The Austrian’s cheek was once again pushed against the upper floor of the broken machine shop, a grim smile crossing his face as he thought to himself, ‘That should flush you Russkie snipers out…let’s see who is the better hunter now.’ More rifle cracks and explosions echoed across the landscape from either side as the young man realised that this may prove to be a very profitable day.
Chapter Fifty Six: Orders are Orders.
Hausser smiled briefly in frustration, listening to the major talking on the other end of the field telephone, his voice slightly slurred.
The major continued obviously highly agitated, static crackling across the line, ‘…so I explained to your Major Schenk that you were needed here, that your position was relatively safe and that you would be there for a number of days.’ The Major drew on his cigarette, his hands shaking, glancing across at Hauptmann Ebner, the captain staring back through bloodshot eyes, ‘It appears, your major friend has acquaintances at Sixth Army headquarters, so I have to release you and your men at short notice. This is not on, Hausser, I am very annoyed!’
Hausser sighed, ‘I understand sir…I can assure you Major Schenk will probably have good reason if he wants my men and I back…’ He paused as the major interrupted.
‘Really? I certainly hope so. This position in the factory district is imperative to hold for the safety of the divisions to the north, every man is needed.’ The major swigged greedily from his glass again, indicating for Hauptmann Ebner to top it up with a wave of his hand. He lowered himself into the chair behind him, stubbing his cigarette out, ‘Anyway, you said you had a combat report…tell me.’
Hausser looked up as Meino approached the entrance to the office, speaking back into the telephone handset, ‘Yes sir, we drove back a Russian attack earlier this morning, they came through a tunnel into the basement and sent infantry across open ground before the building…they suffered heavy casualties. We lost two men to sniper fire, the Russians were targeting the defender’s windows.’
The major stood up again, glaring at Hauptmann Ebner, ‘Tunnel, what tunnel?’ The captain’s eyes widening in surprise in front of him.
Hausser spoke softly, looking across the room at Meino, ‘The NKVD must have dug the tunnel some time ago, sir…perhaps as an escape route. Anyway, we have demolished it now.’ He smiled faintly, ‘Unfortunately, some of the extra supplies were destroyed in the skirmish, so we have moved them upstairs.’ He thought for a second, ‘Perhaps if you would like to visit us later today we can provide you with a small sample of our Romanian chef’s cuisine?’
The major smiled in surprise, a glint forming in his eye, ‘You have a damn cheek, Leutnant! Still, who am I to turn down such an invite? I will come with my adjutant and the captain here, as long as the Russians don’t ruin the little farewell party for us in the interim. I will transfer my command post to your location for that time.’
Hausser nodded slowly, ‘Yes Major, will we expect you in a few hours?’
The major settled back in his seat, ‘Dusk Hausser, I will come as the day ends. Damn Russian snipers, I hope my man can thin their numbers, he comes highly recommended.’ He winked at the captain opposite, ‘Is there anything you need? The new unit will be taking over your stocks of ammunition.’
Hausser smiled to himself, ‘We will need some more grenades, sir. We used twelve in demolishing the tunnel.’ He thought for a second, ‘We also have a prisoner. He is wounded, but I will try and get some information for you.’
The major grinned, ‘Good Leutnant, get the information…then shoot him, we don’t have enough supplies for our own men, let alone prisoners.’
Hausser’s eyes narrowed, ‘But sir, he surrendered to us…’
Major Slusser interrupted again, his voice rising, ‘Don’t question my commands Leutnant. He is the enemy, we shoot them…that’s that, understand?’
Hausser gritted his teeth, ‘Very well, sir.’ He changed the subject quickly, ‘Is there any news of Hoth and his tanks to give the men?’
The major swigged from his drink again, ‘Perhaps when we meet Hausser, until then there may be changes in the situation. I will see you this evening, goodbye.’
The phone clicked loudly in Hausser’s ear as the major slammed down the handset. Slowly he lowered the telephone into its cradle, looking up at Meino, ‘Well, the major is coming this evening and it looks like we are heading back to the 76th Infantry Division.’
Meino nodded, his face dropping, ‘Are they….?’
Hausser cut in, ‘Yes…they are outside the city of the steppe, so it will be a little colder I presume. Until then we maintain our defence here.’ He picked up his MP40 from the desk, ‘I am going to see how our prisoner is doing and perhaps get some information from him.’ He walked round the desk, passing Meino as the Croatian stood aside. Hausser turned, looking at him, ‘Tell Petru to cook for us this evening. Not much, we need to preserve the supplies for the next unit, but enough for a little farewell to the factory district.’
Meino nodded, a smile forming on his face, ‘That will be well received, we have all lost weight in the last couple of weeks…the rations are not enough, Herr Leutnant.’
Hausser nodded solemnly, ‘I know, but a good meal before the men trek out into the snow will boost morale I think. Hopefully the major has some good news from the relief effort to tell us as well, we might not be out in the snow for too long with a little luck.’ He backed away, turning to descend the stairs as he felt the bannister rail behind him.
Descending the stairs, he thought of the Russian prisoner. The soldier had certainly experienced very bad luck and Hausser was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with shooting an unarmed man who had surrendered. His thoughts drifted back to the elderly Russian in the sewer reservoir, the man’s reasoning for helping them impressing him, but also making him consider an obligation to the belief the old man expressed. Slowly an idea began to form in his mind as he stepped down the marble central staircase.
Nodding to the two infantryman at the door, he turned and headed for the steps to the basement, his mind beginning to focus solely on his idea.
Chapter Fifty Seven: Luck of the Austrian
The light was fading as dusk slowly set across the landscape. The Austrian shivered as he felt the temperature drop further, his lack of movement adding to the cold across his body. He felt his stomach rumble, the cold rations he had eaten earlier in the day insufficient to sustain his concentration, feeling a dull pain across his forehead from his hunger.
His count for the day so far had risen to nine, the Russian infantrymen falling as he had picked them off, a brief careless movement as he watched costing them their lives. He was frustrated at not having killed the Russian sniper he had promised Major Slusser, the man elusive through his absence.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he slowly and carefully lowered his face to the floor in the roof of the machine shop, tiredness in his eyes. After a few seconds, he carefully lifted his head, moving his eyes back to the sight of his weapon and surveying the landscape again, hoping his long day of patience would be rewarded.
As the muzzle of the rifle slowly crossed the torn terrain between his position and the higher buildings on the skyline, he stifled a yawn, his mind tired from the day’s hunting. His thoughts wandered, thinking of the rations he could perhaps gain from the local NKVD Headquarters, the major having advised they were in German hands.
Then he froze, his well-trained mind focussing as he saw movement in a trench north of the overturned lorry he had gained two victories at earlier in the day. A Russian soldier was slowly moving along the trench, his helmet clearly visible even in the diming light. He smiled beneath his scarf, his mind discounting a shot, knowing it was a decoy to lure him out, to betray his position. His heart beginning to beat faster as he realised a Russian sniper was stalking him, using the poor infantryman as bait. His revulsion for the tactic he had experienced across several Russian cities was only overcome by the excitement as he realised hi
s enemy was indeed in the area…awaiting his reaction.
Slowly and more cautiously, he moved the muzzle of his rifle across the terrain, feeling the adrenalin sweep through his body. Knowing if he could only find the sniper’s position, then he would await the man’s frustration or complacency to set in, and then he would have a shot.
The Russian had been awoken from his deep sleep earlier than usual, the commissar shaking him roughly to gain his focus. He had been advised there was a German sniper in the area that was picking off men and that the less experienced snipers could not locate him. The political officer had ordered him to go out and find the German and kill him, before his exploits began to undermine the troops’ morale.
With the emergence of a new German sniper, the vodka ration had been withdrawn from the front line troops in the area, preventing soldiers from making mistakes after clouding their judgement when faced with a cunning enemy.
Struggling to force himself awake, the Russian sniper known as Ruslan had splashed his face with iced water to gain further alertness, struggling through the trenches as Russian infantrymen covered themselves for the night’s frost. He had then wiped gun oil across his features, the liquid reducing any sign of his skin in the darkness.
He had talked through his prospective positions with the commissar, advising him he could only watch until the German took another shot and that he may have already moved on, the search becoming fruitless. The commissar had advised that he would create an opportunity for the sniper, dragging a bewildered soldier from a penal unit and allowing him to drink three or four men’s vodka rations before ordering him to make his way up and down the front line, the man promised freedom if he accomplished it four or five times.
The Russian sniper in his late twenties had protested initially, then realised it was pointless as the commissar offered him the opportunity of taking the unfortunate soldier’s place in the penal unit. Trudging out with the drunken soldier, he had told him to stay down if he was hit, and to limit the exposure of his head. The man had replied with alcohol fused boldness that he would do his duty to his country and keep moving, that the German would never hit him.
The Russian sniper had shook his head in frustration, realising the inexperienced soldier’s reasoning was faulted. They had then reached the taller buildings on the skyline and the drunken soldier had progressed into the trenches merrily swigging from his remaining supply, concealing his fear.
Carefully moving to his predetermined observation position, the sniper had begun to look over the landscape cautiously through his binoculars, the light beginning to fade. He had made a mental note of some of the positions he considered possible for the German sniper and had then retrieved his sighted rifle, moving forward slowly to assume his own position. Unaware the commissar had sent out another man to also hunt the German, that he himself had also become bait.
The Austrian momentarily pulled his head back from the rifle sight, checking the heavily clouded sky and strength of the slight breeze as he looked out over the snow covered landscape. Lowering his head again, he began to check his predetermined spots, the places a sniper would be tempted to utilise.
He watched as the drunken soldier struggled along the Russian lines, seeming to swig from a bottle as he did so. The infantryman was half crouched, moving along the Russian unit deployed to the front line for the night, the soldiers shaking their heads as he passed, grateful they were not taking his place.
The Austrian sniper realised that sooner or later someone would take a shot at the soldier, the careless man offering too much of a target for the German soldiers on either side of him to resist. He licked his lips again, his heart beating hard in his chest as he realised this may also tempt the Russian sniper to fire in retaliation.
Then he caught his breath, glimpsing what he thought was some movement as he scanned the terrain. Squinting through the telescopic sight, he felt the tiredness in his eyes as he looked into the side street along the wall of one of the tall buildings on the horizon. To the left of the narrow lane was a shell crater, breaking the road into the sewer pipe below. As he watched, his eyes widened as he saw the slight movement of the rubble before the crater. His heart beginning to race as he realised a rifle was very carefully being pushed into position.
Considering the distance was perhaps too far, he determined it was worth one shot before retiring for the night, the light fading further. Raising the muzzle of the rifle slightly, he aimed for just above and to the right of the shell crater, compensating for the distance and breeze. The edge of the crater was just visible in the bottom of his sight as he began to adopt shallower breaths, steadying the weapon.
His heart nearly missed a beat as he glimpsed further movement, the tiny dark shape rising from the crater edge. Sucking in air through his nose, he just glimpsed an object in the crater, the top of a sniper’s head. He tensed, his mind conflicted, was this to be the best shot? Then he relaxed again, his extensive training overcoming his doubts. He waited, watching the position for his prey to move, perhaps provide a better shot, realising he now had limited time with the fading light.
The Russian sniper moved uncomfortably in the cold shell crater, the breeze in the alley seeming colder than the previous night. He had very carefully pushed his weapon forward, so as to limit his exposure, the broken cement and earth around him perfect cover as he slowly edged up the incline of the crater, the hole in the sewer roof behind him. Cautiously he moved his rifle into position, then inched his head forward towards the sight on the weapon. His upper body and head covered in a grey and white cloak allowing him to blend into the surroundings, reducing the chances of detection. He smiled as rifle cracks to either side of him signified his countrymen’s caution, the perfect cover for him to fire. Exhaling slowly, he had learnt to control his breathing in the freezing temperatures, preventing his detection.
Inching his face forward to the sight, he slowly raised the butt of the rifle to allow him to look across the front lines and into a street in the distance, a successful hunting area for him as German troops had moved across the far end behind their lines. He smiled faintly as he wondered how many fascists would try and cross the street this night.
Then there was a distant crack, his body jerked and rolled sideways, slipping down the slope of the crater and falling into the putrid water below. The surging current pushed his lifeless corpse forward, the slope in the tunnel adding to the speed of the water as the body was propelled towards the Volga.
The smoking muzzle of the Scoped Kar 98 rifle pulled back behind the tarpaulin, the angle of elevation from the first floor to the shell cater in the distance just sufficient to take a successful shot. The Austrian smiled briefly, having seen the spurt of blood as the bullet passed through the Russian’s camouflaged cloak over his head. He pushed his head onto the cold floorboards below him, exhaling heavily. The day’s work was done.
Slowly he shuffled his body sideways, heading towards the broken rear walls of the building, his exit from his spot. Hearing his stomach rumble again, he thought of what food he may be able to convince the nearby unit to relinquish to him. Smiling in the near darkness, he considered Major Slusser’s elation at the news, the targeted Russian sniper’s death achieved in the few last minutes of the day.
Ruslan lay under his camouflaged cloak, supplied to him the day before as a reward for his total enemy tally mounting to beyond ten. He had scanned the German lines from his vantage point for some time, having little to target, the German troops opposite fully aware of the capabilities of the Russian snipers in the area.
As the drunken Russian soldier had completed four of his journeys across the front line, the commissar had instructed him to complete another two, determined to flush the German sniper out of hiding. Completing these, Ruslan had grinned in irony at the commissar’s obvious frustration, hearing him berate the soldier some ten metres behind him for ‘not trying hard enough!’ Then allowing the man to return behind the buildings on the horizon in despair, realising h
e was no longer fit to make the journey again with the alcohol he had consumed.
Ruslan had then resumed his vigil, unaware that he was now the only Russian sniper in the area, the man sent to use him as bait now lying broken on the frozen iced banks of the Volga. Ruslan’s position, lying in the side of a destroyed warehouse building some thirty metres behind the front line had produced no results. Considering he should move positions, he had pondered which position would perhaps provide a better vantage point for his hunt, postponing this as he had heard the crack of a high powered rifle some distance away, slightly to the north.
Staring through his telescopic sight, he had thought of a number of spots, then decided on one further north, an elevated position in a warehouse roof, dangerous during daylight, but effective at night time.
He had stiffened as he saw a figure run across the street in the distance, squeezing the trigger more in desperation than confidence, his view of the street limited due to his angle. He had smiled as he thought he may have clipped the running man, his steps having altered with his shot, the figure stumbling.
Slowly, he pushed himself backwards across the rubble, removing himself from the small gap in the foot of the wall he had pushed his rifle muzzle through. Rising to a crouch behind the wall, he turned and crept away from the position into the darkness, his mind decided on his new vantage point to the north.
Chapter Fifty Eight: The Last Supper
Bloody Stalingrad Page 53