Hausser moved back down the tunnel, forcing his boots through the water, roughly grasping Petru’s left arm and lifting him upwards. The three soldiers struggled forwards as Petru tried to gain his footing, the brick tunnel’s floor covered in murky slime under the water. The commander adjusted his stance as Meino pushed past him in the enclosed width of the tunnel, his MP40 raised and pointing at the opening further down the sewer.
Nicu and Hase were further along the darkened tunnel, their bodies silhouetted in a shaft of light cascading across the slimed brick from a narrower right side drainage pipe. As the three soldiers approached, they could see the stress on the two men’s faces, their eyes wide and saddened at the spectacle of the broken body at the foot of the metal ladder.
Meino fired a burst from his MP40 as he saw shadows pass across the light coming from the manhole shaft into the sewer, then the dead Russian infantryman’s upper body slowly disappeared upwards as his countrymen dragged him from the opening.
The Croatian turned his head slightly, the smell in the tunnel pungent, ‘We have not got long Hausser, I think the Russians are getting ready to attack again.’ Then his eyes moved back to the top of his weapon as he looked down the length of the barrel of the MP40 towards the shaft opening.
Hausser leant forward slightly, peering to the right into the shaft of light, his right arm still supporting Petru. The smaller tunnel extended for approximately thirty metres at a slight incline, with a grille covering the end. The water running between his boots converged at the junction of the tunnels and then flowed down the incline to the end. The side tunnel was empty and the commander now realised they were only a short distance from the banks of the Volga.
Stepping forward, Hausser and Tatu trudged on, still holding most of Petru’s weight as he struggled to regain his coordination, the blasts having caused some concussion. The water was now flowing against them, forcing them to drag their boots through the slime lining the slippery brick floor to the tunnel. Nicu and Hase advanced before them, their rifles at waist height, seeing a similar shaft of light from the right some two hundred metres ahead along the gloom of the tunnel.
Behind them, Meino and Udet backed along the tunnel, their weapons raised and ready to protect the others. Udet had attached the wrapped blanket through his belt and the contents, the metal helmets, occasionally clunked against his leg and the wall of the tunnel as he stepped backwards.
Two more explosions occurred on the floor of the tunnel near the open manhole cover, with Albrecht’s broken body smashed by each blast wave and fragmentation. The noise wave echoed towards the group, bouncing off the walls of the tunnel and dislodging dirt, crusted excrement and dust from the brickwork.
The forward group slowly and gingerly approached the shaft of light in front of them, noting the tunnel beyond continued to a bend about forty metres beyond the dim daylight. The putrid water at the junctions of two tunnels was swirling as they got nearer, the flow interrupted from the right.
Hase leant forward, glancing round the brickwork into the light in the narrow side tunnel. Noticing a dead body slumped against the tunnel wall, he looked beyond the gruesome sight and saw the light at the end was uninterrupted, the grille having fallen off. Bricks and debris lay high at the end, preventing the water from escaping and forcing it back along the tunnel. As he slowly glanced around, he read the scrawled sign painted on the wall opposite in Russian lettering. Turning his head, he coughed with the stench as he opened his mouth, then spoke, ‘Hausser, this tunnel leads to the tall buildings, we are nearly there.’
They slowly gathered in the smaller side tunnel, with Udet and Meino covering the main tunnel. The distant sounds of occasional rifle fire and machine gun bursts echoing around them from the broken opening at the end.
Hausser walked slowly down the tunnel towards the light and turned to face the soldiers, a faint smile forming on his lips as he looked across them, ‘God in heaven, you men look terrible.’ He proclaimed.
The unshaven, dirty faced and soaked uniformed soldiers fleetingly grinned back in response, their eyes dark with exhaustion. Petru smiled briefly in response to the grins, his tired body leant against the tunnel wall next to the scrawled sign, his head aching and ears ringing from the explosions.
Hausser placed his hands on his hips, his face becoming stern, ‘Let’s remove the Russkie uniforms, or what’s left of them, we are very close to our men now.’ He slowly began unbuttoning the grey padded tunic, the men observing the white outline of the cross outside his field grey uniform beneath. Noticing their stares, his hand instinctively reached up and lifted the metal decoration to his throat, dropping it back under his uniform for it to rest on top of the felt Russian underwear.
They slowly and wearily removed the dirty grey Russian uniforms with Hausser and Nicu relieving Meino and Udet for them to complete the task. Looking back down the tunnel, the commander observed that the Russians had not attempted to follow them. The fire from the tower and tunnel having deterred them and upon receiving differing orders, they had retreated.
Udet smiled triumphantly to himself as he removed the blanket from his belt, unwrapping it and handing the men their original helmets. The soldiers nodded in appreciation as they accepted their national metal headwear, placing them carefully on their heads as a final addition to their uniforms.
As they fastened the helmet buckles under their chins, Hausser turned from the wide tunnel, checking each man’s appearance briefly. Trudging through the water between the men, he avoided looking at the dead body as he stepped over the outstretched legs. The Russian corpse’s head bent into his chest, dried encrusted blood covering his chin.
The men watched as the young commander’s silhouette receded towards the light, his MP40 held loosely in his right hand. As he approached the end of the smaller tunnel, he cautiously lowered himself to a crouch, arriving near the end and stopping just short of the debris and incoming light. The broken brick and rubble a result of a shell hit several days before.
Hausser listened intently, feeling the cold, fresh air on his face and hearing the running water in the tunnel and the rippling near the debris. An explosion flashed in the distance as he looked out from the narrow tunnel, his eyes squinting in the light.
The commander was able to see through a gap that continued for a short distance after the debris, the obstruction caused by a section of the roof of the tunnel collapsing. In the distance, through the remains of the tunnel, past the lying snow, he could see an expanse of water…his heart beating faster as he realised before him was the river Volga.
Then he froze, hearing another sound. He strained his ears again, hearing more…a smile gradually forming on his lips. He cleared his throat quietly, and shouted out, ‘Nicht Schiessen, Deutsche Soldaten.’ Placing emphasis on his Berlin accent.
There was a pause, the faint sound of the water lapping around the debris the only noise. Then a voice echoed through the tunnel as he received a reply, ‘Kommen Freund!’
Hausser moved slowly forward and looked up to his right, seeing a smiling soldier cautiously lower the rifle now pointed at his face. Excitement rose within him as he grasped the outstretched hand that was then extended towards him, the hoarse cheer behind him in the tunnel forcing a broad grin onto his face.
Chapter Twenty Four: The Italian Connection
He could vaguely hear the rumble in the distance, his mind wandering in its slumber…then he heard it again, distant yet meaningful. The whoosh was instant, the explosion higher on the outside of the building causing the ceiling plaster to crack, the dust drifting down onto the sleeping soldiers below.
Hausser’s eyes flickered, then opened, seeing the cracks in the scuffed ceiling above. His eyes followed one of the dark lines as it weaved across the stained and dirty plaster above him. In places, the plaster had fallen away completely revealing the thin strips of wood nailed to the beams above, the technique a fast and easy way of preparing the surface to hold the plaster mix.
His
limbs ached from the previous few days and he felt the tiredness in his arms and legs through the dull pain. As his mind drifted, he became aware of the dull throbbing in his head, the symptoms of sleep deprivation and the continual exposure to noise.
Slowly the distant sound of gunfire filtered through his ears, the battle raging further round the Volga bend to the north…yet it was quieter here, almost dreamlike after what they had experienced. As his mind adjusted, the colours becoming more vivid, he realised it was still light, the small high broken window in the room providing the dim illumination of dusk.
Alertness filtered into his head through his drowsiness, his mind trying to resist, to block out the oncoming reality. It was a futile effort, the immediate noises of the sleeping men around him beginning to become apparent, to filter through his dwindling resistance.
He considered he had probably slept for two or three hours as it was still light. The men, exhausted from their ordeal, had succumbed to the desire to sleep after eating. The rations they had been provided with as a welcome to the building having been consumed ravenously by all.
Next to him, Petru stirred, then lapsed back into a deep sleep, his snoring light as he turned and lay on his back. On the other side of Petru, Tatu was deep asleep, his thick long jacket wrapped as a pillow under his head.
Hausser slowly rose to a seated position, his elbows on his knees. The drowsiness he felt was almost overpowering, but his senses were now alert. Looking round the small storeroom high in the building, he observed Hase lying with his back to the outside wall, his eyes clamped shut. Udet was asleep on his back, his legs bent due to his close proximity to the wall and being near Hase’s head.
Next to Hase lay Meino, his eyes flickering in dream, the Croatian deep asleep, another soldier sleeping lengthways along their heads, Nicu. The young Romanian’s deep breathing indicating an exhausted slumber and beyond him their weapons leant against the office wall. Across the floor lay the discarded office materials, paper, pencils and order sheets, left by the clerks as the original occupants fled the building during the German advance on the city some three to four months earlier.
As Hausser sat there scratching his head, he felt the ‘swimmy’ mental feeling of exhaustion, his mind confused as the final stages of his alertness returned. He stretched forward, the dull ache in his back momentarily dispersing as his muscles extended and contracted. Placing his right hand on the floor, he gingerly rose to his feet, the aches in his limbs slowing his actions. Leaning down, he retrieved his helmet and carefully stepped over Tatu’s outstretched legs. Placing the helmet on his head, he collected his MP40, raising the strap over his right shoulder and carefully opened the door to the small room, quietly closing it behind him as he exited.
The large ‘L’ shaped fifth floor room he now stood in housed the wounded, many lying sleeping or subdued in the failing light. The several broken windows and holed wall at the far end providing enough light to see the extent of the old storage space. The room stretched past the small side office space he had been sleeping in, the floor covered in the wounded soldiers as they lay against the walls and across the thick wooden floorboards. Glowing oil lanterns were placed sporadically across the room adding to the light.
Several men were bandaged heavily, their pitiful moans and coughing the only sound. Water bottles lay next to each casualty and he briefly acknowledged the soldier at the far end of the long space tending to an injured man’s bandages.
He stepped carefully across one of the sleeping wounded men, towards his objective, the door at the far corner of the room which lead to the stairs. As he reached the doorway, an infantryman appeared before him, the man slightly out of breath having just ascended the steps.
The man had no helmet, and a matted mess of black hair, his eyes glancing round the room, then focussing on the young German officer, ‘Ah…Herr Leutnant, I have come to get you…the commander will see you now.’ He retorted, a cheeky grin on his face.
Hausser looked him up and down, considering the man’s uniform strange for the location, he observed it was dirty and of poor quality. The man’s skin was slightly tanned, with a clear complexion, ‘What unit are you from soldier?’
‘248th Autieri Group, Herr Leutnant. We are transport drivers and were delivering supplies to the southern suburbs when the Russkies attacked. We are cut off now, I think.’ The man replied, his dark brown eyes staring at the German defiantly, his face unshaven.
‘You are Italian?’ Hausser asked surprised, now hearing the accent to the man’s German.
The soldier seemed frustrated, his eyes saddened, ‘Yes, Herr Leutnant. There are only five of us here…well four now. We run messages and cook. It seems the commander does not think we are good enough to fight here, even though we are good enough to die on the cold steppe against the communists.’
The commander smiled at the soldier’s frustration, thinking of the meal they had eaten earlier, ‘Well if you fight like you cook, you may be better than he thinks…that was a splendid meal earlier. What do you call it?’
The man’s eyes softened, a slight grin crossing his face, ‘That was our A.M.R.P. Ration food, Spaghetti con Carne with Biscotti. I am glad you enjoyed it, we had a lorry load when we arrived, but you greedy Germans and Romanians eat too much! There is not too much left now, soon you will have to resort to the pigswill your own armies provide!’ His grin broke into a wide smile, his eyes flashing.
Hausser chuckled, ‘Still Italian humour comes through, eh? What’s your name?’
The man stood to attention, his smile remaining, ‘Corporal Barsetti, Herr Leutnant. But you can call me Luca if you wish, sir.’
The young commander nodded, ‘Good Luca, let us go and see this commander then. I will try and persuade him to give you a rifle to fire if you wish.’
The darker Italian’s eyes brightened, ‘I wish so, Herr Leutnant. I was quite a shot back in Italy…I was only moved to transport for arguing with my commander, the pig!’
Hausser grinned, ‘Well you have spirit, let’s hope it sees you into old age. Now let’s see this commander of yours, apparently he was too busy when we arrived.’
The Italian turned in the doorway, ‘Follow me, Herr Leutnant. I will show you something on the way to our beloved commander.’ The sarcasm clear in his voice, he started to descend the stairs outside the doorway, grasping the metal bannister as he progressed.
Leutnant Hausser slowly followed Luca down the stairs, his body aching. Reaching the floor below, he watched as the Italian ducked below a hole at chest height in the building’s exterior wall and walked, half crouched into a small room to his right before the stairs continued downwards. To the left lay the door leading into the fourth floor storage area, the floor below where he had been sleeping, the room of similar dimensions to the one above. Glancing left, Hausser saw several Romanian and two German soldiers cleaning and preparing their weapons. At the end of the room he observed the machine gun position that had fired from the building earlier, the German gunner lifting sandbags to strengthen his cover.
Hausser turned back and replicated the young Italian’s actions, cautiously entering the small darkened room to the side of the stairs, considering there must be similar rooms on each floor, probably the former offices for political officers or managers.
The room had sustained severe damage, the result of a shell hit. The far inside corner was covered in a dirty and smeared tarpaulin, which slowly moved in the breeze, an indication of a hole in the structure behind it. In the right corner sat an oil lamp, its dim glow partly illuminating the area. In the centre of the room, a shattered desk, broken in two down the middle with a smashed chair on its left. The walls were dark where flames had scorched the plaster as a result of the explosion with burnt and discarded papers lying around the floor. To the right and left of the tarpaulin were some empty ration boxes, stacked to provide seating next to the makeshift curtain. The young Italian made his way carefully across the obstacles and sat to the right of the curtain
, indicating with his hand for Hausser to join him, on the opposite side of the tarpaulin.
As the commander slowly lowered his tired body onto the ration boxes indicated to him, Luca leant over and extinguished the oil lamp, reducing the light in the room to near darkness. Hausser stiffened, uncomfortable with the situation, straining his eyes to accustom them to the gloom.
Luca leant further forward, his voice reduced to a whisper, ‘Keep your head down, Herr Leutnant. We are not too sure who is watching us up here. Please do not look out for too long in case a sniper is within range.’ His hand reached behind him, retrieving a small pair of field binoculars, offering them to the German commander.
Hausser took the field glasses from him and nodded slowly, becoming accustomed to the poor light, his intrigue growing.
Luca smiled briefly, aware the commander was becoming curious. He leant towards the commander and slowly reached up, grasping the edge of the tarpaulin next to Hausser, ‘Are you ready?’
The young commander smiled, enjoying the intrigue the young soldier was creating, ‘I think so.’
‘Good.’ Luca relied, pulling the tarpaulin back towards him quickly, ‘Welcome to the Volga bend!’
The dim light of dusk made him blink as it hit his pupils, the light brighter than his eyes had become briefly accustomed to. Snowflakes flurried into the room, a cold breeze reacting to the cover being removed and drifting across his face. The vacuum and slight change in temperature pulling the flakes through the large shell hole in the wall, the breeze now free to carry them through.
As Hausser opened his eyes again, he looked out of the opening high in the storage building. Outside the snow was slowly beginning to fall, the flakes gradually descending to earth as far as he could see.
As his eyes became accustomed to the change in failing light, high clarity returned to his vision as his adrenalin began to rise, the panoramic sights before him causing the hairs on the back of his neck to twitch.
Bloody Stalingrad Page 21