Gradually the engine sounds got louder, several dark shapes approaching the slope to their right, the tracks squealing as the tanks became visible in the distance. Schmidt strained his eyes, shaking his head and raising his binoculars once more, his eyes widening as he saw the eight heavy tanks approaching across the snow. Their white mottled hulls were angular, the turrets rounded at the sides as the plumes of exhaust rose into the frozen air behind them.
Approaching to about one hundred and fifty metres, the new tanks slowly turned on their tracks, manoeuvring to face up the slope, the radio burbling again, the voice forceful, ‘Panzers Advance!’ The new bigger tanks tracks spun, then gained traction, grinding forward as German Wehrmacht infantry ran behind, the turret of the nearest opening and a black uniformed commander rising from the hatch. The commander of the Tiger glanced round, waving towards where he knew Leutnant Schmidt was as he spoke into the microphone again, ‘Move your Panzer IV’s in behind us…’V’ attack formation…target the KV1’s, they are the only threat! Once we break through and the Russkies turn to run…fan out and destroy them.’ The commander hesitated, saluting informally towards the trees, ‘The Russkies will run…they have not seen this before!’
Leutnant Schmidt saluted back, not sure whether the other tank commander could see or not through the trees. Raising the binoculars again, he smiled at the nearest tank, the turret had no identification numbers, but the Panzer IV commander grinned broadly when he saw the extended 88mm turret gun as main armament. Glancing down into his own tank, he shouted excitedly at the driver as the man looked up, the microphone button depressed, ‘Pull in behind the new tanks as they advance…the Russkies are about to get the biggest shock we will probably ever see!’
Blueish-grey exhaust fumes billowed into the air as the Tiger I advanced forward, gathering speed across the snow, the hatch dropping back as the black uniformed commander slipped back into his turret. The Panzer IVs’ engines roared as they crashed from the trees, the branches and bark splintering and cracking under the weight of the medium tanks.
Moving diagonally to slip behind and to the sides of the heavy Tiger tanks, the Panzer IV’s slowed to maintain the formation, the heavier tanks rumbling upwards. The crest of the slope was some one hundred and fifty metres away as Siegfried Schmidt stared through his range finger, snow flakes and dust billowing around the scope from the heavy tanks ahead.
The Russian T34 commander stiffened as he heard the excited radio message, the adrenalin shooting through his spine, ‘Enemy movement, comrade…the fascists are coming again…drive them back for Mother Russia!’
He dropped his rolled up cigarettes onto the steel floor below, his driver glancing up apprehensively. The tank commander grinned at him, ‘If the fascists want some more…we will give it to them!’ He rose in the turret, standing behind the high hatch as he waved two flags towards the tanks around him facing towards the crest of the slope, the tankers dropping into their T34’s and moving to the gunnery positions. The Russian tanks were spaced some twenty metres apart, fifteen machines with their guns trained on the crest some six hundred metres away.
The commander strained his ears, hearing the muffled sound of straining engines in the freezing air as the German tanks approached the top of the slope, a smile forming on his lips as he licked them in anticipation, ‘This time the fascists would pay heavily!’
The engines got louder, seeming to fill the terrain, the T34 commander’s eyes narrowing as his suspicions rose…those were heavy engines, not the Panzer IV’s he was used to. He dropped down nervously, the hatch clanking behind him as he shuffled to the targeting scope.
The muffled engines got louder, plumes of exhaust billowing above the crest of the slope as he stared through the scope, his hands moving to the firing mechanism. Then his eyes widened in horror, blinking to check if he was seeing what he thought…the turret of a tank he had not seen before beginning to emerge upwards above the crest. The turret was turning as others emerged, his breath caught in his chest as the muzzle of the German tank flashed, the high velocity shell tearing through the T34 next to him, the detached turret somersaulting into the air as the armoured vehicle nearby exploded in a ball of flame, smoke billowing into the air.
He frantically checked his aim, pulling on the firing mechanism. The T34 bucked, the flash momentarily blinding him. The shell swept towards its target, the clunk as it hit the turret of the Tiger I pleasing him as the smoke cleared. Staring his eyes again, fear swept through him…the shell had bounced off the turret, the Tiger’s 88mm gun turning again…towards him!
The commander pulled himself from the range finder, other explosions outside as the Tigers began to shoot up his company of tanks, ‘Back! Back! The fascist is….’ Flame belched from the 88mm muzzle, the shell tearing through the Russian commander’s tank. Inside, flames swept across the occupants, incinerating their bodies as the screams were cut short, their lungs filling with fire. The energy from the high velocity shell at close range virtually split the T34 in half, its ammunition erupting as the body parts of the crew were thrown around the inside and out of the armoured vehicle, the turret collapsing downwards over the front of the hull.
The Russian T34 tankers on the front line panicked, their remaining machines reversing in desperation to escape. Four more T34’s burst into flames, the hulls shattered by the Tiger shells. Two tanks collided, their drivers erratically reversing in panic into each other. One lost a track, the other hurtled forward, attempting to turn as the Tiger shell smacked into the side of it. The tank rumbled forward slowly, the crew dead inside as it slowly lost momentum, smoke belching through the shattered turret and deep puncture in its side, flames beginning to rise from the engine compartment.
The Panzer IV’s fanned out, their crews grinning as they saw the remaining few T34’s accelerating away. Now their long barrelled guns fired, the weaker rear armour of the Russian tanks unable to prevent their destruction. The Tigers commenced firing on the second Russian line, the T34’s now nearly one thousand metres away.
One Tiger I lurched to a halt, its gunner staring through the targeting scope. The Tiger’s 88mm gun fired, the barrel recoiling as he pressed the fire button, a jet of flame shooting into the grey sky in the distance as the Russian tank exploded. Kurt Knispel had just claimed his third victim as a Tiger gunner…he would go on to become the greatest tank ace of the Second World War.
All across the front, the German tanks surged forward, the snow billowing around their tracks as they charged towards the Russian positions. The burning wrecks of numerous T34’s and two KV1’s were past with ease, the smoke swirling around the German tanks as they emerged. Russian field gunners, seeing their shells bounce off the new heavy German tanks, turned and ran, their panic to escape making them oblivious to the Luftwaffe fighters sweeping across the terrain, the roar of V12 engines filling the landscape as the ME109 and FW190 machine guns cut down the fleeing soldiers.
In Verkhne Kumsky, the Russian attack faltered, then dropped back…the weary and hungry German defenders staring in awe as the new heavy tanks swept towards them through the snow, their heavy guns picking off the retreating Russian armour one by one. As hoarse cheers rose from the relieved hamlet, the machine guns began chattering at the fleeing Russian infantry across the snow.
The German heavy tanks drove on, smashing everything before them. The Russians threw everything they could at the advancing Panzers…artillery, tanks and lone suicidal infantry to no avail. As the afternoon progressed, the Panzers began to approach the last crest before the slope leading down to the Myshkova River, the remaining enemy tanks and infantry fleeing down the decline.
Stukas flew overhead, their ME109 escorts accompanying them to attack the positions on the opposite side of the river. Russian Yak fighters rose up to oppose them, the dogfights extending across the horizon as the pilots fought each other for supremacy of the air.
On the bank opposite, Russian field artillery fired round after round in desperate attempts
to stop the German armour, the light beginning to fade as the Tigers withdrew to rearm with ammunition near the village. The Panzer IV’s remained in the field, the recovery crews behind them dragging disabled and damaged tanks from the frozen fields.
Night fell as the Tigers moved up once more, German artillery pieces firing onto the Russian positions beyond the river. Preparing to advance once more, the tank crews had the heightened excitement and adrenalin levels to sustain them through the night…this time they could break through to the stranded city.
They sat and smoked, refuelled…impatiently awaiting the order to advance further across the river, the collective belief that nothing could stop them now as they stared into the clear dark night sky, the stars seeming sharper and more beautiful than ever before. Armoured carriers of infantry and more field guns were moved up in readiness, the tankers keeping their engines warm, scarves and field blankets wrapped around their bodies for comfort against the freezing conditions.
Flaked frozen snow swirled across the fields, the ice on the river below cracking as the temperature dropped further. The German crews were confident, their spirits high after seeing the performance of their new heavy tanks…surely nothing could prevent the breakthrough to Stalingrad this night. The Russians could not stop this new weapon.
Leutnant Siegfried Schmidt stiffened and bit his lip in frustration, the garbled message in his earphones first exciting him, then increasing the concern and fear for his men. He turned to the side, speaking softly into the mouthpiece, so as not to alarm the crew, ‘Repeat message command.’
The static rose again, his commanders voice surging through, ‘You are ordered to break off engagement and proceed to the north…the Russians have broken through the Romanians and Hungarian positions on the Don River and are advancing towards Rostov…we are urgently needed there to stop them!’
The Russian assault had been beaten back, but at a heavy loss in men and equipment. The Germans held the field, but the advance had stalled. The 2nd Guards Army, the strongest fighting force of Mother Russia, had delayed the Stalingrad relief effort just long enough.
Operation Winter Storm, with Luftwaffe Field Divisions not fit for combat operations…without the promised divisions that had either not been released or arrived...had tried valiantly to break through to the starving encircled troops of the Sixth Army in the frozen city only thirty miles further away.
Operation Winter Storm, the advance to relieve Stalingrad…now without the hundred plus tanks of the 6th Panzer Division…had failed.
Chapter Seventy Nine: Consolidation
The German sniper stared through his scope, the distance to the tall buildings ahead about two hundred and fifty metres, snowflakes slowly drifting to earth between them. He had waited most of the long cold day, the two shattered windows opposite his position still occupied by Russian infantry.
From his position in the roof of a tenement block, he had a good overview of the street ahead. The grey Panzer III and Panzer IV sat on the crossroads, the armoured cars surrounding them, their rationed ammunition depleted. In the distance, the Sdkfz 251 was still smouldering slightly, the burnt out steel hull now exposed to the snow flurries, the bodies inside now frozen solid.
Above the smouldering armoured carrier, the Russians also occupied the third and fourth floors of the apartment block, the building opposite the one the sniper was targeting, the roof now bowed and broken in places, the supports having been weakened.
Slowly he scanned the windows through his scope, his body wrapped in blankets, the cloth wrapped barrel extended through a small crack in the roof tiles of the tenement. Then he stiffened, seeing shadows through one of the windows move. Licking his dried lips, he slowly squinted further, the suspected movement in the room beyond the open window seeming to be at the back, in the darkness. Then his heart seemed to skip a beat, the Russian metal helmet slowly rising from the corner of the window frame, his mouth twitching in a smile as he considered the inexperienced soldier was glancing out.
His gloved finger moved slowly to the trigger, the helmet seeming to stop as the Russian glanced out of the window into the street below. The targeted helmet was low, the lip of the steel just above the shattered window sill, the face in darkness. The German sniper squinted further, aiming for just above the base of the helmet, the bullet to enter the Russian’s forehead. He caught his breath, the trigger squeezed as the rifle kicked.
The helmet clattered backwards, the sniper raising his head slightly in curiosity…did his bullet find its mark? The flash from the building opposite was instant, the Russian sniper responding to the muzzle flash in the rooftop of the tenements in the distance. Lowering his scoped Mosin Nagrant, the grey felt padded uniformed soldier smiled, having seen the blood splatter across the roof tiles opposite. Turning to grin triumphantly at the two Russian soldiers lying on the dust and rubble caked floorboards under the window, he ducked down, ‘You can put your helmet back on now…the fascist sniper is dead!’
Tatu gritted his teeth in anger, spitting into the dust beneath his feet. He turned to Petru, his frustration rising as he looked up to the ceiling, ‘Bastard Russians have all the food we need for a good meal…why did we stop?’
Petru shrugged, smelling the aroma of the food being cooked above, ‘They have two ways in…both heavily defended. The Leutnant was right not to continue the attack…we would lose too many men!’
Tatu glanced at his countryman, stiffening as he heard a rifle crack from above, his expression mellowing as he nodded solemnly, ‘Yes…you are probably right as usual…’ He slapped the soldier’s arm smiling deviously, ‘Come on my friend…let us see if Romanian ingenuity can overcome German blind logic!’
Udet and Hase followed Leutnant Hausser as the commander inspected the area they had taken. The younger Berliner felt dizzy from the lack of food, his steps half dragging as he walked after the officer. Hausser checked the rooms they had broken through, two soldiers in each with their rifles trained on the broken ceilings above, blood dripping from the holes above and beginning to congeal on the floor. Muffled gunfire echoed across the walls, the fighting near the river flaring up, several shots ringing out across the square as riflemen in the building opposite fired through ceilings and along darkened passageways.
Slipping into the hallway, the officer stepped gingerly towards the soldiers at the bottom of the stairs leading to the floor above. Nodding a greeting, he whispered, ‘They still have two machine guns up there?’’
The infantryman nodded, his tired features strained, ‘Are we going to attack Herr Leutnant?’
Hausser smiled faintly, his voice low, ‘Let’s let the Russkies relax a bit first…perhaps they will make a mistake…’
The infantryman nodded, glancing upwards towards the darkened corridor above, the murmur of Russian voices and the faint smell of tobacco drifting down the wooden steps.
Hausser glanced round, several soldiers sat on the floor of the corridor, their heads bowed, ‘Where are the prisoners?’
The infantryman indicated to the floor, ‘All on the ground floor, Herr Leutnant. I think we were ordered to take them back along the waterway when it gets dark…’
The commander nodded, ‘Very well…I will go and have a look.’ He trudged down the corridor, stepping over outstretched legs as a couple of the dirty uniformed troops looked up at him, three attempting to move their limbs to assist him.
Udet and Hase tramped after him, nodding to the seated infantrymen, their blank, expressionless faces showing the tiredness from lack of food and the situation. Following the Leutnant down the stairs, they trudged into the ground floor hallway, the twelve prisoners seated shivering along the walls, their arms to their sides as they sat on their hands. The cold air from the open doors at the end enveloped them, the prisoners glancing despondently at the passing officer as a great-coated sergeant with an MP40 and two riflemen watched them from the end.
The sergeant stiffened as Hausser approached, his hand rising to his helmet i
n salute. The commander returned the gesture, his voice low, ‘Are you taking the prisoners back along the waterway shortly?’
The sergeant nodded, ‘Yes Herr Leutnant, our commander gave me specific orders…so we will be moving as soon as it gets dark.’
Hausser nodded inquisitively, ‘Good…has the captain been here? Where is he now?’
The sergeant grinned, stamping his boots, ‘In the building at the end of the square…there were many wounded apparently. He had slipped here through the cellars…we can move around most of the buildings in the square that way.’
Hausser’s eyes widened, ‘Where is the entrance?’
The sergeant raised his gloved hand, pointing at the end of the hallway, ‘Next to the back door, there is a narrow staircase…’ The man grimaced, ‘Keep an eye out though…there were a couple of Russkies hiding down there when he came through with his men…’ He grinned ironically, ‘…They are not hiding anymore!’
The young commander smiled, staring in awe at the man’s obvious relish, wearily rubbing his hand across the back of his neck, ‘We will go and speak to him…see what he wants us to do!’ He indicated to Udet and Hase, ‘Let’s go for a walk underground then…’ Then he hesitated, turning back the sergeant, ‘Take the prisoners out of the cold into the side rooms…’
The sergeant’s eyes narrowed, his expression darkening as Hausser trudged away, a young infantryman with the officer staring directly at him, ‘Very well, Herr Leutnant!’
The young commander stepped carefully down the cement steps, broken plaster cracking beneath his boots. Udet followed, his gloved hands running down the walls for support, his senses seeming to swim in the cold. His body felt hot, the lack of food causing dizziness and nausea as his boots slid on the steps. Hase walked behind, chilled by the sergeant’s demeanour on the hallway above, his mind conflicted as they walked into the gloom below.
Bloody Stalingrad Page 70