Hausser leant over to Hase whispering, ‘I think we will not tell the others about what the Russian said.’ He looked at the soldier sat in the driver’s seat next to him, seeking his agreement.
Hase nodded, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, ‘I understand, sir.’ A grin forming on his face, ‘I don’t think the others will understand me anyway.’
Hausser nodded, a smirk on his face, ‘Cheeky dog…you know what I meant.’
Hase nodded, smiling at the exchange, then he stiffened as he began to take in the surroundings as they drove further. The buildings north of the river were similar to the south, of wooden and stone construction, but severely damaged. A crudely painted sign hung to their left, daubed in red on the side of an ammunition box. He read the Russian wording slowly as they passed, the sign an ominous warning to those advancing northwards, ‘Enemy shelling on the road ahead.’
Fires raged unchecked through a considerable number of the structures with sparks and smoke blowing across the road around them. This part of the town was virtually deserted, with the occasional Russian soldier to be seen down the side lanes. An unnerving, almost disconcerting silence settled around them, the northern part of the town seeming virtually deserted.
As they drove further they began to see frozen bodies along the sides of the road, half buried in snowfall. Hase considering the frozen limbs protruding from the white embracing blanket covering the most gruesome of visions and offering the dead some degree of respect. The evidence of a heavy desperate battle was everywhere and Hase imagined the frantic fighting that must have occurred as the Germans and their allies attempted to stop the Russian advance. He considered there seemed to be a considerable number of Russian dead to either side of the highway, their brown uniforms frozen to their extended limbs. Occasionally he could spot a German or Romanian uniform amongst the corpses, but these were far less frequent indicating a defensive battle as the Germans and their allies retreated northwards.
Glancing into the many side streets, he observed the occasional Russian soldier searching the streets or looting the dead, their faces covered in scarves from the heat and smoke. Glancing left, he saw two wolves in an empty lane, both tugging on a concealed item in the rubble, beneath the snow. The hair on the back of his neck rising as he realised they were feeding on a half-buried corpse, blood dripping from their mouths.
Hausser sensed his distraction and leant forward, whispering, ‘Keep going, Hase, not much further now. You need to keep your eyes on the road, there is a lot of smoke ahead.’
He shook his head, turning his vision back to the highway, noticing two Russian soldiers by the side of the road. They were standing in their greatcoats smoking, their faces flushed with the heat from the fires. Both slowly turned to observe the passing vehicles, their faces expressionless, lines of tiredness beneath their eyes. One slowly rose his hand in a greeting as they passed, with Hausser returning the gesture.
To the right, an aging Russian civilian approached, shuffling along the iced road and pulling behind him a small cart with sparse belongings piled upon it. His thin bearded dishevelled features straining with the weight of his cart, his eyes transfixed on the road behind them, seeming oblivious to their presence and where he was. He imagined the man had suffered great hardship and now he was potentially alone, the last evidence of his life piled on the small cart he dragged down the street.
The vehicle accelerated slightly as they neared the northern part of the town, his eagerness apparent in the lead vehicle to escape this place that caused him concern and uneasiness. Heavy smoke now billowed across the road before them, the buildings on either side burning out of control, their wooden structures being consumed by fire.
As they passed into the billowing smoke, the pungent aroma of the acrid burning wood entered the soldiers’ nostrils, causing each man to hold his breath. The dark smoke of the burning timber mixed with an unmistakable smell, the odour of burning flesh, turning the men’s stomachs. Sparks and light fragments of wood flew around them, hitting their faces and uniforms and overwhelming their senses.
For a moment they were blinded, the feeling of disorientation virtually overpowering the men as the smoke enveloped the two personnel carriers. The vehicles slowed dramatically in the severely reduced visibility, then as suddenly as they had entered the billowing mass, they exited on the other side, at the northern outskirts of the village. The brilliance of the snow covered landscape causing them to blink in the sharpening light as their eyes adjusted.
Hausser looked ahead and drew breath sharply, gritting his teeth and whispering, ‘Scheisse! They are moving up. There must be hundreds of them!’
Before them on the iced road, some one hundred and fifty metres in front of the lead carrier, marched two long columns of Russian soldiers on either side of the highway. The two columns stretched as far as the eye could see, with officers and commissars between the two lines of soldiers, spurring the marching men along.
The Russians were marching north, towards the lower suburbs of Stalingrad.
Chapter Nineteen: Close Enough to Touch
As the second carrier emerged from the billowing smoke, Tatu’s eyes widened when he saw the Russian soldiers marching before them. With a quick intake of breath he turned to the stunned soldiers in his carrier, his voice stern, ‘Keep alert. No talking and avoid eye contact as we pass through them.’ He glanced around seeing the strain on each man’s face as they took in the ominous sight in front of them.
The stout Romanian quartermaster ran his hand down over his bushy moustache nervously, ‘I know you are all exhausted, but we cannot make a mistake now.’ Glancing at Nicu and Albrecht in the back of the carrier, he indicated to them both, ‘Get further down in the carrier, cover yourself with blankets and look as though you are injured or asleep.’
The two men stared back at him, their eyes wide with adrenalin and fear, both slowly taking in the information and nodding. Nicu slipped down in the carrier, moving his body so that only his head was above the metal sides of the vehicle. He forced a smile at Tatu, pulled his greatcoat collar up and wrapped a blanket round his shoulders, moving his rifle to between his legs and covering the weapon with another blanket. Albrecht observed the man next to him and followed suit, lowering himself into the carrier so his knees were nearly in the foot well.
Tatu nodded with a degree of satisfaction, ‘Remember, no talking whatever happens.’ He checked both men’s faces for understanding, satisfied, he turned back to face Petru, ‘Are you alright, my old friend?’
Petru nodded, a faint smile forming on his lips, ‘The final challenge lies ahead I think…this should be interesting.’
Tatu nodded slowly, his concern rising as the vehicles continued slowly along the highway, observing they were now only one hundred metres from the rear of the advancing columns.
He followed the line of infantry before them as the long line extended off into the distance. Noticing it then snaked to the right and over a slight hill, he wondered how many troops were before them. In the distance, several heavy dark plumes of smoke ascended up into the sky on the horizon, indicating the ferocity of the battle ahead near the Volga.
A thump from the right made him turn to look across the snow covered field that extended towards the lakes. A large Russian artillery position lay across the white expanse, some two hundred metres from the road and interspersed amongst the guns sat American supply lorries, seemingly loaded with shells for the guns. As Tatu watched, another gun fired, jolting backwards with a plume of smoke rising into the crisp air, the shell soaring into the sky and then down into the suburbs, beyond the horizon.
In the field before the guns lay bodies half covered in snow, an indication of the Russian advance towards the city. Surveying the field, he realised there were hundreds of bodies, an indication of the ferocious fighting that had occurred in the preceding days as the Russians had advanced towards German machine guns on the small rise before them.
Several destroyed Romanian R4 tanks la
y in the field, some of the broken hulks still smouldering and he observed many bodies around them. Considering that the tanks had driven out to combat the infantry and then been overwhelmed, his eyes fixed on a destroyed Russian T34 in the centre of the field. He realised that the Romanians had then perhaps faced overwhelming numbers of Russian tanks as they tried to drive the Russian soldiers back. His eyes became moist as he considered the frantic battle his countrymen had faced, knowing they were outgunned, but attacking anyway in desperation. Perhaps they had gained some comfort and resolve from delaying the enemy, allowing many to escape into the city behind them.
His eyes withdrew from the scene in the field as he realised the lead carrier was now starting to move between the two columns of Russian infantry. Noticing Hausser in the front car salute a commissar who had moved to the side to let the vehicles past, the Russian officer shouting to his men to be aware of the carriers behind them and to move aside.
Tatu raised his hand and saluted the commissar as they passed him, the carriers proceeding at a cautionary speed to avoid drawing attention. The commissar smiled back, nodding to him, then turned to shout at his men again, encouraging them forward.
The Romanian listened as the commissar shouted words of encouragement, ‘kill the fascist invaders’, ‘drive them from our home city’ and two statements that almost made his blood run cold, ‘take no prisoners’ and ‘for each fascist you kill brings victory one step closer for Mother Russia.’ His mood darkened as he realised the war was now in a different stage from the one he was accustomed to. As the commissar’s raised voice faded behind them, he heard similar words from the next commander they passed and then another commissar.
Slowly the vehicles weaved a path down the highway, the infantry on either side occasionally staring or nodding at them or gesturing friendship. Tatu considered he would just look to the front of the vehicle, wary of turning round to see the expressions of Nicu and Albrecht.
Behind him, Nicu’s eyes were closed tightly, his fear driving him to block out the outside world, his hands shaking beneath the blanket. He grasped his weapon tightly, exasperated with how useless it would be if the surrounding Russians suspected their identity.
Albrecht occasionally looked out from the cover of his blanket, his curiosity sporadically overcoming his fear. His stomach was churning, and his hands sweating as he realised the sheer number of Russians around them each time he opened his eyes.
The vehicles slowly turned the gradual bend in the highway to the right. Tatu observing the broken makeshift defences on the right of the road that had been overcome in the preceding days. Several sandbagged emplacements were linked by shallow foxholes and some makeshift barricades, the signs of a hastily prepared defensive line.
Amongst the positions lay the dead, half covered in snow. He observed German and Hungarian uniforms amongst the soldiers that had fallen as well as several Russian dead. He considered there had been desperate hand to hand fighting here as the rear guard Axis forces had tried to hold and push back the Russian attack.
The sandbagged emplacements were all depressed or destroyed and he realised Russian tanks had driven over them in their advance. One emplacement that they passed had a broken German MG42 heavy machine gun twisted and bent against the sandbags that had fallen in on it, the Romanian closing his mind upon seeing a frozen hand reaching out from the snow still grasping the weapon, the soldier’s body crushed to pulp by the heavy tank as it rose up over the makeshift emplacement.
Tatu had briefly closed his eyes and then reopened them, wary his reaction was observed by the surrounding Russians. He saluted and smiled at another commissar that turned to observe them, the officer returning his smile with a raised hand.
The Romanian quartermaster looked forward again, seeing the marching columns turned to the left after a further one hundred metres, the road then going over the slight ridge. As he sat there, he felt the deepest sorrow for what had happened, the sheer number of dead and the destruction that had occurred seemed to be now endless, the new normality. They were now so far from home, the thousands of kilometres they had travelled in what he thought initially to be an adventure, seemed now to be an insurmountable distance to return, the return to safety.
A jolt by the carrier as it overcame a small obstacle on the road forced him back to reality as he realised he had half drifted off, his body exhausted. The ‘whoosh’ that he had heard overhead alerting him to danger. As his senses became fully alert, he saw the Russian infantry all stop and look to the north momentarily, then the nearest Russian officer turned, shouting in alarm, ‘Enemy artillery, take cover!’
Tatu glanced back down the slope as the artillery shell exploded just in front of the Russian gun positions, throwing the frozen dead and dismembered bodies that had lain there into the air. The Russian infantry on either side of the road dropped to lie on the verges, their hands sweeping over their heads in a desperate and futile attempt to prevent injury from shrapnel.
Several more ‘whooshes’ soared overhead and he watched as the artillery fired from southern Stalingrad had now found its range. The first shell landed in the middle of the Russian position, the explosion sending a wall of fire and dirt into the air. He stared mesmerised as the artillery crews caught in the blast were thrown upwards and sideways, their bodies broken in the explosion, the sound wave engulfing them. Then another blast hit one of the artillery lorries, the flames bursting outwards, followed by a larger explosion as the shells near the vehicle blew up, smoke and flame billowing into the air.
Tatu jerked backwards, his body pushed into the wooden seat behind him. He realised Petru was now accelerating and he looked ahead to see the lead carrier turn to the left on the highway and progress over the top of the slight ridge. He stole another glance to his right, his adrenalin racing as he heard the sounds from above with many more shells following the first couple. The shells burst all around the Russian artillery position, tossing bodies, equipment and frozen dirt into the air. The position seemed to disappear in the smoke and explosions as more flames rose rapidly into the air ignited by fuel.
Petru turned the vehicle to the left, his view of the spectacle taking place some three hundred metres further down the ridge was gone behind them, and he turned to see the lead vehicle accelerating down the gradual slope before them. He looked past the vehicle and down the slope, overlooking the bodies covered in snow, the burnt out hulks of vehicles sitting by the sides of the highway and in the fields to either side. He stared further, into the burning buildings in the distance, the plumes of smoke all across the horizon, the explosions he could see as shells rained down on the city suburb before him, the southern suburb of Stalingrad. Beyond which he thought he could just make something out, between the visions of man-made hell, the tall damaged and burning blocks and factories, just a glimpse of what made his heart jump, the wide expanse of the Volga River.
As he stared at the horizon, seeing a large explosion on one of the taller building’s sides, the dust and smoke rising into the air, he became aware the sounds above had changed. Now he could hear a distant rumble from their front, the echoes of war hitting them like a wave from the fighting in the city to the north.
He stared seemingly trance like at the devastation, the flashes in the buildings and tracer fire flying across the city landscape as a dust and smoke cloud seemed to hang over the torn city, the scene now just over five hundred metres away.
Tatu was shaken from his vision, his mouth open at what he had seen as Albrecht‘s hand grasped his upper arm firmly, a desperate tightness in his grip. He turned to the side, he became aware the young despatch rider’s head was next to his as their helmets made contact, clunking together.
He felt the young German’s breath on his neck and heard his strained whisper, ‘Tatu, Stukas!’ His senses tensed on hearing the word, his eyes following Albrecht’s outstretched arm pointing high above them to their front.
In the distance, high in the sky, he saw six planes flying towards them, t
he distinctive bends in the wings confirming Albrecht’s gasped warning. As he watched, the aircraft to the right seemed to bank sharply, then begin to descend rapidly towards the road in front of them. A mechanical scream began to fill the air as the Stuka pilot switched on his siren as he descended, the noise filling the air and drowning out the sounds of war from the city before them.
The plane descended rapidly, then performed a dramatic turn as it levelled off and immediately started to climb again, a small black object falling to earth as it turned. The following explosion was a direct hit on the road to their front throwing the broken bodies of the infantry that had sheltered on its verges into the air.
Tatu shook himself into action, seeing the intent of the other planes. He attempted to shout to the lead vehicle, his voice hoarse, hardly making a sound. He coughed, then shouted frantically, ‘Davai! Davai!’ Seeing Hausser glance round, concern on his face, the carriers accelerated once more, the vehicles bouncing on the road’s surface as they neared maximum speed.
Tatu glimpsed a Russian soldier lying on the verge and they made eye contact, seeing the terror in the man’s eyes before he ducked his head again. He watched as some of the infantry attempted to fire their rifles at the aircraft in a vain attempt to defend themselves. A Russian commissar scrambled to his feet, drawing his pistol to fire at the oncoming aircraft as they accelerated past, the Russian officer raising his weapon in readiness.
The air was now filled with the noise of the mechanical screaming, the Stukas beginning their bombing runs after the first met little ground fire. As the carriers hurtled down the road, Tatu’s emotions blurred as the entire world seemed to be screaming, the noise deafening as all five planes dived on their prey.
Bloody Stalingrad Page 17