Bloody Stalingrad

by Andrew McGregor

  The Luftwaffe officer ran desperately from the control tower, slipping on the iced snow outside the small radio office overlooking the airfield, his hands reaching frantically for the metal railing surrounding the platform. Grasping the cold metal, the skin on his bare hands immediately freezing against the steel, he shouted at the ground crews below, the cold catching his voice, ‘Achtung! Achtung! Russkie Panzers!’

  The startled crews below looked up, the officer wrenching his hand from the metal railing, the surface of his palm and fingers tearing as he raised his hand to point towards the distant end of the field.

  The ground crew followed his arm, their adrenalin and fear rising as they strained their eyes to stare into the distance. Then they froze, the first small dark shape rising over the white rise on the horizon. More shapes appeared along the ridge, the dark angular hulls clear in the chilled morning sharpness. Stunned into inaction, they were mesmerised. Then the first distant flash broke them from their frozen stares, the panic surging through them, the sound waves rumbling across the airfield as the first Russian tanks opened fire.

  The German sandbagged defensive positions at the edge of the field, initially surprised by the appearance of Russian armour on the crest of the hill before them, opened fire erratically, their machine gun rounds bouncing off the metal hulks of the tanks as they began to sweep down the gradual slope towards them.

  Major Badanov turned the wheel before him frantically, the heavy metal turret slowly turning to point towards one of the emplacements. He ducked instinctively as a flash swept past inches from his viewing slit, a defensive pak gun firing from the side of the airfield ahead. The clunk and dull explosion behind threw a T34 turret skywards as the shell penetrated the tank behind, flames shooting into the air as the ammunition inside the hull detonated.

  He gasped, the clanks of debris hitting the back of his own tank from the explosion echoing around the inside of his steel plate. Bullets splattered off the hull, bouncing and clanking as the machine bucked against the uneven snow. Staring down the scope of the 85mm main gun, he grasped the firing mechanism, the tank settling as it traversed onto smoother ground. The T34 shuddered as he fired, the flash from the main gun momentarily blinding him as he stared back through the viewing slit. The sandbags exploded into the air, the machine gun crew killed as the high explosive round blew their shattered bodies across the snow.

  The tank accelerated, crunching over one of the felled machine gunners as it reached full speed and swept forward towards the runway. The tanks behind ground forward, explosions landing between them as the few guns defending the field were frantically turned to face their advance. On the runway, two JU52 transport aircraft tore down the snowed tarmac, their pilots desperate to escape the oncoming threat. The tanks fired at their fleeing prey, explosions burst either side and behind the two large planes as they slowly rose into the air, their pilots straining against the controls to gain maximum height as quickly as possible.

  The lower machine gun rattled as the Russian major desperately raised a shell to reload the main gun. Tracer bullets flew across the field, a fuel lorry exploding as the bullets flashed across the vehicle, the flames and black smoke billowing high into the crisp air.

  As Badanov thrust the shell into the breach, he glanced back through the narrow viewing slit, his eyes widening as he saw a Messerschmitt fighter loom before them, the pilot swinging the plane round onto the runway. The T34 smashed through the small fighter aircraft, the frame disintegrating as the steel forced its way through the plane. The pilot was killed instantly as the hulk crushed him underneath its heavy tracks.

  The lower machine gunner cut down crews running across the field, the pilots and ground staff attempting to get to their stationary aircraft before the tanks destroyed them. Plumes of smoke rose into the air as more and more aircraft were hit, their fuel tanks exploding as debris was tossed into the air and across the freezing snow.

  The small number of pak guns defending the field were destroyed one by one, the sheer number of attacking tanks overwhelming the German defences. The tanks roamed the field, crashing into aircraft as they stood by the sides of the airfield, the German defenders attempting to destroy the attackers at close hand, using grenades and small anti-tank weapons.

  As the last few planes managed to rise into the air, several crashing as the machine gunners in the tanks fired at point blank range, the T34’s turned their focus on destroying all the remaining aircraft across the snow. Major Badanov grinned to himself as the T34 smashed through a Fieseler Storch reconnaissance aircraft, the slim airframe buckling and collapsing on its wheels as the tank ground over its victim, flattening and shattering the small plane.

  After the long advance, the tank crews rammed most of the remaining planes, wary of preserving ammunition. Reaching the control tower and surrounding hangars, the tanks machine gunned and drove over the soldiers defending the buildings, their main guns firing into the hangars and blowing up fuel supplies with the aircraft being repaired.

  Major Badanov squinted through the viewing slit, sweat pouring down his face as he slammed the breach shut again. His eyes narrowed, the sight beyond the airfield buildings pleasing him as he licked his lips in anticipation. Two hundred metres behind the control tower, with German soldiers, ground crew and pilots fleeing across the snow towards it, the airfield railway station had two trains sitting on sidings. The long winding railway cars behind them full, their long open top trucks carrying numerous aircraft ready to be reassembled.

  He glanced down at the driver, his hands reaching for the firing mechanism, ‘Let’s destroy the rest!’

  To the north, behind the Russian raid’s advance, the German tanks of the 11th and 6th Panzer Divisions met, smashing through the flanks of the Russian held corridor that led to the airfield. Leutnant Siegfried Schmidt had driven his unit a long way from the south.

  Major Badanov and his tanks were cut off and surrounded by the enemy…but the damage to the German air relief effort had already been achieved. The Russians claimed that they had destroyed 300 aircraft, the Germans claimed it was only 72. Even at 72, over ten percent of the entire German transport fleet across all theatres had gone…the Stalingrad air supply effort was virtually crippled.

  Chapter Eighty Five: Christmas Eve 1942, Stalingrad

  Hauptmann Ebner’s boots crunched on the plaster fragments and dirt on the stairs, his breath laboured as he climbed towards the first floor of the administration block. Turning at the top, he smiled weakly as Major Slusser rose from his broken chair, his face flushed from lack of sleep. Clicking his heels, the captain saluted, the major grinning as his hand rose wearily to his helmet, ‘Good to see you Ebner…the others should be here shortly, please have a seat.’ The major indicated to an upturned metal pail, the captain stepping forward to shake his hand.

  Major Slusser reached forward, grasping the outstretched arm firmly, ‘So tell me what is happening in the south…’

  Hauptmann Ebner slowly lowered himself onto the bucket, removing his helmet, his matted hair clinging to his head. He sighed, wiping his tired eyes, the cold seeping through the sandbags piled across the windows, ‘There is increased Russian activity…several of my men have been wounded or killed due to enemy snipers…’ He hesitated as the stairs creaked, two more officers climbing to join them for the late afternoon briefing.

  The major nodded, indicating for the arrivals to join them around the table, his adjutant sat behind him leaning against the wall. Smiling at the bedraggled uniforms before him, he leant back, retrieving four dirty glass tumblers and depositing them on top of the maps on the table, ‘Let’s have a Christmas drink gentlemen…toast to past victories and our future here!’

  The glasses clinked as they were topped up from the vodka bottle, the officers leaning forward to collect their drinks. Slusser passed a glass behind him to his adjutant, indicating for the man to join them, ‘So gentlemen, Prost!’ he raised his glass, swigging from the fiery liquid, the men drawing breath as
the strong alcohol bit at their throats.

  The major leant forward, glancing across the map, ‘Well the front has remained relatively stable…our soldiers are performing well considering their deprivations…’ His eyes narrowed, ‘…But for how long, we can only wait and see.’

  Hauptmann Ebner nodded, sipping from his drink and exhaling as the major offered cigarettes around, ‘Is there any news from Von Manstein’s forces?’

  Major Slusser grimaced, ‘I think we should consider the situation currently beyond Von Manstein’s control. His troops have been beaten back and I have just received a signal that the forward supply airfield has come under direct fire. The Luftwaffe flight that just landed reported seeing Russian tanks approaching as they took off…the southern front is apparently perilous for us gentlemen…with Army Group A being withdrawn from the south.’ He swigged from his tumbler again, draining the glass and wincing, ‘Once the front is stabilised, I believe they will try to break through to us again…but at present we are on our own, relying on the Luftwaffe for supplies.’

  The two officers behind Ebner shook their heads in despair, one visibly shaken by the news. Hauptmann Ebner stared at the major, his eyes piercing in the cold air, ‘So when should we expect this next attack towards us?’

  Major Slusser shrugged, his voice becoming low as he looked across the three men, ‘Perhaps a couple of weeks…there are more forces coming from other sectors of the front, but they are moving in difficult conditions and time is against us…’

  The officer behind Ebner rose from his seat, his expression despondent, ‘I think time will have run out by then major…our soldiers are dying now from the cold and starvation…’ The officer swallowed hard, downing his drink for courage, ‘…An attack in two weeks would mean relief in three or four weeks…I think this army is finished Herr Major…we are all finished.’

  The major nodded thoughtfully, his eyes softening towards the officer, knowing he was at breaking point, ‘I understand your frustration Johannes…but there is little we can do to resolve the situation.’ He indicated for the officer to sit back down, ‘All we can do is give hope to the men…provide them with as much food as we can muster from Sixth Army.’ He straightened in his seat, the officer sitting back down and the man next to him laying a comforting hand on his shoulder, ‘There are extra supplies today and tomorrow, so let us briefly celebrate our Christmas here and hope next year we will be in a better place…perhaps even back in Germany?’

  The officer nodded sheepishly, clearly embarrassed by his outburst. Hauptmann Ebner glanced round, winking at the two officers behind, his jaw firm, ‘Perhaps the major would like to come and inspect the soldiers at the forward command post before it gets too dark? Personally wish them Happy Christmas before they turn in?’

  Major Slusser smiled, nodding thoughtfully, his energy returning, ‘Of course…there is some additional drinks we can issue…let’s have a little celebration and cheer the men up?’ He turned to his adjutant, his eyebrows raised, the man nodding and smiling in response.

  The officers grinned sheepishly, rising from their seats, their greatcoats fastened tightly across their thin frames. Hauptmann Ebner lifted his helmet, concealing a smile from the major as they stepped towards the stairs, the commander instructing the release of particular additional rations to his adjutant.

  As their boots clumped down the stairs, Ebner spoke again before lifting his scarf, ‘I have left Hauptmann Gerstle in the southern command post…would you wish to see him for the next briefing.’

  The major shook his head in disgruntlement at the top of the stairs, ‘Gerstle can stay where he is…I have no time for him in this situation…’

  The officers each grimaced slightly, knowing their commander did not forgive mistakes easily. Slipping into the trenches outside, the cold air swept across them almost taking their breath away. Snowflakes fluttered to earth from the darkening sky, a storm beginning to move in from the east across the Volga. Distant gunshots and a muffled explosion swept across the landscape, snipers stalking their prey and looking for mistakes from an exhausted enemy.

  The shattered walls of the main factory building rose up before them, the officers’ bodies lowered as they progressed along the snow filled trenches towards the darkened structure, its open roof exposed to the bitter cold and elements above.

  As the trench emerged into the office area of the factory, Hauptmann Ebner glanced to either side, the shattered glass crunching beneath their feet. Broken and smashed typewriters and files were scattered across the small offices, the soldiers having searched the rooms thoroughly for any combustible material for warmth.

  Walking to the end of the office section, the two officers behind whispering to each other, he turned to the left, skirting smashed and shattered equipment and heading for the engineering workshops, the men behind following.

  Major Slusser stopped at the end, staring suspiciously towards them, ‘Where are you going…the forward command post is straight on?’

  Hauptmann Ebner glanced over his shoulder, ‘Just checking something Sir…it should not take too long!’

  The major shrugged, trudging after them as they stepped over broken conveyor belts, their footing in the snow precarious with numerous bolts and tools concealed beneath the frozen white blanket. The officers continued forward across the main factory floor, weaving through the shattered equipment, snowflakes falling from the holes and open roof above, the clouds of their exhaled breath hanging in the air behind them.

  As night fell, the captain could see the glow in the workshops ahead, his smile widening as his boots crunched onto broken plaster and wood fragments, the roof in this section still in one piece. Brushing his greatcoat shoulders, he strode along a narrow corridor, the small tool sections on either side now darkened and deserted.

  Emerging into the main engineering workshop, he raised his finger to his mouth discretely, the assembled soldiers nodding in silence as footsteps behind the captain got louder. Two more officers stepped into the room, the major’s voice behind them in the corridor becoming frustrated, ‘I don’t know what you are up to Ebner, but…’ The commander’s eyes widened in surprise as he stopped suddenly, the forty assembled soldiers grinning widely at him.

  The crack of boots across the floor resounded around the factory as all stood to attention, the boom of voices making the other soldiers on the front line grin, ‘Frohe Weihnachten, Herr Major!’

  Major Slusser grinned widely, his eyes opening further as the bedraggled troopers slowly stepped back opening a space in the centre. Several candles flickered along the wall behind, in the centre, a makeshift Christmas tree modelled from wooden ammunition crates.

  The major’s adjutant emerged behind him with several soldiers, all carrying additional supplies and alcohol. A bottle of wine from France, two bottles of Romanian rum, some Schnapps and several ceramic jugs of potato vodka bought from the residents on the outskirts. The additional food was carried in, each soldier receiving one extra slice of bread and meat for Christmas, compliments of Sixth Army command.

  Major Slusser’s eyes welled with emotion as the captain stepped forward, ‘Forgive me Sir, it was too much of a temptation to resist in surprising you! We have arranged for each soldier across the front in the factory to come for a short time…they will rotate and hopefully the Russkies will provide a respite for a short period.’

  The major nodded, grinning, ‘Schwein! I had no idea…I wondered where the hell you were going!’

  Mess tins clinked as the soldiers of the 389th Infantry Division and their officers ate and drank from the meagre party supplies, each man wary of consuming more than his entitlement. The major stared at the modelled Christmas tree, the candle light flickering against it. Tears welled in his eyes as he thought of home and his family, each man having comparable thoughts drift through their minds as the evening progressed.

  The Russian captain crept up the broken steps in the building near the river, called for by one of his forward obse
rvers. As he climbed the stairs in the dark, his hand running along the pitted wall to his right for support, becoming eerily aware of the almost silent battlefield before them, the heavy snowflakes falling to earth across the broken and torn terrain.

  Reaching the vantage point on the third floor, a smashed side room with a small shell hole in the corner, he nodded a greeting to the silhouetted soldier near the torn wall. Lowering himself to the debris covered floor and wincing at the pain shooting though his upper body from his injury, he crawled towards the broken wall, taking the binoculars from the soldier and raising them to his eyes.

  The land before him was dark, the snow extending into the distance broken only by the occasional broken wall or trench line. The snowfall was thick, his vision obscured as he strained to try and see the buildings in the distance to no avail. The captain, whispering to the side, ‘It is very quiet…what are the Germans doing?’

  The infantryman in the darkness next to him grinned at his captain, his voice hushed, ‘Listen Sir…you can hear them if you listen hard!’

  The captain turned his head, pulling his overcoat collar down and ear muffs back as he strained his ears.

  Then his lips pursed to a smile, the faint sounds of hoarse soldiers’ voices drifting across the front line towards them…

  ‘Tont es laut von fern und nah,

  Christ, der Retter ist da!

  Christ, der Retter ist da!’

  The infantryman next him spoke again, ‘They are singing Sir…the fascists are singing! Shall we call down artillery on their positions?’

  Captain Medvedev turned his head back to face the soldier, a wide smile on his lips as he shook his head, recognising the song, the German voices perfectly in unison, ‘Leave them…let them sing! It’s all they have now I think…’ He shrugged, shaking his head, as he slapped the soldier’s shoulder playfully, ‘…Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht! They still have some spirit left…though perhaps not for long now!’