The soldier stared back defiantly, his brown eyes looking straight at the political officer. The officer stared back at him, his lips raised slightly in contempt, ‘The soldier that was outwitted by fleeing fascists.’ He stepped forward, his face just before the soldier’s, ‘Losing his men’s respect and virtually collaborating with the enemy. I should have you shot now…you coward.’ The officer was now only inches from the soldier’s face, his smile formed into a sneer.
The officer stepped back, then reached across his body to his holster, the soldiers further along the line glancing sideways, their eyes widening. The officer smiled as he unbuttoned his side holster, looking directly into the face of the infantryman in front of him, the man staring back. The officer shook his head slowly, then whipped his hand across from his holster, striking the soldier across the face, the hard slap echoing across the darkened basement where they were stood.
Private Medvedev staggered backwards, his hands sweeping upwards to steady himself as he stumbled into the soldier behind, the man grasping him and preventing him falling. Straightening up, the blood dripping from his nose, he re-joined the line of soldiers, a determined look in his eye as he stared back at the officer in defiance.
The officer grinned, watching the blood drip onto the soldier’s tunic, the man’s eyes beginning to become moist after the impact to his nose, ‘Broken…but still defiant, eh?’ He leant forward, prodding the soldier hard in the chest with his fingers, ‘It will not be for long, as soon you will be dead, Medvedev.’ The officer stepped back, turning at an angle to face the other soldiers. Slowly he raised his hand, pointing into the soldier’s face, ‘This man is a disgrace to Mother Russia. He fraternised with the escaping enemy soldiers, losing his unit’s weapons and valuable supplies to the fascists.’ The officer slowly walked back along the two lines of eighteen men, looking at each soldier closely, ‘You have all made mistakes that have jeopardised the safety of our beloved country…that is why you find yourselves here, in this penal unit under my command. My job is to give you one last opportunity to serve your country heroically. You may die in the process, or you may survive and go back to your units as free men in the service of your country, understand?’
The soldiers barked their reply in unison, ‘Yes sir.’
The political officer nodded, smiling at the sergeant who stood by the stairs and raising his voice again, ‘The fascists have barricaded themselves into our local NKVD headquarters. One of our snipers reports that the fascists have just changed the men in the building…there are new soldiers there, unfamiliar with the building and their surroundings. It is our job to drive them out and hold the building for if and when the fascists counterattack. Do you understand?’
The soldiers stood, facing forward, their voices in unison again, ‘Yes sir.’
The officer placed his hands on his hips, turning to look across the soldiers again, indicating to the three dead bodies lying in the darkness before the line of men, the blood from the corpses slowly spreading across the dusty floor, ‘This was their patrol…the fascists will be awaiting their return. Three more dead Germans in our glorious city, a city we will retake from these invaders.’
He kicked the boot of one of the bodies, ‘Make sure you kill more fascists when you enter the building…those of you that do not kill a fascist will remain in this unit. After you have taken the building, we will send more soldiers to join you. You will then join that unit as free men, do you fully understand?’
The soldiers’ eyes widened, their excitement rising at the chance of escaping the penal unit, ‘Yes sir.’
The officer raised his hand to his mouth, placing a cigarette between his lips. Lifting a silver object to the end of the cigarette, he flicked the small wheel at the end, the spark igniting the petrol within. He sucked on the cigarette, the small flame lighting the end before extending the lighter in front of him, then flicking the lid shut. Looking across the silver object, he smiled briefly, ‘American lighters.’ He announced, ‘Just like the rations you will receive in the district headquarters once you are successful.’ He looked at the soldiers before him again, ‘The fascists think they are in a well barricaded building…they are warm and secure, complacent in their new comforts.’ He blew the blue/grey smoke across the front line of soldiers, a contemptuous smile forming on his face, ‘They do not know that there is another way into the building…one that they will never find, one devised by the NKVD for just such a situation.’
Private Medvedev smiled briefly, his expression hidden in the gloom at the end of the basement, tasting the sweetness of the blood in his mouth, the liquid flowing from his nose. Considering the political officer’s statement, he thought of the probable reason for another entrance to the NKVD’s headquarters, for their own escape if the local inhabitants decided to rise up against communism.
He now despised this officer and the uniform he stood in…they had formed in line as the bewildered German soldiers had been led into the basement by the sergeant at the end of the room. The small patrol having been captured as they became disorientated in the darkness, the soldiers surrendering when they realised they were surrounded by Russian infantry, not even firing a shot in defence. He smiled ironically, not even attempting to kill any of us…trusting they would possibly be treated fairly. They had smiled nervously as they had been lead into the basement, believing they were to simply be asked to give information to the Russian officer, then perhaps taken to the rear, across the Volga. Their hands tied, they had chatted amicably at first, their broken Russian causing grins amongst the assembled soldiers as they had tried to communicate, stating ‘Hitler ist Kaput’, ‘That they were simply conscripted soldiers.’
They had then realised the real gruesome reason the political officer had brought them there as he had arrived, taunting them for a time in front of the assembled soldiers. Without warning, he had slowly cut the throat of the first captive, his hands tied behind his back. The soldier had been little more than twenty years old, the blood flowing from his body as he fought for breath and collapsed to his knees, then rolled onto his back in the cold basement, his body twitching as he slowly died.
Medvedev had requested to speak at that time, attempting to challenge the officer for his conduct. He had been slapped across the face and told to be silent or he would join the captives. He had noticed the uneasiness in the sergeant’s eyes, the fear or unwillingness to challenge the officer apparent. Four of the assembled soldiers had been physically sick.
The political officer had then walked up and down the line as the other two captives begged for mercy, taunting them and explaining to the assembled audience that this was how German soldiers should die, ‘on their knees begging.’ That his reasoning for killing the prisoners was to show his Russian soldiers that Germans could be killed and to show them how, because they had lacked the will to do this in the past and so that was why they were here, in this unit.
He had then wiped his knife on the tunic of the second captive before stabbing him in the stomach, holding the knife and twisting it as the German, a man of thirty plus years had cried for his wife and child, that he loved them. The officer had then kicked the man to the ground, stating how he had to die knowing the Russians were superior. Placing his boot on the back of the man’s head and applying pressure with his foot as the German sobbed, his blood seeping onto the basement floor.
The third captive, a corporal, had pleaded with the political officer, asking that he be killed quickly if it was to happen. His pleas of ‘Bitte, Bitte’ resulted in the officer sneering at him as he kicked him the prisoner to the floor. The officer knelt on the man’s back as he repeatedly stabbed him, the man finally pleading to be killed. The political officer had then gone outside for a cigarette as the mortally wounded men died, their moans chilling the Russian soldiers ordered to remain in their two lines watching the lives slip away. Three more soldiers had retched at that point, the colour draining from some of the others faces, their eyes dropped in shame.
Forcing the thoughts from his mind, he recalled the reason for him standing there in the basement, the arrival of the NKVD officers to the fishing lodge some three weeks earlier, how they had stripped him of his rank. The humiliation of him in front of his men and the penal unit they had gone to supply. How the political officers had ripped his epaulettes from his tunic, reducing him from captain to infantryman in seconds. He bit his lip as he thought of the years he had worked to rise to the rank of captain, gone in an instant, his bitterness complete and epitomised in his hatred for the political officer at the end of the room. A man who had probably never experienced a combat command, or faced the enemy in a battle…now he knew his years of loyalty had been futile, all the hard work irrelevant.
He smiled again briefly to himself, thinking of the Germans and Romanians who had tricked him when he arrived at the fishing lodge, their treatment of him and the men with him almost fair after what they had probably experienced at the hands of the Russian Army. He had focussed on the Russian they had had amongst them, his countryman dressed in a German uniform. He remembered how he had wondered for days why the man would betray his country. He smiled again in irony, perhaps he now knew, perhaps the Russian dressed in a German uniform had experienced something as chillingly similar to himself. He shook himself from his thoughts, realising the political officer had begun speaking again and pacing the line of soldiers slowly, the man probably looking for an opportunity to punish him further.
The political officer was almost half way along the line again, inspecting the soldiers before him once more. He cleared his throat, spitting on the dusty floor of the basement, ‘…So you will understand that sacrifices have to be made for final victory against the fascists. For any man failing to take the objective, only death will await. If you retreat, I will have you shot. If you fail to take the NKVD headquarters, I will have you shot. Do you understand me?’
The soldiers in line stiffened, their voices in unison once more, ‘Yes sir.’
The political officer neared the end of the line, his lips curling up in contempt as he approached private Medvedev, ‘Comrade Stalin is relying on you to complete this duty for Mother Russia and for that you should be truly grateful. To die for this country is the ultimate honour, to kill fascists is now our duty to Mother Russia. We take no prisoners and kill all the defenders that do not run in fear.’ He stopped once again in front of private Medvedev, indicating to him, ‘If this man survives and you have not taken the building, you have my permission to shoot him. I will ensure no charges are brought. Do you understand?’
The soldiers stood facing forward, their voices becoming hoarse, ‘Yes sir.’
The officer nodded, smiling. He leant forward, whispering to Medvedev, his lips pursed in contempt, ‘You see…you traitorous scum, even your own country wishes you dead. You are nothing, your history is nothing, and your family will soon disown you. Nobody challenges me, you are nothing but a miserable coward.’
Medvedev clenched his fists beneath his uniformed sleeves, the motion going unnoticed by the officer as he stepped back, smiling into Medvedev’s face and blowing smoke across his features. The anger rose within Medvedev, his urge to hit the political officer repeatedly rising. His eyes betrayed him as they narrowed whilst he stared at the officer, the man’s eyebrows raising as he glimpsed the reaction of anger.
The officer stepped back further, forcing a smile, fear evident in his eyes, his hand slowly moving to his holster, ‘So you still have some fight in your heart, Medvedev. A heart that will not beat much longer I hope.’ He turned, walking briskly along the line and indicating to the sergeant, ‘There is one hour of darkness left, issue the men with weapons and start the attack. Push eight or ten men through the tunnel and use the rest as a diversion. Once they are inside, we will attack in force.’ He turned briefly, looking down the line of troops then placed a boot on the first step, reaching for another cigarette as he climbed the wooden stairs, adjusting the overcoat around his shoulders.
The officer emerged into the cold night, pulling his overcoat around him. Lighting a cigarette by flicking his lighter again, he blew smoke across the small remaining roofless room of the machine shop, hearing the sergeant below, ‘You heard the officer, step forward to collect your rifle. You ten will come with me to the tunnel entrance, the rest wait here for my return. We attack immediately.’
Some one hundred and fifty metres to the northwest, behind the German front line, an Austrian soldier looked through binoculars across the torn landscape. He had crawled carefully into the small remaining space left of a machine tool workshop rooftop, the rest of the building almost completely destroyed. Lying back from the edge of the nearly open roof, the binoculars slowly moved across the dark landscape, the obstructions before him of broken boxes and roof tiles restricting his view, but also providing considerable cover from any Russians scanning the area. The soldier lay in total darkness, nearly completely covered by tarpaulin and debris, slowly and deliberately he crawled into position.
As he scanned the devastated area, seeing the flickering lights through cracked and torn walls and windows, he mentally marked potential areas for target, preparing for when the morning light spread across the area. He knew this was the time most soldiers were least alert, their need to relieve themselves or prepare a warm drink creating vulnerability due to distraction.
He smiled grimly beneath his thick scarf as he recalled Major Slusser’s personal briefing, instructing him to move freely up and down the front line. As he had wrapped material around his sighted Kar 98 sniper rifle to reduce muzzle flash and the sounds from the weapon, the major had sat next to him sipping from a glass of wine, ‘Get out there and terrify the Russians…make them fear fresh air itself. Your secondary objective is to take out any Russian sniper that exists in the factory area, especially the one in the south, he has inflicted too many casualties and is undermining morale.’
The twenty nine year old Austrian had nodded knowingly as the major had talked, his excitement rising at the thought of stalking an accomplished enemy, studying his tactics and reactions before ending his life. The challenge sending adrenalin shooting up and down his spine as he had considered how to draw his enemy out. As he had successfully targeted enemies in the north, he had studied the scrawled map of the southern front line for three days, marking known casualties and suspected positions of the sniper. He had resisted the initial demands of the major to move into the area immediately, explaining he wanted to study his adversary first before killing the Russian. On the previous evening, he had finally reported to the major that he now understood the enemy’s tactics and would venture to the south in the early hours to begin the one to one battle. His prediction that the Russian would be dead by the following evening exciting the major considerably.
In the early hours, he had silently followed the group of German and Romanian soldiers as they moved cautiously south, creeping to this predetermined position in the bitter cold unnoticed. Mentally noting from where the Russian sniper shot as the soldiers in front of him had successfully crossed a street. After a painfully slow movement into position, careful not to dislodge or move any items to provide evidence to an opposing sniper, he was finally settled in his position, scanning the terrain with his binoculars.
He froze, noticing a slight and very faint flicker of light as he slowly moved the glasses, the possible indication of an enemy’s position distracting him. Adjusting the binoculars slightly, he moved the glasses back to where he had seen a slight disturbance in the freezing air. Then he saw some distortion in the air again, the exhaled cigarette smoke rising from a roofless position. Slowly and deliberately, he placed the binoculars on the tiles next to him, silently collecting and raising his rifle. He smiled and he slowly pushed the muzzle of his rifle cautiously and quietly through the tarpaulin in front of him, lowering his head to allow his right eye to look through the magnified sight, holding his breath in his nostrils.
Chapter Fifty Three: The NKVD District Headquarte
rs
Hausser had walked along the left corridor on the ground floor, checking the soldiers were in their positions and familiarising himself with the building layout. Seeing that most of the windows were well barricaded on the left side, he cautiously entered the front ground floor office nearest the river. The room was full of filing cabinets, most lining the walls, with a central rectangular set in the centre. Tatu stood with Petru in the wide room, covering the width of the building, chatting to the two Romanian soldiers he had positioned in the room. Turning, the Romanian quartermaster nodded to Hausser, a smile forming on his face, ‘This is a good defensive position Herr Leutnant, the walls are thick and the windows well protected.’
Hausser grinned, ‘Good, let’s hope the Russkies think the same and don’t bother attacking.’ He beckoned to Tatu and Petru to join him in the corridor outside.
Tatu held up his hand, walking to the many filing cabinets in the room, ‘Take a look at this first please, Herr Leutnant.’ He pulled open one of the drawers, showing the many files inside, ‘These are files of civilians of interest in this district, it seems the NKVD were keen to monitor the population of the area.’
Hausser looked round the room, the wide area lit only by three candles sitting on top of the many filing cabinets, the drawers itemised in alphabetical order. He sighed, ‘It seems the Russians also watch over their population then, not all are as equal as others in the communist state it seems.’
Tatu nodded, his face grim, ‘This is the worst one.’ He stepped to the centre block of cabinets, pulling open a drawer in a set marked ‘Special Interest’, ‘It seems they executed most of this cabinet as we arrived, most of them here in this building I guess. Bastards!’
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