Bloody Stalingrad

by Andrew McGregor

  Meino and Alessio had waited for some time, becoming concerned about the missing Luca. Lying in the iced snow, they had whispered his name every now and then, trying to provide some guidance for him if he had got lost in the darkness. They had considered several times that they may be in the wrong place, having both perhaps become disorientated. They had both ‘jumped’ instinctively when they heard the burst of fire, the distinctive noise of a Russian PPSH submachine gun. Scrambling apart across the snow, they had sought cover behind debris and fired out into the darkness, aiming high to avoid hitting Luca if he was in front of them. Bullets had whistled back, hitting the debris and broken shells of the buildings around them, forcing them to push themselves lower into the frozen rubble for cover.

  The Russian patrol having strayed too near the German lines in the dark, covered their retreat. Firing wildly towards the enemy line then moving, attempting to avoid return fire if their position was identified. The MG34 in the factory roof opened fire, spraying small bursts across the terrain, blinded by the falling snow.

  Meino turned, the panic rising within him. Shouting towards the trench behind them, ‘Nicht Schiessen! Nicht Schiessen!’ Afraid the infantrymen in the front trench would open fire in unison with the MG34, potentially hitting them.

  The soldier in the trench awaiting the three soldiers’ return shouted to either side to prevent the scared men from firing, warning them of allied soldiers to their front, before their position.

  As the return fire subsided, Meino indicated to Alessio to return to the trench with his hand, the Italian nodding. As Alessio began to crawl back towards the front line, his mind was filling with dread. The fate of Luca unknown, he feared the worst.

  Meino waited until the MG34 stopped firing from the factory in the distance to his left, the landscape slowly returning to silence, the Russian infantry patrol retreating back across the ground they had been sent out to sweep for enemy activity. He slowly crawled forward, heading for the spot where he had heard the initial machine gun burst. The snow was falling heavily, seeming to be even heavier than before, the flakes coming to rest all around him. He held his MP40 tightly in both hands as he edged forward, his breathing heavy, forcing the exhaled breath through the freezing scarf across his mouth.

  As he progressed, he saw the shadow of a low destroyed building wall emerge through the snowfall, the debris on the ground before him. Pushing his left arm forward, it hit an object that moved slightly, his breath catching in his mouth as he realised it was a boot. As he drew alongside the body, his fears were realised, Luca lay dead, his rifle and knapsack by his side.

  The Croatian lay there for a minute, the frustration and bitter sadness rising within him. Then slowly Meino gathered the knapsack, lifting the bag over his head and wrapping the strap of the rifle around Luca’s limp arm to his shoulder, thrusting the Italians hands under his belt. Pushing himself to the foot of the body, he began pulling the lifeless soldier back towards the frontline. It took him nearly one whole hour to complete the grim task.

  Situation Report: 305th Infantry Division to Sixth Army Headquarters

  Date: December 11th, 1942.

  Limited enemy incursions or attacks on the front line before the Tractor Factory. Casualties sustained from sniper fire continue all along divisions section. Sniper activity increasing, sapping morale. Food and ammunition supply situation becoming critical. Request immediate increase in supplies.

  There was no reply.

  Historical Overview: December 11th, 1942

  Since the encirclement was completed, the Russian Army launched two major attacks, one against the south of the encircled army, the other against the northwest, the Germans believing both were beaten back. But the objective was to discover the defenders’ strength, not for territorial gain.

  Out on the steppe, the Russian Army was preparing two lines of defensive positions, one line facing inwards against the defenders of Stalingrad and the other facing outwards in an attempt to prevent any relief effort from the German Army outside.

  After the Russians captured the German Sixth Army’s main supply base at the Chir railhead, the army encircled within Stalingrad were relying of the German Air Force, the Luftwaffe, to supply the pocket by air. The Luftwaffe began to supply the surrounded Army’s ammunition, food and other supplies. Stores were limited within the pocket, with only an estimated two or three days of food remaining. The Sixth Army begins slaughtering their horses for food…horses that were already slowly starving.

  The Russians believed they had encircled approximately 70-80,000 soldiers; the true number was closer to 300,000 men. The temperature dropped…each day, sometimes by the hour.

  The Russian Winter of 1942 had arrived…this was to be one of the most vicious and coldest winters on record.

  Chapter Forty Three: December the Twelfth, 1942

  Several days had passed. Hausser cautiously clambered over the debris in the factory, the cold wind blowing through the severely damaged structure, biting at his clothing. Slowly crossing the main production floor, he stepped over broken bricks and damaged metal pieces scattered across the ground. Glancing to his right, he could see the engineering workshops at the far end of the building, the view partly obstructed by broken heavy machinery, rubble and the flurrying snowflakes. Crumps of explosions and the cracks of sporadic rifle fire crept across the frontline from the north and south, the nervous defenders opening fire on any shadow or movement before them.

  Climbing over a broken conveyor, he stepped through broken machinery and made towards a doorway in the middle of the large building. The broken glass and shattered wood crunched beneath his boots as he walked into a small corridor with offices on either side. Emerging from the gloom, the air was bitterly crisp that afternoon as he trudged across a cement yard towards the administrative building. Nodding to the soldier who stood just inside the doorway, he made for the staircase, climbing the stairs wearily and turning into the office he had been in a week before.

  The floor was now cleared and the windows sandbagged, providing some cover from the bitter winds that swept through the factory district. In the middle of the room sat a repaired table with a couple of maps across it. Several makeshift chairs of boxes and repaired workshop stools sat around the centrepiece, with a small side table housing the radio and operator. The room was lit with several candles, providing quite an eerie effect across the walls and sandbags as the naked flames flickered in the slight air movement.

  Major Slusser looked up at him from the table, the man stood on the other side, leaning over the maps, ‘Ah, Leutnant Hausser, good to see you. We are just waiting for Hauptmann Gerstle and the other company commanders before we start. Help yourself to a cigarette.’ The major indicated to the side table with several cigarette packets next to the radio.

  Hausser saluted, ‘Thank you major, how are we today?’ He walked over to the radio, nodding to the operator who was listening intently to radio traffic through his headphones.

  The major straightened up, his face grim, ‘I am getting annoyed at the activity in the sewers further along the line. The Russians seem to be getting rather ambitious. Several fire fights have broken out, but we have held them, inflicting some casualties in one of their bigger incursions.’ He lifted a cigarette and lit it, ‘They are trying to get behind us and we can’t let that happen, they could interrupt our supplies and cut us off. They must be stopped.’

  Lighting his own cigarette, Hausser nodded thoughtfully, hearing boots on the stairs to his left. He turned to see Hauptmann Gerstle reach the top of the staircase, two other officers behind him, they nodded a greeting and turned to salute the major, stiffening their stances.

  Major Slusser indicated for the men to approach the table, ‘Have a seat gentlemen, and let me update you on events.’

  The officers assumed seating positions on the makeshift chairs, leaning forward to look at the maps. The major leaned back, stretching, then clearing his throat, his eyes lightening, ‘I have good news gentle
men, Von Manstein has attacked from the southwest, driving through the Russian 51st Army. Hoth’s tanks are making good progress we are told. The radios are jammed, but despatches were flown in to us by the Luftwaffe informing us of the situation.’

  Grins broke onto the faces of the tired officers around the table, their moods heightening with the news, Hauptmann Gerstle slapped his knee, ‘Excellent news, major, this is just the boost the men need.’

  One of the other officers leant forward, placing his elbows on the table, ‘If I may ask, sir, how long before they break through to us?’

  The major’s eyes sparkled in the candlelight, ‘I do not know, not long I hope. Apparently more divisions are coming from the western front with the view of re-establishing our positions along the Volga. This time, we may destroy the Russian Bear once and for all.’ He paused, allowing the happiness of the officers subside, letting them offer a variety of possible situations that could emerge, watching their grins widen.

  He noticed Hausser was quieter, his mood more subdued. Puzzled, the major raised his hands to quieten the other men, ‘Leutnant Hausser, is there something troubling you?’

  Hausser looked down at the map, his eyes seeming tired, and his expression solemn, ‘We have a long way to go yet I think. Yes, we have hope but the supply situation is grim and I cannot see the Russians giving up their grip of us here without a fight. The weather is getting worse and now favours the defender, Hoth’s tanks may take some time to get here. What shall we do in the meantime?’

  Major Slusser nodded, seeing the other men become more subdued as they considered what Hausser had said, ‘Yes, I think you may be right. Rations were cut again three days ago…the reductions will be passed on to the men tonight. We have better prospects now though, so let’s have a look at our position and see if we can improve our defences.’ The major stood back, running his hand across his face. Turning to the radio operator, he nodded to him, ‘Can we have some drinks please Gunther?’ The operator nodded, removing his headphones and rising from his position, he headed towards the stairs.

  The major turned back to the officers, ‘Now, let’s start with the casualty figures for the last week.’

  Hausser stumbled on the broken bricks, his return journey to the forward command post made more difficult in the fading light. The small amount of vodka he had consumed had warmed his stomach, but was now reacting with the bitter air, causing him to feel slightly drunk.

  His mood was grim, the casualties weighing heavily on his mind. His own unit had lost six men, including the cheerful Luca, depressing him considerably. Sniper fire had increased in the last two days and this had subsequently heightened his uneasiness, the Russians becoming more organised. They had heard the enemy at night, moving in the cover of darkness, probably scouting their positions out in the land before them. He had considered sending out a patrol to confront them, but had decided against it, the men being too inexperienced and too few in number.

  Slowly he progressed through the broken factory, carefully stepping over obstacles and through the devastated equipment. Shellfire and dive bomber attacks had obliterated most of the contents of the large building, with destroyed machinery and production parts lying all across the area.

  Reaching the far wall, he gingerly stepped down the decline leading to the trench that went beneath the building wall, leading out to the small accommodation block that housed his command post. He could hear talking above him in the rafters of the building, Alessio attempting to make conversation with the machine gunner placed just under the roof.

  The young Italian had offered to take Luca’s place as sniper and he had disagreed at first, his concern for the man’s ability apparent. Alessio had argued convincingly to be given the opportunity and to avenge his countryman’s death. Hausser had eventually given up the argument, agreeing reservedly, stating that he would take the position in turns with Nicu, the better shot assuming the role more permanently. He smiled briefly as he recalled Udet’s face, the expression of rejection when he had refused his eager request to try the position. The young soldier’s regret being clearly reversed in his expression when Hausser had asked him to consider how cold it would be up in the roof of the factory.

  Entering the trench, he passed a soldier coming the other way, the men turning to the side to allow each other to pass. The Hungarian nodded recognition beneath the material wrapped round his mouth, raising his hand in a relaxed salute. Hausser had saluted back, seeing the man was carrying the food supply boxes from a successful trip to the forward command post, now returning the containers to the broken offices across the factory for the following day.

  The cold air swept across him as he passed through the foundation wall of the factory, exiting into the exposed part of the trench before it entered the accommodation block some one hundred metres away. The trench twisted back and forth with a couple of junctions leading to the north or south positions. As he walked, his head began to feel clearer, becoming more adjusted to the bitter cold. He looked up, seeing the stars beginning to become clear above him, the sharpness of the lights eerily beautiful in the night sky. A beauty that meant only one thing for the soldiers in the trenches that night, the temperature would sink to an almost unbearable level. He considered rotating the men more frequently that night and issuing any additional clothing he could find as he approached the entrance to the command post. A couple of flashes to the south distracted him briefly, the Russian shells exploding in the air before the defensive positions, their lights fading as the glowing shrapnel fell to earth.

  Stepping through the opening in the foundations to the building, he glimpsed Tatu to his left in deep conversation with Petru and Nicu, their unit’s time in the buildings almost drawing to a close. Several other soldiers sat around the room, having just finished eating. Some were smoking, others chatting in subdued voices, their spirits lowered as they realised the time to venture back into the cold was approaching. He stamped his feet on the cement basement floor as he entered, dusting off the moisture that had crystallised on his uniform, his helmet frosted.

  He stepped towards the three men, ‘So what’s the situation?’

  Tatu spun round, his expression contorted in anger, ‘It’s the rations, Hausser, they are not enough for the men!’

  The young commander nodded grimly, noticing the other men around beginning to take notice, their conversations ending, ‘I agree, but we have no choice at present until the supply situation improves.’

  Tatu indicated for him to come to the side, his expression grave. He lowered his voice, ‘Herr Leutnant, I am a quartermaster, the men will starve on these food levels over time. There must be more, surely?’

  Hausser shook his head, ‘I understand your concerns. I have spoken to the Major today regarding this…there is no more food available. If we stay on these rations, then we will survive until the relief effort gets here.’

  Tatu shook his head in exasperation, his voice rising again, ‘Relief effort? We have been cut off for over two weeks, we are now eating the horses…’ He raised his hands to his sides in exasperation, ‘This is madness!’

  Hausser’s eyes narrowed, his voice rising in frustration, ‘Tatu! Pull yourself together, this is unacceptable!’ He placed his hands on his hips, glaring at the sergeant.

  Tatu lowered his arms, his face becoming crestfallen as he realised his position. His eyes filled with sadness, ‘Yes, Hausser, you are right…I am sorry. It’s just in all my time making sure the food is fit for the soldiers, I have never served up rubbish like this…’ His anger rising again.

  Hausser interrupted, his voice firm, raising his tone to ensure the rest of the men in the room could hear, ‘General Hoth attacked the Russians earlier as part of the relief effort, his tanks have smashed through enemy positions and he is driving towards Stalingrad as we speak.’

  Tatu’s eyebrows rose, his expression frozen for a second, ‘Really? That is fantastic news.’ Seeing an opportunity to redeem himself, he turned, looking across th
e startled soldiers, their expressions lightening, ‘Do you hear that men? German tanks are coming!’

  A hoarse cheer circled the room, the soldiers outside in the bitter cold turning to look in curiosity.

  Hausser raised his arms for the men to be silent, ‘They are on their way, but we have to hold our positions until they arrive. The rations are all the Sixth Army can spare to ensure we all survive until the tanks get here, we must get used to them, simple as that!’

  Tatu looked back at Hausser and nodded, ‘I understand Herr Leutnant, but now we know they are coming, we can survive on this rubbish for a few days.’ He turned back to the staring soldiers, raising his voice slightly, ‘I will prepare a menu for you all for when the relief effort gets here with our new supplies!’

  Grins and smiles circled the room, the soldiers’ spirits heightened by the charismatic declaration.

  Hausser turned as he saw the soldiers look to his left, seeing the Hungarian that he had passed earlier in the trench enter the basement through the hole in the foundations. The man was breathing heavily, his eyes wide, ‘Herr Leutnant!’

  The officer nodded, his adrenalin beginning to surge, ‘Yes, what?’

  The Hungarian soldier looked startled, ‘The sniper, Alessio. He says the Russians are moving a lot in their buildings.’

  In the trenches, the soldiers ducked down, pressing themselves into the frozen earth, their hands over their heads. Willing the ground to allow them to go deeper. They had just heard the distant thumps from across the Volga…the sounds of heavy artillery firing.