Bloody Stalingrad

by Andrew McGregor

  The sky was grey with heavy snow clouds, the sporadic flurries of flakes in the air an omen of the forthcoming weather conditions for the night. Below the window lay the wide expanse of the Volga River, its banks some twenty metres from the back of the building. The large bend in the river lay before them, slightly to the left, the river turning sharply as it negotiated the terrain. Two wooden jetties stretched out into the water, the wooden and metal supports frozen into the ice that embraced both river banks. In the centre of the river, some fifty to seventy five metres wide in places, flowed the icy cold water of the Volga, the surface carrying scattered debris and bodies southwards.

  Hausser’s eyes followed the river as it stretched out northwards, the city of Stalingrad to the left as far as the eye could see, the horizon glowing red. Smoke plumes and tracer fire rose into the dusk sky all across the city, the landscape lit up by the many fires burning out of control. As he watched, explosions erupted in a variety of places across the torn city as shells dropped to their targets. The Russian field guns firing from across the river on the east side into German held positions.

  The sounds of distant war filtered into the room, echoing off the walls. The cracks of single shots blurred with machine gun fire and the crumps of explosions from shells and hand grenades. Mesmerised, almost entranced by the scenes and sounds of utter destruction before him, he slowly raised the field glasses to his eyes.

  Adjusting the zoom on the binoculars lenses, he narrowed his eyes to look through the glasses, focussing on the right bank initially. He could just make out some men loading a small barge on the river’s edge, the figures walking gingerly across the ice. Further to the right, the distant flashes of the field guns firing distracted him momentarily, but any sight of their position was disrupted by trees and damaged buildings near the riverbank.

  As he moved his vision to the left, he saw the surface of the river with floating items and bodies littering the dark water, propelled by the strong current. His curiosity was aroused as he glimpsed an item bobbing in the water, the small object seeming to be swimming against the current from the west bank to the east. Straining to recognise the object in the river, he hesitated, then realised what the item was. A dog was swimming in the freezing water, the small terrified animal attempting to escape the battle torn city.

  He exhaled slowly, considering that only men now would remain in the devastated city, the animals attempting to flee a war that had become the epitome of hatred, a man made hell on earth. Lowering the glasses from his face, he rubbed his tired eyes, then raised the binoculars again, his fascination overcoming the momentary exhaustion.

  Far in the distance on the left bank, he could see small figures offloading another barge, the exposed walk from the water’s edge to the riverbank across the ice adding pace to the men as they carried supplies and weapons. Above them on the higher bank stood some bedraggled civilians and wounded soldiers, awaiting their turn on the barge before it returned across the river.

  He scanned the burning city to his left, seeing the flashes of explosions and flames flickering in the buildings of the city. The puffs of smoke that rose from an apartment block as small calibre shells hit the outside, the small flashes of submachine guns in windows and on streets, the eerie reflections across walls casting shadows and unknown images of fear in the fading light.

  Realising he had little viewing time left with the darkening sky, he adjusted his position to view the riverbank to his left. The jetties and stone walls bordering the iced river could provide some cover from the fighting in the city if they were to attempt to move from this position. Moving the glasses slowly southwards along the river’s edge, he noted a distant metal ladder ascending the high stone wall from the iced river, some two hundred metres from the sharp turn in the river. Lifting the glasses slightly, he could see beyond the ladders position into the streets beyond, his view now a forty-five-degree angle. The fighting seemed to be in these streets beyond the ladder, his realisation that this was perhaps the front line or limit of Russian advance northwards.

  ‘Herr Leutnant…’ Luca stated, concern evident and rising in his voice as Hausser rose from his position to get a better view from their vantage point, the commander’s eyes and concentration fixed through the field glasses.

  ‘Just a minute.’ The young commander stated as he squinted through the glasses further, trying to identify something in the street beyond the ladder, his view obscured by the corner of a building.

  Plaster exploded across the room as the high velocity bullet zipped three inches past the front of Hausser’s face, hitting the wall just next to him. The sniper on the other side of the river having noticed slight movement through the shell hole in the storage tower as he scanned the buildings opposite through his sights.

  Hausser propelled himself to the right, landing roughly amongst the fragmented rubble and burnt paperwork strewn on the floor, the field glasses dropping from his grip. Luca pushed the tarpaulin back across the opening as another bullet ricochet off the outside cement just right of the opening. The young Italian dropped to his knees next to the German commander, checking his body for injury.

  Hausser shook his head, the rough impact with the floor stunning him momentarily, a jabbing pain shooting down his right arm. He looked up, seeing the Italian’s cheeky smile as he reached out to help him up, ‘Perhaps enough for today, Herr Leutnant. The Russian sniper will be watching the gap more closely now I think, good job he is not a great shot today.’ The Italian grinned as he saw the officer was not hit.

  Hausser raised himself to a seating position, his hands shaking. The anger rising within him at his own careless actions, the tiredness reducing his alertness, ‘Yes, enough for now. Let’s not give him another chance…perhaps we should go and see your commander now?’

  The Italian nodded, smiling as he helped him to his feet, ‘He is on the third floor below, planning our further defence. Let’s go and talk to him, he wanted your report.’

  The two soldiers slowly trudged across the small room towards the door, Hausser rubbing his bruised right arm, with the Italian holding his left for support.

  In the forest on the other side of the Volga, the Russian sniper grinned ironically in defeat. He considered he had fired in haste as the figure in the opening moved, scolding himself for the over eager reaction. His grin slowly faded as he thought of the fright he had given the enemy soldier some two hundred and fifty metres away. As the light diminished further, he pulled the blankets and branches further around him as a shield against the dropping temperatures. His tally for the day was two, but the dark would bring the opportunity of silhouettes against the fires, making his aim easier…this night’s hunt was just beginning.

  Chapter Twenty Five: Hauptmann Becker

  Hausser’s boots clicked together as he saluted the captain, his dusty and dirt covered uniform an open display of the adventures they had experienced, ‘Leutnant Hausser reporting as requested, Herr Hauptmann.’

  The captain smiled wearily, returning his salute, his uniform creased but relatively clean by comparison. The red wine covered cuffs and insignia to his jacket indicating he was a captain of the military police or a Feldgendarmerie Hauptmann. Slowly he lifted a metal ration cup to his lips and drank greedily from the contents.

  The captain stood at a desk at the back of the third floor of the storage tower, a radio and operator positioned to his left in the corner of the small office. The small room was dimly lit, with a flickering oil lamp on the desk and one next to the radio. The captain’s eyes were dark and bloodshot with tired lines underneath, the outward signs of exhaustion. His matted greying black hair unkempt from a nervous habit of running or rubbing his hand across the top of his head. On the desk lay his steel helmet, with a metal gorget (Ringkragen) lying alongside.

  A pile of radio message signals lay on the desk, with the captain’s luger pistol sitting on top as a makeshift paperweight. Placing the metal cup back on the desk, the captain reached for a cigarette from a pa
cket next to the cup and raised it to his mouth. As he lit the cigarette, his hands shaking, his eyes surveyed Hausser, looking him up and down. Slowly he raised his left leg and sat on the corner of the desk facing him.

  ‘I am Captain Becker, please be relaxed.’ He indicated to the young German commander, ‘It seems you have had quite a journey here, Leutnant Hausser. Have you got any information about the Russian strength facing us here?’ The captain narrowed his tired eyes as he spoke, rubbing them with the fingers of his right hand.

  Hausser shifted uneasily, the dull pain in his right shoulder throbbing as he tensed his arm, ‘They have several hundred soldiers in the town below, probably getting ready to attack. What is your strength here?’

  The captain smiled briefly, ‘Not many, forty men give or take, there are about twenty eight in this building and maybe ten or twelve in the smaller storage building next door, which has fewer windows. In addition, there are fourteen wounded so far, we have held out for a couple of days now. I am hoping the counter attack from the north will commence soon otherwise I think we may have some difficulty holding our position.’

  Hausser raised his eyes, ‘This counter attack…has that been confirmed?’ He indicated to the radio operator in the corner who had now turned to look at him.

  ‘Not as yet, it’s more a natural presumption on my part at present. It is only natural for the High Command to order a counter attack to rectify the enemy’s incursion.’ The captain looked around, surveying the sandbagged windows in the large room surrounding the office, ‘Until then we will just have to hold out.’

  Hausser’s expression changed, the frustration beginning to show on his face, ‘Incursion! This was a full scale offensive; the Russians are apparently several hundred kilometres to our rear. One of their officers advised me they had now cut us off in Stalingrad, what have you heard on the radio?’

  The captain’s eyes widened in horror, his tired face confused, ‘We could be surrounded? They have told me to hold out and await reinforcements or further orders.’ The captain hesitated, seeming to consider the situation briefly, ‘Mind you, that was yesterday, since then we hardy get a reply, we are just told to await further instructions. What do you think that means?’

  Hausser shook his head slowly, ‘I am not sure, there may be so many things for them to deal with that you have become a low priority. If the city is surrounded, then I doubt there will be any reinforcements coming, you may even be alone here.’

  A shell hit the roof of the storage tower, dust falling gradually from the ceiling of the room in places, some landing on the paperwork on the desk.

  The captain’s expression became grave, his darkened eyes seeming moist as he looked at Hausser, ‘I have wounded here…we need reinforcements or a counter attack to relieve us. We cannot break out…the enemy is too strong and we would never make it with the wounded men. My duty is to keep my men as safe as possible until we are rescued.’

  Hausser’s expression became grim, then his eyes lightened, ‘It is very quiet at the moment. There is no shooting, so perhaps you have some time.’

  The captain shook his head slowly, glancing at his watch, ‘No, the Russians negotiated a two hour ceasefire and offered me surrender terms. I cannot get a reply from command advising me whether I can accept or not…they keep saying they will radio us back soon. The Russians said they would care for our wounded if we surrendered.’

  Hausser looked curious, ‘When do the two hours’ end?’

  The captain slowly stood up, his expression sad, ‘We have ten minutes left.’ Turning to the radio operator, he gestured with his right hand, ‘Try them again please corporal, ask if we have permission to surrender…or even if there will be a relief effort.’

  The radio operator turned in his seat, adjusting the buttons on the radio as he leant forward placing the earphones over his head. As the man spoke softly into the microphone, the captain indicated for Hausser to accompany him into the larger room. As the men walked slowly out of the corner office, several German and Romanian soldiers stood to attention, their positions next to the sandbagged windows, their weapons ready in their hands. The captain dropped his cigarette, stepping on it as they walked.

  The two men walked slowly towards one of the sandbagged windows, a small gap between the obstructions at eye height for a soldier to fire out of. Next to each window were placed candles to assist reloading and visibility in the darkened room. As they approached the window, the captain indicated to the German soldier standing next to it, ‘Please give us a minute…go and sit with the radio operator and report any messages as soon as they come in.’

  The middle aged soldier nodded, his stubbled face grim. The captain slowly leant against the frame of the window, his eyes glinting in the candle light. He turned to Hausser, his voice lowered, ‘You are an experienced soldier, where as I am a military policeman with limited combat experience. What is your consideration as to what the Russians will do now?’

  Hausser breathed deeply, thinking for a second, the candle light flickering across his features. He drew breath and looked the captain in the eyes, ‘I think they will probably attack you tonight. If you do not surrender, they will want this building secured on their flanks so they can move more men up north into the city.’ He glanced briefly through the gap in the sandbags, seeing only a few lights in the darkness below, the shadows of the buildings reaching out into the distance. Turning back, he sighed, his voice hushed, ‘They will probably come in the darkness…that should reduce their casualties. Once they are inside I think you will be overwhelmed, you have too few men to resist the hundreds we saw.’

  The captain nodded grimly, his features becoming stressed as he ran the shaking fingers of his right hand through his hair, ‘What do you suggest?’

  The young commander thought for a moment, turning to look out through the gap once more. Slowly he began to speak, ‘I think I saw a possible escape route earlier, but it will be difficult if not impossible to escape with everyone. Once the Russians get an idea that you are trying to leave, they will throw everything at you…we may lose everyone. One thing for certain, the wounded will not be able to escape, some of those I saw are too badly hurt.’

  The captain sighed, ‘I understand. What can we do to delay or stop them?’ His eyebrows rising.

  Hausser glanced back through the gap. Speaking softly, he stared out into the dark streets below, ‘Barricade all the entrances, booby trap the stairs and inflict as many casualties as you can. But that will only buy you more time I think, and there is little or no time to prepare. It will also infuriate them so when they do come in, they may not take any prisoners at all…are you willing to commit to that course of action?’

  The captain nodded again, digesting what Hausser had said, then his face lightened slightly, ‘I understand…the escape route you suggested, could we get the men out in groups?’

  Hausser considered the captain’s question, ‘Perhaps…it may take a couple of hours though and we would have to move quickly. What about the wounded?’

  The captain swallowed, his eyes widening, a decision formulating in his mind, ‘I will stay with the wounded…they are now my men and I am responsible for them. Once you have got as many men away as you can, I will surrender to the Russians to save them. I will ask for a couple of volunteers to stay with me to help.’

  The young commander turned his head to look at the captain, seeing the strain in the man’s eyes, ‘That is a brave decision and one that could save the men. If that is what you want, I will try and get as many men away as possible.’

  The captain nodded, his resolve returning as he reassured himself of his decision, ‘Then it is decided. Gather your men Leutnant, I will give you some of my men to take along.’ He paused, a brief smile forming on his lips, ‘They will be your men once they leave this building, Hausser. Let us hope the Russians do not get wind of our plan.’

  Hausser looked at the captain, admiration in his eyes for the man’s decision, ‘Yes sir, if I may s
uggest we place your men in four groups, the first group to follow us once we have secured the escape route?’

  Captain Becker nodded, forcing a faint smile, ‘Yes Hausser, I will see to that. Take the mad Italian Luca with you and a couple of others. Once you secure the route, will you be sending someone back to collect the next group?’

  Hausser grinned briefly, ‘Yes of course, sir. I think the best place to leave from is next to the sewer exit we came in from, it is covered by both buildings. Did you secure the sewers? I asked one of your men to pass the message on when we arrived?’

  The captain nodded, ‘I put three men down there, that’s all I could spare.’

  The young commander pursed his lips, ‘As we begin to leave we will need to keep fire up from the top windows even if the Russians are not attacking, that will help to perhaps convince the enemy we are not up to something.’

  ‘I will arrange that…a good distraction will be provided. We will drop hand grenades out to confuse them.’ The captain smiled weakly, ‘I wish you good luck, Hausser, and thank you for your advice.’ He stretched out his hand to the younger man.

  Leutnant Hausser was slightly surprised by the gesture, but shook his hand firmly, ‘I will try my best for you sir.’

  ‘Sir!’ The raised voice drifted across the room, startling both men as the soldier appeared at the doorway to the office.

  Captain Becker turned abruptly, ‘Yes, what is it? Have they finally replied?’

  The soldier stood at the doorway, his eyes wide with adrenalin, ‘Message from Sixth Army Headquarters sir.’

  Captain Becker straightened, his demeanour becoming stern, ‘What is it?’

  The soldier paused, clearing his throat, ‘Message reads sir, Sixth Army regrets there are no reserves available to assist you. No relief effort possible at this time. Russian offensive forces are operating to the army’s rear restricting operations. Hold position for as long as possible and consider breakout attempt. In the event of situation deteriorating or not warranting breakout, you are granted freedom of action as local commander. Surrender should only be a consideration if situation becomes hopeless.’