Marching out into the light, the young Leutnant’s eyes widened as he saw the armoured vehicles before them. The Panzer IV had stopped on the right, the engine burbling as the crew waited to proceed. In the centre, a Panzer III sat with its engine running, the tank commander’s head above the turret. To the left, an Sdkfz 222 armoured car sat next to an armoured personnel carrier, bluish grey smoke rising from the exhausts.
The rear doors of the armoured carrier were open, the captain frantically ushering some of his men inside. He spun round, indicating for Hausser to position his men behind the carrier and armoured car, the soldiers moving forward at a jog. The group behind them moved to the right, adopting positions behind the Panzer IV, their faces strained with nerves.
Udet glanced round, two more Sdkfz 251 armoured carriers behind them, their upper frontal machine gun positions manned as he saw the tops of helmets behind the protective shield. The captain strode back indicating to the final group to move behind the rear carriers, smiling grimly at Hausser, ‘There are two pak guns at the end of the street to our right…they will fire at the Russian houses once I give the word…then we go!’ He glanced about, becoming satisfied that the soldiers were in position then spun round, sprinting towards the right corner.
Hausser nodded to Tatu, the Romanian grinning beneath his scarf as he approached, ‘So Herr Leutnant, we have come hundreds of miles through Russia…now there is only two hundred metres left to go!’
Hausser pushed his shoulder playfully, nodding to Udet and Hase as they stood behind the carrier. Moving through the men, he positioned himself next to Petru, the other three joining them as they waited. Their hearts beat loudly in their chests, their adrenalin rising and breath shortening as the men around them stood nervously.
The two pak gun crews crouched behind their sandbagged positions, their guns targeted at the shell damaged apartment blocks in the distance. They had watched the flashes through the torn windows through binoculars, the German defenders in the distant apartments overwhelmed as they were caught by surprise, their limp bodies tossed through the openings to the frozen ground below. The German survivors had tried to run, cut down in the street by machine gun and rifle fire in their bid to escape, the bodies lying motionless on the snow some four hundred metres away towards the river.
Russian riflemen had taken pot shots at them for the remainder of the morning, wounding one of the crew members as he darted low between the guns on either side of the street. The distance was too great in the conditions for anyone other than an experienced sniper or excellent rifleman, so the crews kept low, waiting the chance to fire back, their ammunition rationed.
The gunnery sergeant edged to the doorway next to them, pushing his back against the cold masonry, his voice low, ‘The soldiers are in position…fire when ready!’ One gunner on each piece leant forward, pulling the mechanism before them. The barrels flashed, smoke engulfing the sandbags as the paks recoiled, their shells flying towards the two apartment blocks. The shells smacked against the sides of the buildings, flames and smoke billowing upwards and engulfing the shattered windows above.
Both crews looked to their sergeant as they heard the engines revving in front of them to the left, their commander swallowing as he decided to expend more scarce ammunition, ‘Fire again!’
They scrambled around the pieces, feverishly loading and rechecking the sights. Two hundred metres in front of them, a Panzer IV swung across the crossroads ahead, a Panzer III behind it with a number of armoured cars. Darkened infantry followed through the billowing exhaust smoke, their heads and bodies ducked behind the armoured machines as they advanced in a cloud of dust and fumes.
The breaches crashed back, the gunners pulling again and the paks barking as they shuddered back in recoil, the shells flying out once more. The sergeant dropped his head, sighing….they had no more ammunition. The subsequent explosions sent smoke and dust spiralling into the air, temporarily blinding the Russian defenders and killing two.
In the furthest large house on the other side of the square, a heavily wounded German smiled as he stole a glance out into the cold, his spirits rising, ‘Even in this frozen hell, they had not been forgotten…their Wehrmacht was coming for them.’
Chapter Seventy Five: Stalingradski Flight School
The kubelwagen jeep lurched to a halt outside the snow covered gates of the flight school, Major Eismann leaning forward to push his identity papers through the narrow tarpaulin opening behind the driver as the sentry approached, the soldier standing stiffly to attention and saluting as he realised the passenger’s rank. The major returned the salute, grinding his teeth as the soldier looked at the papers in his hands. He had instructed the driver to drive as safely and quickly as possible, keen to avoid taking off in the darkness.
Snowflakes fluttered slowly to earth, the major pulling his collar up as he felt the cold through the opening begin to bite further, the temperature now dropping dramatically…it would be another miserable night on the Russian Front. The sentry extended the papers back to him, his hand rising sharply to salute once more. Major Eismann nodded, taking the papers, his expression grim, ‘Is my plane here?’
The sentry nodded formally, ‘I think so Sir, a two seater aircraft landed some thirty minutes ago…I think he is at the far end of the field.’
Major Eismann nodded again, raising his right hand to his forehead, ‘Thank you.’ He tapped the driver on the shoulder, ‘Straight onto the field and to my Bf110 fighter.’
The driver engaged gear, nodding in response, ‘Jawohl, Herr Major!’ The small jeep jolted forward, its wheels spinning as the driver attempted to gain traction on the ice. The sentries pulled the metal mesh gates inwards quickly, wary of the engine revving and the urgency on the senior officer’s face.
As the gates opened, scraping across the tarmac, the small jeep sped forward, driving alongside the numerous single storey buildings that had been the offices of the flight school before the German Army approached. The rooms now a temporary medical facility, billets and offices for the small Luftwaffe and security contingent stationed there.
The kubelwagen continued, picking up speed along the iced approach road. Several soldiers and officers trudged past on either side, their greatcoat collars pushed up against the conditions, their bodies hunched against the snowfall as it got heavier.
The jeep turned right and sped along the side of the field, passing the occasional sentry or ground crew member stiffened against the cold. Major Eismann lit a cigarette, the smoke billowing under the kubelwagen’s tarpaulin roof as he sat silently, staring out into the flurrying flakes around them.
The driver slowly pulled his foot from the accelerator, the vehicle slowing as the shadow of the twin engine aircraft loomed up before them. Pulling to a halt beside the plane, the pilot ran from a nearby building, throwing his cigarette into the snow. The major pushed the passenger seat forward as the jeep door opened, struggling to squeeze his great-coated frame through the opening. His pilot smirked, coughing to hide the gesture as Major Eismann strode towards him, his voice impatient, ‘How long before we are airborne? I need to get back to Von Manstein’s headquarters immediately.’
The pilot stiffened, his face becoming stern as he saluted, realising the normally jovial major was not in the mood this evening, ‘It is difficult flying weather, Herr Major…I will get the ground crew out…’
Major Eismann nodded formally, ‘Good, let’s get out here as soon as we can…Erich…erm…Feld Marshall Von Manstein will be waiting for me!’
The pilot spun round, running back towards the hangar behind him and indicating to the small assembled ground crew, ‘The major wishes to take off immediately…’
As the twin propellers roared into life, the ground crew having hastily pulled the coverings from the aircraft, the pilot revved the engines, the noise spreading across the airfield and surprising the few Luftwaffe pilots as they stared into the snowfall incredulously, ‘Who would fly in this weather?’
Maj
or Eismann stepped forward, clambering onto the back of the slippery wing to gain access to the rear bomber seat, the ground crew pushing him upwards as the propellers increased in ferocity, the men mutually frowning at the break in normal protocol. The major lifted himself into the back of the cockpit, the canopy closing above him as he slumped back into the seat, grasping for the harness.
The ground crew jumped from the wings, pulling the chocks from the front wheels and the plane surged forward, the pilot increasing the throttle to warm the engines further. He glanced over his shoulder, ‘Herr Major, we need the engines to warm more…it is very cold.’
Major Eismann shrugged, ‘Five minutes…then we go…the light is failing Erich and we need to get back. You are experienced enough to fly in this rubbish, so let’s go as soon as we can?’ He leant forward and squeezed the pilot’s shoulder, smiling fondly, ‘Think of the drink waiting for you back at headquarters…and the warm meal…that should get is there safely!’
The pilot grinned beneath his mouthpiece and scarf, motivated by the officer’s idea and encouragement, ‘Jawohl, Herr Major…we will take off very soon!’
The major leant back, smiling faintly at the pilot’s keen reaction, his mind wandering back to the meeting at Sixth Army’s Headquarters.
The flight into the city had been for a specific reason and they had been sent by his commander, Field Marshall Erich Von Manstein. The relief effort, struggling towards the outskirts was floundering, the might of the Soviet armies defending the route too strong, the hastily gathered attacking German forces too weak. Von Manstein had determined that with only just over thirty miles between the two armies and the valuable supplies the stranded army required, the Sixth Army should break out and split the Russian defending forces.
Major Eismann had argued the case with General Von Paulus, the commander of Sixth Army, for over two hours. Using maps of potential routes to safety and reports of the strength of Russian defenders to attempt to persuade the isolated commander, but it was to no avail. General Von Paulus was adamant that he would not order his forces to break out without a specific order from Hitler himself, over a thousand miles away in Germany.
The major had pleaded for the general to see sense, the senior officer simply shrugging and advising the trapped army only had fuel for twenty to twenty five miles advance. Major Eismann had argued that the relief effort could punch through the Russian defenders once Sixth Army moved out from the city, that the two armies would meet and save the majority of the soldiers within the city and surrounding areas.
General Von Paulus had shaken his head, stating he was not going to allow the Sixth Army, his first major command, to be destroyed in open country…especially in the deteriorating weather conditions. Finally, to summarise and conclude the meeting, Von Paulus had advised that he would seek approval from the Fuhrer himself to break out from the city…but that until this request was granted, the Sixth Army would remain in the relative safety of Stalingrad on the frozen banks of the River Volga.
The twin engine fighter bomber moved forward, the snow swirling around it as the propellers created a vortex of air behind them. Major Eismann stared out of the cockpit windows into the darkening sky, the smoke and dust hanging above the city in the distance unseen in the developing blizzard.
The Messerschmitt Bf110 taxied out onto the runway, the tyres crunching through the snow as the aircraft gathered speed, bouncing along through the slurry below as the experienced pilot increased the power to the engines.
Major Eismann felt the plane rise from the tarmac and snow below, the engines roaring as the aircraft gained more speed and altitude. He shifted uncomfortably in the rear seat, staring out of the side windows into the snowed city, the view beneath him dark and distorted. The occasional light or flash, the barren torn city beginning to drift behind them as the plane flew higher and higher, the pilot eager to get above the heavy snow clouds.
On the south west corner of the pocket, cold German sentries of the 3rd Motorised Division stared out over the darkening snow landscape towards the Russian positions. The previous night had been clear, the misery of the freezing cold temperatures broken by the exhilaration of seeing flashes on the distant horizon, the German relief effort fighting near the River Myshkova.
Only a couple heard the distant drone of engines above them, the BF110 high above leaving Stalingrad to bring the fateful news to Field Marshall Von Manstein.
Major Eismann sat back in his seat, wrapping fleeced blankets across his shoulders and legs, his mood despondent. The window of opportunity for the Sixth Army and over two hundred thousand soldiers to escape was closing fast…he wondered where this situation would end…could they still break through to the isolated city with the supplies? What would happen then? Time was now short…perhaps too short for hesitation.
Far below the fighter bomber, struggling through deep snow and the freezing blizzard snowfall, the vehicles, tanks and rifle divisions of the most powerful land formation available to Soviet Russia were driving forward.
The 2nd Guards Army was moving up towards the River Myshkova.
Chapter Seventy Six: The Last Assault
The Panzer IV surged forward, the tracks clattering against the iced road surface. Behind them the infantry ducked down behind the armoured vehicles as they swerved out onto the road to head towards the river. The street was relatively wide, the target buildings higher than the structures that lined the road by two storeys. The square ahead surrounded by the higher buildings with a narrow entrance approach. Smoke and dust rose from the rooftops, the earlier explosions and artillery fire damaging the tiled upper covers.
Advancing alongside each other, the soldiers in the armoured cars raised the elevation of the machine guns, the bullets spewing towards the buildings ahead. The flashes from the guns silhouetted the gunners to the infantry behind, the soldiers running forwards to keep up with the armoured cover.
Bullets spattered off the brickwork of the buildings ahead, tearing masonry from the walls and flying through the windows. The Russian defenders ducked down, the ferocity of the attack catching them by surprise as they cowered beneath the broken windows. Shouts from within, their commissar urged them on as they rose up, their weapons thrust from the sandbagged openings to fire on the advancing Germans.
Leutnant Hausser spurred the men on, shouting as they ran after the armoured cars, his voice almost hoarse with adrenalin, the engine noise and gunfire mostly drowning him out, ‘Keep down until we get to the buildings…have your grenades ready!’
Tatu echoed his calls, his large frame bent double behind the rear of the Sdkfz 251, his voice bellowing with excitement, ‘My section, keep with me…shoot anything that moves…Ivan will regret this day!’
The clanks of bullets against the armoured cars and tanks reached a deafening level, ricochets bouncing off the steel plate. Streaks of hot metal poured from the windows ahead as the commissar shouted frantically to his men to ‘Kill the fascists!’ His fear rising as he realised the Germans were nearing.
Russian anti-tank rifles opened up, their small calibre projectiles bouncing off the armoured plating as their gunners desperately tried to halt the advancing armour. Several Germans fell behind the body of men, their bodies cut down from ricochets or direct fire as the Russian infantry fired out.
The Panzer IV’s turret electric motor whined, the tank shuddering as the gunner fired. Udet’s terrified eyes saw the flash and blast within the apartment block, the sandbags and dust thrown outwards from the third floor window along with two shattered bodies, their fall to the ground seeming in slow motion as he ducked back behind the armoured car.
The Panzer III jolted as its main long barrelled gun fired, the jettisoned smoke engulfing the infantry behind as the explosion ripped through the apartment building ahead, the exterior wall crumbling and shattering inwards with the energy of the impact, showering the occupants with shrapnel.
Hase glanced out as he ran forward, his body half crouched, his eyes opening i
n amazement as he saw the dazzling display of tracers and sparks as the bullets poured forward and back. Screams from behind as soldiers fell, spurring him forward before ducking behind one of the vehicles, the German gunners in the armoured car shouting with hatred as they fired relentless bursts. The soldiers below them readied with another ammunition case for the machine guns.
The armoured cars behind began to open fire, their gunners determined to drive the Russian infantry from the windows, their drivers desperately weaving in attempts to avoid the German still bodies and wounded crawling on the road before them. The bullets flew towards the apartment blocks, plaster and dust flying from the walls as the high velocity rounds crashed against the masonry.
A Russian gunner was decapitated at a window, the blood splashing down the sides of the exterior wall as his headless body twitched and fell. Several others collapsed, their bodies propelled backwards in the darkened rooms, crashing against broken furniture and debris and falling onto the wooden floorboards. Screams filled the apartment blocks, the Russians in the buildings behind chilled by the plight of their countrymen, their commissars shouting at them to be ‘ready for the assault’, ‘to fight the fascists to their last breath for Mother Russia’. These were hardened Russian veterans…they did not need the commissars, hatred was the deepest motivation.
As the tanks approached the first apartments the Russians from the buildings behind were able to open fire, the angle now sufficient. This was when the rear armoured cars were needed the most, the time the enemy in the front buildings could fire down directly onto the German infantry. The experienced gunners had reloaded in anticipation, raking the windows above them with fire, the plaster and dust filling the air as the tanks began to slow.
Bloody Stalingrad Page 66