Bloody Stalingrad

by Andrew McGregor

  Sergeant Moretti slammed a new magazine into his submachine gun, the Italian infantry on either side of him thrusting themselves upwards to meet the Russian infantry charge. Rifles and machine guns fired across the line as the grenades exploded, killing and wounding several of the defenders, their screams echoing across the survivors.

  The Italians threw grenades, the bullets whipping across their trench walls as the Russians concentrated their fire onto the defensive positions. More German artillery shells detonated across the front of the Italian positions, the Russian infantry sustaining horrendous casualties as they were driven forward relentlessly again and again by their commanders.

  Behind the beleaguered Italian defenders, several broken and repairing German tank units attempted to engage the enemy T34’s, the Russian tanks rampaging through rear defensive areas and supply units. Scattered and broken German units desperately defending against the tanks supporting the Soviet 63rd Army.

  On either side of the Italian front line, the Romanian troops on the right and Hungarian soldiers on the left flanks stared at the plumes of black smoke and flashes in the distance. The sounds of distant frantic gunfire creeping across the white landscape, their nerves strained taut knowing their allies were as poorly supported as they were. All available strong German units were supporting the advance further south towards the isolated city and its frozen defenders.

  The defending Italians were outnumbered 9:1, the Russian offensive named Operation Little Saturn had begun.

  Chapter Sixty Nine: The Village

  Hausser crept along the side of the dilapidated building, his boots placed carefully in the snow before him, his MP40 raised. Behind him, Udet glanced around cautiously, his rifle held tightly as he spotted Tatu moving quickly along the building opposite. The weathered woodwork of the small shacks and houses protruded outwards, the wood warped and wrecked from the continual strains placed upon it by the elements. Roughly broken and flaked paint adorned the wooden outsides of the buildings as the six soldiers moved forward at a half-crouch.

  Stopping by the corner of one of the dwellings, the young officer glanced into the alleyway to the side, the deep snow indicating no one had walked there. He crept further forward, passing the opening as he lowered himself, another rifle shot echoing across the hamlet in the crisp air, causing him to jolt in reaction.

  Tatu moved slowly round the back of the kubelwagen jeep, his breath held as he felt his heart begin to beat louder in his chest. Petru and Hase watched him move forward from the building behind, awaiting the Romanian quartermaster to beckon them towards him.

  Hausser approached the corner of the next building, his eyes set on the open ground after the village, hearing murmurs from the depression ahead of them. He hesitated, straining his ears as he heard shuffling to his left, his helmeted head leaning against the corner to the next alleyway. Glancing down at the snow before him, he saw the disturbed surface of the snow, the narrow trail leading into the alleyway beside him.

  Another shot rang out, the piercing sound causing their bodies to jump again. The sounds in the alleyway increased including a pitiful high pitched sobbing as Hausser glanced into the opening. He pushed his boot forward, stepping into the alleyway and approach a small boy, the youngster’s shoulders shaking as he cried uncontrollably.

  The child looked up, his eyes widening in terror as he recognised the German uniform, his body trembling as he raised his hands in fear. Hausser knelt down before the boy, raising the strap of his MP40 onto his shoulder, his hand outstretched, voice low as he spoke in Russian, ‘What is the matter young one?’

  The boy glanced round, tears in his eyes as his scantily clad body shivered in the cold. Another younger soldier stepped into the alleyway behind the German officer, the younger man’s face seeming innocently concerned as he took in the small figure crouched shivering on the snow before his commander. Behind him, a larger soldier stepped into view, his hardened features differing from the two in front of the young boy.

  As the boy began to talk, his voice broken from his crying, three more men joined the group above him. A tall older man with a moustache removing his large coat and placing it around the young boy’s shoulders as he struggled to speak, his body shaking from the cold and emotion.

  A German officer sighed, his greatcoat wrapped tightly around his uniform as he stared at the line before him. Shaking his head in disgust, he indicated for the next villager to come forward, his lips pursed in hatred for the job he was performing. A German military policeman shoved the trembling elderly lady forward harshly, her breath sucked in as the butt of his rifle pushed against her back.

  The officer rose to his feet in front of her, his eyes staring at the policeman in contempt as he cleared his throat, ‘There is no need for that! They are beaten…’ His eyes cast across the elderly lady’s deeply lined face, her eyes staring defiantly back at him in hatred. He placed his hands on his hips in response, indicating with his gloved hand for the policeman next to him to question her, the Russian language unknown to him.

  The policeman spoke two or three sentences in Russian, his eyes glaring at the elderly woman as she stared back. She spoke two or three words in response and slowly turned to walk across the depression. Before her, four bodies lay in the snow, their lives ended by a single rifle shot. Defiantly she stood amongst them, her head held high staring defiantly at the officer.

  The officer turned to look at the policeman, his exasperation high, ‘What did she say?’

  The military policeman next to him glanced at him, shrugging, ‘She said we are pigs…that we will lose the war!’

  The officer bowed his head in anger, adjusting his cap, his voice rising in frustration, ‘Did she say where the supply crates are?’

  The policeman shook his head, staring back at the elderly woman as she spat into the snow towards him in contempt. Her eyes now staring at the metal gorget round his neck.

  The policeman indicated to his countryman, a younger soldier stood some six metres from the woman, the man pulling the bolt back on his rifle and slowly raising it.

  The officer pushed himself from the rock he had been resting on, his voice rising, ‘This is pointless…I did not sign up for this. It is obvious they either don’t know where the supplies are or are simply not going to tell us.’ He kicked the snow at his feet, ‘Are we going to shoot the whole village?’

  The military policeman stepped forward towards the officer, the rifleman hesitating, ‘But Sir…if we let them go, they may loot another lorry…then another. The army desperately needs the supplies!’

  ‘How many of you actually speak Russian?’ The Romanian voice bellowed behind them, the six soldiers and eleven villages turning in surprise at the outburst.

  As they looked up, Tatu emerged over the brow of the depression, his PPSH 41 submachine gun held at his waist menacingly. The officer stepped back startled, his hand reaching for the pistol at his waist.

  ‘Not so quick if you please!’ Another voice, a Berlin accent shouted across the lower ground, Hausser emerging further along the top of the slope, his MP40 pointing directly at the officer.

  The officer’s eyes narrowed, seeing the subordinate ranking, his voice rising in anger, ‘What is the meaning of this? We are interrogating prisoners that have looted our supplies!’

  Hausser shook his head as four other soldiers emerged, their weapons pointing at the armed soldiers below. The Leutnant repeated Tatu’s question through clenched teeth, ‘How many of you speak Russian?’

  The German officer stepped forward, stopping as one of the younger soldiers at the crest of the slope turned his rifle to point directly at him. His expression softening, the officer reluctantly raised his hands to his sides, looking up at the squad leader above, ‘Only one speaks Russian.’ He indicated to the military policeman, ‘He does…we are questioning the villagers…one of our lorries lost two food crates here last night.’

  Hausser nodded grimly, seeing the four lifeless bodies on the snow in th
e centre of the group, their blood staining the frozen white ground around them. He coughed, the nausea rising within him, ‘Perhaps you can ask him where the supplies are…’

  The officer glanced round in confusion, ‘What do you mean? Ask him…he is the one that led us here.’

  Hausser indicated to Meino, the Croatian slowly stepping down the slope towards the policeman. Behind him, Hase bit his lip, his eyes narrowing in hatred as he realised what had just happened.

  As the policeman slowly turned to face the Croatian, Meino swept his weapon upwards quickly, cracking the butt of his MP40 against the policeman’s jaw. The man staggered backwards, the rifle falling from his hands as he fell into the snow, a squeal coming from his bloodied lips.

  The officer clenched his fists in anger, ‘What is going on here?’ His eyes moving to the small figure that emerged above the hilltop, the boy covered in a large dirty coat adorned with fur around the neck. Slowly his small arm rose, the large coat hanging around his tiny slim undernourished figure as he pointed at the policeman lying in the snow.

  Hausser stepped down the slope, gritting his teeth as he recognised the policeman on the ground clutching his face and moaning, the man from the previous day. He lowered his MP40 as he approached the officer, saluting informally, the man staring back at him incredulously. The officer slowly raised his right hand to his right forehead in response, his eyes widening in surprise, ‘I am an officer in the 60th Motorised Division! What is going on here, Leutnant?’

  Hausser glanced past him at the man on the ground, his eyes narrowed, ‘It appears this is your thief…taking the supplies and hiding them in the village for himself and perhaps his men.’ He indicated behind him, ‘The boy saw him…that’s why you are here…’ His helmeted head slowly turned to look at the officer calmly, ‘…to shoot the witnesses.’ He hesitated, ‘It is now up to you what happens here….’

  The officer shook his head, his thoughts drifting through what had led them to the depression. The military policeman insisting he had seen the villagers, the men making off with two boxes. He shook his head, his confusion mounting as he realised he had struggled to understand why the hamlet’s inhabitants had only taken two boxes…why not them all? The driver had eventually gone to the police hut for warmth, awaiting the return of some of his unit to either repair or tow the broken down lorry…why had the villagers been outside in that bitter cold night? They had not known where the lorry was, let alone what it was carrying.

  The officer himself had driven down earlier that day to investigate once the missing boxes were discovered, the military policeman immediately gathering the villagers and leading them to this depression.

  He spun round, indicating to his driver and the soldier they had brought with them, his voice clear in the crisp air as he realised he had been tricked, ‘Disarm the chain dogs!’ He stepped forward, staring down in contempt at the man on the ground, the blood dripping from his damaged mouth, ‘This will be investigated! Until then, you are under military arrest!’ He shook his head in despair as he slowly turned to face Hausser, his eyes rising to look at the Berliner, ‘Please gather the residents in one of the buildings for me…I wish to apologise to them. They can have the crates if we find them...’ He glanced round at the bodies in the snow, the elderly woman beginning to weep silently as she looked down on her husband’s corpse.

  The officer gritted his teeth in despondency as he watched, ‘It won’t bring their neighbours or loved ones back…but it is something!’

  Chapter Seventy: Gumrak Airfield

  They trudged silently through the snow, the soldiers lost in their individual thoughts as they negotiated the ruts in the track. Rising slightly into the distance, the single lane winding up the incline as the track headed south.

  Hase walked in grim silence at the rear of the group, his emotions drained from the sight of the dead villagers, the people of his country. As Hausser dropped back to walk with him, he frowned briefly, his reluctance to engage in conversation concealed from the young officer.

  They walked together, as they had before on several occasions, their weapons slung over their shoulders. The German fighters in the distance circling the airfield as another group of transport aircraft prepared to make the return run across enemy territory, their cargo holds laden down with the cold severely wounded from the fighting in the city.

  Hausser slowly turned to look at his friend, the Russian staring ahead at the planes in the distance. The Berliner considered whether to talk or not…to just continue walking in silence together. He considered he wanted to break the silence, the communication between them important to him.

  Nervously, he stretched his gloved hand out, patting the back of the Russian’s shoulder gently, his eyes investigating Hase’s expression, trying to understand his thoughts underneath the scarf.

  Hase glanced at him, then stared forwards, into the distance again. He swallowed, his eyes seeming moist as he blinked against the cold. He glanced across at Hausser once more, the Leutnant’s hand still on his shoulder, his voice strained, ‘I feel there is no end to this now, no side to be on…this war will take us to the gates of hell and beyond.’ He coughed, the emotion cutting into his voice, ‘The boundaries of sanity are broken, Herr Leutnant…all we will know how to do in the end is kill, and keep killing. There will be no victory for anyone…everything we know and love will be destroyed…turned to dust!’ He stared back at the horizon, the planes still circling in the distance.

  Hausser nodded thoughtfully, following the soldier’s stare onto the horizon as they neared the crest of the slope. He spokes softly, the care for his friend’s mood clear in his tone, ‘Perhaps there was never anything more for us Hase. War was always coming between Germany and Russia I think…it was just a matter of time…of whom was insane enough to start it first.’ He hesitated, his voice becoming firmer as the Russian listened, ‘This war is fought between two men…using us and millions like us as their weapons of choice…we just have to survive it to live in the world that exists beyond the struggle.’

  Hase stopped abruptly, turning to stare at him, his voice a hiss, ‘Those villagers were killed to cover up a crime of greed. That has nothing to do with war! The German policeman knew they were innocent…that they did not know where he had hidden the supplies…or even who had taken them! He shot them anyway…cold evil murder!’

  Hausser nodded grimly, his eyes narrowing as he noticed Tatu some distance away turning to look at them in curiosity. The young officer ran his hand across the scarf over his mouth, glancing round ahead and sighing, ‘Hase, fate has placed us together for good or bad. We have to stay with each other to get through this.’ He glanced around again, raising his hand to reassure Tatu, ‘Patriotism and propaganda started this war, and will drive it forward to its conclusion…madness will reign until it ends. There is evil on either side…weak men who are taking advantage of the war to inflict pain on others, to gratify or justify their own perverse existence. That is what we have to consider…that the war will grind on despite what we do…that there is no escape for us now.’ He reached into his greatcoat for his cigarettes, maintaining eye contact, ‘We can consider it inhuman what happened back in the village…but if we had not questioned the young boy, reassured him…acted honourably…then a lot more would have died...and so would he.’ He sighed wearily, ‘Do you understand that? Can you not think of it like that?’

  Hase’s eyes widened in surprise, struggling to consider the differing line of thought. He stared at Hausser, his eyes bloodshot from the cold air beginning to envelope them, the afternoon sky gradually greying as dusk approached. He blinked, feeling the cold across his exposed upper face as he began to speak, his voice a whisper, ‘Perhaps as you say, there are good people in war too…caught up in the nightmare. We had no choice when we were ordered to take part, but we have some control over the paths we follow.’ He nodded, seeming to understand his words, ‘I am a Russian soldier in a German uniform…my belief that my men and I survived becau
se of the actions of one man have brought me to this situation. I believe less and less in the politics that surround this fight…but now more of the individual people that fight it.’ He rubbed his eyes, looking back at Hausser, ‘For that reason I follow you…not my country, nor yours…and neither leader!’ He glanced down as Hausser raised his arm, looking at the battered American packet offered to him, the two remaining cigarettes inside.

  His eyes glistened in the light as he looked back up, taking a cigarette from the offered packet and lowering his scarf to place it between his lips, ‘Perhaps we will get through this…but if not, we shall discover the end of our stories together.’

  Hausser nodded, relief on his face as he stretched out the lighter towards the soldier, the man sucking greedily on the cigarette as it lit, ‘Let’s get going Hase, there are a couple more kilometres to walk to Gumrak before nightfall!’

  They continued to trudge through the snow, the sky beginning to darken as they gradually approached their destination. Over an hour passed as they progressed, the temperature dropping. Petru led the group after some time, his thoughts drifting to his children and his beloved Bucharest. As he neared the top of a slope, the dusk air chilling, his eyes widened as he took in the sights below. The track stretched down the next slope, weaving towards the airfield in the distance across the darkening snow.

  He turned, waving to the others behind him as they started up the slope, ‘Herr Leutnant, the airfield is ahead!’

  As the others drew alongside him, they stared out over the field below. Lights flickered across the snow, several burning fires and oil drums lighting the field for any straggling aircraft approaching. On the wide snow runway, a JU52 transport plane was turning to commence take off, the snow billowing from the wheels and force of the three whirring propellers. Several further transport aircraft were parked to the sides of the runway, some with distant black figures working on the engines, others with their steps lowered, the wounded being guided towards some, others having their supplies unloaded.