He carefully descended the ladder again, his hands now cold in their gloves. As he reached the foot of the metal ladder, he turned to face the assembled group of soldiers, seeing the cold in their eyes, with a couple visibly shivering. Addressing the men, he kept his voice to a whisper, ‘There are Russians in the street above, but it is the only way I know into the city.’ Facing Nicu, he placed his gloved hand on the young Romanian’s shoulder, ‘Nicu, there is a German armoured car above, try and get into the hatch and see if the machine gun works. Keep your head down and only fire on my command.’
Nicu nodded obediently, ‘Yes sir…are we close to our lines?’
Hausser paused, looking across the faces of the other men, ‘Yes, I think so. The Russkies seem jumpy, so we had better be careful…they still outnumber us. It will be a short fight without the turret machine gun.’ He swallowed, concerned with the fighting ability of the men before him, ‘The rest of you take cover when we get into the street, use doorways and the buildings that are not ablaze, but stay close, splitting up will only weaken us.’
He watched as the men nodded slowly, their adrenalin rising, fear entering their eyes. Hausser continued, ‘Once we are all in position, we will open fire. Then attempt to move through the buildings to our right, do you understand?’
The soldiers nodded, a couple whispering, ‘Yes Sir.’
Hausser looked across the men again, then slowly turned, moving the MP40 on its strap to assist him climb the ladder again, ‘Good, let’s go.’
The commander slowly climbed the ladder again, feeling the metal tense as Nicu stepped onto the bottom rung behind him. Reaching the top of the ladder, he glanced out into the street again, his teeth clenched.
The vision before him was the same as before, the Russian infantry, some in white winter camouflage cautiously stood or crouched at the end of the road, their weapons held tightly and at the ready. The sounds of sporadic fire in the streets to either side rose as he lifted himself above the top rung, grasping his MP40 in both hands and ran at a crouch to the back of the armoured car, his heart pounding in his chest.
Crouching at the rear of the vehicle, he glanced over the right wing of the armoured car, seeing the Russians were still concentrating on the junction. Looking round further, he saw his small group of soldiers rise from the top of the ladder one by one and adopt positions either side of him. To his right, a German infantryman cautiously dropped to lie on the street, his position next to the deflated rear wheel. A Romanian crouched next to him glancing over the left side of the vehicle and Nicu pushed between them, carefully grasping the black shoulder straps of the dead gunner above him on the vehicle.
Over to the left, two Germans lay on the street, their rifles pointing towards the assembled Russians, and to his right a Romanian cautiously crawled forward towards the first doorway, his rifle held in his right hand.
The heat from the burning buildings on either side of the street provided some comfort to the group of soldiers, their faces feeling some brief warmth from the fires, wisps of steam rising from some of their uniforms. Behind them, a cold unforgiving breeze drifted in from the Volga, sweeping down the street and across the Romanian, German and Russian soldiers.
Nicu tugged the dead gunner’s body, achieving little as the corpse’s boots were wedged in the copula of the armoured car. Gritting his teeth, the Romanian pulled again, applying more force as the body finally broke free from the vehicle, sliding down the cold metal from the open turret. The machine gun moved as the dead gunner slipped from the vehicle, the barrel of the weapon dropping slowly as the body that was propping it up was released. The soldiers averted their eyes as the dead gunner’s shattered face passed them, frozen skull and brain fragments falling onto the street around their feet. Frozen blood covering his black uniform, a sign of the elevated and exposed position he had died in.
Further tracer bullets whipped down the main street, across the intersection, then a whoosh as a shell followed the machine gun fire. Hausser’s adrenalin jumped as he considered the German or allied force had heavy weaponry or even tanks, his realisation this would probably be the front line some metres to their right.
Nicu carefully laid the dead gunner onto the cobblestones, swallowing against the rising nausea from his stomach. He began cautiously clambering onto the back of the armoured vehicle, the cold from the metal plate seeping through his padded clothing.
As the young Romanian stretched his hand out to grasp the machine gun, his body lying across the back of the vehicle, a Russian soldier innocently walked out from a doorway on the left, two ammunition boxes in his hands. The Russian sensed something and turned to face them, his eyes widening in horror as he recognised the German and Romanian uniforms. Turning back and starting to run, he dropped the boxes with a clatter and shouted a warning, raising his hands to retrieve his rifle from his shoulder.
One of the Germans on the left fired his rifle, the Russian falling forward onto the cobblestones, the bullet entering his back. The cracks of rifles to either side of Hausser followed, felling three of the Russian soldiers at the end of the street.
Hausser leant out from the armoured car, raising his MP40 and firing down the narrow street, two more Russian soldiers falling. The inexperienced rifleman next to him on the ground fired, the rifle kicking upwards, his bullet missing the Russian infantry as they dropped to the ground, turning to return fire.
Submachine gun bullets flew across the street from the open doorway on the left, hitting and killing the German soldier in the doorway on the right, his body slowly sliding down the frame he was propelled back into it, blood pouring from his mouth.
The rifles cracked again after the soldiers reloaded, hitting two more Russian soldiers as they lay on the road, their cries of agony echoing between the buildings.
Nicu grasped the machine gun, twisting it towards the Russian infantry and pulling the trigger. The gun clicked as the firing pin shot forward, the gun empty of ammunition. Nicu groaned in frustration, hitting the ammunition chamber on top of the weapon. He pulled the trigger again, the weapon clicking again, empty. Ducking his head as bullets clanked across the armoured car’s front metal plate, he slipped back off the back of the vehicle, reaching for the rifle across his back.
Bullets clattered against the armoured car and cobblestones as the Russian infantry opened fire. A shell burst off to the left, showering the Germans and Romanians with debris and dust. Hausser fired blindly out from behind the armoured car, hearing a scream off to his left as one of the German infantry was hit in the shoulder, his body jerking backwards.
From the doorway on the left side, a Russian leaned out, aiming his PPSH 41 towards the armoured car. His body jolting and falling forward, the Romanian next to Hausser seeing the enemy soldier and twisting his rifle round, the weapon recoiling back into his shoulder as he fired, the bullet hitting the Russian in the heart.
Tracer bullets flew across the end of the street at the junction as Hausser fired out from the back of the armoured car. The rifleman at his feet fired as bullets whipped around them, flying past them and over the walls behind.
The shouts of ‘Hurrah’ came from the doorway to the left as six Russian infantrymen surged out of the building, turning to face the Germans and Romanians at the end of the street. The German to the left fired his rifle hitting the front Russian who spun backwards, then his face jolted backwards as a bullet from a well-aimed shot at the end of the street entered his skull through his helmet.
Nicu was knelt behind the armoured car and fired at the Russians running from the right, hitting one, then he rose to defend himself as the enemy ran towards them, screams of hatred coming from their open mouths as they charged.
Hausser stepped back from the carrier to turn to face the oncoming charge, his weapon at waist height as he fired a burst. The pings of enemy bullets hitting the armoured car almost deafening as they increased in ferocity. Glancing down the street, he glimpsed the other Russians rise, some twelve men, and start to
run towards them. One fell backwards as he rose, the German lying at Hausser’s feet firing his rifle as the Russians began their charge.
Hausser rounded the left side of the carrier, between Nicu and the other Romanian, his teeth gritted and mouth open, the Russians only five metres away. He fired a burst from his MP40 and three of the Russians fell in front of him, their weapons clattering onto the cobblestones. His eyes widened as more Russians exited the doorway, then started charging towards them, bayonets flashing on the end of their rifles. A Russian officer marched out behind them, a look of determination on his face, his pistol raised. Hausser swallowed hard, the intense feeling of desperation rising within him.
The Romanian in front of Hausser stepped out in front of him, swinging the butt of his rifle across above the metal plate of the armoured car and hitting the Russian bearing down on Hausser in the face, the man falling away to the left unconscious, the blood from his shattered face splattering across their tunics.
The German soldier next to the right wheel rose from his hiding place in panic, turning to run back to the ladder as his desperation to escape overcame him. As he emerged from the side of the vehicle, a rifle shot from the end of the street hit him in the shoulder, his body falling sideways onto the cobblestones.
Nicu was backing slowly towards the ladder, his hands shaking as he attempted to reload his rifle, desperation on his face. Hausser fired a burst of his submachine gun at the Russians charging towards them, felling two, then the gun clicked empty.
The Romanian in front of him screamed as a bullet fired from one of the charging Russians hit him in the chest, the man falling backwards against Hausser who instinctively tried to stop him from falling to the ground.
The Romanian twisted his body before Hausser, grasping the commander’s tunic as he turned, the spittle from his screaming mouth spraying across Hausser’s face. As the Leutnant looked beyond the man leaning against him, the charging Russians were closing in, some six metres from him, their bayonets seeming to stretch out towards him. He felt the emotions drain from him, the feeling of ultimate failure and impending defeat approaching.
The lead Russian was looking straight into his eyes as he closed towards him…then he was gone, falling to the left along with the charging men behind him, their bodies shattered with multiple wounds from machine gun fire. Each man was hit several times from the high velocity machine gun, their bodies jerking as they fell to the left, the forceful impacts throwing their bodies sideways. The Russian officer fell forward, his mouth opening as the bullets exploded through his chest, his pistol clattering onto the cobblestones.
Hausser fell backwards as the injured Romanians weight caused him to overbalance and his legs to buckle. Bullets smashed into the front of the armoured car as Hausser landed roughly onto the cobblestones, his head jerking backwards with the impact and hitting the street. Behind him, Nicu had dropped to his knees, desperately grasping for the bullet clip he had dropped when trying to frantically reload his weapon.
Hausser pushed himself up, stunned and dizzy at the impact his helmet had made on the cobblestones. Glancing under the armoured car as his head lifted and seeing the front wheels at the end of the street, the tracks behind it. Recognition flashing through his panicked swirling mind as he saw the distinct wheels of the half tracked vehicle, the wheels of a German Sdkfz 251 Hanomag armoured transport, the front gunner spraying machine gun bullets across the Russians in the street.
Behind the Hanomag a German Panzer III tank drove past slowly, its machine guns firing southwards, German infantry sheltering behind the tank as they advanced. Then the young German commander’s vision became misted as his body buckled. He passed out, his helmeted head falling back onto the cobblestones.
His mind drifted as he heard a sound, the sound seeming to come nearer. Then his senses began to clarify, as he felt the gentle slaps to his cheek, ‘Herr Leutnant?’
His eyes flickered open, not recognising the German medic kneeling over him. The medic’s face turned away, the white circle on his helmet with a red cross within seeming to swirl cloudily as he looked, ‘He is awake now!’ The medic shouted.
The sounds of shelling and machine gun fire in the distance to his left filtered through the mist in his mind, then got louder as if he advanced mentally towards the noise. Rifle cracks and shell bursts entered his mind further to the south as his alertness returned, the medic turning back to look down on him. Above the medic’s face Nicu looked over his shoulder, a faint smile crossing his lips, ‘Welcome back Leutnant Hausser.’ The young Romanian stated.
Hausser’s mind sharpened, ‘M…My men?’ He started to push himself upwards, the ‘swimmy’ disorientated mental wave hitting him as his body rose to a seating position, the medic grabbing his arm to prevent him from falling backwards. The commander glanced around, seeing several German infantrymen in the street cautiously inspecting bodies and helping the wounded.
‘They are all dead or wounded, sir.’ The medic retorted, ‘Let’s get you to the Hanomag.’
Hausser shook his head, feeling the mists clear slightly, ‘N…No, on the river. We must get them.’ He replied, biting his lip and drawing blood in an attempt to get the pain to clear his mind.
The medic slowly and carefully helped him to his feet, placing his arm under Hausser’s shoulder to steady him, ‘On the river?’ He retorted, his voice adopting a questioning tone.
Hausser turned and looked back towards the wall facing the river, pushing his feet across the cobblestones with the support of the medic, he struggled towards the building to his left, stammering, ‘Where is Nicu?’
The Romanian patted his shoulder reassuringly, ‘Here…Herr Leutnant. I have some binoculars.’ He pushed the glasses into Hausser’s shaking hands.
Hausser reached the wall of the apartment block on his left, leaning as he faced the river, some six metres from the wall. The medic stood next to him, supporting his weight, ‘Come now, sir…let’s get you to the Hanomag.’
Hausser sucked air through his nostrils, the feeling of nausea rising within him, ‘Not without my men!’ He slowly raised the binoculars to his eyes, blinking in attempt to focus his sight through the lenses.
As his eyes slowly focussed, he gradually moved the glasses to see along the riverbank wall. Frustration rising within him as he was unable to make any shapes or silhouettes out in the pitch black. Then he moved the glasses along through the darkness to the storage towers, seeing the first in complete darkness.
He lowered the glasses from his eyes and shook his head as he felt the ‘swimminess’ return to his senses, the signs of concussion evident to the medic.
Raising the binoculars again he scanned the second building, seeing the fire rage on the upper two floors and lowering his gaze through the binoculars to the base of the building, desperately attempting to make out any shadows or silhouettes of soldiers potentially escaping from the structure.
As he watched, flames shot out from the sewage tunnels either side of the large storage tower, the billowing smoke and fire shooting out across the riverbank and ice. Then the sound waves hit them, a distant rumble moving across the corner of the river.
Raising his view to the burning building, he saw it shudder briefly, then dust and smoke pour out of the shell holes in the river side of the building. The flaming roof seemed to drop, then shudder again, the large storage tower collapsing inwards. Smoke and flames shot into the air and the structure imploded as its shattered floors and walls fell inwards and downwards. The Russian engineers in the sewers having blown up the foundations, the building collapsing completely.
The soldier staggered as the man next to him fell, the full weight dropping onto the medic’s arms, the binoculars clattering as they fell to the cobblestones. Leutnant Hausser had collapsed unconscious.
Act II: Bloody Rattenkrieg
Prologue
Late November 1942 on the banks of the River Volga. The German advance into the Caucasus Mountains in search of the Russian oilfields
has ground to a halt as the bitter fighting in Stalingrad takes centre stage.
The Germans, desperate to take the city that holds Stalin’s namesake, strip their flanks of troops to bolster their forces fighting inside the city.
The Russians seize their opportunity, launching a counteroffensive in the north on November 19th and in the south on November 20th, smashing through the Romanian armies defending the weakened flanks of the German Sixth Army.
The Russian armies strike west, moving behind the beleaguered city and desperate street fighting to cut off their enemy, stranding them on the banks of the Volga. In bitter, freezing temperatures, survivors of the offensive desperately try and escape the roaming Russian units.
This is the story of one such group. Isolated and cut off in the south after the Russian offensive, they fight and bluff their way through enemy lines and positions in an attempt to reach the city in the belief it provides safety.
Finally reaching the river, the survivors join a small pocket of resistance on the south bank, within sight of German lines and potential safety further round the Volga bend. Barricaded into only two storage towers on the banks of the river, the small group of Axis soldiers attempt to hold off overwhelming enemy numbers to buy time to get away.
Realising the only way of saving the men was to escape, Leutnant Hausser leads a small group of soldiers along the riverbank and around the Volga bend in an attempt to re-join German lines inside Stalingrad. Once this escape was established, the plan was to assist the remaining men in the storage towers to escape along the same route.
Shortly after their departure, Russian infantry and flamethrowers attacked the defenders in the storage towers with the aim of wiping the small Axis force out. With ferocious Russian attacks intended to finally destroy the last pocket of the enemy on the south bank. The final escape plan is interrupted as the defenders lose the ground floor of one of the storage towers. There may now not be enough time left…………
Bloody Stalingrad Page 27