Bloody Stalingrad

by Andrew McGregor

  Meino turned his head slightly, his eyes fixed on the door, ‘I came up to check the wounded on the floor below after that explosion. Then I heard noises…I thought perhaps there was someone trapped up here.’

  Udet turned to look at Meino, his expression curious, ‘That noise just now….was that from the other side of the doors?’

  Meino nodded, ‘I think so, what do you think it is? Is someone in there?’

  Tatu shook his head, hearing the gunfire below, he raised his voice in frustration, ‘We have not got time for this! We are all trapped here!’ Realising his reaction had startled the two soldiers, he lowered his voice slightly. ‘Let’s get back downstairs and help the others, the Russkies are getting ready to attack…we will need all the men we can get to hold them off.’ Turning, he began to descend the stairs. Udet shrugged and slowly stepped past Meino to follow the Romanian.

  Meino turned to them sharply, his face determined, ‘Wait! What was up here, what was on this floor?’

  Tatu stopped halfway down the staircase, glancing up at the Croatian, he sighed, ‘Look, it doesn’t matter now…we are cut off. Petru is alone with the other men down there, we need to help them and hold off the Russians now, not waste time up…’ His voice trailed off as the bolts ‘clunked’ against their metal housings. His eyes moving abruptly to the locked double doors.

  Udet had stopped and was looking up, he slowly raised his rifle, pointing towards the doors, his eyes widening, ‘The doors moved! Someone is behind them!’

  A volley of bullets from the floors below echoed up the stairwell, then an explosion as one of the last grenades detonated on the ground floor, the defenders attempting to deter the gathering Russian forces from rushing the stairs.

  Tatu stepped up two stairs cautiously, raising his submachine gun to point at the double doors. He indicated for Meino and Udet to remain silent, pressing his finger to his lips, the gun in his right hand. Meino stepped back from the door carefully, wary of blocking the Romanian’s line of fire.

  A shuffling came from behind the thick wooden doors, then silence. Then a muffled voice from behind the thick wood cried out, ‘Anyone there?’

  Tatu’s solemn stare broke as a grin formed across his face, his recognition of the Italian accent in the voice, ‘Luca?’

  Further shuffling from behind the doors, then the muffled voice again, ‘No, it’s Alessio. Will you open the doors please…it’s freezing out here!’

  Meino lowered his MP40, a sigh coming from his mouth. He stepped forward and reached up for the highest bolt at the top of the door, near the doorframe. Pulling the bolt, he reached for the other steel locks.

  Tatu spun round as he heard boots on the stairs below, a young German infantryman looking up at him from the landing below, his face excited, ‘The Russians seem to be withdrawing from the ground floor, Sergeant. Perhaps we may be able to escape after all?’

  Tatu looked at the man for a second, seeming to struggle with what the soldier was telling him, his eyes narrowing with suspicion, ‘Withdrawing? Why?’

  The soldier shrugged, ‘There seems to be a lot of movement on the ground floor, but they are not attacking or even looking out. Shall we wait and try to retake the bottom floor?’

  Meino pulled the last bolt at the foot of the double doors and the right door slowly moved inwards, its base scraping against the floor as he forcefully yanked the wooden obstacle, the Italian pushing from the other side. Alessio slipped through the opening, his eyes glowing with achievement, the rest of his face covered by a thick scarf. The seams of his overcoat and uniform lined with frozen condensation as the warmer air from the building opposite had reacted to the outside temperature.

  Freezing air drifted in through the opening, Alessio’s exhaled breath was condensed from the far lower temperature outside, the cloud drifting across the landing. His five feet nine frame covered in an Italian overcoat, he had blond hair and was unshaven. The Mediterranean looks of the twenty five year old weathered by the cold and lack of sleep, with darkened lines under his eyes.

  Glancing past the Italian into the darkness, Meino patted Alessio’s shoulder, ‘How long have you been behind there?’

  Alessio smiled, ‘Not long. We found how the Russians delivered coal to the generators on this floor, it came from the next building. We found a hatch on the other side. There is a simple conveyor that links the two buildings, it’s not very safe for the weight of a man, but it will do if you men want to escape.’

  Udet turned to the Romanian Quartermaster next to him, seeing the man was distracted, ‘What do you think, Tatu?’

  The older Romanian seemed deep in thought, then he jerked his head round to face Udet. ‘I think we need to get out of here quickly, the Russians are planning a surprise for us I suspect.’ His face becoming stern, his hand running over his moustache, ‘Udet, Meino, get over the link if you can. I will get the others from downstairs. Be quick…I am not sure we have much time.’

  With this, he turned abruptly and started descending the stairs two at a time, his hob nailed boots crunching on the broken plaster and debris on the steps. As he reached the perplexed German infantryman on the landing below, he slapped the man’s shoulder, ‘You go upstairs too! Get across to the next building now!’ Then he disappeared from view, descending the cement steps further.

  Chapter Thirty Two: Beneath the Stars

  Udet gingerly stepped out through the sturdy double doors, moving to the side of the conveyor. The blast of cold air that hit him almost took his breath away, the freezing temperature catching in his throat and making him instinctively attempt to hold his breath. Pulling his scarf up over his mouth, he cleared his throat, the cold air stinging his insides as it warmed rapidly to his body temperature.

  The doors had concealed a relatively wide offloading section about two metres in depth, with a rope tied across the edges at waist height as a makeshift safety measure. Beyond this platform was a narrow wooden ledge to enable labourers to step forward and grasp items from the belt if it stopped. The cement platform was covered in frozen flattened snow, trampled by Alessio as he attempted to gain access through the doors.

  Opposite him, some twelve metres away across the alleyway between the two buildings, Luca raised his hand in greeting. The Italian crouched outside the hatch on the narrow ledge on the other side, his rifle held pointing down towards the sewer exit below.

  Studying the basic machine, Udet realised the conveyor was hand operated from the other building. The simple conveyor belt approximately half a metre wide, with worn rectangular wooden sections attached to the top and base of the extended mechanism. Small wooden strips lined the outside of each section, providing some edges for the bags of coal or supplies, preventing them from slipping or falling to the ground below as the operator in the opposite building wound the handles, the conveyor then slowly moving items between the buildings. The conveyor had obviously been used frequently as there were many cracked and half broken strips around the sections that the coal or transferring items would rest upon.

  Slowly leaning forward, Udet peered over the edge of the platform, his eyes blinking in the stinging cold. He swallowed hard as he looked down the five stories into the dim light below, just making out the snow covered debris on the ground at the foot of the storage tower. Dispersing smoke slowly drifted across the ground below him, reducing his view of the broken sewer roof beneath. Stepping back, he glanced across the divide again at Luca before looking right over the river. In the distance across the snow covered Volga bend and freezing river, he could see the fires burning in the city beyond, the tracer fire rising into the air above the ravaged battlefield. Shells burst above the city streets and on the buildings below as Russian artillery fired from the eastern bank into the lower part of the city.

  Alessio stepped out through the half open doorway, distracting him from the view over the river bend. The Italian turned to the younger German, ‘Best get across, Udet. The longer you wait, the colder your body will become. There is
a chance you might fall if you get too cold.’

  Udet looked at the Italian, nodding slowly. ‘I understand; how did you get across?’

  Alessio stared out over the river, ‘Best go on your hands and knees, the conveyor shakes as you go over. I think they will slowly wind it towards them as you cross, this may help. Grasp the sides carefully and not for too long, the wood is virtually frozen now…once your hands become too cold, they will stick to the wood, tear the flesh from your fingers.’

  Udet looked back dubiously across the divide between the buildings again, his apprehension rising as he lifted his rifle onto his shoulder. Pulling his gloves at the base with each hand, he slowly lowered himself, grasping either side of the conveyor on the wooden strips. As he raised his right knee across onto the first wooden plate on the conveyor, he felt the intense cold from the wood seep through his uniform and felt underwear.

  The condensation in his breath was now beginning to congeal on the scarf over his mouth, the clouds of exhaled air swirling around his face as he forced his breath through the freezing material.

  Behind him, Alessio leant forward, his voice lowered to a hiss, ‘Hold on tight comrade, they will start to move the conveyor in a second.’ Leaning back, the Italian waved to Luca opposite. Udet glanced up, seeing Luca turn and speak through the open hatch opposite, at the end of the conveyor.

  He tightened his grip on the wooden strips, the conveyor jolting as the cogs started to turn, startling him as he moved nervously forward on the belt. Inside the building opposite, two soldiers wound the thick metal handles anti-clockwise, the belt slowly moving in response, the cogs and wheels squealing under the strain.

  As Udet began to move out high above the alleyway, he felt the conveyor strain below him. The worn ageing machinery struggling to support his weight. Moving into the middle above the expanse below, he closed his eyes as he felt the conveyor begin to sway slightly, then move gradually up and down with the motion. The wood creaked beneath him as he tried to shift his weight slightly to adjust to the movement, then the swaying of the conveyor settled as Alessio sat on the end behind him, straddling the belt with his legs.

  As the conveyor movement reduced, he stole a glance through clenched eyes, seeing Luca now only some five metres away, the Italian’s concentration on the ground below, his rifle raised. Udet closed his eyes again, the fear rising within him. Had the Italian seen something? Was he visible from the street opposite and the Russians about to open fire? His feeling of isolation and exposure to fire now intense, he held his breath, his heart pounding as iced tentacles seemed to grip his frame.

  Muffled firing inside the building behind him made him flinch, his cold hands tightening on the wooden strips he grasped. Then gunshots echoed through the hatch before him, the soldiers in the building firing out at movement in the streets opposite the darkened building.

  His body instinctively jumped again as Luca’s hand grasped his back, the grip tightening around his collar and steadying him on the conveyor. Udet opened his eyes in response, the freezing air biting at his exposed vision. Then he ducked as the hatch opened up before him, his body moving forward into the darkness beyond. He breathed deeply in relief as the conveyor jolted to a halt. Slowly lifting his legs and stepping down off the frozen wooden platform onto the cement floor of the second storage tower.

  Turning he saw Luca look through the hatch, staring into his face, his voice strained, ‘Get on the handles, Udet. One of the men will come out here, I am freezing now.’ The Italian coughed. Beyond the Italian through the darkened gloom, he saw Meino cautiously lower himself onto the conveyor opposite, his MP40 slung over his shoulder.

  Luca glanced back down to the street, hearing the ‘puffs’ of further smoke grenades as they exploded around the base of the building next door. Through the swirling mist that rose from the grenades, his eyes widened in uncertainty as he glimpsed some shadowy figures of Russian infantry retreating from the adjacent storage tower.

  Amongst the trees on the eastern bank across the frozen expanse of the Volga River bend, a young Russian sniper fastened the second thickly insulated waterproof sleeping bag around his body. The temperature was dropping further in the small wood he was concealed in, a thin mist creeping through the trees and foliage he had chosen for a hiding place. Having just consumed his rations for the evening, he adjusted the branches around his body to provide further insulation against the creeping and overbearing frost. Leaning forward, he retrieved his binoculars and began to slowly survey the bank opposite for any potential targets.

  Chapter Thirty Three: In the Shortness of Time.

  Tatu had descended the stairs quickly, staying back from the edges in case of enemy fire from below. As he descended the floors, he shouted into the rooms to the sides, urging any soldiers to climb the stairs behind him, to reach the potential escape route. Only two soldiers had answered his call, one Romanian and a German Military policemen, their grimy faces ashen as they had emerged from the large storage rooms they had been firing out from.

  Reaching the landing between the third and second floor, he had become more cautious, slowing his descent. Turning the last bend in the staircase, he stepped carefully over the body of a German policeman, the blood seeping out from beneath his helmet. The man was lying face down and had been hit in the face as he leant out to fire at the attackers below. Tatu had started to lean towards the wall, his caution for what was below and rising tiredness from the descent causing him to breathe heavily.

  Glancing over the metal hand rail quickly, he spotted a Russian soldier duck his head back through the doorway on the ground floor below him, the man trying to see if the Germans and Romanians above were still defending the first floor. Rifle bullets whipped around the doorframe as the defenders fired at the Russian, the plaster splattering across the opening as the bullets impacted on the wooden surround, the walls streaked black from the explosions.

  A Romanian soldier crouched on the next set of stairs looked up at him as he turned the corner. The man seemed quite young, almost childlike in the large uniform, helmet and overcoat. His eyes were wide in near panic and Tatu noticed the tight grip he had on his rifle, his nerves tense. The quartermaster passed him slowly, walking between him and the metal rail. As he passed, he indicated for the soldier to go upstairs. The young man needing little encouragement, he rose and ran up the staircase behind him.

  Reaching the second floor landing, Tatu saw another Romanian on the next set of stairs. The man leant against the wall holding his shoulder, his eyes closed, blood seeping through his clenched fingers. Tatu sighed, passing the man slowly, he turned and saw Petru on the next staircase, his rifle aimed at the doorway below. On the next landing, two German infantrymen were crouched next to the metal rail, their rifles held menacingly, pointing down into the stairwell.

  Tatu stopped on the turn in the staircase just above Petru, drawing breath, his face flushed with exertion. Gulping air, he glanced over the rail down to the ground floor before speaking, his voice distorted from his heavy breathing, ‘Time to leave now.’

  Petru glanced from his weapon, a slight smile passing his lips as he recognised his friend, ‘We can’t just let them in Tatu.’

  The Romanian quartermaster indicated to the two Germans below him, raising his voice, ‘You two, get up to the fifth floor, we will hold here!’

  The Germans looked up in startled confusion. Regaining their composure, they nodded in response and backed away from the metal rail before starting to hastily climb the staircase behind Petru. As they passed Tatu, he indicated to the wounded man on the next staircase, ‘Take him with you and check the upper floors for survivors.’

  ‘Yes Sergeant,’ one of the Germans uttered as he passed, crouching down to help the wounded Romanian to his feet as they ascended the next flight.

  Tatu stepped down two of the concrete steps to stand next to his friend, taking his submachine gun from its strap and resting it on the metal hand rail, ‘We will give them a couple of minutes, t
hen slowly make our way up, Petru. There is a possible way of escape now.’

  Petru nodded, not taking his eyes from the doorway below, ‘I understand. Will we get out?’

  Tatu paused, his mood deflated, ‘I hope so, there is little time left now and perhaps too many men to get out.’

  ‘I see.’ Petru swallowed, closing his eyes for a second, ‘Is Udet away? He is too young to die here.’

  Tatu smiled grimly, ‘I hope so, though what he will escape to, I don’t know. I am beginning to think we will all be ending our days in this god forsaken city, my friend.’

  A smile crossed Petru’s lips, then his face hardened, ‘The Russian adventure is nearly over? I don’t think so, Tatu. We have come too far to give it up now.’ He turned his head slightly, looking at his countryman, ‘Let’s get out of here my friend…it is time to leave this place.’

  Movement in the room below caused the men to freeze, raising their weapons to point at the door beneath them. Then a clicking noise from the room below and sounds of boots on the concrete floor, a light flickering inside the ground floor doorway.

  Tatu’s thoughts accelerated, then he grabbed Petru’s shoulder, yanking him backwards. The jet of flame surging upwards from the doorway below, engulfing the handrail they had been leaning against a second earlier, the flames shooting past.

  Both men turned their faces instinctively, feeling the intense heat on their cheeks and backs as the jet of flame passed them in the stairwell. As quickly as it had risen, the flame subsided, seeming to suck the air downwards as it fell with a roar.

  Tatu pulled Petru upwards, his rough grip awakening his countryman from his shock. They struggled up the stairs, their backs against the wall, pushing into it. Both men trying to limit their exposure to the flamethrower below. The smell of burnt dust and plaster overpowered their senses, sticking in their nostrils and mouths as they struggled up the stairs. Burning plaster fragments fell from the sides of the staircase above them, down into the foot well below.