Oberleutnant Baumann spun away, his body shaking with emotion as he swayed, his voice a low personal whisper, ‘Sleep well my friend...you have finally escaped this hell...’ The soldiers behind him turned as one, struggling back through the trees and deep snow, the silence evidence of their own personal mental recollections and struggle against the bitterness that now enveloped their frames and existences.
Behind them, snowflakes fell slowly into the graves, the night would bring the local wolves to dig and gnaw at the limited flesh still on the bodies. Baumann stumbled out of the trees into the dim late afternoon light of Siberia, the cold almost overwhelming as he considered the deceased man behind.
Major Schenk was gone...Baumann was now the most senior officer left of the 76th Infantry Division.
Chapter Three: Time to Head East
Major Wolff sighed, glancing down at the written orders before him, his head shaking as he looked across at his radio operator, the small forward bunker permitting him to view the defences with ease before returning to his division in the rear. The young soldier glanced back, removing his headphones, ‘Is there something you require, Herr Major?’
Wolff shook his head once more, ‘No young Heinrich…just another delay.’ He glanced down once more, collecting a tumbler of Schnapps, ‘Come…have a drink with me.’ He nodded across to the young operator, the man rising eagerly from his seat and stepping across the dried, dirt laden half-logs that lined the floor, a contingency for when it rained heavily.
Accepting the smeared glass the major extended to him, Heinrich raised it in toast, ‘Let us hope we will soon be on the advance again, Sir.’
Wolff scratched his chin thoughtfully, his voice lowering in uneasiness, ‘I am not sure that will be as easy as we say…the High Command are delaying the attack again it seems. We know the Russkies are digging extensive defences before us and I hear from briefings that it is the same in the north.’ He swigged from his drink thoughtfully, the radio operator staring at a scar on the major’s cheek as it seemed to twitch nervously, ‘I have grave concerns for this attack…the Russians facing us are now getting stronger, with mobile armoured reserves we believe. The Luftwaffe are not in sufficient strength to be able to reconnoitre the enemy rear areas and there is little chance of heavy bombing due to the rising power of the Russkie Air Force.’ He smiled thoughtfully, slapping the operator’s shoulder as he suddenly realised he would be depressing the youngster, ‘Still, rumour is that we will be assigned new tanks and more men for the operation…there are new planes coming and better armour from Germany.’ The major forced a wider confident smile, ‘I am sure the Russkies will run as before Heinrich…’
He glanced round as murmured voices came from outside, a young soldier emerging through the camouflaged entrance, his camouflaged jacket complimented by similar close fitting cloth over his helmet. A Kar 98 rifle in his hand, his face was smeared with dried mud, the man stiffening to attention abruptly, coughing nervously as he glanced round the compact room, ‘Herr Major, my apologies…I did not realise your bunker was so small…’
Major Wolff grinned, raising a gloved hand to his peaked cap in salute, the grenadier following suit and flushing slightly at his remark, ‘It is not an issue, soldier. I prefer a more compact arrangement, so arranged for this position to be constructed…there is another like it west of here.’ The major raised his glass to his lips, ‘Anyway…what can I do for you?’
The soldier smiled in relief, ‘Sir…we have reports of a man crossing the lines to the south east of here in a Russian uniform, but not on reconnaissance it appears. He managed to infiltrate through our own defences before being captured without a fight…he simply approached a rear area sentry and gave himself up.’
The major became solemn in curiosity, ‘Interesting…have we interrogated him? Does he know anything about the Russian positions before us?’ His eyes narrowed, ‘What was his mission and why have you brought this to my attention? Surely this is a matter for the commander in that area and the military police?’ He indicated to the radio operator, Heinrich collecting another tumbler as the officer pointed to the bottle grinning, ‘Stand easy, have a drink. Tell us more of this intrusion in our lines…I bet the local officer is rather red faced…’ He stiffened as a muffled explosion erupted in the distance, several rifle shots ringing out.
The soldier stepped forward gratefully, removing his helmet and revealing matted blonde hair, his head nodding as deep blue eyes stared eagerly at the glass the operator was filling, clearing his throat once more, ‘That is the strange thing, Herr Major…the man has mentioned you by name, saying he reports to one of your junior officers…’
Major Wolff glanced upwards in surprise, staring into the soldier’s deep blue eyes, his intrigue mounting, ‘Carry on…please.’
The soldier swigged from the strong liquid, wincing as it hit his throat and taste buds, his voice strained as the operator and senior officer smiled in response, ‘…the captured soldier was very weak and we are questioning him further, he is under arrest at present. But he has apparently been behind enemy lines for a couple of weeks, perhaps more…we heard rumours of a renegade soldier…could that be him?’ The soldier swigged from the fiery liquid once more before continuing, ‘He says he reports to a Leutnant Hausser of the 76th Infantry Division, attached to your command. That he fought at Stalingrad and Kharkov and that he is a sergeant…a sergeant in the Romanian army no less…a Quartermaster Tatu?’ The soldier shook his head, ‘Probably just a story or bluff to avoid being shot…the 76th was annihilated, there were surely no survivors…’
Leutnant Hausser stared out of the rain drenched window, the light fading from the sky as the train slowly progressed eastwards. Having travelled through Poland, the locomotive was now steaming into the western Ukraine, a couple of more stops to go before the destination of Zhytomyr and then finally Kiev in probably two or perhaps even three day’s time. Having taken the Reichsbahn from Berlin to Krakow in Poland, the troop train was then extended, adding a couple of armoured carriages and a locomotive for the journey through partisan country.
Hausser had taken the opportunity to stretch his legs in Krakow, Hase accompanying him into the large shunting yard with numerous tracks adjacent to the main lines, the air crisp yet moist, both pulling their collars up against the breeze. The two briefly inspected the flatcars that were added to the centre and front of the train, one bristling with two sandbagged 20mm flak cannons, the other with padded jacketed machine gunners, two MG34s and a raised MG42 sited behind extensive sandbagged positions, steam rising on either side of the armoured locomotive that shunted back onto the front of the train. The furthermost smaller forward car was also defended with two sandbagged MG34 crews, two spotlights set either side of the medium machine guns and another on the forward middle engine, the journey at night particularly hazardous.
Another armoured carriage had been shunted forward to add to the rear of the carriages, this time with two upper turrets from Czech 38t tanks, the lower hulls of the now obsolete vehicles converted to self-propelled guns. The sloped sides of the armoured carriage were painted with a mixture of adjoining paint, a red brick and brown splattered with green and fawn dappled effect. The two men stared at the makeshift low wooden personnel boxes on the roof of the passenger cars, the constructions designed for two men and a medium machine gun, the soldiers rotated from the exposed positions as the train stopped. The first section of assigned troops were already readying themselves, ladders reaching up the sides of the carriages to permit access, the machine guns being laboriously carried upwards by local workers.
Hausser turned from the sight, saluting as a squad of grim faced infantry marched past with their officer, their commander returning the gesture, his men the crew compliment for the turreted and machine guns and 20mm flak pieces. The driver’s shouted announcement that the train would depart in one hour prompted them to explore, Hausser slinging the MP40 over his back as they trudged through the station, observing engineering
crews in the large workshops, many grease laden and faces smeared as they worked on broken carriages and strengthened couplings.
Hase suddenly grasped his friend’s arm, his voice a low whisper, ‘Hausser…did they have this much defence when we left Kiev?’
The young commander shrugged, ‘I don’t know…it was late evening and I fell asleep when the train was in the station…did you not notice?’
Hase shook his head, grinning, ‘I think I was asleep before you…it was a cattle car if you remember…no windows.’ He grimaced, ‘I did not know the partisan situation had become so bad…it must be very dangerous now in the rear areas.’
Hausser sniffed thoughtfully, pulling his collar up once more as he lowered his voice in grim distain, ‘It seems we may have outstayed our welcome in the Ukraine…probably thanks to the actions of the Einsatzgruppen, SD and rogue units. The population soon lose faith when their friends and family are mistreated or murdered…another opportunity extinguished…’ He looked away briefly as they walked, Hase realising his friend’s eyes were glistening before the officer spoke again sarcastically in whisper, ‘We have done terrible things here in the name of fighting Bolshevism and the ‘Slavik hordes’.’ He looked back at his friend solemnly, ‘This situation will only get worse now for us all…you included after helping us.’ The Leutnant’s eyes seemed to darken as he became more serious, ‘Hase…what I have to tell you remains between us…you must promise never to tell Petru or Tatu, that is, if we ever see them again…’ He turned to stare at his friend almost ominously as the Hiwi immediately nodded in loyalty, the commander continuing in an even lower tone, ‘We saw the ultimate power and viciousness of the Russians at Stalingrad…the war is lost I believe now, they will not let us survive in this country. It will only be a matter of time before this descends into chaos and defeat…the whole country is rising up against us ‘invaders’ now, we have just seen the security we need behind the lines. That is not the sign of a victorious army.’ He drew breath emotionally, his eyes glistening as if facing personal confliction, ‘I see my role now to get you and my men out of Russia forever…including your parents, that’s the least I can do for you all.’ Hausser swallowed to suppress the rising bile from his stomach, ‘Survival is the only thing that will be left soon…’
Hase nodded aghast as the commander turned away, his mind struggling to understand what Hausser had just admitted to him. He considered asking more, and then relented, deciding it was best to continue walking and remain silent.
Reaching a separate sectioned warehouse in silence, they became more concerned, glimpsing numerous bullet pock marks on one of the engines armoured sides, a number of further flatbed and passenger carriages having received explosive damage with broken windows and several with dried blood splattered across the sides. Oil smeared crews were busying themselves in repair, the clanking and smashing of steel against steel, a burning furnace at the far end for softening metal pushing heat through the wide workshops, several fires and torches flickering along the sides with tar buckets steaming and bubbling.
Progressing further, they had watched a train arriving from the east, mostly containing wounded soldiers from the front heading back to Germany for recovery, their grim faces staring down from the grimy windows as the two soldiers looked up. Bandaged and broken wounds passed as the train slowed, the separated armoured carriage section moved slowly into an adjacent shunting yard, crews preparing to remove the military flatbed and armoured locomotive, weary guarding soldiers disembarking to stretch and smoke before preparing despondently to return eastwards with the next troop train.
The shrill sound of a whistle had beckoned them back to their train, stepping and slipping along the wet gravelled side of the carriages in search of where they had been sitting before, a light drizzle beginning to fall. Finally directed by a red faced military policeman, the middle aged man explained that blockhouses with garrisoned soldiers were now placed along the line through the Ukraine about every four hundred metres in some places to prevent attacks. The middle aged man had then leant forward, his voice a warning whisper that the soldiers should avoid lights at night, that the partisans would then target the illuminated carriage windows, that several men had been killed as a result of this tactic.
The two men had then clambered back into their carriage, concern etched across Hausser’s face as he translated in hushed whispers for his friend, Hase seeming shocked further at the extensive defensive precautions that were being deployed. Other soldiers around them were bedding down to sleep, several eating from the rations provided for all at the large station from steaming mess tins. Sitting for some time in silence, the train had jolted forward, the locomotive whistle screaming as steam and smoke billowed across the windows, the station sights edging past before houses and factory buildings became more visible, the speed increasing.
Eventually eating themselves, the train had ventured out into the countryside as they chewed in grim silence, the scenery continuing for the rest of the day and into the evening, Hase gradually nodding off before him as the officer’s mind descended into deep weary thought. Memories of his men returned into half slumbering consciousness, the freezing winter of 1941 when he first experienced the desperate cold and misery of the Russian Front.
He slowly began to recall the older major in Smolensk in the early to middle of December in 1941, the senior officer highly stressed and chain smoking as the man apologised, introducing himself and ushering the confused young commander quickly away from his nodding colleagues, explaining he needed to talk to him urgently. He had stated that he had already sent a message to Hausser’s commander in the Crimea, the older man seeming uneasy and flustered, muttering that the situation facing Army Group Centre was precarious as the Russians had now counterattacked in force and broken through the German lines before Moscow.
As they walked, a confused Leutnant Hausser had explained that his placement in the Crimea peninsula was only due to his language skills, that he actually belonged to 76th Infantry Division stationed near Kharkov and that the major had perhaps mistaken him for someone else. He continued, stating he had arrived in Smolensk for a briefing with a Romanian major and general from Army Group South, mentioning that he was currently temporarily assigned to the 170th Infantry Division, the intention of the visit to present the plans of the fall of the Sevastopol fortress in the coming months and that he was only present as a translator.
Hausser grimaced dreamily as the train swayed, recalling their preparation aboard the JU52 flight from the Crimea for the main meeting had proven over ambitious, the three soldiers surprised to discover most of the staff officers and senior commanders invited had failed to appear. The gathering had been brief and disappointingly attended, the deteriorating central front taking priority as the few staff officers rushed off to their individual commands, the situation in the southern peninsula now side-lined and virtually ignored.
The major had gone further in hushed secretive whispers as he ushered him into an upstairs side room, stating the sheer number of German troops with frostbite was beyond comprehension, that the High Command’s failure to supply sufficient winter clothing was nothing short of a dereliction of duty of the person responsible, seemingly unaware that this referred to the Fuhrer himself. The senior officer closed the door and quickly swigged greedily from a metal cup of vodka, nervously lighting yet another cigarette as he explained Army Group South had released the young officer to be briefly under his command, albeit with only two conditions...that he be limited to rear area duties and that he be returned to the Crimea as soon as the situation was stabilised, the Red Army breakthroughs contained, or that another officer was found to take his place.
Leutnant Hausser’s head nodded forward deeper into sleep with the gentle swaying of the train, a small stove lit by the men in his carriage heating the area, his head snuggling down beneath the field cap, the heavy great coat warming him as he drifted off.
The dreamy small side office in the Wehrmacht administra
tive building in Smolensk seemed to become clearer in slumber, a roaring fire in the fireplace on one wall, the room warm and in contrast to the larger meeting room on the floor below. Paintings adorned the oak panelled walls, the office obviously for someone with favour or high rank during the previous communist administration. Major Kruger lowered himself into the seat behind the ornate and lavish desk opposite, paperwork scattered across the surface, a large flask of Russian vodka on the corner near two flickering candles, Hausser still stood at ease before the table. The senior officer was portly and immaculately dressed, having very recently been moved from desk duties in Poland after a serious breach of protocol, his grey hair and moustache reminding the young officer fondly of some of the men in his neighbourhood, even ones that had worked alongside him in the engineering workshop as a teenager.
The major waved nonchalantly for the junior officer to take a seat, Hausser slowly lowering himself nervously into the chair opposite as the officer continued, clearing his throat, ‘Herr Leutnant, your colleagues are already on their way back to the front...the Russkies have apparently attacked in the Crimea across the Kerch peninsula also.’ He sighed, seeming to lose his line of thought before correcting himself with a nod, continuing, ‘My small detachment of men is still in our lorry on their way across from our posting in the west...I am therefore in need of your services...your general also agreed before departing, saying he would see you in a few days.’ The major smiled encouragingly, Hausser nodding with resigned uneasiness as the older man continued, ‘I will arrange for you to accompany one of our pilots above the field...we need urgent updates on the Russian positions and advance. It will be dangerous flying as most of the Luftwaffe are grounded due to the freezing temperatures and foggy weather, but we need the information desperately...don’t worry, we have a ration of Russian oil and fuel for the engines. I will arrange for you to take off at first light tomorrow from our main airfield near here...I will have your orders typed up whilst you have a relaxing drink and some food, it’s the least I can do and will be with my compliments of course.’
Bloody Citadel Page 6
