Occasionally Hase or Udet would push a water canteen to the soldier’s lips, the drops of cold liquid spilling onto the blood soaked wooden floor as he tried to drink. The lorry jolted again, a moan from next to him startling Hausser, the blinded soldier seeming to squeal in frustration and pain. He grasped the officer’s tarpaulin cover tightly, the waterproof blanket placed across both men, another across the prone man in the centre.
Hase watched as the officer patted the wounded soldier’s arm reassuringly, his voice shaking, ‘It will not be much longer…we should be at Gumrak airfield soon, then you can have something to eat and a flight home. Do you want some water?’
The soldier nodded, swallowing hard, ‘Danke…bitte!’
Hausser lifted his own canteen from his lap, carefully moving it to the wounded man’s lips as his hands reached up, attempting to find the bottle. Swigging greedily, the soldier lowered the metal bottle, his voice nervous, ‘Do all wounded soldiers get flown out?’
Hausser shifted uncomfortably, his eyes meeting with Hase, ‘I think so…your wounds should be sufficient.’
The soldier smiled painfully, shaking his head, ‘One shell blast…I was too slow moving from the window…I lay there for a whole day before they could get me out. Blinded…the pain, intense pain, shooting through my head. I could hear the rats, the moans from the floor below…I didn’t know if the Russians could see me…I was too terrified to move. Damn medics took so long!’
Hausser grasped his arm tightly, ‘Is it permanent? I mean…will you be able to see again?’
The soldier shrugged, ‘The medic said maybe in time. I could see some lights, but it was very painful…’ He bit his lip, the emotion rising in his body.
The young soldier on the other side of the commander coughed, saliva dribbling from his mouth as he strained his voice against the pain in his torso, ‘At least you were shot by the enemy…I marched over a thousand miles to get hit by one of our own men!’ He sighed, grasping the water bottle Hausser offered him, ‘I used to ski…be a fast runner…getting shot in the darkness of a sewer…somewhere I could not use my fitness!’ He shrugged again, swigging from the bottle, staring at Hase and Udet opposite, indicating to them, ‘Keep them safe Herr Leutnant…you are their future now…not this damn army!’
The soldier with the bandaged face and head stiffened, ‘You are a leutnant…erm, my apologies Sir…I meant no defeatism!’
Hausser grasped his arm comfortingly again, a smirk crossing his face, ‘Don’t worry…its nothing I have not thought myself before.’ He raised the water bottle again as the truck bounced over an obstacle beneath the snow, the tyres spinning as the driver tried to gain traction.
The groans filled the rear of the lorry, the soldier on the floor wincing in agony as his newly bandaged wound hit the wooden floor, his teeth gritted in pain, ‘Scheisse…this driver is getting no tip!’
Udet leant forward offering the soldier a drink again, the man nodding painfully, ‘Not the greatest night out either in Mother Russia…dinner and a show?’ He strained his eyes, sipping from the canteen, ‘The Russkies laid on good fireworks, but no dancing!’ The trooper grinned against the agony, ‘I was blown away by the show though!’
Udet giggled, his young features drawn as he patted the man’s shoulder comfortingly, ‘You will soon be flying home…’ Tatu and Petru smirked, hiding their smiles with their gloved hands.
The lorry lurched to a halt suddenly, the driver knocking on the back of his cab, ‘Alles aus! Sorry, Herr Leutnant, we have wounded on the track ahead…I think your lift ends here!’
Hausser clambered to his feet, unfastening the tarpaulin cover at the back of the truck as the soldier from the passenger seat appeared below, snow billowing around him, ‘Herr Leutnant, can you and you men help the wounded aboard please?’ The soldier looked up shivering, ‘Keep your tarpaulin sheets against the wind chill…Gumrak is now about fifteen kilometres away to the north and there is a storm coming.’ The man glanced warily upwards at the snow laden clouds crossing over them.
The young commander nodded, his eyes widening as he saw the bitterness of the weather outside, the powdered snow sweeping across the track with the high winds. Turning, he looked at his men despondently, ‘Wrap up warm…cover your faces…this is going to be hard!’
Chapter Eighty One: The track North
The merciless gale swept across the flat and desolate steppe, frozen powdered snow swirling in the air as they trudged forward. The wind chill was nearly beyond comprehension, catching breath and freezing exhaled air. It whipped against the tarpaulin sheeting the soldiers grasped tightly for protection. Wrapping the material above their weapons and greatcoats, their collars pulled up high, they struggled forward, their backs turned at an angle against the wind to facilitate ease of breathing and shelter any exposed features. The dirty scarves round their mouths and noses were dusted with ice, complimenting their frosted helmets and windcheaters. The wind chill had forced the temperature down dramatically, the visibility now ten to fifteen metres in the swirling snow.
Ice formed across their eyebrows as they pushed their boots through the deepening snow, their bloodshot eyes narrowed against the elements as they headed north, their helmets pulled down tightly. The force of the wind tugged at their legs on each step, their filthy padded worn Russian underwear proving little comfort as the infesting lice struggled for warmth against their flesh.
They covered one kilometre in forty minutes, Leutnant Hausser’s concern rising as he realised the pace was slowing in the extreme weather. He considered a short rest, discounting it as he realised they would become more exposed, their bodies’ temperatures perhaps unable to rise again.
The Opel Blitz lorries were full once they had loaded the twelve wounded, the driver shaking his head in frustration as he admitted they would probably meet more injured men…their chances of survival limited in the worsening storm. He had advised Hausser that once they had reached Gumrak airfield and deposited their precious cargo, he would attempt to return and collect them, fuel and orders permitting.
Struggling through the snow, he formed them into a huddled group, rotating the two men facing the wind to try and keep them warmer. Pushing them forward, he shouted encouragement, ‘that it was not much further’, ‘that there would be a warm meal waiting’…it was no use, they no longer seemed to believe him. Even Tatu was quiet, his usual robust body seeming to struggle, the lower rations having stolen the flesh from his frame. Udet had to be moved into the centre regularly, his thinner body visibly struggling as they slowly progressed, his shoulders shaking.
They passed some bodies in the snow, the recently deceased soldiers freezing as the storm swept in. Most had been wounded, their bodies already weakened before they attempted the trek to the airfield, setting out in clear conditions and then being physically overwhelmed as the strong wind chilled them to the bone. Some hands and legs protruded from the drifting flakes at the sides of the track, victims of the current weather or storms over the previous two days. Most of the victims had innocently looked at the maps, presuming a short walk would get them to safety…a last walk as the elements swept in. Some had stopped to rest, to await the storm passing, their inexperience dragging them into gradual slumber as their body temperatures dropped rapidly.
Hase stiffened as he saw a couple of figures in the distance, through the sweeping snow. Raising his arm slightly, he shouted, ‘Hausser!’ The wind catching his words, the commander glanced in his direction briefly and looked ahead. He saw the officer nod, indicating to Tatu and Petru by forcing his hand in front of their sullen faces.
Slowly they neared the two figures, the two wounded German infantrymen limping through the storm, their bodies wrapped in two greatcoats, taken from the dead along the track. They were covered in frozen snow, the overcoats white from frost in the extreme wind. Both shivering, Hausser realised they would not get much further and moved them into the centre of their small group, the soldiers glancing round in dulled and s
ubdued surprise, their chilled minds seeming unable to comprehend what was happening.
Tatu grasped the nearest man’s arm, forcing the chilled limb over his shoulder as they trudged forward, the soldier next to him shivering beneath three layers of clothing. Udet moved in on the other side, the soldier slowly moving his arm round the younger Berliner’s shoulder as they shuffled forward. With their backs half turned against the chilled gale, Hausser and Tatu provided some shelter against the wind as they all forced their boots onwards, being in the centre of the group now offering the wounded men some protection against the bitter wind chill.
The soldiers averted their eyes as more limbs protruded from the snow on both sides, the track rising gradually and exposing them to further wind chill. A soldier sat exposed in the snow ahead, the life having left his frozen eyes an hour before. A couple more corpses lay in the snow as they reached the brow of the hill, the doomed soldiers dropping as they stood, their undernourished bodies too weak to continue further, let alone on to the airfield.
Struggling on, the wind and snow now almost blowing horizontally against their bodies, Tatu and Hausser swapped with Hase and Petru, the group shuddering as the human shield was swayed by the sheer strength of the wind, the protective layer of tarpaulin offering significant protection to their chilled bodies.
Hausser was breathing heavily, the condensation frozen on his scarf, the men’s uniforms around him covered in a thin layer of condensed frost. His mind was becoming dull, the thoughts slower as he realised he was beginning to suffer the first signs exposure, witnessing the signs before Moscow the previous year amongst some of the troops surrounding him.
He struggled to focus, the blinding snow sweeping across their front, the powdered flakes swirling around them as they trudged on. His thoughts began to spiral, his booted feet seeming isolated from his body as he forced them forward, the momentum of the group keeping them going, each man now struggling.
Hase hunched his shoulders, his body more used to the extreme cold, his father a good teacher. Moving his shoulders upwards, the greatcoat collar pushing into his helmet, he glanced across the other soldiers’ faces, their eyes portraying that they would not manage much further, their bodies becoming weaker against the cold. He bit his lips, Udet seeming to be suffering the most, his exposed features more withdrawn and sullen. Petru stumbled next to him, the Romanian’s boot catching on something beneath the snow, a discarded rifle frozen against the ice beneath their feet. Hase held his breath as Petru struggled on, knowing that if they fell, not all would probably rise from the snow again.
Then he stiffened, straining his ears, the wind whipping around him as he forced his frame from the group, dragging his body forward through the snow. Behind him, the soldiers collapsed, the figure leaving the group off-balancing them as they had leant together. Pushing forward, he heard Hausser call out desperately behind, the wind carrying the words away.
He stumbled, his hands pushing him upwards as his body fell, the wind catching his breath as he gasped for air through the frozen scarf. Then the high angular shape in the swirling snow moving from side to side as he stumbled towards it. As it grew larger he forced his lungs to breathe, the freezing air biting at his chest as he stumbled again. The dark shape was grinding round, the armoured car driver turning back towards the airfield as his exposed crew became colder. The Sdkfz 251 loomed into view, the black cross on the side scratched and coated in a thin layer of iced snow.
Hase screamed with frustration, the engine revving again as the vehicle finally completed the turn away from him, his hands reaching out as the engine roared in the vortex of flurrying snow. He lunged further, his chest painful as he reached out, the driver engaging gear and he slammed his fists on the back doors, falling forward into the snow as the armoured carrier lurched away.
His head smacked forward into the snow, the plumes of exhaust pouring into the air as the Sdkfz 251 moved away. Then his face rose from the ice, the muffled shout from within the armoured plate, ‘Achtung! Halt!’
He stared, blinking continually against the cold as the rear doors swung open, two German soldiers jumping out and stumbling towards him. Rolling onto his back, he sucked air through his scarf, the first crew member dropping to his knees next to him. He pushed the man roughly away, pointing back down the track and shouting, ‘There are more!’
The soldier scrambled to his feet, staring down at him incredulously as he realised the man on the snow before him was not wounded, ‘Russkie?’
He nodded blindly, his chest heaving as the soldier slipped the rifle from his shoulder, shouting to his countryman next to him, ‘Hiwi deserter!’
The other crewman gritted his teeth, shouting through the wind, ‘Leave him! Russian scum! If they fought harder we would not be in this mess!’
Hase had tears in his eyes, his mouth gasping for air as he looked up, oblivious to their words, his heart sinking as he saw the rifle barrel in his face, the snow swirling around the figures. His eyes closed again, an empty frustration sweeping through him as his ears caught the sound of the bolt being pulled back.
Then a familiar voice filled his ears, Tatu stumbling through the snow towards them, ‘Nicht Schiessen! Nicht Shiessen! Wir sind freund!’
The soldier turned, his lips forming a sneer, his rifle yanked round, ‘Romanian deserter Schwein!’
Then Hase heard another voice through his pained chest and tears, the command distinct if a little forced, ‘Achtung! Halt! Lower your weapons! Ich bin Leutnant Hausser, 76th Infanterie-Division! These are my men!’
More shouts, a corporal emerging from the back of the carrier, ‘What is going on?’ The soldier, seeing the figure slump exhausted into the snow, pointed forward, ‘Help the officer!’
The two crewmen dropped their rifles, lunging towards Leutnant Hausser as he fell forwards. Tatu dropping to his knees next to Hase, his voice desperate, ‘There are more men behind! Get them!’
Tatu lifted Hase to his chest, the Romanian’s body shaking, his voice trembling, ‘Well done young Hase…you have saved us!’ The wind and snow whipped around them as the quartermaster forced Hase upwards, their minds seeming to spin in the howling gale as they limped towards the open doors at the back of the carrier.
Hausser’s eyes flickered open, the prod to his shoulder forcing reality back into his mind. The young soldier looking down at him smiled, ‘Good morning Herr Leutnant. You have just over one hour to assemble your men and have them fed before we leave for the north…it’s time to go back to your unit.’
The young commander blinked, the faint light of dawn filtering through the damaged hangar doors, ‘Wh-what is going on?’
The soldier rose to his feet, clicking his heels and saluting, a wide grin on his face, ‘Private Mencken, Herr Leutnant, 60th Motorised Division. We were told you may require a lift back to your division.’
Hausser smiled, rising to a seated position, his senses reeling from the sudden movement. The soldier bent down, grasping his shoulder to steady him, ‘Perhaps easy first steps Sir…until you get used to it.’
The commander nodded obediently, his back aching from sleeping on the tarpaulin above a tarmac floor. He glanced around, seeing his four men, a weak smile forming on his lips as he struggled to his feet, his voice strained, ‘Time to get up for breakfast!’
Chapter Eighty Two: Berlin
General Zeitzler’s polished boots squealed on the shining floor of the Reich’s Chancellery as he strode quickly to keep up with the immaculately uniformed officer in front. As Chief of the General Staff, he was early for the meeting he had requested with the Commander in Chief and was keen to utilise the extra time as efficiently as possible. Having recently lost a considerable amount of weight when matching his own rations with that of the trapped army in Stalingrad, his uniform was loose, his body just beginning to gain extra pounds.
Accompanied by his staff officer carrying a despatch case, he removed his officer’s cap and placed it under his right arm as they approached
the last ornate double door, two black uniformed sentries stood to attention on either side. The officer ahead indicated to the seats to the right of the door, his voice indifferent, ‘Please take a seat whilst I see if they are ready to receive you.’
The general nodded, opting to stand next to the antique chairs whilst he waited. The officer tapped at the door twice, the aide inside opening the door immediately. Stepping inside, the door closed behind the man, the general and his staff officer left outside in the wide and lavishly decorated hallway.
His staff officer smiled comfortingly at him, having also lost weight adopting his commander’s regime, the younger man keen to gain authority for their plan. He whispered, ‘Perhaps Herr General this day will prove to be a lucky one?’
Zeitzler nodded, his nervousness apparent as he paced. Turning, he brushed his hand over his moustache, ‘Once they agree to the idea, please produce the maps as soon as possible…I want this resolved today.’ He sighed, ‘It may already be too late…but we must try.’
The staff officer nodded thoughtfully, his voice low, ‘I have placed the maps and tactical plan at the top of the dossier…it is very straight forward…and it will work.’
The door opened once more, the two men stiffening as the officer slipped outside, indicating with his hand to the doorway, ‘They will see you now gentlemen.’
The general smiled uncomfortably, adjusting his tunic and running his hand across his almost bald head, straightening the neatly trimmed hair above his ears. Stepping forward, he drew breath, then stepped through the doorway into the large office, his staff officer following. The officer stepped behind them, closing the door quietly.
The room was long and rectangular, several figures sat in easy chairs at the end. Large paintings adorned the walls, some of the greatest military commanders that history had experienced staring down at him. A long red carpet lead to the seating area with two oak desks on either side of the room before the lounging area for secretaries or note takers. To their right, a large desk lay cluttered with maps, an intelligence officer marking one with a pencil, updating the positions.
Bloody Stalingrad Page 72