Bloody Stalingrad

by Andrew McGregor

  Tatu bit his lip as he realised the futility of their position. The escape route out of reach and the defenders pinned down, the probability of escape now worsening. He strained his ears, hearing the distant ‘Hurrah’ as the Russian infantry emerged from the next pier, their advance now covered by machine gun fire, the defenders unable to fire back effectively.

  Then he froze as he heard the low rattle of a machine gun firing from behind him. Glancing round, he saw the top of the Hanomag emerge above the gap in the river wall, the upper front mounted MG34 machine gun flashing and spraying bullets down the riverbank past them. Startled, his vision moved along the wall, seeing the turret of a Panzer III tank appear in the adjacent street, then shudder as it fired over their heads, a belch of flame and smoke from the muzzle. The ‘whoosh’ of the shell passing over the pier and hitting the wall of one of the buildings, the explosion throwing shell fragments and debris onto the Russian infantry below.

  Grinning widely and glancing back round the pillar, he saw the first wave of Russian infantry falter as the machine gun bullets splattered across the snow in front of them, the aim short. The Russians stopped, then turned and started running back towards the next pier, another burst from the German MG34 hitting several as they ran.

  He looked down at the three men with him, grins appearing on their faces beneath their scarves, ‘Let’s go!’ He shouted.

  Rifle shots rang out as the soldiers of the German 71st Infantry Division further along the river wall fired from the streets at the buildings above them, the half-drunk Russians ducking back inside the warehouse they were in.

  The four men rose from their hiding place and ran from the pier, grenades thrown out of the buildings above bouncing down the slopes next to them and rolling down the iced snow bank. The explosions spurring them on as their cold legs pushed them forward.

  As he ran, Udet saw Meino gather the men up in front of them, the small group struggling with the wounded towards the ladder.

  The Panzer III fired again, the smoke canister landing just short of the pier the Russians were sheltering under. The shell exploding and smoke billowing outwards, the Russian machine gunner now firing blindly towards the next pier.

  As Meino ran along the wall, he heard the breach of the Panzer above ‘clunk’, and the gun fire again, the shell whistling out across the frozen landscape, exploding on the iced river bank near the Russian held pier.

  As the small group of four soldiers ran along the wall, several more high explosive shells passed overhead, the tank now firing blind into the smoke that covered the pier further along the riverbank. Bullets whistled around them as the Russians fired back blindly through the smoke, several hitting the walls above their ducked heads.

  Smoke grenades landed on the snow beside them as Meino reached the ladder on the wall, ‘puffing’ as they ignited, and the smoke swirling from the canisters. He stopped, pushing the cold men one by one up the ladder, then climbing it himself behind the soldiers struggling with the wounded.

  As Meino reached the top, he hesitated, looking down, seeing Tatu below him at the foot of the ladder, beginning his ascent, the Romanian half covered in smoke. Turning back, Nicu grabbed his shoulder and pulled him forward, his face concerned, ‘Get away from the edge, a Russian sniper has killed two infantrymen!’

  Meino nodded, walking briskly behind the Hanomag, ducking his head as he heard a bullet ricochet off its metal plate. A German officer stood at the back of the carrier, indicating to another Hanomag further down the narrow street, shouting at him, ‘Get your men in that carrier, we are pulling back! The Russkies are about to counter attack!’ He turned away, teeth gritted and expression grim.

  As the soldiers sat exhausted in the overcrowded carriers seats and floor, they heard the engines roar and the metal tracks squeal and grind on the cobblestones as the vehicles reversed out of the street and accelerated north, into the burning city.

  Behind them, the Panzer III fired south as the Russians began to launch their counter attack. Bullets ‘pinged’ off the rear of the vehicle as it drove from the battlefield, the burning buildings to either side casting flickering light across the occupants within.

  Most of the soldiers sat in stunned silence in the vehicle as it drove northwards, the cold and their experience numbing their personal thoughts. Tatu sat at the back of the Hanomag opposite Hase looking up into the distance, seeming deep in thought. After a while he leant forward, tapping the young Russian’s leg, ‘Do you know what that building is?’ He pointed to a tall multi-storey structure in the distance, the flash of an explosion on the outside of the building drawing his attention to it.

  Hase turned slowly to look where the Romanian was pointing, nodding tiredly he turned back to face him, ‘That’s the Stalingrad Grain Elevator…Leutnant Hausser and I were there two months ago.’

  Chapter Thirty Five: Recuperation

  Hausser stirred in his deep sleep, his body aching from the strain of the last week. The fever he had experienced over the last couple of days had escalated his temperature at times, the orderly assigned to him wrapping him in blankets to protect him from the cold outside.

  In the small room he had lain in, the breeze through the boarded up shattered windows had occasionally swept across his face, the cold air disturbing his deep slumber. On the occasional times he had awoken, still concussed and confused, they had forced him to drink water collected from the snow outside and boiled.

  Whilst he had slept, he had been visited a number of times. The lone solitary figure sitting on the only wooden chair in the corner of the room by the door watching him. The man had a peaked nose and was in his late fifties, the hair receded over time from his head, covered by his officer’s cap. He had sat smoking his looted American cigarettes continually, usually spending an hour in silence with the patient each time he visited.

  Hausser lay on the floor, his bedding an assortment of worn blankets and a mattress full of straw. His pillow was a rolled army blanket, the improvised bedclothes now containing the strong stale odour of days of sweating, his skin coated in a salt and pungent based resin, exposure to cold and the stresses of combat overcoming his body initially.

  The military doctor had reported to the visitor that the patient required time to rest, that his body was providing this through the slumber. The doctor had stressed that the patient was initially weak after his ordeal, but that the recuperation had allowed the soldier to become healthier and stronger.

  On this morning, the visitor sat as before, watching the prone soldier. As he smoked, his thoughts had drifted to the past, of a younger less experienced soldier, a man he had grown to respect and care for…despite the trials of the war and his experience contradicting this behaviour in his mind. The many campaigns and difficulties they had struggled through and overcome, albeit with setbacks, flooded through his mind. He had watched as the soldier had gained experience and the respect of his men, becoming a valued junior commander in the field.

  The visitor sighed as he thought of his decision two months earlier. The strain of combat had begun to show on the young commander and he decided to post him with a couple of men to what he considered a quiet part of the front, to the south of Stalingrad to rest. The man’s language skills making it easy for him to convince more senior commanders of the need to move him…it had taken a few days to gain the decision, but their confidence to release him had been sealed as the decision to move German units into the city for ‘one final push’ had been made. Strong commanders were needed on the flanks to bolster their weaker allies resolve, he had convinced them this was one such commander, a commander with the necessary and required language skills never the less.

  The orderly walked briskly into the room, startling the visitor. His urgency to attend to too many casualties and wounded sparing him the usual military forms of address.

  ‘Good morning,’ the visitor stated, leaning back in his chair.

  The orderly turned to face him as he knelt by the sleeping man, ‘Oh…erm,
sorry Major, I did not see you there. How are you today?’

  The major crossed his legs, his large overcoat falling either side of his knee, ‘I am fine today, lots to do, so I thought I would come here early, see how our young patient is progressing.’

  The orderly nodded, wiping Hausser’s face with a damp cloth. ‘I think he should be awake soon, he seems quite well now, if a little undernourished. We will need to feed him when he awakes.’ The orderly grinned, ‘I think he will have quite an appetite then.’

  The major nodded, drawing on his cigarette and turning to look at the boarded window, the light from outside forcing its way through the gaps in the wooden obstructions. The sounds of distant gunfire and explosions from the nearby city drifted through the streets towards them, their position in a small factory building in the west of the city some distance from the fighting.

  The orderly looked across at the Major, ‘How did you find him, sir?’

  The Major smiled briefly, clearing his throat, ‘I sent a message to the units in the southern sector requesting immediate information on troops re-joining the city. This proved successful after a bit, I imagined he would try and get back to us...he has done in the past…’

  The orderly nodded, checking Hausser’s pulse, ‘I see. A bit of luck there then, it seems he has been through quite an adventure.’

  The Major rose from his seat, walking towards the window and looking out through one of the gaps. Drawing on his cigarette, he blew the smoke through the wooden strips across the window, watching the cloud spiral and twist against the breeze outside, ‘Escaping from one trap to another perhaps…’ He replied thoughtfully, watching a wounded soldier painfully limp across the newly fallen snow outside.

  The orderly looked down at the patient, studying the man’s eyes as they flickered. ‘I think he may be awakening sir.’

  The major turned his head to look at the prone man, seeing his eyes flicker open, the wet cloth stirring and wakening him, ‘Ah, Herr Leutnant…I am glad you could join us.’ A grin beginning to form on his face as his previous deep concerns for the patient’s welfare ebbed away.

  Hausser struggled with his senses, the pain across the back of his head dulling his understanding. Slowly he blinked several times, the morning light cascading through the wood across the window initially painful to his sight. Breathing heavily, he looked slowly around the room, lifting his head slightly. A silhouette at the window, the dirty walls with broken plaster, the lone chair in the corner and the open doorway.

  The orderly looked down on him, ‘How are we today sir?’

  ‘Wh..Where am I?’ Hausser struggled to speak, his mouth very dry from the days of sleeping, his senses groggy.

  The silhouette at the window turned to face him, a smoke cloud billowing across the room. ‘You are near Stalingradski flight school, on the western side of the city young man. You seem to have had quite an adventure.’

  Hausser blinked again, his eyes beginning to focus, ‘Major Schenk? Is that you?’

  ‘Yes it is Hausser, a surprise to see you again perhaps, but a welcome one never the less.’ The major replied, ‘How do you feel?’

  Hausser’s mind was confused, his memories beginning to crowd through his senses, ‘My…my men? Where are my men?’

  The orderly rose from his crouched position, ‘I will get him some clean water to drink and some rations. He will need them.’

  The major nodded, ‘Yes, that’s a start.’ Turning back to Hausser he stepped forward, standing over the prone man. ‘Your men are just fine. Quite a rag-tag bunch you seem to have found in the south. I have had them transferred to my…..er, your command.’

  Hausser lifted his hand to his forehead, the dull pain crossing his forehead as he lowered his head onto the makeshift pillow, ‘D…Did they all get away?’

  The major crouched down over the young commander, ‘They told me to tell you not to worry, that they all got out. Now tell me how you feel Hausser?’ His voice becoming firm.

  Hausser’s mind cleared slightly with the Major’s tone, ‘I feel alright I suppose…a bit confused.’

  The major nodded, retrieving a packet of cigarettes from his overcoat pocket, ‘Good. I will give you the day to recover. Report to me first thing tomorrow, we need every man now, Hausser. Things are not good.’

  Hausser nodded slowly, his confusion rising, ‘Where will you be?’

  The major smiled, placing the new cigarette between his teeth, ‘Not far…the orderly will tell you later.’ He leant his head forward as he lit the cigarette, ‘You and your men have perhaps had enough rest now, I have some jobs for you to attend to.’

  Hausser squinted, his eyes adjusting to the light as the major rose to his feet, ‘Yes sir. Have they rested too?’

  The major stepped back, adjusting his overcoat, ‘Yes my friend, they are rested, well as best they could. Now, I must go, I have work to do. I will see you tomorrow, yes?’

  Hausser nodded slowly, ‘Y…Yes sir. Tomorrow first thing.’

  The Major smiled, ‘Good, till tomorrow then.’ He turned and walked from the room, his long boots clicking on the cement floor.

  The orderly passed him in the corridor, carrying a metal canteen of water and some food. Nodding to the Major he walked into the room, hearing the officer behind him, ‘Feed him well medic, we will need him to be fit tomorrow, any problem with the rations, give them my name.’

  The orderly turned his head sharply in reply, ‘Yes s...’ But the Major had gone, turning out of sight at the end of the corridor, a plume of smoke hanging in the air where he had once been.

  As the orderly knelt next to the patient, Hausser lifted his head to drink from the metal canteen. Pausing before he drank, he looked up at the orderly, a curious expression on his face, ‘How long was I out for?’

  The orderly looked down at him, a sadness in his eyes, ‘It’s December the first, Herr Leutnant. I think you had better try and rest today, there will be little time for relaxing from tomorrow.’ He wiped the cold wet cloth around Hausser’s unshaven chin, ‘Welcome to Der Kessel.’

  Chapter Thirty Six: Situation Report

  Hausser clicked his heels, saluting the Major by raising his right hand sharply to his helmet. ‘Leutnant Hausser reporting as ordered, sir!’

  Major Schenk smiled, returning the salute, his steely grey eyes sparkling, ‘Glad you could join us Hausser.’ The major then turned and indicated for the officer behind him to come forward. ‘You remember my adjutant, Oberleutnant Baumann?’

  Hausser nodded, a smile passing his lips, ‘Yes sir.’

  The major waved his hand at him in a scolding fashion, ‘For heaven’s sake, relax Hausser, in these circumstances we need a more friendly approach I think. I see you have shaved and had a wash…good, it will freshen you up. How’s the head?’

  Hausser shifted his stance uncomfortably at the scrutiny, seeing the major grin as he realised, ‘Still a little sore, sir. I am bandaged under my helmet.’

  The major’s grin reverted to a smile, ‘Good, nearly fighting fit then, now let’s not get too much of the holiday spirit, shall we begin gentlemen?’

  Oberleutnant Baumann stepped forward, extending his hand towards Hausser, a smile on his face.

  The major turned and retreated towards the back of the narrow bunker, sitting down heavily on a wide easy chair he had positioned some days earlier. To the right of him and further back in the narrow bunker was a radio operator, busily scribbling reports and orders that had been transmitted through the shortwave radio in front of him. To the major’s front sat a medium sized table, two maps extended across it, the improvised paperweight, the officer’s half-filled glass was placed across the paper overlap with a lit candle on the edge of the table. A chipped metal tea pot, the major’s trade mark, sat on a small side table next to his chair.

  Hausser leant forward grasping the outstretched hand of the adjutant. ‘How are you Mr Baumann?’

  Baumann’s smile widened to a brief grin in return, his handshak
e firm, ‘Good to see you again Hausser, I hear you have been busy as usual.’ His head nodding in approval.

  Hausser relaxed his stance, a smile flicking across his face, ‘Yes, it was quite a challenge getting back to you, but I hear we may be in a bigger mess now.’

  Baumann nodded, his face becoming solemn, ‘Yes, this dilemma may prove just a little difficult I think.’ The man stood back, rubbing his temple with his right hand. He was in his late forties with greying unkempt black hair, the lines of stress around his face from the challenges of continual organisation, fully aware that any mistake he may make could cost a life. This had played heavily on the man as the battles of the previous winter had become more costly, his personal pride in limiting casualties becoming challenged and then overwhelmed as the campaign had continued relentlessly throughout the year. Fate seeming oblivious and unforgiving towards his emotional state.

  The major was becoming impatient, swigging from his glass and standing up abruptly, ‘When you gentlemen have finished your gossip, perhaps you can join me.’ He indicated with his hand for the two officers to stand before the table. He then leant forward, retrieving an unlit cigarette from on top of the map and lighting it, blowing smoke into the roof of the bunker.

  The two men turned, moving to the other side of the table from the major. An explosion in the distance caused the three men to look at each other cautiously for a second, listening for indications that a salvo was incoming. After a couple of seconds and no further explosions, they became more relaxed, the major retrieving a pencil from his side table.