Bloody Stalingrad

by Andrew McGregor

  Hearing boots on the staircase below, Petru grasped the last stick grenade from his belt, twisted the base and pulled on the cord, dropping it over the landing edge as they struggled upwards. Another whoosh of flame passed them between the stairs as they moved against the wall, the roar of the chemical fire terrifying as they shielded their faces from the heat.

  The explosion three floors below rocked the stairwell as the flamethrower tanks ignited, the subsequent fireball sweeping out and upwards engulfing some of the Russian soldiers on the stairs and in the foot well, their skin burnt from their bodies instantly with the intense heat. The eruption of fire rose three floors between the stairs, burning the soldiers on either side as they advanced.

  Tatu pushed Petru in front of him as they carefully stepped over the outstretched body on the landing and began to climb the steps to the fourth floor. Dislodged plaster dust and burning debris fell all around them as they struggled upwards. Tatu turned, raising his coat across them as he glimpsed the flame jet rise greedily past them in the stairwell. They turned their backs, shielding themselves behind the thick leather overcoat, feeling the heat on their uniforms. Then Tatu cautiously looked out through the fingers of his hands as the fireball descended, having burnt the fuel remaining in the flamethrower tanks. The intoxicating smell of the chemicals burning mixed with scorched flesh filled their mouths and nostrils, almost making them retch. The screams of the soldiers below echoed up and down the stairs, the chilling sounds of the wounded spurring them on, upwards.

  In between the screams, Tatu could hear shouting below, the barked orders to leave the building quickly filtering between the cries of the wounded. The hairs on the back of his neck twitching as his mind realised the possible intention of the Russian commander below. His recollection of his experiences in Odessa and other towns where he had fought this enemy, the final outcome being usually anything but favourable.

  Tatu looked up as they ascended the steps to the fourth floor, seeing Alessio glance down in curiousity over the metal rail, the fear on his face. Straining to shout, the Romanian coughed, then pointed to Alessio as he struggled to clear his throat, ‘Get out now!’

  The Italian disappeared from view as Tatu followed Petru onto the fourth floor, their boots smacking against the cement as they propelled themselves forward. Grasping the hand rail, they pulled themselves up onto the next flight of stairs, their chests heaving with the physical strain.

  As they turned on the landing, Tatu’s heart dropped as he saw five soldiers on the top floor, the Italian, Alessio struggling to get the Romanian and German infantrymen and policemen to understand his urgency. Before him were two wounded men, the Romanian holding his shoulder, his sleeve now covered in blood. Next to him, the German soldier Tatu recognised from the ground floor, the side of his face bandaged heavily after the burns from the flamethrower in the sewer, his face having swelled up considerably. Alongside them stood two other soldiers, one Romanian, the other German, their rifles in their hands. He shouted in frustration, his voice booming in the enclosed space at the top of the stairs, ‘Get across now…there is no time!’

  Alessio turned, his adrenalin rising with the shouting of the Romanian quartermaster, ‘There is still someone on the conveyor! The cogs have frozen solid, we need to climb across now!’

  Tatu rounded the top of the stairs behind Petru, noting the silence from the stairs below them, realising the Russians must be out of the building. Pushing Petru forward, his voice urgent, ‘Get them across Petru!’

  Petru turned to his side and slipped through the doors, then stopped as the freezing air enveloped him, the conveyor before him leaning on the ice covered ledge.

  Tatu moved forward, glancing through the doorway. Looking across the dark divide, he saw Udet through the gloom, the young German with his foot on the conveyor, aiming his rifle down towards the street. Between them, an infantryman was slowly and cautiously progressing across the belt on his hands and knees.

  Tatu hissed across the divide, ‘Move faster!’ Watching as the young man half looked warily over his shoulder, then attempted to move his body quicker, Udet outstretching his gloved hand towards him, beckoning the frightened soldier forward.

  Tatu pointed to the conveyor, but Petru was already moving to place his weight on top, steadying the narrow platform. Petru turned as he saw the infantryman on the other side disappear through the hatch, ‘Tatu, we will have to run across!’

  Tatu turned back into the stairwell, ‘Who’s first? We need to go now!’

  The German and Romanian soldiers looked at each other, then Alessio pushed past them, ‘I suppose it best be me…I have already gone over once. Let’s see if the Italians can pull you out of this mess.’

  A gunshot from the other side of the alleyway startled them, Udet having fired into the street at the end, ‘They are taking up positions, get moving…now!’

  Alessio pushed past Tatu in the doorway, patting him on the shoulder as he slipped out into the cold. The Italian moved to the side of Petru, stepping gingerly onto the first panel, the conveyor lowering under his weight as his body rose onto the wooden sheets. Moving his feet to either side of the section he stood on until they touched the strip, he stepped forward onto the next section, the conveyor creaking under his weight. Waiting for the conveyor to settle, he then moved his other leg forward.

  Tatu smiled briefly, turning abruptly to the men in the fifth floor stairwell, ‘Who’s next?’

  The two unwounded men shook their heads fearfully, the Romanian stepping forward, his face determined, ‘This is madness! We will never all get across, I am going downstairs to surrender!’ He turned, starting to descend the steps, the nails on his boots clicking on the cement. His face half turned as he descended, ‘This is over now!’

  Tatu frowned, his exasperation rising, ‘Are you mad? The Russkies will shoot you the moment they see you.’ Seeing the German infantryman turn and begin to follow the Romanian down the stairs, his voice escalated, ‘They are probably getting ready to blow up the building! That’s what they do!’

  The Romanian soldier disappeared from view, descending down to the fourth floor landing. The German soldier stopped briefly on the landing to look up at Tatu, tears in his eyes, ‘I think we have lost Sergeant.’ Then he turned and started to descend the steps moving out of sight.

  Tatu shook his head, ‘Fools.’ Turning to the two wounded men, his eye brows raised, ‘You two having second thoughts, or can we go now?’

  Petru’s voice drifted through the open doorway, ‘He’s nearly across Tatu, next man now!’

  The wounded and bandaged German stepped past Tatu and out through the doorway, joining Petru on the ledge, a freezing cold breeze sweeping in from across the Volga.

  The wounded Romanian stepped forward, clutching his shoulder, his unshaven face serious, ‘I am not going to make it. I am bleeding heavily and will only slow you down. I will go downstairs and plead with the Russians, try and delay them.’

  Tatu nodded in defeat, his eyes dropping as he placed a comforting hand on the man’s uninjured shoulder, ‘I understand…go quickly then, there is no time left.’ The soldier saluted painfully, and turned to descend the stairs. Tatu returned the salute as the man turned to look one last time at him, his face ashen as the Romanian nodded to him, ‘Good Luck.’

  The man forced a grim knowing smile, ‘I hope you see our Romania again sergeant, I think my war ends here…you can’t save everyone.’ He nodded once, his face resolute, then turned his head and started to descend the cement steps, disappearing from view.

  Tatu stood for a second, looking at the empty staircase, then turned and slipped through the open double doors. As he stood on the ledge, he felt the cold air sweep across his features, his body slowly adapting to the temperature as he breathed in through his nose. He looked across the alleyway, seeing the wounded German half way across the conveyor. Petru turned slightly to acknowledge him, ‘How many more, Tatu?’

  The Romanian quartermaster glan
ced down at his countryman, his voice lowered and distant as his mind cleared, ‘Just you and me now my friend, let’s get away from this place….’

  Petru nodded, noticing the German approach the hatch across the conveyor, ‘Your turn, Tatu, time for you to leave.’

  Tatu shook his head, ‘No, you first my friend. I will hold the belt steady.’

  Petru’s eyes narrowed, his voice rising, ‘No! You are heavier, get on the belt now.’

  Tatu’s eyes widened in surprise at the outburst. Shaking his head slowly in disbelief, he realised there was little time to argue, ‘Very well comrade, you be right behind me!’

  Their eyes met as Tatu stepped forward and placed a boot on the first wooden plate, Petru smiled briefly, ‘Get across quickly my friend, it’s time to leave.’ Tatu lifted the strap of his submachine gun over his head, pushing the weapon onto his back.

  Stepping forward, Tatu swallowed and held his breath as he heard the conveyor beneath him creak with the strain. He slid his boots forward, wary that the wooden panels were now covered in a heavy frost, he glanced up, seeing Udet in front of him, just over ten metres away. The young German beckoning him with his gloved hand, hissing at him, ‘Keep your eyes on your footing, Tatu.’

  Tatu looked down again, carefully lifting his right boot forward onto the next panel, testing its strength then bringing his other foot to join the first. He could feel his breathing, deep in his chest, the cold air drifting into his lungs…his heart was beating hard, a sickly feeling rising from his stomach. The outside world seemed surreally distant as he concentrated solely on his footing, the movement of the ageing machine beneath him as it reacted to his weight.

  Distant shouting in Russian from the ground on the left startled him slightly, then a burst of machine gun fire. He stopped briefly, realising his arms were now outstretched to his sides, in an attempt to provide additional balance.

  Looking back at the panels beneath his boots, he stepped forward again, the wood creaking beneath his weight. Then he slid his left boot onto the next panel, a cracking sound from beneath him as his weight was transferred from his right boot onto the panel below his left. He licked his cold lips in fear as he stepped forward again, the conveyor shaking slightly at the movement.

  Stepping again across the next panel, the wood beneath him moved slightly, then settled as his full weight bore down upon it, glancing up, he reached out and grasped Udet’s outstretched hand, stepping across the last wooden panel onto the ledge, he crouched down and slipped though the hatch into the second storage tower.

  Petru breathed heavily in relief, seeing his friend reach safety. Then the apprehension within him began to rise dramatically, his vertigo beginning to escalate the fear in his stomach. He rose slowly from the end of the conveyor, his breath becoming rapid as he realised he had to face the daunting walk the others had achieved, across the conveyor high above the alleyway. Picking up his rifle from the ledge, he slung the strap over his helmeted head, the weapon now resting across his back.

  Breathing sharply, the cold in his muscles beginning to complain, he stepped back from the ageing and worn conveyor, briefly looking over the fires and fighting in the city to his right. He watched as a shell burst in the distance, the bright light flashing at the explosion, then the burning debris falling to the ground.

  Another burst of machine gun fire from the left startled him from the scene over the city, the returning rifle shots from the building opposite at Russian infantry in the streets focussing his mind on the job at hand. Looking across the divide, he saw Udet staring at him, his eyes wide in desperation, ‘Come on Petru, we are out of time!’ The young German hissed across the alleyway.

  Petru turned, facing the double doors, his fear almost intoxicating, and his mind conflicted. He briefly considered running down the stairs, trying to get out through the building, but realised almost immediately this was unrealistic, not knowing where the Russian infantry were.

  Bullets flew through the alleyway below him, a couple ricocheting off the walls. He swallowed, feeling complete fear in his chest, his heart beating faster with every second that passed. His mind fought against the fear, the terror even of his childhood nightmares. He had often tried to overcome his fear of heights by standing on balconies, or the tops of buildings as a boy and youth, but this had just added to his phobia.

  He lifted his hand, placing his glove on the rough, weathered thick wooden door in front of him. The urge to stay where he was had become almost overwhelming, the terror in his mind of the open expanse behind him becoming heightened.

  In the distance he could hear the desperation in the German voice calling to him, ‘Petru! Petru, come on. Move across now!’ Slowly he turned, tears forming in his eyes as he resolved to face the fear that had plagued him all his life.

  Udet had started to become apprehensive at the Romanian’s lack of movement, then as the man turned in the darkness across the alleyway, his concern rose. Their eyes met as Petru forced himself to look across the divide, his inner mental struggle obvious to the young German. Then the stare was broken as Tatu thrust his head through the hatch, his voice stern and commanding, ‘Petru, get across here now!’

  Petru glanced up and across at his countryman, the fear spreading through him as his muscles tensed. An explosion below them in the sewer broke his inaction, forcing his boot onto the conveyor, he swallowed and pushed his body forward.

  A further muffled explosion came from the other side of the building behind him, then another. He stepped out over the alleyway, his breath held. Another explosion below in the sewer, then one in the building behind him, his mind cleared to form one thought, ‘The Russians were about to demolish the building, his time to escape had nearly run out.’

  Adrenalin forced its way through his body, the fear being overcome briefly as he realised he had only seconds left. Forcing his eyesight onto the wooden panels beneath his feet, he stepped out across the conveyor, his movement becoming more rapid. The conveyor shuddered as another muffled explosion behind him in the building unsettled the foundations, then he felt the belt move. He stepped further, bending his knees to counter the belt shaking, then he stepped across two more panels, his body pushing him forward. Smoke and dust rose from the open sewer roof below, rising towards him as he forced a boot forward again, then he pushed his body determinedly, his boots stepping along the shaking conveyor.

  He felt the wood beneath him shake as another explosion from behind him unsettled the building, almost sensing his body move further, his boots pushing onto the panels below and in front of him automatically. His mental senses blurred as a large explosion from the building behind and another below sent a ball of fire through the sewer, propelled out through the tunnel and over the river.

  Looking at the panels below him, he forced himself to focus as he lifted his boot and placed it quickly on the next panel, then the next, then he saw another pair of boots come into view, an outstretched gloved hand as the conveyor beneath his footing began to fall away. A loud escalating rumbling behind him, becoming almost deafening, the intensely high pitched sound of metal and wood stretching then breaking, his footing slipping. He threw himself forward, his hands outstretched, flailing to grasp something as he felt his body falling downwards.

  Dust and smoke filled his vision, blinding him as he grasped something in front of him, his gloves slipping slightly. He felt the back of his jacket tense as a hand grasped the material, two further hands grasping his jacket by the shoulders, then his legs swung forward, the front of his boots and legs hitting the side of the building.

  He gasped, the pain spreading through his legs, his eyes closed tightly, then he felt his body rise as the rough grips on his overcoat lifted him upwards. His boots slid on the wall as he tried to push upwards, the hands pulling him up the wall as bullets whipped through the alleyway, the Russian infantry emerging from their cover after the series of explosions.

  As he stole a look through his clenched eyes, he saw Tatu and Udet’s faces
just above him through the swirling dust and smoke, the strain of holding his weight clear in their expressions, their eyes closed. Then his body rose up as he was pulled forward. Opening his eyes again, he saw a black hole before him as he was pulled through the open hatch into the darkened room beyond.

  Udet breathed heavily, alone on the ledge. His heart was beating hard in his chest, the exertion and shock from what had happened taxing his body in the freezing temperatures. He looked down at the broken conveyor beside him, the belt having snapped and shattered as the support on the other end had fallen away. He had held the wooden frame around the hatch as he had grabbed Petru’s greatcoat, almost falling forward with the weight until Tatu had grasped his countryman’s shoulders.

  Below him, the dust and smoke concealed the smashed machinery, obscuring most of his vision. As he looked across the alleyway his eyes widened, the dust in the air beginning to fall away. The building opposite had collapsed completely, the bitter breeze from the east now unobstructed, the freezing air enveloping him in his exposed position. Looking down the alleyway through the smoke and settling dust, he saw Russian infantry emerging from cover in the distance, then he heard Tatu call to him from inside.

  Across the river bend, on the frozen east side of the river, the sniper’s search for targets had been disrupted completely by the explosions on the other side of the river. He had panned his binoculars around just in time to see flames shooting out of the sewer tunnels. Then smoke and dust had obscured his entire view of that side of the river. As the dust slowly cleared, he spotted a lone German infantryman crouched on a ledge on the side of a building through the mist and smoke. Not believing his luck, he had double checked that the figure was indeed German. Realising an opportunity, he quickly reached for his rifle, raising the scope to his eye and squinting through the sight. Moving the rifle across to where he had seen the soldier, his finger across the trigger, his excitement rising. Then he sighed in defeat, the held air drifting from his body, the weapon steady.