Bloody Stalingrad

by Andrew McGregor

  Hausser’s face fell, an expression of discomfort forming, his eyes widening, ‘I…I didn’t know it was that bad, I am sorry.’

  The Hauptmann’s expression lightened, seeing Hausser’s mental shock, leaning forward he placed a hand on his shoulder, ‘It has been hard here, Hausser. The Russkies don’t want to give the city up.’ Lightly slapping his upper arm, he handed him his orders and walked past him, ‘Go into the square ahead, maybe one hundred metres. Turn north, and keep walking…that should get you to your unit. Don’t go much closer to the river though, the fighting is heavy there, they shoot at anything that moves.’

  Hausser nodded slowly, ‘Y…Yes sir, thank you.’

  The Hauptmann turned at the door, ‘To the north east is Pavlov’s house, the old Russian intellectual. Be careful there, the Russians have been holding out there since the beginning of this mess.’ He turned in the doorway, indicating for the men to get on board the personnel carrier, then looked briefly back at Hausser, still in the hallway. ‘Good luck Leutnant. I hope you find your unit.’ The Hauptmann then turned sharply and walked out into the falling snow, the personnel carrier engine roaring into life as the driver glimpsed him exit the building.

  His spirits low, Hausser slowly trudged along the street, the flickering lights of candles and oil lamps spilling from the buildings on either side. Two sentries were on the corner as the street turned towards a square, breaking their conversation and turning to face him as he approached. The air was becoming colder as the snow fell, the day progressing into the evening. The commander could feel the cold biting at his feet and ankles as he walked, the snowfall becoming thicker. In the distance, towards the river, the sounds of shell bursts and the rattle of machine gun fire became louder as he reached the bend in the street.

  When he reached the soldiers, he handed one his orders, the man raising a lantern to inspect them, his rifle slung over his shoulder. The other sentry nodded to him as he stood there, his grim expression reflecting their lonely vigil in the street. The man sniffled, a scarf covering his mouth, ‘Another Russian winter, Herr Leutnant.’

  Hausser nodded grimly, his thoughts subdued, ‘Yes…another winter.’ He brushed the snow from his arms and shoulders, ‘How far ahead are the Russians?’

  Satisfied, the sentry handed his papers back, looking directly into his eyes. ‘Maybe four or five hundred metres, Herr Leutnant. They are fighting in the houses near the river, across the square ahead.’ The man leant down and placed the lantern on the step of the entrance to one of the buildings and then turned towards him, rubbing his gloved hands. ‘If you go to the end of the street and turn left to the north, this will be your best route to your unit. Keep walking for a while, and ask the sentries on the way for assistance, the units are not as clearly separated as we are used to.’

  Hausser nodded, ‘Thank you. I will bear that in mind. Which unit are you men from?’

  The soldier sniffled again, ‘We are part of the 53rd Mortar Regiment, our unit is in the square for the night. We are posted sentry duty for the next hour.’

  The young commander looked past the men further down the street, seeing only shadows through the heavy snow fall. ‘Thank you gentlemen, I think I will continue on my way now.’

  The sentries nodded, one of them adjusting the scarf across his mouth, ‘Best try and get under cover soon, sir. The Russians will probably start shelling in a while.’

  Hausser turned and walked on, towards the square, ‘I will, thank you.’

  He neared the wide expanse at the end of the street, making out the lorries parked either side of his entrance route, presuming the mortars were within the trucks. A soldier stood talking to the driver in the lorry to his right. Turning left at the corner, he started trudging north, his thoughts drifting to the men he was heading towards. Gunfire echoed across the square, the sound now much louder than before, the fighting some three to four hundred metres away towards the river. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a crumpled packet of American cigarettes and stopped to light one, lowering his scarf. Breathing in the warm smoke to counter the cold air, he glanced around, seeing the outline of a small circular statue some distance away in the square. Approaching to investigate, he began to make out the outline of the structure, about twice the size of his height and with a wide base.

  As he stood before the damaged statue, he wondered what the meaning or significance of the work had been. The worn and pot holed circular wall with snow lying deep along the tops were a barrier bordering the main exhibit, set on a high circular plinth. Frogs adorned the tops of the circular wall at intervals, and he realised the structure had originally been a fountain, the water probably spouting from the snow covered frogs in peacetime. On the raised central section, six statues of children were dancing in a circle, hand in hand with the statue of a crocodile in the centre, its head raised. Parts of the individual statues had been damaged by gunfire and were slowly becoming covered in a thickening blanket of snow.

  Looking into the distance, towards the river, he could just make out the outlines of the buildings that bordered the square through the heavy snowfall, their torn and broken structures exposed to the elements. Drawing on his cigarette again, he turned away, walking briskly from the statue, heading north. Throwing the cigarette onto the ground he pulled the scarf back over his mouth and hunched his body against the cold. Within a minute, he had left the square behind him, heading along a wide thoroughfare towards his new unit.

  Chapter Thirty Eight: Reunion

  Hausser waited in the small hallway, pacing and smoking his last cigarette. It had taken him two hours to walk the remainder of the distance from the square to where he should report, asking many soldiers along the way. The temperature had dropped further as he had walked, the cold intensifying as he passed a wide expanse to his right, the slope rising up towards the heights overlooking the city, Mamayev Kurgan.

  He smiled to himself as he recalled the two children that had joined him in his walk. Their company starting just after the bitter coldness of the hill as they had seen the German officer trudge northwards. They had initially walked behind him, playfully imitating a march until he had stopped and turned asking them to explain themselves. Their eyes had widened on hearing his fluent Russian and they had smiled, informing him that they wished to join his unit.

  Enjoying the game, he had questioned them as to their suitability and the boy of perhaps nine or ten years had elaborated, explaining that he and his sister would fight heroically by his side against the communists. Hausser’s eyes had widened when he had asked what fighting experience they had, the boy replying cheekily that they lived in the city and that would surely be enough experience for such an officer. The boy had continued as they walked together, explaining that they would require little rations due to their age and size and would then look after him in his old age back in Germany, the three of them retiring as heroes after the war.

  As they had reached the outskirts of the factory district, the snowfall becoming heavier, Hausser had explained that they should go back to their mother. That he would come and get them if they were needed for the fighting, but until then they should keep safe and not stray too near the front line. As a parting gift, he had given them the two ration tins provided by Oberleutnant Baumann, wishing them well. The children had both saluted, the small girl of maybe seven or eight years holding his hand briefly, disclosing she hoped that when he came to get them he could then meet their mother and perhaps stay with them for a while.

  He grinned as he considered their innocence, his thoughts becoming more solemn as he realised they would probably suffer even more in the coming weeks as the battle heightened. As he finished the cigarette, the door on the right of the hallway opened distracting him, a young corporal looking through the opening, ‘Major Slusser will see you now, sir.’

  Hausser walked forward nodding at the soldier who stood aside to let him past. Slipping into the warehouse office, he looked around the smallish room, seeing the major sitt
ing behind a desk at his left hand side.

  The major stood up, his chair grinding against the cement floor. ‘Leutnant Hausser?’ He enquired, stretching out his hand.

  Hausser leant forward, shaking the superior officer’s hand, ‘Yes sir, good to meet you.’

  The major indicated to a chair on the opposite side of the table from him, ‘Please have a seat, I understand you have had quite a walk.’

  Hausser slowly lowered himself into the wooden chair, ‘Yes sir, I may have got a little lost on the way.’

  The major nodded, looking inquisitively at him, ‘So I understand, I was expecting you a couple of hours ago.’ He paused, scratching his nose, ‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter your men have had a little more rest as a result.’ The senior officer grasped some papers from the table and leant back in his chair to study them, a candle for illumination on the edge of the desk.

  Hausser studied the major closely, his officer’s cap on the table before him. The senior officer was perhaps late thirties, with dark black hair and brown eyes. His unshaven face was quite distinct, with high cheek bones and a red rash on either side of his neck, indicating his skin’s sensitivity to the mixture of uniformed fabric. His collar was buttoned tight, the uniform dusty and stained from the days spent at the front. Glancing round the office, he surmised it was a foreman’s room in peacetime, the warehouse beyond the hallway and this room the responsibility of the supervisor that had been housed in the small space.

  To the side of the desk was a number of rolled blankets, and Hausser realised the man slept in this room, the office a safe choice, having no windows with the rest of the building surrounding it. The two storey robust structure provided adequate cover for the small room, the first floor above containing materials and stock for the factories nearby.

  The major broke his contemplation, dropping the papers he had been reading back onto the desk. ‘Major Schenk seems to hold you in high regard, Leutnant. His message requests you are returned to his unit as soon as practicable.’ The major looked across at him, his eyes sparkling in the candlelight, a smile forming on his face. ‘I am happy to make your acquaintance, it’s just a pity it’s under such circumstances.’

  Hausser nodded, ‘Yes, I agree, perhaps a drink under a warm Italian sky would be more suitable?’ An ironic smile forming on his face.

  The major grinned, ‘Ah…now that would be a more agreeable situation. Glad to see you are able to keep a sense of humour even now.’ He slapped his knee, reaching down behind the desk and retrieving a half filled bottle, ‘Would you like a glass of Schnapps?’

  Hausser smiled warmly, ‘Yes please, then I think I should get to my men.’

  The major nodded, retrieving a couple of glasses, holding the rims of the tumblers between two fingers. Placing the glasses on the table, he uncorked the bottle and poured ample quantities of the clear liquid into each tumbler. Grabbing one of the glasses, the major raised the tumbler, ‘Prost! Leutnant Hausser, to you and your unit’s success!’ He then downed the glass in one, closing his eyes and twisting his head as he swallowed the strong liquid.

  Hausser gingerly picked up the glass and raised it in return, sipping from the tumbler, the liquid nearly overpowering his taste buds. He coughed once as he swallowed, smiling at the major as the warmth spread through his chest and stomach.

  Major Slusser topped up his glass, grinning at Hausser’s somewhat reserved drinking, splashing a top up into the younger man’s glass, he sipped his own and leant back in his chair. Clearing his throat, he picked up one of the pages from the desk in front of him. ‘So, Hausser, let’s get to your men. We have assigned a small number of stragglers and ‘homeless’ troops to you…survivors from the Russian maelstrom if you like. They are of mixed nationalities, but they seem good men. It’s only about a platoon strength, maybe slightly larger, but it will do for the meantime until you re-join your unit. We may get you some more in due course.’

  Hausser nodded, sipping from the tumbler again, his senses warming as the alcohol spread through his body. He noticed the major’s face was becoming slightly flushed, the effects of the Schnapps beginning to become apparent.

  The major glanced up at him, ensuring the younger man was keeping up with him, looking back at the paperwork, he continued, ‘You may have some language problems, but I understand some of your existing men can speak other languages, so hopefully you can get by.’ He leant forward, picking up his glass again, swigging greedily from it, ‘Now to your duties. We face the Russian 62nd Army on the banks of the river where they have a narrow bridgehead, held throughout the entire battle I may add. Although I would love to push them into the water, this is unrealistic with the current turn of events.’

  Hausser nodded uneasily, ‘Yes…I imagine.’

  Major Slusser reached for his tunic pocket, retrieving a battered pack of cigarettes. Placing one between his teeth, his offered the packet to Hausser, placing his elbows on the desk either side of the paperwork.

  Leutnant Hausser leant forward to light the major’s cigarette, retrieving one for himself from the packet.

  The major drew on the lit cigarette and continued, smoke spilling from his mouth as he talked, ‘The Russians are being supplied from the other side of the river regularly, probably at night. I predict they will become increasingly active in the next few weeks as they realise we are vulnerable. It is my…our job to ensure they do not succeed in breaking out. Do you understand Hausser?’ The major’s eyes narrowed as he looked up at the younger officer, drawing on his cigarette again as he watched him intently.

  Hausser lowered his glass, looking back at the major across the desk, slightly startled at the man’s directness, ‘I understand sir. If they break out, this will create further havoc in the city and extra strain on the army.’

  Major Slusser smiled, his face now fully flushed with the alcohol he had consumed, ‘Exactly. It is imperative we contain the 62nd Army until a relief effort gets here and stabilises the front. Unfortunately, as we are now on the defensive we will have to guess or gain intelligence where and when the Russians will attack.’ He leant forward, topping up Hausser’s glass once more.

  Hausser nodded further, beginning to warm to the major’s manner, understanding and presentation of the situation. Drawing on his cigarette, he sipped from his glass again.

  The major raised his tumbler and swigged from it in response, then continued, ‘That is where your unit comes in Hausser, and my need for you. We are quite thinly stretched and have very few reserves at present. I need a ‘fire brigade’ to reinforce any sector they attack in. Your ‘new’ unit provides this, allowing me to rotate the front line troops and create a reserve, if only a small one. At least now if they attack, I can move the extra men in to support the defenders.’ The major looked curiously at him, his eyebrows raised awaiting a response.

  Hausser smiled warmly, a mixture of his understanding of the major’s intent and the alcohol, ‘I understand sir.’

  The major smiled back at him, ‘Good, thank you Hausser. Now, in a moment, I will get my adjutant to accompany you to your men. Tomorrow morning you should move up and relieve a section of the front…probably tomorrow night. Keep an eye out for the enemy moving troops up or any suspicious activity. That could be the clue we need as to their intent.’

  ‘I will, sir,’ Hausser replied, draining his glass, ‘Where is it we will head in the morning?’ The quantity of alcohol was more than he was accustomed to and he felt his insides turn uncomfortably as the strong liquid descended through his gullet. A stronger warmth began to gradually spread through his body, the alcohol landing on a relatively empty stomach.

  The major leant back in his chair again, his eyes slightly bleary from the drinking. He paused, a tired sigh coming from his lips, ‘You will take up positions in front of the Red October Tractor Factory.’

  As Hausser trudged through the iced snow, his steps slightly uncoordinated due to the alcohol, he considered the challenges ahead. The adjutant next to him indicatin
g a warehouse door some one hundred metres away. Their boots crunched across the ice, the snow still falling around them. The rattle of gunfire from the nearby frontline caused the men to instinctively lower their heads. Shells burst in the city to the south as they walked across the ice covered delivery yard.

  Reaching a single doorway to the side of the wide front double delivery doors, a sentry unfamiliar to Hausser saluted and opened the door for him. The adjutant turned, bidding the young commander farewell and began the return route to the major, the promise of a warming drink to welcome him back hastening his walk. A broad grin crossed his face abruptly as he trudged away from the damaged warehouse, the hoarse cheer from within the building behind him causing some amusement.

  Chapter Thirty Nine: To the Front!

  Hausser walked slowly along the line of soldiers, his mouth dry and head thumping from the previous night’s consumption and his injury. Examining the soldiers one by one, he considered their ability as a fighting unit. The men were of several different nationalities, some Romanians, Hungarians and the rest, German soldiers. All escapees of the Russian offensive or stragglers from units that had escaped the pocket, their fate perhaps not as lucky. He could see from the expressions on their faces that they had all experienced a great deal and that morale was low. Lacking friends and countrymen, not knowing if their comrades were alive or dead, or even having witnessed their friends killed had eroded the men’s resolve.

  Their bedraggled national uniforms…dirty and torn…had seen better days, and the inspection he had organised simply emphasised the situation they found themselves in from their presentation. He counted twenty nine men in total in addition to the soldiers that had escaped along the riverbank, bringing their fighting strength to forty two men.