Bloody Stalingrad

by Andrew McGregor

  The electrical motor whirred as the turret traversed, the gunner straining his eyes through the targeting viewer, his voice excited, ‘I see it!’

  Schmidt gasped, energy surging through him, ‘Fire!’

  The tank rocked, a brief flash across the viewing telescopic before smoke enveloped it. The clatter of a spent shell dropping from the breach as the gunner raised another to replace it. The smoke cleared as the tank ground through the trees, branches and trunks cracking and splintering on either side. The Leutnant held his breath as he saw the helmet of one of the gunners in the distance steal a glance over the top of his field piece in alarm. His voice rising in fear, ‘Fire again now!’

  The Panzer jolted backwards, the shell zipping through the trees and overgrown wood. The explosion tossed the crippled gun into the air, the shattered bodies of the crew falling to earth as the smoke billowed around them. Bullets rattled against the hull, Schmidt shouting above the noise, the fumes and acrid smell catching in his throat, ‘Direct hit! Drive over it!’

  The driver slammed the accelerator forward, the Panzer crashing through more trees and branches, the screeching against the outside hull almost deafening. The breach slammed shut once more, the metal clank resounding round the inside of the tank, the gunner now sweating profusely, ‘Ready to fire!’

  Siegfried stiffened, hearing a different sound on the hull, his eyes opening wide in terror as he recognised the clambering of boots on steel, ‘Russian infantry on the outside hull! Weave!’

  The Panzer swerved into more trees on the left, the occupants thrown sideways as the driver pressed the foot pedals one after the other, the tank moving from side to side as he did so. A muffled scream from outside, a Russian soldier toppling from the hull as branches dislodged him. As the infantryman struggled in the undergrowth to rise another Panzer IV crashed through the trees, his terrified scream as he looked up cut short as the right tracks churned through his body, crushing him instantly.

  Bullets peppered the side of the hull, then the back, the following dismounted German infantry picking off the Russians clambering onto their tanks. Siegfried grasped the turret ring above him, heaving himself back to stare through the viewing telescopic as the Panzer lumbered forward crashing through more trees. He drew back sharply as a Russian body fell over the lens, the wounded soldier toppling over the front of the tank and being swept under the tracks. The shrieks and splintering of wood concealed the crunching of bones as the tracks crushed and ground through the body.

  Lurching forward once more, the crash and grinding as the Panzer IV crushed the remains of the field gun and dead or injured crew, the tank rapidly approaching the edge of the forest though the low ground fog.

  Wood splintered and cracked, the Panzer crashing to the edge of the trees, the machine gun bursting into life as the crewman saw the fleeing Russian infantry running up the slope. Red hot lead poured across the white terrain, the Russian forward infantry toppling and twisting as they were hit.

  Leutnant Schmidt stared through the viewing telescopic again, his eyes widening as he saw the numerous gun emplacements set in the snowy slope, ‘Russian anti-tank guns! Forward!’ The snow was scorched black in places from the bombardment and fighter bombers, several fires burning in the destroyed emplacements, black smoke clouds rising into the frozen air. Brown and grey dressed figures were running in the distance, fleeing the advancing armour and infantry as the remaining Russian gun crews desperately sought targets, their eyes widening in horror at the sheer number of tanks emerging from the broken forest.

  The Panzer IV swept out onto the snow, numerous others bursting through the line of the trees and churning up the slope. The Russian guns opened fire, shells whooshing towards the German Panzers as they advanced. Explosions rocked the tank, a shell clipping the turret and flying off behind to explode in the forest. Schmidt shouted wildly, ‘Enemy gun ahead, fire!’

  The tank rocked once more, the shell zipping over the field gun and exploding on the slope behind tossing snow and frozen earth into the air. The breach clunked as the shell casing clattered to the floor, the gunner heaving another shell forward, swearing under his breath. Machine gun fire from the top of the slope poured towards them, clattering against the hull and forcing the following German infantry to stop at the forest edge.

  The Panzer to the left received a direct hit beneath the turret ring, the armoured vehicle shuddering as the shell exploded, the shock wave killing several of the crew as flames engulfed the machine. Two hatches opened the black dressed crew cut down as they leapt from the burning tank, the machine gun fire rattling against the burning hull as thick acrid smoke poured from the openings.

  Siegfried grasped the turret ring above as the tank shuddered again, the shell flying towards its target, the explosion decimating the anti-tank position, throwing the dead crew backwards on detonation. The fumes in the Panzer IV were overwhelming as smoke and fumes filled the small cabin. The breach clunked again as the gunner forced a shell forward, Schmidt staring through the telescopic, ‘Enemy gun to the right…fire!’

  The electric motors whirred as the turret slowly turned, the front machine guns raking the emplacements ahead, artillery crews cowering behind their weapons. More Panzers surged up the slope, narrowing the distance with the guns as they charged forward. Bloodied bodies were scattered across the snow, many crushed under tracks or killed from artillery, machine gun fire or bombing.

  The Panzer IV juddered, the shell flying forwards as the distant sound of the sirens on the Stuka dive bombers swept down vertically towards the ground below. Their targets…infantry slit trenches beyond the village. The shell swept over the field gun, exploding again on the slope behind, the jolting movement of the armoured vehicle preventing a clear aim.

  Schmidt licked his lips in nervousness, hearing the shell casing clattering below, he grabbed his microphone screaming, ‘Ram them!’ The driver pressed the accelerator again, machine gun bullets spewing from the lower gun as Siegfried moved to his own machine gun. Bullets and tracers flew across the snow, the Panzers firing as they churned up the slope.

  Several of the gun crews rose to run in panic, shells bursting around their positions and bullets whipping over their heads. Their bodies were cut down before they got ten metres, the Panzer machine gunners firing at all their positions as they surged forward.

  A Sturmgeschutz III self-propelled gun was the first to reach the artillery line, mounting the man-made protective slope and grinding over the field gun, spinning on its tracks as the Russian machine gunners feverishly peppered the armoured plate from further up the slope. The gun twisted and buckled, collapsing beneath the immense weight as the crew ran terrified from the emplacement…they did not get far, their bodies collapsing into the snow as machine guns cut them down.

  Several lone but determined Russian infantrymen scrambled out of deep foxholes, attempting to destroy the enemy tanks with magnetic mines and cluster grenades. But there were too many armoured vehicles, the German infantry in the tree line picking them off as they clambered out of the ground, several explosives detonating as the timers ran out, their shattered carriers lying dead or mutilated beside them.

  The Panzers crashed over and through the emplacements, the steel guns screeching beneath against the weight and force, their frames buckling and collapsing under the pressure. Surviving gun crews attempted to flee, their bodies torn by machine gun fire or crushed flat under tank tracks, the screams and shouts of alarm muffled by the thick armoured plate.

  Grinding forward the tanks of 6th Panzer Division and the self-propelled guns swept towards the crest of the hill, several Russian machine gunners and infantry running in panic from their positions back towards the village of Verkhne Kumsky. The Stukas flew back overhead, their pilots surveying the scarred battlefield below as they returned for more ammunition and to refuel. Several Panzers sat burning or smouldering on the slope, their few surviving crews regretting their black uniforms as they lay flat in the frozen snow.


  The German infantry rose up from the forest edge as the Panzers began clearing the machine gun nests on the crest, puffs of smoke filling the snowy expanse as they covered their advance up the slope.

  Leutnant Siegfried Schmidt stared through the viewing telescopic, grasping the handles above him tightly, his eyes straining against the brightness of the snow as the Panzer IV lurched over the crest. Seeing the buildings in the distance, black smoke rising high into the frozen sky from the burning village. A smile formed on his face, the numerous Russian infantry figures being cut down as they fled towards the hamlet, explosions throwing bodies and frozen debris into the air.

  Then he stiffened, the sight of something at the edge of the buildings drawing his attention. He felt the cold shiver run down his spine as he grasped the microphone, shouting desperately, ‘Russkie Tanks!’ he spun round frantically to the gunner, his voice shaking as the sweating gunner turned to look at him, ‘Armoured piercing rounds now!’

  The numerous diesel engines roared into life, several sandbagged anti-tank 76mm guns at the edge of the village opening fire. The surviving Russian T34 tanks of the 4th Mechanised Corps were entering the battle.

  Authors Note:

  There is one historical fact that remains unclear about the German advance across the Alksay River. German accounts, mostly gleaned from Field Marshall Erich Von Manstein’s book, ‘Lost Victories’, state that the river was not completely frozen, therefore unable to bear the weight of tanks. There were only two main bridges in the area, both railway, one of which was destroyed during the battle and repaired by German engineers some days later.

  Translated Russian accounts state that the Alksay River was frozen solid and therefore able to sustain the weight of the lighter or medium tanks. As most of the other wider and deeper rivers in Southern Russia were frozen solid or crossable at the time of the attack, I have deemed this to be the case on the Alksay for the benefit of the story. Even with some unfrozen water beneath, the lighter or medium tanks would likely have been able to cross, albeit with some difficulty.

  I interpreted that all supplies and the much heavier Tiger I tanks would perhaps have had to use one or both railway bridges when available, but that the medium Panzer III, Panzer IV and Sturmgeschutz IIIs would have been able to cross the river at this time. The heavy Tiger I’s were delayed joining the battle, which would also support this theory.

  The bridges would also have been the route for lorries and untracked vehicles, thus the sheer number and quantity of traffic could possibly not have advanced without crossing the river. If there had been limited bridges, the Luftwaffe would have had to divert valuable fighters and other unavailable resources to protect them round the clock and this is not clear historically, the Red Air Force and ground artillery would have attempted at every opportunity to destroy these crossings.

  The 6th Panzer Division had just been newly equipped from Panzer III tanks to the long barrelled Panzer IV’s. I deemed, as with other units at the time, that they would have retained some Panzer III’s as potential command vehicles and for reconnaissance as did other German units.

  I hope this does not detract from the story in any way. Due to the nature and desperation of the battle and war in that sector at the time, most records were lost.

  Chapter Sixty Five: The Italian Eighth Army on the Don Bend

  Sergeant Moretti walked along the snow filled trench, nodding to the men of his squad. At thirty six, he had joined the unit just before the war, seeing action as the army advanced through southern Russia. The bearded sergeant, with black hair and dark brown eyes was fond of his men, but becoming weary of the Russian campaign and the casualties. To him, it had first seemed like an exciting adventure, but was now descending into a nightmare as victory seemed to be slipping from their grasp.

  The Italian soldiers shivered in their positions, the early morning snow beginning to fall again across the landscape. Some one hundred miles west of Stalingrad, the soldiers of the Cosseria 5th Infantry Division had been in action for a number of days, repelling Russian probes and reconnaissance sweeps from their lines. Facing north to north east in their positions, the bend of the frozen Don River lay some one hundred metres in front of their defences, a natural barrier.

  Moretti raised his voice in the crisp morning cold, his overcoat buttoned up to the neck as he walked along his section, ‘The Russians will be probably coming again today. Be alert and drive them back as before. The Italian 8th Army holds its ground. We are defending the airfields and supply centres providing our allies in Stalingrad with food and ammunition…never let the Russians through. Think of our countrymen we have lost in the last couple of days, do not let their deaths be in vain. We hold the communists here!’ He smiled weakly at the German officer standing with his men, the man turning back to stare through his binoculars into the gloom in front of their positions.

  Continuing down the trench, he patted a young infantryman’s shoulder comfortingly, knowing his brother had been killed the day before driving back a Russian assault. He leaned into the young Italian, whispering, ‘Stay close Donatello and we will see Italy again soon!’ He slapped the young brown haired man’s back in encouragement, his helmet seeming too big for his youthful features. The sergeant stopped, his body tensing as he heard the distant crumps from beyond the horizon, Russian artillery firing.

  Spinning round, his voice rising sharply, ‘Incoming artillery fire! Take cover!’ As he ducked further into the trench, the German officer was shouting frantically further along the line, ‘Alarm! Artillerie! In Deckung!’ His hands over his helmet, his senses braced, Moretti heard a distant mechanical whining in the split second before the shells fell on their positions, his heart sinking, voice breaking, ‘Panzer alarm! Russian tanks…’ The first explosions drowned him out as the blasts erupted all along the Italian line, a wall of flame shooting into the air.

  One hundred miles to the east, Hase shifted in his sleep, his tired eyes flickering open. The rest of the squad were sleeping deeply, the breeze from the bunker entrance stirring him as Hausser slipped out into the dim morning light. Slowly, he rose from his position, rubbing his eyes as he struggled to wake. Reaching out and grasping his rifle, he pushed himself wearily upwards, his muscles aching. Stepping gingerly around Meino, the Croatian grunting in his slumber, he followed the German Leutnant out into the cold air. It had stopped snowing, the heavy clouds moving gradually across the grey sky to the west.

  Looking around in the morning dawn, he saw Hausser some feet away to his left, the German lighting a cigarette. He pulled the collar of his greatcoat up as he approached his commander, the snow crunching beneath his boots.

  The young officer’s head turned as he approached, nodding a greeting, ‘How are you today, young Hase?’

  Hase smiled, ‘Tired and hungry…you?’

  Hausser nodded a grin in response, indicating into the distance to the south, his smouldering cigarette held between his fingers, ‘The Luftwaffe are up early today.’

  Hase followed his outstretched hand, seeing the small lone fighter in the distance, the pilot’s dawn patrol sweeping the outskirts of the surrounded army.

  The Leutnant grunted, ‘He is waiting for the first transports I think…keeping an eye on the Russian positions as well no doubt.’

  Hase smiled as Hausser handed him a cigarette, ‘When shall we set off for Gumrak?’

  The Leutnant dropped his spent cigarette onto the snow floor of the trench, ‘As soon as Oberleutnant Baumann has been to see us. We may leave Alessio here as we have no need for a sniper on the way to the airfield.’ They twisted round, startled by the crack of a rifle shot from the foxhole to their right, a German sniper firing at movement in the distance.

  Then the crumps of anti-aircraft fire started to the west announcing the appearance of transports over the Russian lines. They watched as the flashes started across the sky, distant black puffs of smoke began to appear across the grey heavens as the Russian flak fired up at the passing JU52s and c
onverted Heinkel transport aircraft lumbering towards Stalingrad.

  Slowly the planes began to appear, black dots at first in the distance, then becoming larger as they approached the outer ring of the surrounded army. Buffeted and bouncing in the flak and turbulence, the transport pilots fought their controls to steady their aircraft. Behind them, their Messerschmitt Bf109 fighter escorts roared after the planes they were protecting, satisfied the Russian fighters were cleared from the skies for the first inbound flight group.

  Hausser turned to Hase as the first planes started to descend and cross the edge of the pocket to the south of them, the faint humming of their engines echoing across the Russian steppe. Lifting another cigarette to his mouth, he exhaled heavily, ‘Our wounded will leave on those planes later today…’ He grimaced as he saw the smoke trail starting to billow from one of the JU52’s engines, the flak having damaged the slow flying aircraft.

  Hase gritted his teeth as the plane seemed to slow dramatically…then struggle on, the experienced pilots yanking on their controls and increasing the power to the remaining engines. He raised the cigarette to his mouth as the planes began to disappear beyond the rises in the terrain in front of them. More and more of the aircraft flew across their vision in the distance, the first early morning flight wave to Stalingrad landing without any loss of aircraft.

  Hausser drew on his cigarette again, blowing the smoke into the air. He turned slightly, ‘Come on then Hase, let’s get the men roused. The Oberleutnant will be here soon.’

  The voice from behind them made them jump, ‘He is here already!’ Baumann stood with his hands on his hips, a despatch case under his arm and grin on his face, ‘Shall we get the men going then? Their rations will be along shortly, then you can set off.’