puzzled expression.
Hausser moved slowly towards the open doors facing the lake, closing them as he did so. He turned to Tatu, the Romanian’s weapon still pointing menacingly at the group, ‘Move them across the room…to the far side from the fire. I will get the others…they need warmth.’
The young commander strode confidently across the room towards the main entrance, nodding at Hase as he approached, a smirk of reassurance on his face. He continued past his shoulder, stepping back into the cold and turning to the left, moving out of sight.
Tatu turned to the seated audience, ‘Move over there.’ He exclaimed, indicating to the back of the hall, the furthest from the fire, ‘Slowly now.’ His eyes narrowing as the Russians hesitated.
Slowly the Russian soldiers complied with the instruction, initially only two men slowly rising and walked cautiously across the room. But as initial fear subsided at the action, more and more of the group made the short distance to sit against the far wall. Their eyes glancing with distrust from the Romanian to his weapon and back again, occasionally glancing at the soldier next to the main doorway. The sentry displayed slightly different behaviour, the young man staring only at Hase, his eyes the only sign of confusion, seeming to study him unnervingly.
Tatu was keen to gain control, and indicated for the men to sit side by side, all facing into the room. Thus allowing him to observe each man’s actions with ease, reducing any eye contact between the Russians without him noticing. He instructed they all sat cross legged, reducing their ability to react or rise quickly from their seated position and then he personally assumed a seat to the right of the open fire, next to the discarded weapons, his own weapon never straying from the Russian soldiers.
Tatu nodded approval across to Hase, the young soldier covering the movement with his rifle from the main entrance. Hase observed the quartermaster with some respect, noting the Romanian’s attention to detail in covering the captives and reducing their ability to react. He saw the steam now rising from the quartermaster’s large leather overcoat and uniform as the heat from the fire thawed the frozen clothing. He soon realised that the steam was also rising from his own uniform, the cold beginning to dissipate from his body as the temperature around him gradually rose. Aware the scarf across his mouth was becoming moist as the frost melted, he pulled it down to around his throat.
He slowly observed the Russian captives seated cross legged against the wall. Most were expressionless, their faces displaying the effects of shock at being overcome with such ease, their fate uncertain. Most were watching the Romanian quartermaster, seated observing them, his weapon targeting them directly. A few displayed the signs of worry, the knowledge of their previous day’s exploits against
the countrymen of the soldiers that now held them prisoner playing heavily on their minds. The sentry was the only soldier showing differing signs, his demeanour conflicted, his younger mind distracted from the situation with a different array of thoughts. The Russian’s eyes moving from the floor to the soldier at the doorway, him.
There was a shuffling noise behind him and he spun round, his rifle at the ready. Hausser stood in the opening, his face deeply concerned, the frost on his helmet glinting in the light spilling from the room.
Petru stood behind him, his rifle strung over his shoulder, arms supporting Nicu. On the other side of the younger Romanian was Meino, also half carrying Nicu. He looked at the young soldier between them, his face very sullen and colourless, his eyes closed, his body shaking uncontrollably. The group pushed past him, with Hausser turning to face the seated Russians, his MP40 submachine gun pointing menacingly.
Meino and Petru half carried Nicu to the front of the fire, laying him gently before the blaze, their faces solemn. The young Romanian groaned as his body was laid on the floor, his mind drifting in and out of consciousness, the cold having lowered his core body temperature significantly. He lay on his side facing the fire, shivering uncontrollably before the open heat.
Seeing a couple of the Russians smile unsympathetically, Hausser grasped his submachine gun and raised it, returning their facial expressions back to concern, the commander aware that their captives could use the opportunity of the distraction to their advantage.
Hausser turned his head to speak over his shoulder, ‘Don’t give him any food until he warms up, the shock could kill him.’ He returned his eyes to the seated captives, studying their expressions for signs of any enjoyment of the young Romanian’s plight.
Petru knelt next to the younger soldier, Nicu, removing his own overcoat to cover the shivering countryman, gently pulling the young man’s scarf down from his face. The older Romanian’s face was solemn with concern, emotions for the young man overcoming his own physical reactions to the warmth in the room as he carefully placed the overcoat over his prone countryman.
Meino removed his frozen helmet and sat dejected next to the pair, his stare on the young suffering soldier and his plight. Despondent, he slowly started to unwrap the scarf from around his mouth, pulling the felt balaclava down.
Nicu was shivering uncontrollably, the warmth from the fire causing steam to rise from his clothing. The young Romanian was barely conscious, with little knowledge of his surroundings or the captives behind him. Petru leant over and retrieved a discarded Russian jacket, rolling it methodically and placing it gently beneath the young Romanian’s head for comfort, also pulling the soldier’s balaclava down over his chin to aid his breathing.
As Hausser turned to Hase, Udet entered through the main doors beside him, his rifle held at waist height. Udet nodded to him as he entered turning to beckon the men behind him into the building. Hase followed Udet’s gaze and saw a wounded Russian stumble into the room, his bearded face covered in blood, his nose broken. Behind him walked a soldier in German uniform, the trouser legs torn and stained with blood. In his right hand he held a pistol, pointed determinedly at the Russian’s back, only some inches in front of him.
The German soldier glanced at him and his uniform and gave a slight smile of recognition before the seriousness returned to his face, a deep look of distress etched across his forehead.
Hausser stepped back, his eyes still on the seated captives, ‘Put the new prisoner with them.’ He indicated to the seated audience with a tilt of his head. Briefly studying the new German arrival, he nodded to him, ‘Which unit are you?’ The young commander requested, turning his gaze back to the seated prisoners.
The despatch rider pushed the Russian forward brutally with his free hand, the man stumbling and falling to the floor to the right of Udet, landing half way to the seated Russians. None of the prisoners moved to help him, but slowly shuffled aside to allow him a place, their solemn faces studying the man suspiciously. Udet watched the man fall, a look of contempt on his face, then slowly turned and moved exhaustedly towards the fire, quietly removing his helmet and dropping it to the floor.
‘4th Panzer Army,’ the young German retorted. ‘Private Albrecht sir. Despatch rider.’ He attempted to present a more formalised stance to the officer, but his emotional exhaustion was clear by the shaking of his voice. ‘This animal…’ He indicated with a sneer at the Russian on the floor with his pistol, ‘…was going to cut me up.’
Hausser looked at the prone Russian, the man slowly crawling across the floor to his countryman. The commander considered the situation for a second, ‘Very well, we are secure. Hase, close the doors properly and stand guard. Be alert, I think these are all of them but we cannot be too careful.’ He looked across at him as he spoke, indicating for him to close the doors. Nodding in return, Hase turned to the half open doors and began to push them together.
The officer turned to Albrecht, ‘Go sit by the fire, and check the food the Russian’s were eating…perhaps we will have a meal after all once we have all warmed through.’
Private Albrecht nodded, ‘Yes sir!’ He turned and approached the prone Romanian, leaning over to inspect the ration boxes to the left of the fire, noting a number of unopened tins to his satisfaction.
The young commander continued, ‘Petru, how is Nicu? Is he recovering?’ The concern was evident in a lower, more gentle tone to his voice.
Petru turned his gaze from the young Romanian on the floor, ‘He’s not good, Hausser. He kept quiet until we realised he had passed out in the snow. Hopefully in a couple of hours we will know whether he will survive…he is young, so that may help.’ The Romanian’s concern for the younger man was clear, his eyes moist with the heat and emotion.
Tatu stood up, a deep grunt of dissatisfaction emanating from him, ‘Give me their officers and the piece of shit that just came in.’ He indicated to the older Russian with the blood soaked beard, ‘I will take them for a walk…the others will not trouble us then.’
Hausser shook his head, ‘We are German soldiers that is not what we do.’ His annoyance at the quartermaster’s demands evident in his tone.
‘Nonsense!’ Tatu interjected, ‘The men I want are scum! They murdered my countrymen outside and in the snow in cold blood, we deal with them now! The others will survive, the officers and that older one are evil, and the other men will be free of them. They will not give us any trouble then.’
Hausser sighed, his face troubled. He realised that the quartermaster was telling the truth, but could not condone the ‘murder’ of his prisoners. He shook his head, ‘No…’
A Russian prisoner stood up abruptly, ‘I can speak Romanian…what he says is true. We murdered the men in the snow, they had no defence…’ His voice tailed off as Hausser reacted to his movement by grasping his submachine gun more tightly, pointing it menacingly in his direction.
Hausser spoke calmly and with a determined tone. ‘Stay where you are…don’t move closer…’
The Russian held his hands out in front of him in subservience, backing up to the wall, ‘I understand, I won’t be trouble. I just wanted to state that he is right. We were ordered to ambush any escaping troops, but not slaughter them. They made us do it!’ He slowly pointed to five of the seated Russians, his face exasperated, the fear creeping into it. Two of the men he indicated shook their heads in disbelief, their expressions displaying a deep anguish.
One of the men he pointed to, a sergeant in his thirties, turned his face to him, ‘Shut Up, you fool…they will shoot us all.’
Hausser was becoming frustrated and directed his next comment to the Russian sergeant, moving his submachine gun to point at him, ‘Be quiet, let him speak! The rest of you stay still!’ The officer was aware the prisoners were becoming agitated, their head movement increasing as each man looked around the others concerning him. ‘Tatu cover them!’ He instructed, hearing the Romanian quartermaster raise his weapon.
The young Russian
soldier continued, ‘The army wanted us to capture the troops that escaped, but they ordered us to ambush them. Some pleaded for their lives, but we left them in the snow. Some were shot, the others we left to freeze to death.’ The young man was becoming upset, the tears forming in his eyes and his voice shaking, ‘They ordered us to murder them…even when they surrendered. They said it would make us stronger…make us hate you more, make you afraid of us…they are evil.’ His voice tailed off as he suddenly realised what he was doing.
The young Russian prisoner looked around his captors seeking assurance, the Romanian quartermaster watching their side of the room with his weapon raised, the German officer also alert, his submachine gun held tightly pointing towards them. The older Romanian knelt by his shivering countryman and the three other Germans next to the fire, all staring at him. Next to the closed doors to his left was the German that puzzled him, also observing him, his face and eyes showing concern at the escalating situation.
As he looked silently at his captors, he realised their mood was changing with what he had said, the emotion he had displayed betraying his countrymen. He slowly lowered himself on his knees, his back against the wall. His emotions reeling, but understanding he had told them the truth, no matter how dangerous this was. The Russian next to him placed his hand on his leg, a small gesture of reassurance.
The German despatch rider spoke up, his voice shaking but directed at Hausser, ‘The Russian in the smoke shed was going to cut me to pieces.’ The tears began to form in his eyes once more, ‘Not only kill me…but torture me until I died. Udet saved me.’ His voice became more determined, his eyes tightening. He placed his hand on Udet’s arm in a thankful gesture, ‘Take him and the leaders outside, let them stand on the lake…it won’t take long. We free the others then.’
Bloody Stalingrad Page 9