Bloody Stalingrad

by Andrew McGregor

  Stepping back, he turned to Tatu, ‘What weapons do we have as a unit?’

  Tatu stroked his moustache, his hangover intense from a night’s drinking, the vodka provided by the major allowing the men some respite from reality and creating some camaraderie as they had all drunk together. He turned his head towards Hausser, ‘Twenty nine rifles, nine submachine guns, including our own, one MG34 with six belts of ammunition and a Russian DP-28 machine gun with five drums of ammunition, sir!’ He barked, the Romanian intent on presenting discipline to the on-looking men.

  Hausser smiled at the Romanian’s retort, realising his intent. He paused, thinking for a second, ‘Grenades?’

  Tatu stepped forward indicating to the boxes to his right, ‘Fifty six grenades in total, a mixture of different makes, sir!’

  Hausser rested his hands on his MP40, the strap round his neck. Turning, he nodded towards Meino, ‘Soldat Meino, please go to the Major and request additional warm uniforms for the men, I want them all in the same. If he has to strip rear echelon staff, then so be it. We can give them our discarded clothing.’ Hausser thought for a second, ‘Also, ask if he has any more weapons he can donate to his new unit please.’

  Meino nodded, a grim expression on his face, ‘Yes Hau…sir!’ He turned and marched from the building, a smile crossing his face in embarrassment.

  Distant gunfire broke the mood in the warehouse, the soldiers jumping slightly at the noise, the front on that morning having been reasonably quiet. Three separate explosions in the distance, further south of them, indicated the start of a firefight between two units, the gunfire becoming more constant.

  The wide building had sustained considerable damage, the rear roof section having collapsed inwards. The men stood in what would have been the front of the warehouse, with a small office on the right side. Occasionally, snowflakes or a cold breeze would drift through from the hole in the roof at the far end of the building, the soldiers hunched slightly against the temperatures in the early morning light.

  Hausser turned to Tatu again, ‘How many rounds per rifle?’

  The Romanian smiled slightly, ‘An average of eight clips per man, sir!’ His pleasure at foreseeing the young commanders questions apparent.

  Hausser nodded slowly, turning back to face the men. Raising his voice he addressed them, ‘I want to split you into three groups…your new squads. One will be led by Tatu here,’ He indicated to the Romanian quartermaster next to him. ‘Another by Meino who has just left, and he third by…‘ He hesitated, considering the options, ‘…the third squad will be led by myself.’ He turned his head to look at Udet and Hase to his right, stood in the second line, ‘You two will be with me, and double as runners.’ Indicating to Petru next to them, ‘You are with Tatu and Nicu my friend, and the Italians with Meino.’ The soldiers nodded in response. Hausser coughed, the cold air catching his throat, ‘Right, form into your squads, men!’ He turned to look at Tatu, indicating for him to come to the side with him with a nod of his head.

  The soldiers began being moved into three separate groups by Petru, Udet and Luca, a low murmur of voices as they chose individuals for each group, placing those who had friends with each other and selecting others for their weapons and preferences. A couple of the Hungarians protested when Udet tried to split them up, so he relented and placed them in Hausser’s squad, as one spoke Romanian. The other Hungarians were placed in Tatu’s squad as another in that group spoke a little Romanian.

  Hausser sighed as he stood with Tatu at the side of the warehouse, out of earshot. ‘Well my friend, what do you think?’ His face inquisitive.

  Tatu looked him straight in the eye, ‘Let’s hope the Russkies do not attack today…we need to get to know these men a little first. Yes, they are all soldiers, but of differing ability I guess.’

  Hausser nodded, ‘Yes, I agree. Once they get to know each other, they will become more experienced and be able to work effectively as a group, until then we can expect casualties if we come under attack. Only when they stop thinking about their last unit and start thinking of this one will they become good. The longer we have, the better they will get.’ He turned, seeing the soldiers were now formed into three squads.

  The small door to the warehouse creaked open as Meino re-entered the building, walking briskly towards Hausser and Tatu. He stopped in front of them, slightly out of breath, a grin on his face, ‘The major says you have a damn cheek Hausser, but he will have some uniforms for you in about an hour.’ He paused, his expression surprised as he looked across at the three groups of assembled men, then continued, ‘He says he has no weapons to give you, but he will get some more ammunition delivered with the clothing and uniforms…he also requests you move up when you are ready.’

  Hausser nodded, smiling, ‘Excellent. He is a good commander.’ He looked across at the groupings of men, indicating to them, ‘Meino, you have one of the squads. I will talk to them briefly first, then get your men to search the warehouses for material, I want the equivalent of scarves for their mouths and cloth to wrap on their hands and feet. It will be cold out there and we need them prepared. The rest of us will head out, understood?’

  Both men nodded in response, their adrenalin beginning to rise in anticipation. Hausser turned and walked a couple of steps towards the assembled men, his hobnailed boots clicking on the warehouse floor. Placing his arms loosely over his MP40, he looked up, seeing the men before him were assembled in three groups, with four soldiers standing at the front of each squad.

  He paused, surveying the men before him, their faces expectant. Raising his voice, he glanced back at Tatu before speaking, ‘We are soon to move up and occupy positions in front of the tractor factory, facing the Russian positions. Although we are a new unit, the Russians do not know that. If they suspect, we will be the target for any attack.’ Hesitating, he glanced across the grim faces, ‘Stay together at all times, and keep your heads down. There are Russian snipers active in the area and they will not hesitate to shoot any one of you.’

  He looked across to Udet and Hase in his squad, his mood reflective, ‘The army is in a bit of a position here in Stalingrad, but this should not be affecting us. The Luftwaffe is flying in supplies and there is a relief effort underway. Our job…’ He looked across the men’s faces, his voice becoming more determined, ‘…our job is to defend this sector of the front. That is all we have to do. What goes on behind our position is nothing to do with us, we simply hold on and stop the Russians, understand?’

  There was a brief pause as the soldiers absorbed the information, then a mixed murmur of ‘Jawohl, Herr Leutnant!’ spread across the warehouse.

  Hausser nodded acceptingly, a cool breeze drifting through the large storage area, ‘Good, let’s move out. My squad first, the rest following.’ He raised his hand, indicating to Udet and Hase. Both men stepped to the front of the group, turning to the squad behind them and indicating for them to follow. The men in the third squad began taking their rifles from their shoulders as they walked forward. Hausser turned and marched briskly to the small side door, pulling his scarf up around his mouth.

  Opening the door, he glanced briefly outside, then slipped through the opening, turning to his right. One by one the soldiers followed, bracing themselves against the cold early morning air. Hausser slipped round the side of the building, following the written directions he had been given the previous night. Passing a sentry, he nodded a greeting, the man stamping his feet despondently in the snow. Proceeding down the side of the building, he could hear the sporadic gunfire getting louder as he neared the end of the wall on his right hand side.

  Glancing around the corner of the warehouse, he looked down the narrow street which he considered was parallel to the river. Opposite and to the left was an alleyway between two damaged buildings, and he realised this was the route to take from his instructions. He glanced back along the thoroughfare, the buildings broken and shattered on either side. Seeing only a couple of German figures in the distance, h
e jogged across the snow, the surface frozen above the cobblestones. As he reached the wall opposite, he slipped into the narrow passageway, a shell burst to the south startling him. He reached up and lifted the strap of his weapon over his head, brandishing it in both hands.

  He turned, seeing Hase run across the street to join him at the entrance to the alleyway, the soldier half crouched. Behind him, the soldiers lined up along the side of the warehouse, their weapons now in their hands. The men were glancing around cautiously, the fear rising on their faces.

  Hase looked into his eyes as he arrived by his side, a brief smile crossing his face. Hausser looked at him, his voice lowered, ‘Are you alright, my friend?’

  Hase nodded, his eyes wide, ‘Yes sir.’ Hausser watched him as the soldier looked round, checking the street further, then he turned and gestured urgently for the other soldiers to cross. Hausser patted him on the shoulder, and jogged into the alleyway, lowering his body to a half crouch as he realised the front line was becoming nearer.

  Hase watched as the young commander moved along the alleyway between the two buildings, his heart pounding, then looking back cautiously down the virtually empty street. He had felt contented when Hausser had returned to them, his initial fear being overcome. A fear of loneliness in his own country that had confused him until he realised he had become an outcast through one decision, the decision to survive when the two men had first met. Over the three days they had been separated, he had struggled with several emotions, mostly guilt. Then the commander’s return had eliminated this, the realisation his own nationality was unimportant in this struggle now, just his loyalty mattered…and survival. He had pushed the uneasy thoughts from his mind, understanding he had mentally struggled with his own feeling of identity, but that this was confirmed with Hausser’s return, he was simply a soldier in the commander’s unit, a loyal one. This had comforted him, realising his loyalty was to this man, not any country any more. That this was his unit.

  Udet stopped next to him, startling him from his thoughts. He glanced back down the alleyway, seeing the commander beckon to him at the corner, he pushed himself out from the wall and ran after the officer, his head ducked, holding his rifle in his right hand. A muffled burst of machine gun fire and sporadic rifle shots echoed out in front of them, beyond the broken buildings. As he reached the young commander, the alleyway stopped at a junction, a damaged building before them. The alley continued to the left and right, coming to a sharp bend on either side after twenty to thirty metres. Broken masonry and bricks lay on the ground, the buildings having been hit several times during the weeks and months of battle. The alley to the right seemed to lighten at the end and he looked round as Hausser went left, the officer placing his back firmly against the wall as he edged towards the turn in the alley, his submachine gun held upright in front of him.

  Hase turned as Udet and other soldiers approached him at the junction, their boots crunching on the frozen snow. He held his left hand out to stop them, waiting for instructions, grimacing nervously as the commander ducked his head out quickly into the turn in the alleyway, checking the next part of their route, his breath held. Hausser moved back behind the safety of the wall and turned to look at him, his left hand gesturing him forward, the officer’s eyes wide with adrenalin.

  Hase ran forward, stopping just behind Hausser, the light in the alleyway dim because of the buildings on either side. He nudged the young officer, gaining his attention, indicating he should go first. Hausser scowled, then nodded briefly, realising the man was right. Hase scrambled round the officer on the rubble and turned the corner in the alley, running forward half-crouched.

  A burst of machine gun fire made him look up instinctively, hearing the sound loud to his front. The short distance to the end of the alley was in virtual darkness, the high walls on either side reducing the light significantly. He slipped on rubble and slates fallen from the rooves on either side, stopping just before the end of the passageway. The morning light was stronger beyond his position, and he pushed himself against the wall, wary the front was close.

  The alleyway ended at the junction to another wider street, broken and damaged buildings and warehouses on either side. To the right was another junction, a street extending away from him, towards the river, on either side the street extending for some distance and he saw numerous entrenchments dug into the road surface, catching a glimpse of the tops of helmets in some of the foxholes. The defensive positions placed facing streets and lanes leading from the river.

  Looking into the distance, he could see smoke rising from the damaged buildings on the horizon, the Russian positions overlooking some of the streets before him. His breathing heavy, he realised his heart was beating hard in his chest, a feeling of nausea rising within him.

  A short distance in front of him was the entrance to a trench, dug into the road, a slope leading into the man-made cover declining away from him. He glanced to either side, out from the alley, his mouth dry with excitement, then pushed himself forward and slipped on the slope, his heart beating loudly as he scrambled to his feet. To the front of him a couple of rifle shots rang out in the crisp morning air, the noise only some fifty metres away. The trench split in two after a short distance, the left turn seeming to enter the basement of the building opposite as well as stretching off along the walls of the damaged structure towards the firing positions in that direction, the right bending round and along the street, zig-zagging to link the fox holes and machine gun positions to the south.

  He crouched in the cold, roughly dug trench, breathing heavily. Thinking this must be the second or third defensive line from the front, the few reserves resting. He turned and waved back down the alleyway, seeing Hausser acknowledge him in the gloom of the passage.

  In the distance, on top of one of the smoking buildings, a young Russian soldier crawled forward, his body low to avoid being detected from the German positions below. He bit his lip as his leg scratched against some roof tiles, the top of the building now open to the elements apart from some broken roof supports. Grasping his sighted rifle, he pushed it slowly forward until the muzzle was just before the broken brick of the front wall, the attic he was now lying in mostly destroyed by shellfire. Moving his head to the sight, he slowly began to survey the scene of broken buildings and streets before him, searching for a target.

  As the smoke and dust drifted in the air around him, his open eye became accustomed to the sighted magnifier he squinted through, the sight dirty round the edges. The rifle was wrapped in cloth, partly to protect the weapon, but also to soften the noise when the rifle fired, reducing the likelihood someone could pinpoint his position. Knowing the light was coming from behind him, he kept low, moving some debris around his weapon to steady it further.

  The crumps of artillery fire to the south startled him, his reaction to look back through the sight, searching for a German soldier who might look out to see where the artillery landed. Moving the weapon slowly, he scoured the defensive positions below him in the distance, then moved further back to a road, seeing black lines across the snow, indicating further trenches. Realising a shot of that distance would indeed be very fortunate to hit its target, he considered he should fire above any enemy he could see to compensate for the distance and gravitational pull on the bullet.

  Hausser advanced carefully along the darkened alleyway, reaching the end and glancing out to either side cautiously. His exhaled breath condensed, he realised the morning temperature was not rising much, the cold beginning to settle for the day. Seeing the emplacements to either side, he darted forward, down the slope and into the trench to join Hase. His breath laboured, he nodded to him, ‘I think I will go first now, any challenge from the soldiers here could result in you getting shot.’ He grinned briefly, pulling the scarf up over his mouth again, the material having slipped down.

  Hase smiled back, removing his helmet. He pulled the balaclava up from around his neck and replaced his metal headwear, ‘It will be a cold day Hausser, I ho
pe we get the extra clothing for the men.’

  The officer nodded thoughtfully, turning to indicate for Udet and the other men to follow, hearing their boots slip and slide on the debris in the alleyway, ‘Best move forward now…stay close to me Hase, I will do the talking. Keep your head down.’

  Hase nodded grimly, pulling his scarf up over the balaclava, his eyes darting back across the wide street, seeing the soldiers beginning to fill the passageway as they waited for the officer to indicate for them to proceed. Hausser slipped past him and he turned to follow, the frozen earth to either side of him rough and hard as he brushed his shoulder against the walls of the trench.

  Across the defensive works and destroyed and damaged buildings, the Russian sniper had seen some movement out of the corner of his eye as he slowly moved his sight across the terrain. Moving his rifle back to study the area, he stared through the sight, glimpsing part of a dark passageway between two recently damaged walls of a roofless building. He scowled as he realised he had a very narrow and limited view of the alleyway due to the obstructions from the damaged building before it. Watching the darkness in the passageway intently, he strained his eye at the scope to try and determine any movement, his breathing shallow.

  Through the narrow gap between the damaged walls, the Russian jumped as he saw a German helmet move across his view, Udet sprinting across the road and into the trench. The Russian sniper drew breath, raising the muzzle of the rifle slightly to compensate for the distance. Seeing another brief movement, he squeezed the trigger, the rifle kicking back into his shoulder.

  The bullet flew across the destroyed landscape, over damaged buildings and trenches, the projectile clipping the side of the damaged wall in the opening he had been staring through. Udet turned in the trench as he heard the scream behind him, the Hungarian soldier following him falling backwards, his hands clutching the air as his rifle clattered onto the iced surface of the road.