Hauptmann Ebner
A serving captain in the 389th Infantry Division, this officer is also a friend of Major Slusser. Currently commanding his men in the southern area of the factory district in northern Stalingrad.
Hauptmann Gerstle
Captain in the 389th Infantry Division, Gerstle has fallen from favour with Major Slusser after reporting drunk during a major Russian attack. He has been moved to the southern sector, serving alongside Hauptmann Ebner.
Captain Medvedev
A captain in the Russian army, Medvedev has met Leutnant Hausser twice, once south of the city when the German officer outwitted him and again within the factory district. Losing his rank and assigned to a penal unit, his whereabouts are unknown.
Introduction
Leutnant Hausser gasped as the freezing cold air seemed to grasp at his chest, the exertion of pushing through the deep snow forcing the men to gulp in the bitterly cold oxygen. The dryness of the air caused the men around him to rasp as they sucked the air through their freezing scarves, the cold oxygen painful on their lungs as the bitter air temperature fought with their body heat.
As their boots began to break through the iced surface of the snow into the cold flaked powder below, their progress slowed, the darkness seeming to close in around them as they gradually advanced across the blanketed terrain. The thin iced mist crept inwards, seeming to curl around their ice encrusted great-coated bodies as they forced their way further forward into the murky gloom.
In the distance, through the darkness, the outline of the downed plane began to rise up before them. The damaged JU52 transport having slowly fallen back from the planes grouped for safety from the marauding Russian fighters, a thin trail of smoke beginning to billow from its starboard engine. As darkness had approached, the pilots had desperately attempted to reach the Stalingrad pocket, the airfield at Gumrak the nearest safe place to land. Ignored by Russian fighters due to their slow loss of altitude and lack of power, the crew had initially believed they would originally make the distance. Finally realising in despair that the reliance and strain on the two remaining engines would not be enough to reach safety, they had opted to crash land as close to the airfield as possible.
Oberleutnant Baumann raised the binoculars to his eyes, the bitter cold breeze whipping at his exposed face. He had moved from the bunker he shared with Major Schenk, pulling his helmet down over his ears and overcoat up against the extreme cold, cursing the major’s obstinacy. The oberleutnant had insisted in observing the progress of Leutnant Hausser’s mission, despite the major’s seeming alcohol infused indifference and order for him to stay in the makeshift bunker. Making slow progress along the trench towards the south, he had stopped to observe the land before the trenches from a machine gun emplacement. Peering through the glasses along the length of the dark barrelled MG42, and beneath the makeshift roof formed from appropriated local fencing, he grimaced as he saw the small group of soldiers struggling forward in the deep snow. Their legs sinking into the thick blanket across the landscape as the weight of their bodies broke through the thin iced crusted surface.
Moving the glasses slowly, his frustration rose as his exhaled breath obscured some of his vision. In the distance, half concealed by a thin frozen mist, he could just make out the structure of the downed plane in the darkened gloom, one of the wings raised at a shallow angle into the air.
Scanning the binoculars cautiously out past the crashed aircraft, he strained his eyes into the frozen mist looking for any movement. The freezing fog was beginning to thicken in places, the temperature dropping further. Slowly, he scanned the terrain the other side of the plane, his vision severely restricted.
He stiffened, seeing what he thought was a shadow through the mist. Moving forward in curiosity, he adjusted the zoom on the binoculars, straining his eyes further. Slowly he panned the field glasses across his front, the bitter cold air sweeping through the emplacement opening. Reaching a point slightly to his right, he moved the glasses back towards the left, checking each distortion and lonely frozen bush or shadow in the thickening dark mist.
As his vision almost returned to the edge of the plane, he bit his lower lip, his muscles tensing again as the mist swirled in the breeze, a silhouette disappearing again. The Oberleutnant turned abruptly, looking down at the two machine gunners seated on the floor of the emplacement, their half frozen great-coated bodies huddled around a small fire at the edge of the trench. Gasping, his voice catching in the cold air, ‘Achtung! Russian infantry!’
The two machine gunners turned sharply to look up at him, their faces startled against the cold and slowly scrambling to their feet in shock. Oberleutnant Baumann pushed past them coughing in the still frozen air, ‘Controlled bursts…to the side of our men! Fire when ready!’
As he thrust himself from the emplacement, he glanced around frantically, indicating to an infantryman who sat nearby, the soldier shivering. Hearing the heavy bolt pulled back on the cold MG42 behind him, one of the gunners shaking hands as he fed the belt of ammunition into the heavy machine gun, he shouted at the seated soldier, ‘Get down the trench……tell the machine gunners south of the plane to open fire!’ He watched as the man struggled to his feet, a look of bewilderment on his face, ‘Get going, quickly! Before the Russians get inside the arc of our guns! Tell them to watch their fire, our men are out there!’ The soldier lunged down the trench, his legs cold from sitting on the snow near the small fire for too long, the Oberleutnant’s voice shouting behind him, ‘Alarm! Russian infantry in the distance men!’
Chapter Sixty One: The JU52 prize
Meino was struggling through the snow to the right of the downed aircraft, dragging his legs through the thick white semi-iced powder. His breathing heavy, the clouds of his exhaled air hanging in the iced temperature around him as he progressed. As he got nearer to the plane, he could see the thin tentacles of mist forming around the wings and fuselage, the white speckled camouflage on the aircraft’s body seeming to blur through his clouded vision.
Wiping his gloved hand across his eyes, he broke the freezing moisture away from his eyebrows, gulping in the cold air as he forced his body forward. Holding his MP40 by his right side, he stumbled on something beneath the snow, then pushed himself up and forward again, the sweat forming across his chest and immediately chilling.
With fifty metres to go, he threw himself into the snow to his left, the tracer bullets whipping past him some five metres away to his right. Glancing over his left shoulder, he saw the distant flashes from the machine gun emplacement, the sound cracking across the frozen landscape. The red hot bullets spewed under the raised wing of the plane into the mist beyond. He raised his submachine gun in expectation, squinting into the gloom.
Cursing himself for fixating his vision on the plane, he realised exhaustion had clouded his judgement, not considering looking beyond the broken fuselage. He glimpsed some distant shadows through the mist, his eyes bloodshot from the freezing temperature. The figures dropping to the snow, either hit or seeking cover from the machine guns that now burst into life south of the small group.
Hausser dropped to his knees as the bullets swept past them on either side, indicating for the other men to drop down. Looking round frantically, he saw the eight soldiers had all thrown themselves into the snow before them, their weapons raised. His eyes met with Tatu’s near him, the Romanian beginning to rise pointing towards the aircraft. He nodded, his voice croaked in the temperature, ‘Everyone to the plane…it’s our only cover!’
The men around him rose in unison, their greatcoats coated in snow, their bodies lunging forward towards the broken aircraft. Seeing Meino struggle towards him, Hausser hesitated, indicating for the other soldiers to progress with his free arm as the Croatian approached.
Meino was breathing heavily, his voice broken, ‘Russian infantry in the distance, Hausser! We need to get to the JU52 before them or they will cut us down!’
Hausser nodded, his breath forced through his s
carf. He slapped Meino’s shoulder, ‘Let’s get there quickly then. How far away are they?’
Meino shrugged, his eyes unable to see past the plane as he glanced west, ‘Not sure. They can’t be far, but the mist is getting thicker!’
Hausser pushed the Croatian forward, his gloved hand grasping the taller man’s shoulder, ‘Let’s get to the plane before they do or we really will be in trouble!’ Both men pushed their legs through the deep snow, the flakes becoming iced and being pushed to either side.
In front to them, nearing the plane, Udet and Hase were breathing heavily, their lungs straining in the cold temperature and from the exertion. To the left of them Alessio had stopped, throwing himself into the snow and raising his sighted rifle to aim under the broken wing. The weapon cracked in the freezing air, the butt pushing backwards into the Italian’s shoulder, a muffled scream in the distance a response to the shot.
Tatu pushed Petru towards the JU52, the two Romanians struggling in the near waist deep snow. Tatu grinned beneath his frozen scarf as he saw the figures of Udet and Hase reach the downed aircraft first, the two soldiers scrambling along the side of the fuselage, their bodies lowered and heads ducked.
Hase slid over the damaged wing and reached the door on the side of the aircraft, pushing himself into the snow as he saw shadows in the gloom beyond the plane, raising his snow covered rifle to his eye. The butt kicked back into his shoulder as he fired, the crack in the cold air seeming to hang around them. A shadow in the distance dropped into the snow, the bullet hitting the Russian infantryman in the stomach. Sporadic return fire whipped over their heads as the Russian infantry fired back, their aim wide in the misty gloom.
The rattling of the machine guns continued either side of them, the northern gun firing brass cased bullets to avoid jamming in the temperatures, the hot metal flying past into the darkened steppe beyond. Udet rose from behind the wing, pushing himself across the wooden frame, hearing the wood crackle in the frost as his body rolled across it. Reaching the door, he pushed the loose frame open and struggled inside, the darkness of the inside of the plane seeming to engulf him as he fell across the supply boxes scattered across the cargo area from the impact of the crash.
He sucked air as he felt the cold through his scarf, hearing frantic shuffling from the cockpit, his voice struggling in the crisp air, ‘Freund! Nicht Schiessen!’
He lay there for a second, hearing a low desperate moan coming from the front of the plane, through the cockpit door, ‘Hilfe! Kommen Sie!’
He pushed himself forwards across the crates, feeling the wood slam against his cold legs as his eyes struggled to adjust in the darkness. The shots outside were becoming more frequent as the others reached the downed aircraft, the distinctive sound of an MP40 firing a burst to his right as Meino engaged the advancing Russians.
Pushing himself over the wooden boxes, tarpaulin and netting in the dark, he struggled towards the front of the plane, jarring his knees and elbows against obstructions in the pitch black. As he scrambled towards the cockpit, fighting through the broken and dislodged boxes, the moaning got louder. The cockpit door was wedged shut, boxes having fallen against it as the stricken plane came abruptly to a halt. He struggled to a crouch, desperately pushing and heaving the heavy supplies away from the opening and grasping the frame. Wrenching it towards him, the loud cracking of the obstruction filling the plane as the door broke from its hinges.
Dim light from the cracked and broken windows filtered into the cargo compartment as the door opened, Udet forcing himself sideways through the opening. He crouched gasping just inside the doorway, glancing round. Before him on the left, one of the pilots was slumped over the controls, his limp body contorted from the impact on landing, his ribcage and spine broken. Udet turned to the left, seeing the other pilot half lying in the seat, his luger pistol pointed at him.
The pistol slowly lowered as the man grunted, the grimaced pain on his face evident in the gloom, ‘My leg is broken and I think some ribs.’ The man gasped, his head falling backwards in exhaustion and relief.
Udet leant forward examining the man’s leg, gritting his teeth as he saw the blood across the pilot’s lower body, ‘We will have to get you out quickly, you are losing too much blood!’
The pilot’s head rose, ‘I know…I-I told him to go and get help…did he make it?’ Sporadic fire echoed through the plane as Tatu and Meino fired at the numerous Russians attempting to close in on the stricken aircraft.
Udet nodded, ‘I think so.’ He heard shuffling behind him as Hausser pushed himself through the door, the officer’s eyes widening as he saw the corpse on the left, ‘He has lost a lot of blood Hausser…we need to get him out soon!’
Hausser nodded solemnly, ‘Bandage him here tightly and then we will drag him back to the lines.’ He looked across at the pilot, ‘What are you carrying? We are short of supplies.’
The pilot grimaced, ‘I don’t know…ammunition and food I think. We do not get a list…..’ His voice trailed off as he looked back down at his legs in horror, Udet grasping him round the waist to lift him from the seat.
He shrieked in pain as Udet pulled him away, his cracked ribs moving within his chest and leg injuries dragging against the controls. Tears filled the pilot’s eyes as he moaned, ‘I think I got a couple with my Luger, are the Russians close?’
Hausser nodded grimly, looking down on the man as Udet started frantically wrapping bandages round his legs, ‘They are moving up. We can’t hold them for long…but we need the supplies.’
The pilot nodded, wincing as Udet applied pressure to his injured lower limbs, ‘We can check inside the crates…drag a couple outside?’ The machine guns chattered again in the distance, new ammunition belts now being fed into the weapons.
Hausser grimaced, ‘I am not having my men check crates whilst under fire…we will just grab a couple and make off with them.’ He turned and slid back through the opening, taking his MP40’s strap from his shoulder, ‘Call me when he is ready to move…I will organise the men.’
Hase fired again, the butt of the rifle digging back into his shoulder as it recoiled, the crack of the shot echoing across the frozen landscape. Next to him, Petru fired his PPSH 41, the rattle of the Russian weapon spewing bullets across the frozen steppe towards the figures in the mist. A couple of screams in the mist indicated bullets finding victims, further shouts as the Russian officer spurred his men forward.
Hausser crouched at the doorway, his face becoming concerned as the machine guns from behind them fired bursts into the gloom. He raised his MP40, looking down the barrel, ‘How many are there?’
Petru glanced round, then lowered his eye to squint along the short barrel of his weapon, ‘Difficult to say, but they seem to be moving up in more force…we may have little time.’ Machine gun fire rattled from the other side of the plane as Meino and Tatu fired out over the wing of the downed aircraft.
Hauser bit his lip, his nervousness rising as the bullets whipped back around them, the dull clanks as some smashed against the aircraft fuselage, ‘Udet will bring the wounded pilot out…Petru, help him back towards the trenches, the rest grab a crate each and go with them. Tatu and I will hold.’ He disappeared back inside the aircraft, hearing the firing from out in the steppe increase, more bullets now hitting the aircraft as he ducked behind the many boxes.
Udet was struggling to pull the wounded pilot from the cockpit, the injured man moaning as he was dragged across the many obstructions. Hausser moved behind him, grasping the prone pilot’s shoulder and half lifting him as he grunted in pain. Udet grasped the other arm, swinging it over his shoulder, ‘Lean on me, we need to move!’
A muffled explosion outside, the grenade throwing frozen snow up around the tail of the plane. Petru shuffled across next to Hase pushing himself back through the powdered flakes and rising to a crouch as Udet struggled from the rear door of the plane. He grabbed the pilot, dragging him forward, the man’s body becoming limp as he drifted into pain induced un
consciousness. Pulling the man with them, Udet and Petru started to push their bodies through the snow as they attempted to move quickly back towards the trenches.
Hausser glanced out, bullets whipping round the aircraft door. The flash from Hase’s rifle induced a scream from just beyond the tail of the plane, the mortally wounded Russian falling forward into the snow as his face imploded.
Hausser grimaced, raising his voice as he turned to shout through the aircraft to Tatu, ‘Everyone round to the door! Grab a couple of supply boxes and head back to the trenches…the Russkies are closing in!’
The machine gun bursts from the trench became more constant as Oberleutnant Baumann saw many more figures in the swirling mist, his adrenalin and fear rising for Hausser and his men. He shouted desperately at the gunners, ‘Concentrate your fire……drive the Russians back! Our men are out there!’ He raised the glasses to his eyes again, frantically squinting to see through the gloom and mist.
Major Schenk marched briskly up the trench, his face flushed from the alcohol consumption, his teeth clenched in anger as he pointed out towards the crashed aircraft, ‘Baumann! Get some infantry out to support them!’ He turned back towards the bunker, seeing his radio operator scrambling out of the entrance with his MP40, ‘You! Get back to the radio! I want an artillery salvo brought down on the other side of the JU52!’
The operator stumbled, slipping in the snow as he turned and disappeared back into the bunker. Baumann was running down the trench, his adrenalin soaring as he struggled past the soldiers now manning the walls, his submachine gun in his hands, ‘These two sections, with me! Out towards the aircraft. Stay within the machine gun arcs, this is an escalating Russian assault…watch your fire, our men are at the plane!’
Bloody Stalingrad Page 56