They stared at each other as they moved, attempting to synchronise their footsteps to avoid jolting the casualty and to negotiate any other troops that may be in the roughly dug support thoroughfare, the front line trenches having been dug deeper.
As the stretcher jolted, the soldier in his mid-thirties drew breath heavily, glaring at his countryman at the other end. The wounded man moaned, the movement shaking him from his alcohol induced nap, ‘Comrades, are we going for more drink? Will you come with me to the eastern bank?’
The younger soldier grinned, the drunken infantryman amusing him. The older soldier was becoming annoyed, hissing, ‘Shhh! Don’t talk, the fascists are not far!’
The drunken casualty groaned in his stupor, ‘Comrade! We need to stay together…we will win soon…the fascists are finished!’
The younger Russian grinned again, looking down at the prone man then back up at his countryman, his expression freezing as he heard the crack in the distance. The soldier’s face opposite him exploded, blood and matter spraying across the trench as his limp body slumped onto the snow covered ground beneath him.
The stretcher fell forwards, the drunken casualty almost rolling off as the handles hit the ground. The younger Russian fell back in shock, his gloves slipping from the handles as the stretcher crashed to the floor of the trench.
The wounded man groaned again, ‘Careful, you peasants!’ He rolled off the stretcher and winced in pain as his shoulder hit the trench wall, the younger Russian collapsing onto his back at the end nearest his feet. The wounded man struggled off his shoulder, wincing and rose to his knees, swearing, ‘Dogs!’
Before the younger soldier could act, the wounded man struggled to his feet glaring down at him in contempt, then glancing round in drunken disorientation, staring in disbelief at the dead soldier in front of them. The rifle cracked again in the distance, the man falling sideways against the trench wall with the impact, his throat torn open. Blood spurted across the trench as his body slid to the ground, the younger Russian scrambling back away in terror.
Slowly the young Austrian lowered his weapon and slid away from the position, a wry smile crossing his face as he whispered to himself silently, ‘Two shots…two kills!’
Chapter Sixty Three: Potato Vodka
Hausser shifted uneasily against the ammunition crates, his body aching with exhaustion, senses beginning to swim. He wearily nodded his thanks as Oberleutnant Baumann stretched his hand out, offering him a cigarette. Placing it to his lips, he leant forward as the officer struck a match and extended it towards him, drawing on the cigarette.
Baumann stepped back smiling, ‘Excellent retrieval my friend, much longer and the pilot would have lost too much blood I think.’
Hausser nodded wearily, ‘Let’s hope he is better in the morning…is he suffering from the cold much?’
Baumann shook his head, leaning back on the Major’s map table in front of him, ‘Too early to tell…his leg is broken and perhaps his pelvis, but he is in the warmth now, or at least as warm as we can make him. What about the other pilot?’
Hausser grimaced, looking at his boots, ‘Dead. We did not have time to get him out.’ Looking up, dark lines under his eyes, he blew smoke into the roof of the bunker, ‘Any casualties?’
Baumann’s eyes narrowed, ‘Two killed, three wounded. The tanks were not expected, so the Major has instructed the field gunners to target any tanks only because of the ammunition shortages.’ He sighed, ‘Russian infantry are now the responsibility of the riflemen and machine gunners. There are limited high explosive shells left.’
Leutnant Hausser smiled briefly, thinking of the major’s previous behaviour, ‘Well at least the old man got to see some action…where is he now?’
Baumann turned and picked up the bottle on the table, grasping two glass tumblers, ‘He getting some information from the pilot…so should be here soon. I have placed your men in one of the rear bunkers for rest…’ His voice trailed off as he heard Major Schenk shouting outside, a grin forming on his face, ‘He is certainly in a mood tonight!’
The major pushed back the tarpaulin across the bunker entrance, shaking the snow from his greatcoat, his expression grim, ‘Damn stupid questions…can’t he see who I am!’ His mood darkened after the sentry’s challenge. Looking up as he stamped his feet, the major grinned seeing Hausser, ‘Good job on the JU52, it showed the Russians we still have some fight and cohesion!’
Hausser stood up sharply, clicking his heels and saluting, ‘Yes Sir!’
The major’s grin widened in surprise, ‘Sit down and have a drink Hausser and let me tell you what I have found out.’
The senior officer stamped his boots across the frozen ground, slipping his overcoat from his shoulders and handing the large jacket to Baumann, ‘The pilot was quite helpful. As they had flown low, they have seen perhaps a little more than the other flights. The Russians did not seem to expect a low flying Luftwaffe plane and were concentrating on higher altitudes to pick off our transports…it caught them by surprise it seems.’ He slumped into his chair, reaching for his cigarettes, ‘The enemy is moving up in large numbers, bypassing us and moving out onto the steppe.’ He grimaced as he lit his cigarette, his eyes distant, ‘Imagine what we could do to them if the Luftwaffe had their Stukas or bombers near!’
Hausser nodded as Baumann handed him a glass, wincing as he sipped the strong liquid.
The major leant back in his chair, raising his glass, ‘That pilot is alive now because of the actions of you and your men, so we can toast to that.’ He rose his glass higher, grinning from under his officer’s cap, ‘I have decided that if he survives the night, you and your men can escort him and the other wounded to Gumrak airfield tomorrow…get them on a plane out of here. It will also give you somewhat of a rest.’
Hausser nodded again, ‘Yes Sir. Thank you, we will set off first thing.’
Baumann leant forward topping the major’s glass up from the bottle, ‘Shall we get them to come back with our supplies from the airfield, Major?’ He winked at Hausser.
Major Schenk nodded thoughtfully, then smiled approvingly, ‘Yes, why not.’ He stared at the exhausted Hausser, ‘The supplies come late afternoon from Gumrak, so await the transports and come back with them. I doubt the Russians will try anything tomorrow after our little display of strength.’ He hesitated, turning to Baumann, ‘See if we can get any more supplies off that aircraft, perhaps dig trenches through the snow to it? That should avoid their snipers.’
Baumann smiled, ‘I will arrange that tonight. I have posted snipers to try and keep the Russians away, but the plane is a little far out to ensure its safety. What was in the supply crates?’
The major frowned, ‘Yes, I am not sure what is going on there. Of the boxes we retrieved, only one had tins of food, the others some clothing and helmets. No ammunition. What the hell the quartermasters are doing at the forward airfields is beyond comprehension!’ He shook his head in disgust, ‘Waste of space on the aircraft, the men can’t eat metal and fabric!’
Hausser jerked his head backwards, realising he had been nodding off, seeing the major grin widely, his face flushed with embarrassment, ‘Sorry Sir.’
Major Schenk waved his hand, dismissing his apology, ‘Don’t mention it Leutnant, you must be exhausted. Let me quickly brief you on the situation further, then I will let you get to your men.’ He swigged from his glass, straightening himself in his chair and leaning forward, ‘The Russians are jamming all our radio communications to and from Stalingrad, so we are relying on the Luftwaffe to supply the information we need. Von Manstein is progressing from the south west and should be with us in days with substantial transports and equipment…we will then have a Happy Christmas on the Volga with adequate food and supplies whilst the Russians freeze out on the steppe.’ He indicated to Baumann to fill his glass, ‘Once our men are fed and the Russians are freezing and weakened, we will attack from both the west and east…’ He swigged from his glass again, wincing at the f
ierce liquid as he leant back in his chair smiling, ‘Now that successful offensive could end the Russians once and for all. They would never recover!’ He paused, his eyes straining as he sipped from his drink, ‘Additional divisions are coming from France and other areas to reinforce the southern sector and prepare for a new drive towards us…this time the last one. The Russians will be caught on the frozen steppe, encircled and destroyed just like they were last year!’ He grinned triumphantly, slamming his glass down on the table, ‘Now what do you think of that gentlemen? From the ashes of defeat rises the phoenix of the Sixth Army!’
Baumann grinned widely, glancing back at the radio operator who was also smiling. Hausser forced a smile through his exhaustion, taking another cigarette from Baumann as the oberleutnant spoke, his voice croaky, ‘Now that will be something to see Sir!’
Hausser swigged from his glass, shaking his head as the powerful locally brewed vodka hit his throat, ‘What will happen then Sir?’
Major Schenk grinned triumphantly at him, his face flushed from the alcohol, ‘The Russians will never recover from the loss of that many units…the wide hole punched in their front line. We will drive north up their flanks and destroy them once and for all. The communist state will collapse in a matter of weeks. As soon as the relief effort gets here we can start consolidating our position further and planning the attack. The Luftwaffe are already flying in additional supplies in readiness apparently.’
Hausser shook his head, his chin stiffening as he rubbed his eyes, ‘But Sir, the current food ration is starving the men…surely the soldiers need more food before they can attack?’
Major Schenk’s eyebrows rose thoughtfully, ‘Good point Leutnant…but it’s only for a couple of days until Von Manstein arrives. Then we will be fully resupplied for the offensive.’ He smiled warmly, ‘It’s also a good way of fooling the Russians…we are far from finished!’ He indicated to bedraggled officer, ‘Why don’t you go and have some rest Hausser? You will feel better in the morning.’
Hausser rose wearily to his feet, draining his glass, his senses seeming to swim with exhaustion mixed with the strong alcohol. Summoning his remaining strength, he clicked his heels saluting again, ‘Yes Sir. I will arrange for the men to leave for Gumrak airfield at first light.’
Oberleutnant Baumann stepped forward, ‘I will come and see you before you set off…we have some despatches to be flown out with the wounded.’
Hausser nodded slowly, looking across their faces as he slung his MP40 strap over his shoulder, ‘I understand…have a good night gentlemen.’
Major Schenk smiled at him approvingly, ‘Thank you Hausser. Give your men my regards, they did well this evening.’ He hesitated, then called after the officer as he reached the tarpaulin, ‘But don’t tell them too much of the plans I have divulged.’
Hausser glanced round, his eyes bleary, ‘I understand Sir…it is not for me to say.’ Saluting, he strode out into the darkness, the snowflakes drifting down around the bunker. Looking up through the falling snow, he saw the heavy clouds moving over from the east, the night dark.
He trudged along the trench, stepping gingerly between expressionless sentries and soldiers on duty, his coordination impaired from exhaustion and the alcohol. The soldiers on watch occasionally glanced blankly out across the cold steppe, their minds chilled by the temperature and hunger beginning to gnaw in their stomachs. A bitter hunger that was now spreading rapidly throughout the pocket of over nearly three hundred thousand men.
His mind wandered to the dead pilot in the stranded plane, a lifeless body alone. Isolated and stranded in a frozen crystalized metal coffin out in the barren white landscape. A life risked and lost carrying virtually worthless supplies to a stranded army in the bitterest conditions, a conflict now beyond comprehension. He wondered when the sacrifices would ever end, if the war would now go on indefinitely.
Chapter Sixty Four: The Frozen River
South of Stalingrad, the lead elements of the 160 tanks of the 6th Panzer Division had finally reached the relief effort driving towards the city. In miserable conditions, Operation Winter Storm had rallied all the forces available to break through to the stranded city. The final drive on Stalingrad was set to begin…the remainder of the division would have to catch up as they advanced.
Leutnant Siegfried Schmidt rested his gloved hands on the turret of his long barrelled Panzer IV, the wind whipping around the crews as they made the final preparations for the drive forward. The tanks spaced some ten to fifteen metres apart, their engines burbling as they awaited the order to advance. Static surged through his headphones, the radio traffic heavy in the early afternoon. Raising his binoculars to his eyes below his black tankers cap, he stared out across the frozen river in front of them, a thin mist covering the gradual rise before them and covering the Russian defensive positions.
Frozen trees and shrubs could just be seen through the whitened gloom, the defensive positions placed on the low ridge beyond. The radio burbled in his ears once more, ‘Wait for the artillery…then advance onwards to the city. There will be no stopping, infantry units will cover the flanks…you have to break through. We are just over thirty miles from Stalingrad.’
He glanced down, seeing the apprehensive eyes of his crew looking up at him, their tired faces covered with scarves against the elements. Behind them, the tanks of scattered units drove into position, their drivers gunning the engines to warm them against the bitter cold. Thickly clad infantry in white camouflaged padded combats sat in half tracks and lorries anticipating following the armoured wave, ready to disembark and clear up Russian defensive positions on the way to the city and to form a defensive line along the flanks for the supply lorries and halftracks to sweep through.
They waited, the cold wind sweeping frozen powdered snow across their vehicles, the flakes resting or billowing around the armoured plates. He jumped as he heard the low thumps behind, the German artillery opening fire from the rear. The whoosh of shells above them heightened his adrenalin, his nerves becoming taut as he looked down at the pensive crew once more, forcing a smile to hide his concerns.
The artillery continued firing as he raised the binoculars once more, the dull flashes in the distance penetrating through the mist as the sound waves followed across the bleak landscape. The dull thumps seemed to converge to a distant rumble as the field guns fired again and again, their crews feverishly slamming shell after shell into the breaches of their artillery pieces. The soaring noise of the shells overhead filled the air, the flashes on the horizon becoming more intense as explosion after explosion tore up the Russian defensive positions. Beyond which lay the village of Verkhne Kumsky.
Static burbled in his ears once more, his senses heightened as he awaited the command to move, electricity seeming to surge through his body with nervous excitement. The determined voice broke through the radio distortion, the heightened words causing him to lick his cold lips in anticipation, ‘Panzers Marsch!’
Leutnant Schmidt slipped back down into his tank, the roar of the surrounding engines filling his ears as he lowered the hatch. He glanced round the expectant crew, the excitement rising on their faces as he teased them with slight hesitation, his voice becoming firm, ‘Forward to Stalingrad!’
The white mottled camouflaged Panzer IV lurched as the tracks gained traction, the squealing of the tracks around them echoing across the snow bound terrain as over two hundred armoured vehicles surged forward.
As he forced himself back into the seat, protecting his body against the jolting of the vehicle, the scream of engines overhead drew a faint smile. The remaining Luftwaffe fighter bombers on the southern front were now sweeping overhead, commencing their bombing runs on the beleaguered Russian infantry and tanks on the slope ahead. Above them, several schwarms of Stuka dive bombers flew at high altitude, their pilots smiling to themselves as they noticed the numerous tanks below move forward towards the frozen Alksay River, memories of the earlier invasions flowing into their minds. They were
flying to destroy the rear Russian reserves and artillery positions.
As the Panzer IV lumbered forward, the armoured vehicle jolted downwards as they neared the banks of the river. Leutnant Schmidt glanced through the viewing telescopic in front of him, the explosions in the distance disappearing as the tank descended towards the frozen water. The opposite snow covered bank loomed into view, the Panzer bumping as it traversed the frozen earth onto the ice.
The machine gunner glanced round in alarm, hearing the cracking below as the ice shrieked at the tons of metal being thrust upon the surface. Schmidt looked down, grinning, ‘Its frozen solid…we will be fine…’ The gunner shook his head and peered back though his telescopic lower in the vehicle, the tracks squealing as the metal tore across the iced surface.
The Panzer bounced as it hit the opposite bank, the engines roaring as the driver dropped a gear to force the heavy armoured vehicle up the iced slope. Schmidt’s eyes widened as sleet began to fall on the front of the tank, a temporary rise in temperature causing a brief downpour. The tanks rolled up the northern bank of the Alksay River, the fronts of the metal beasts levelling as they reached the top of the incline.
Schmidt jumped back, the clattering of machine gun bullets against the hull of his tank startling him momentarily. An explosion to the right rocked the Panzer, the surviving Russian defenders opening fire as the German armour swept towards them.
Staring back through the monocular telescopic sight, he shouted above the engine to the gunner next to him, ‘High explosive shells!’ His eyes narrowed, searching for a target through the swirling mist and smoke, then he jolted, the tank hitting and churning over a wide log. As the vehicle bumped again he glimpsed the flash in the distance, the Russian 76mm anti-tank gun position firing directly at them. The shell zipped past, inches from the side of the turret, his adrenalin soaring as he shouted frantically, ‘Russian artillery piece…two hundred metres, next to the copse of trees.
Bloody Stalingrad Page 58