The young soldier clutching the sniper rifle next to them leant forward, picking up some blankets and tossing them towards the four huddled men. He indicated towards Hase as the young man’s shoulders shook uncontrollably, whispered quietly in an Austrian accent to the officer next to him, ‘He has the Iron Cross around his neck…these are your true soldiers of the Wehrmacht.’
Below them a lone hunched figure trudged through the deepening snow, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably as he sobbed, the pain at losing his friend overcoming him. A shadow stepped out before him, a brave and warm smile on Major Schenk’s face, ‘Come on Friedrich…let’s have a drink together before we head north into the city…’
The last and final flight out of Stalingrad had just left the Kessel.
Chapter Ninety Seven: Aftermath
In the south of the factory district, Hauptmann Ebner drew nervously on his cigarette, his remaining men huddled in the ground floor corridors of the NKVD District Headquarters. The roof of the building had now collapsed, the heavy shelling of the city from outside destroying the upper floor and killing nearly twenty soldiers as the high explosive shells had hit the building directly.
A Wehrmacht soldier crept towards him along the darkened corridor, his eyes sparkling with excitement, ‘Herr Hauptmann, the Russkies are outside!’
Ebner nodded solemnly, indicating for his men to rise as he looked down the basement stairs, a determination sweeping across his face as he called out, ‘Gerstle…we are leaving now.’
There was no reply, Hauptmann Ebner shaking his head in frustration as he moved the soldiers towards the door, the men depositing their rifles in the smashed reception area.
In the darkened basement, Hauptmann Gerstle sat slumped on the floor in one of the cells, the broken door hanging from its hinges. Swigging greedily from a bottle of Vodka, the tears began to run down his face, his hands shaking as he stared at the single flickering candle opposite the stairs.
His shoulders shaking, he downed the remaining vodka and ran his hands through his bedraggled hair nervously. Biting his lip, he reached out with determination, grasping the Luger pistol from the dusty floor and raising it sharply to his chin. The single shot rang out through the ground floor as the candle blew out.
Hauptmann Ebner hesitated, shaking his head, then pushed the broken front door open, his hands raised.
Major Schenk smiled weakly at Oberleutnant Baumann, a shell exploding nearby causing them both to duck instinctively as dust cascaded from the ceiling. In the shattered and debris strewn basement, the major looked round the six soldiers with them, the men thin and withdrawn, the clouds of frozen exhaled air hanging around them. Two were smoking the last of the cigarettes, passing the diminishing butts round the other men, their faces ashen.
The major straightened his uniform, the torn and dirty leather overcoat hanging from his frame, his stomach churning. Adjusting the iron cross around his neck nervously, he surveyed the gathered men, the muffled sounds of machine gun fire outside as the Russians advanced further, disposing of any perceived opposition and the wounded.
Slowly and wearily, he struggled to his feet, the MP40 submachine gun in his hands almost empty. He indicted to his adjutant to also stand, the soldiers gradually rising with them. His eyes moist with emotion, he smiled at his radio operator as the young man limped painfully down the stairs, nodding knowingly as the soldier grimaced to him. The troops formed instinctively into a line, their uniforms caked with dirt and dried blood. A number had heavily wrapped wounds, the lice eating at their weakened and sored flesh beneath their filthy bandages.
Major Schenk nodded as Oberleutnant Baumann coughed and rasped a breath of frozen air, the emotion high in his throat as he spoke, ‘You men have performed your duty well.’ He looked at each soldier individually, their grimy faces showing the last reserves of energy in determination, ‘The setbacks the division has suffered that has led us to this hell are not of your making. You should stand personally proud for the sacrifices you have made and of the countrymen and friends you have lost.’ He swallowed hard, a sickly feeling spreading through his stomach, ‘Today is the second of February 1943…the end of the war for us. We have received orders…our last…that on this day we are to lay down our arms. Our struggle is over.’
The soldiers stared blankly back at him, seeing the subordinate commander next to him was almost broken as the major slowly rested his hand on Oberleutnant Baumann’s shoulder, the men stiffening as they heard distant muffled Russian voices, the advancing enemy soldiers shouting for the survivors to come out of hiding.
The major’s eyes softened as he addressed them, Baumann’s shoulders trembling, ‘Friedrich and I will have the pleasure of leading you one more time…out to become prisoners of war.’ A tear ran down the adjutants face as he tightened his jaw, the major continuing, ‘Lay your weapons down and follow us…make no sudden movements and try to keep with us. It has been the ultimate honour for both of us to serve with you all.’
The young radio operator stiffened, his right hand rising sharply to his helmeted temple as he saluted, tears in his eyes. The other six men followed suit, the clicking of boots on the debris covered floor resounding round the small basement.
Major Schenk stood sharply to attention, returning the salute with Baumann. The soldiers stood there for a second, their individual thoughts draining away. Then the major stepped forward, dropping his submachine gun onto the floor, the weapon clattering into the dust. Walking towards the staircase, the sounds of rifles discarded to the broken floor tiles behind him, he hesitated at the bottom step, turning to look into Baumann’s face. A weak smile as his hand dropped onto the man’s shoulder. He whispered, ‘The time I have spent with you my friend has been one of the greatest experiences of my life.’
Oberleutnant Baumann nodded, tears in his eyes, his voice broken, ‘We have come a long way together…I am sure we may have many experiences yet…’
The major nodded thoughtfully, the bottom step from the basement creaking as he began to climb. Reaching the top of the wooden staircase, he glanced cautiously out into the light, seeing Russian soldiers standing nervously across the shattered street. He cleared his throat, adrenalin surging through his exhausted body as he raised his voice, ‘German soldiers coming out. We are unarmed and are surrendering.’
Raising his hands to either side, he stepped out into the cold light, the steps creaking behind him.
Captain Medvedev ducked behind the destroyed machinery next to a broken conveyor belt, frozen snow covering the workshop floor. He had struggled through the trenches for some time to reach this point in the destroyed factory, his men following him through the ruins and past the numerous frozen and shattered bodies of the defenders. Stopping briefly in a small damaged accommodation block, originally a forward command post for the German defenders in the area, he had read the slogans written on the basement wall, the scrawled words of courage and defiance from the previous occupants…defenders that were now finally beaten.
He glanced out, towards the engineering workshops at the end of the factory, his heart beating hard in his chest as his men assumed positions to either side of him. He looked round, grasping his PPSH 41 submachine gun tightly and seeing their determined faces. Smiling faintly, he hissed across them, ‘These are the last fascists in Stalingrad, the rest have all surrendered…these will not.’ He grimaced, remembering the clear instructions of the commissar before he struggled into the factory, ‘We are the Russians that will destroy the last defenders…’ Hesitating, he drew breath, the words seeming to catch in his throat as he considered what he was about to say, his personal fear of a return to a penal unit high, ‘…We take no prisoners…show no mercy…we kill them all!’
Meino slumped back against the broken masonry in the factory office at the other end of the engineering section, wincing at the pain shooting through his shoulder. His undernourished body and drawn features portraying complete exhaustion as he stared shivering at the commander, the o
fficer’s face flushed from tiredness. He nodded grimly as the officer glanced at him, forcing a grin, ‘This is it Herr Major…the end…it looks like we will not enjoy a drink together at my parents Inn in Sinj after all.’ Dropping the empty MP40 ammunition container onto the dust covered floor of the office, he painfully clipped the last magazine into the underneath of the submachine gun, stealing a glance out over the snow covered ruined factory in front of them as the blood flowed down his arm.
Major Slusser grimaced, swigging from his water bottle, his last taste of the potato vodka searing his dry throat. Tossing the metal canister to the Croatian, he smiled grimly, ‘Perhaps our drink will have to be here then!’ He turned to the young soldier next to him, his own weapon half empty, face determined, ‘Send the message…’
The ashen faced young soldier nodded solemnly, swallowing and adjusting the controls on the shortwave radio set, raising the microphone to his mouth, his throat dry, ‘Hello?…We are the last survivors of this place. Four of us are wounded. We have been entrenched in the wreckage of the tractor factory for four days. We have not had food for four days. I have just opened the last magazine for my automatic. In ten minutes, the Bolsheviks will overrun us.’ He coughed, the dust catching in his throat as a cloud of frozen exhaled air covered the set, ‘Tell my father that I have done my duty…and that I shall know how to die. Long live Germany!’
In the engineering workshops the puffs of smoke grenades echoed across the shattered walls and machinery, the muffled shouts of ‘Hurrah’ behind the billowing clouds as the Russian soldiers rose up and charged forward.
The crew of the long range reconnaissance aircraft stared incredulously out of the windows at the devastated and torn city below, the plane circling at high altitude in the late morning light. The Luftwaffe pilot reached for his radio, his voice broken as he spoke with tears in his eyes, ‘No more signs of fighting in Stalingrad. Returning to base.’
The Desperation of Humanity at Stalingrad
Ninety thousand soldiers surrendered at Stalingrad of the three hundred and thirty thousand that had been surrounded in November 1942. It is estimated that the Germans and their allies lost some three hundred thousand men killed, the Russians some five hundred thousand. Civilian casualties are unknown, but are estimated to have been high, the battle for the city probably claiming well over one million lives. The population of Stalingrad was eight hundred and fifty thousand as the German Sixth Army approached the city in the summer of 1942, at the end of the war it was just fifteen hundred.
As the Germans retreated into the city in January 1943, they were eventually split into two pockets. The pocket in the south with Field Marshall Von Paulus surrendering on 31st January, two days before the pocket in the north led by General Schreck on February 2nd 1943. Sporadic and isolated fighting continued long after the final surrender with isolated and small firefights allegedly continuing into March that year.
The ninety thousand frozen and starving prisoners were marched considerable distances from the city in freezing conditions, many dying on their way to the prisoner of war camps. To fall in the snow next to the columns trudging towards the camps would usually result in the individuals being beaten to death or mercifully shot as they lay. Only five thousand soldiers would ever see their homelands again.
In the city and surrounding areas, thousands of frozen German, Russian, Romanian, Hungarian and Italian bodies lay side by side for weeks. The soldiers killed from hostile action, frostbite, the freezing conditions or simply starvation. Their weapons and personal possessions were stripped, the surviving children playing amongst the devastated ruins with the loaded guns of war.
There are many stories from the city of what happened after the surrender. The burning of some military hospitals, including the old Soviet military garrison building, their patients still inside…the shooting of prisoners and collaborators, the hangings of many deserters and Hiwis.
After the surrender of Stalingrad, military observers from the US and British armies travelled with their Russian escorts into the city. They were ill-equipped for what they experienced and were shocked at what they saw. Stalingrad was virtually completely destroyed, several stating that it would be wise to just leave the remnants of the city as a reminder to future generations. The Russians determined to rebuild the city and it stands today as Volgograd, renamed after the fall of Stalin and a continual reminder to the world of just how far the German advance into Russia went. The furthest point geographically of a bitter struggle of ideologies and humanity and an eternal tribute to the courage and determination of the Russian people.
Thank you for reading this book, I hope you enjoyed the experience as much as I did writing it.
Please investigate the following adventures currently available or in production from the author:
World War Two:
Bloody Iced BulletBloody RattenkriegBloody Kessel Bloody Stalingrad (Trilogy)
Science Fiction:
The Last Marine in the Galaxy The Red Leopards of Zaxon BGalaxies Collide: First Contact
Planet Genocide I Zaxon B: The Final StrugglePlanet Genocide II
Fantasy:
Army of the Skeletal Prince Blades of the Undead
Crime Drama (Dark Humour):
Bloodied Hunger Bloodied InsurgentsBloodied London I
The Hong Kong Scotsman
Historical Drama:
The Last Highlanders
Contributors:
I would like to thank four of my colleagues for their voluntary assistance with this project.
David Axell has also volunteered some considerable time assisting me with this, the previous books and future projects, talking over additional ideas and potential sub plots. He has also provided valuable input on some of the wording used to assist me in the endeavour to create as close as possible account to reality.
Kara Reed has offered continual encouragement throughout the previous book and the current projects. Listening to ideas and offering ideas on alternatives or additions to existing plot lines. This has been of considerable assistance and I am very grateful for the ‘on-call’ facility that emerged for me to express ideas and twists as they came to mind.
Sally Kemp has offered many ideas and sat politely listening to the ramblings as I formulated ideas and incidents in my mind. Patiently offering advice and never displaying frustration and impatience as I bounced from idea to idea. This has been immensely helpful and reassuring.
Kevin has helped with plots and offered structured ideas, including changes in direction or alternatives. Never complaining when I developed other ideas or rang/texted at inhospitable times. He provided an inspirational level of support during my bereavements and for that alone I will be eternally grateful.
Lastly, readers’ feedback is most welcome, encouraging me to write further and to enhance what I have already written. I have thoroughly enjoyed writing this and the preceding books and hope, with your approval, to write more.
Authors Note:
(Some personal opinion included)
The Battle of Stalingrad was the greatest defeat inflicted on any nation in the history of warfare until 1942. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers on either side perished in some of the most miserable conditions known to mankind. Countless thousands of civilians were butchered, bombed or shot by both sides simply for being in existence where they were born or lived.
The enormous battle of offensives and counter offensives lasted over eight months with reprisals and revenge tactics continuing for years afterwards. The land was completely devastated.
The last Russian soldier to be killed as a result of Stalingrad died in the 1980’s. Returning from the Russian war in Afghanistan, the soldier apparently went on a walk in his home city, now named Volgograd. Unfortunately stepping on a German anti-personnel mine that had survived the forty plus years from when it was planted, he died from his injuries.
In the year following Stalingrad, the local Kalmyks were deported en-masse from the land south of t
he city after some of their population’s suspected collaboration with the German forces. Moved to Siberia in the heart of winter in unheated and exposed rail cars, over half of the 97-98000 people displaced died on the journey, not being permitted to return to the homeland they had occupied for centuries until 1957.
On November 14th, 1989, the Supreme Council of the Soviet Union declared the deportation of Kalmyks and other Soviet minorities was a ‘barbaric action of Stalin’s regime.’
Russian soldiers that fought or served on the German side were called Hilfswilliger or ‘willing to help’ (Hiwis for short). 50,000 Hiwis served with the Germans at Stalingrad with estimates of between 1-2 million throughout the war. Most served in rear echelon units or on anti-partisan activities, but a number did serve alongside their chosen German allies in front line units, facing an almost immediate death sentence if captured.
Over 90,000 German and their allied forces were captured at Stalingrad, approximately only 5,000 ever saw their homelands again, the last repatriated in the mid-1950s. The prevalence of suicide towards the end of the battle amongst German officers and men is a clear indication of the extremes of hardship they faced and experienced. Officers and soldiers becoming deeply demoralised as they watched the men they had cared about deteriorate and start to die of starvation must have been too much of an emotional burden for many. The final and total realisation that the army was being left to die without rescue and the extreme distrust of the conditions of Russian captivity would also have been highly contributable when placed alongside the miserable weather conditions, personal experience and poor individual physical and mental states.
Bloody Stalingrad Page 83