Bloody Citadel

by Andrew McGregor

  Stabsfeldwebel Reiner Fuchs glanced out of the cockpit windows of his FW190, the high level patrol consisting of four aircraft, the engines burbling as he looked back to instinctively check oil and fuel levels. Staring briefly down at his controls, he smiled in comfort, realising his actions were the result of his training, the insistence of Leutnant Ernst Brandt to continually check the fighter’s instruments.

  He grinned in fond recollection, the two friends having spent many a night drinking and discussing flying tactics, Ernst continually arguing that the FW190 was far superior to the ME109, when he would simply advise that they were two different aircraft, suitable for different flying styles. The two flyers had, as usual, debated the advantages and disadvantages of both aircraft until the alcohol had got the better of their judgement, then trudged wearily back to the barrack block at Bremen field or the tents of other bases they had been relocated to, both knowing the following days would be once again challenging.

  The sun swept through his canopy as he shielded his eyes briefly, glancing out to either side and checking the fighters with him, their mission to intercept any Russian aircraft before the fighter bombers once more swept over the battlefields. Straining in his seat, he looked down, adrenalin shooting through his chest as he glimpsed the billowing fireball far below, the burning vehicles to the right of them. Then a brief grin of excitement as he saw the Russian fighters, strafing a column of advancing tanks and armoured cars, his hand reaching for his throat microphone in relish, ‘Enemy planes below…follow my lead and check your instruments…’

  A burble of static followed as he yanked the stick to the right, the BMW engine roaring as he pitched downwards, the plane twisting in the air before hurtling towards the fighters below.

  Udet covered his ears, the screams nearby almost overbearing as the flak guns fired upwards, the Russian fighters tearing across the burning terrain towards them once more. Bullets tore up the earth, the deafening clanks of ricochets and thuds against the armoured plate mixed with the bursts of fire, acrid smoke from the burning vehicles filling his nostrils.

  Then the Russian fighters screamed overhead, banking sharply to the east and west and then round to the north, his eyes straining as he heard a brief cheer, his head rising once more in curiosity. His eyes widened in surprise as a mottled camouflaged aircraft swept past on the left, guns blazing as the engine roared, the FW190 using gravity as an accelerator and rapidly gaining on one of the Yaks ahead. As he stared, the Russian aircraft seemed to jolt and shudder, debris flying from the rear as it flamed and disappeared behind the trees, a loud explosion and fireball sweeping across the landscape.

  The FW190 wings tilted up and down, the plane sweeping forwards and after another victim, the Russian fighters, low on ammunition, tearing back northwards.

  Udet slowly looked round, several lifeless bodies lay across the grass, the vehicles burning and smouldering, several shouts for ‘medic’ resounding around him, Tatu’s hoarse voice rising from the carrier, ‘Everyone back in…the Panzers are through the trees ahead, we need to catch them!’

  He struggled upwards, staring across in disbelief at the lifeless body of the machine gunner, his blond hair matted with blood, another young soldier dead next to him, their bodies torn by bullets from above, Leutnant Hausser lowering to crouch next to them despondently with Hase, their heads bowed. Then he shuddered as Petru’s arm was thrust across his shoulders, the Romanian pulling him forward and away from the sight, his voice low, ‘Let’s get back in the Hanomag…make some drinks and food. This will be a long day.’

  As the Hanomag pulled forward, tracks whining and engine revving, Udet stared across the battlefield in despondency. The air attack had lasted less than fifteen minutes, but over forty men had been killed or wounded, their bodies still lying across the green grass, several medics moving from casualty to casualty as he shook his head. Two Hanomags were burning and one armoured car destroyed, their crews all killed bar one man, his chest and limbs severely burned.

  In the distance, the tank crews drank tea and ate from their rations, awaiting the remains of the column to join them, one Panzer IV sitting smouldering on the field between them, two crew members dead on the hull. Udet watched as the smoke from the tank rose upwards, twisting and turning in the clear air, his eyes now lined and bloodshot, the weariness and exhaustion from fighting now almost overwhelming him.

  Slowly, he lowered himself onto the bench beneath him, Hausser sat solemnly near the rear doors with Petru, the nine men in the rear compartment silent from tiredness, several sipping from their mess tins and chewing slowly on their ration biscuits.

  Tatu leant against the upper armoured shield, the MG34 warm beneath his arms as he lowered to light a cigarette, his eyes glistening with emotion as he recalled his younger soldiers. He now had only four remaining including Kurt and Peter…four were wounded and three killed in the space of forty eight hours.

  The Hanomag engine droned on, the armoured carrier joining the track once more and heading north as Tatu stared forward, dust and smoke billowing over the front of the vehicle as the tanks ground back onto the track ahead.

  The Romanian stared across the treeline, shattered pak guns and bodies littering the undergrowth and bushes, blood stained trees and crushed metal frontal shields disappearing from view as the carriers roared forward, rising up a slope towards the town ahead.

  Reaching the brow of the hill, his eyes widened, the field before them to the left littered with smouldering and burning Russian tanks, the thick smoke rising into the air as several Tiger I tanks moved between the burning hulks, a couple of Panzer IIIs following. Destroyed and burning positions sat with their pak guns flattened and crushed, several German soldiers stepping between the smouldering emplacements in a search for the few survivors and abandoned supplies and equipment.

  Tatu glanced round as a carrier lumbered alongside, the upper plate holding radio antenna, Major Wolff rising from the rear compartment of the SdKfz 250 and raising a hand in greeting, his shout just audible over the engine noise, ‘Where is Leutnant Hausser?’

  Tatu grimaced, turning and indicating to the officer at the back of the carrier, Hausser struggling upwards with the assistance of Petru, his salute toward the major informal as he swayed, half from exhaustion and the movement of the Hanomag.

  Wolff saluted back, grinning, ‘Good…you are still with us, I have news from the radio. Cherkasskoye is ahead and nearly encircled…we will continue northwards with the rest of the division towards a hill 260.8…let the Tigers and artillery finish off the surrounded Russians. 11th Panzer Division is already ahead of us on the right. We must catch up, take the hill and then advance on Oboyan…take that town and the road to Kursk is open.’

  Situation Report:

  Army Group Centre:

  The Red Army once again counterattacked in larger numbers, however failing to gain full coordination of units. 200 Russian tanks attacked and the battle lasted most of the morning, the Soviets losing 69 tanks before withdrawing.

  The Germans then renewed their push, attacking the heavily defended village of Olkhovatka on high ground with Tigers, medium tanks, artillery and infantry. The Soviet 19th Tank Corps were sent to bolster the defence, driving the Germans back, the Russian commander deciding at this point to dig in most of his tanks for ultimate protection and to thwart the German advances. Other attacks by the Wehrmacht on this day were also unsuccessful.

  Army Group South:

  Heavy fighting continued all day with the Voronezh Front committing all its reserves bar three rifle divisions in futile attempts to contain 4th Panzer Army. Some of the third defensive lines were therefore now left unoccupied, forcing the Soviet High Command (STAVKA) to deploy three armies from the Steppe and Southwestern Front to support. One commander (Ivan Konev) openly voiced concerns this piecemeal commitment would prove less effective, prompting a personal phone call from Stalin…he did not complain again.

  Chapter Twenty Two: The Third Day: 7th July 1943r />
  Urgent Request sent to Von Manstein’s Headquarters and Luftwaffe Southern Command:

  ‘With the simply brilliant success of our new ‘cannon’ equipped aircraft, it is urgently requested that all available planes suitable for conversion or newly equipped are released to the southern wing from all across Army Group South and rear areas. Further fighters are also urgently required to clear enemy aircraft from the skies…we have failed to achieve air supremacy which is vital for the success of the advance.

  The Russian strength in tanks has been severely underestimated, with several new reserves being identified virtually daily. Enemy losses of armour have been high, with numerous machines destroyed whilst we sustain minimal casualties, many of our damaged machines then repaired and returned to battle. This is to the credit of ground crews who are working continuously throughout the nights and days to provide as many Panzers as possible.

  Air superiority over the battlefield has not been achieved apart from in local operations. It is imperative more aircraft are made available to stem and break the enemy armoured columns and reserves, thus enabling our own units to achieve freedom of movement and the ability to break through beyond the Russian defensive lines. Without this support I feel the progress towards our objectives will be challenged over every kilometre.’

  The carriers sat beneath trees, a low mist clinging to the trunks with tentacles seeming to reach out for the armoured vehicles, the flickering of candles and oil lanterns adding brief illumination to the late evening darkness. Distant shellfire and rifle shots rang out, the occasional burst of machine gun fire as the villages and farmhouses burned out of control all across the front. The taste of arid smoke caught in the soldiers’ throats, many unable to rid themselves of the sickly sensation filling their mouths and tainting the food they ate for sustenance.

  Hase sat next to Leutnant Hausser on the front benches of their Hanomag, sipping from his mess tin as Tatu sat slumped opposite, his eyes weary with darkened lines underneath. Adjusting his position painfully, the Romanian leant forward grimly, ‘These Russkies seem to have a lot of tanks and guns…we have seen many destroyed, but they still have more.’ He adjusted his position uncomfortably, ‘Will we ever break through…the advance is slow and there is no end to their resistance.’ He sighed, ‘We have lost a lot of men to wounds and shrapnel…’

  Hausser shrugged and smiled briefly, an explosion nearby causing him to wince, a candle reflecting in his tired eyes, ‘Our orders continue…tomorrow we attack the hill ahead. Take that and we should clear the road to Oboyan. Then we will move quicker…the Panzers will be able to increase their speeds.’

  Petru edged further up the bench, offering them all some biscuits and stew in mess tins, his voice low, ‘I will finish making the food with Udet and then go and relieve the younger ones from sentry duty. They can eat too…they need their strength.’

  Hausser waved a hand dismissively, ‘Let them eat first…we should relieve them…’ His voice trailed off as engines burbled nearby, the clanking of tracks as two more Hanomags pulled up behind the others, a SdKfz 250 command vehicle following. Petru nodded, depositing the food on the bench opposite.

  Major Wolff’s voice echoed through the darkness as he clambered from the rear of his radio vehicle, ‘Relieve the guards…give them some rest…I want to talk to the men.’ He grinned as he glimpsed Hausser’s battered halftrack, turning back to stare at Heinrich, the radio operator’s arm heavily bandaged, a bloodied cut above his right eye, ‘Bring me two of those flasks we found in Cherkasskoye, they could do with some refreshment.’

  Leutnant Hausser struggled to his feet, Tatu turning his head and rolling his eyes as he whispered, ‘Here we go again…’

  Petru nudged his friend in distain, hissing as Hausser stretched wearily, ‘Shut up you fool…he saved you in a military court. I am not having you get us all into trouble…’

  Tatu winced, shrugging, ‘At least we have something to drink by the sounds of it…that should help us forget the fallen for a night.’

  Udet pushed the rear doors of the carrier open, the major stood before them smiling as he waved for Hausser to sit back down, ‘No need for formalities…we are all friends.’ He struggled through the doors, Heinrich wincing in pain behind as Udet took the two ceramic flasks from the radio operator, indicating for the young man to sit beside him as he deposited the drinks on the bench opposite, reaching to assist the wounded soldier.

  Wolff lowered himself onto the middle of one of the benches opposite next to the mess tins, Hausser now sitting next to Petru as the senior officer spoke, ‘We are clearing the Russkies from the rear and many of the units are now moving up, that should end the delay. We will be ready at first light to attack the hill ahead…any news of the enemy positions?’

  Leutnant Hausser stiffened, his face tightening, ‘I went forward earlier to look with Tatu. They have pak gun positions and machine gun nests all across the slope. I believe they have tanks hidden in the trees to either side…’ He grinned ironically, ‘…they have had them everywhere else. The tanks will be backed up with infantry and mortars…artillery targeting the approaches.’ He watched as Major Wolff sipped from one of the flasks, wincing at the strong liquid and smiling, indicating for him to continue, Hausser drawing breath, ‘Casualties have been heavy…we have lost one third of our men, some wounded and sent to the rear. We have two Hanomags left and the sergeant of the third squad was also injured in an air attack earlier today.’

  Wolff’s eyes narrowed as he swigged again, offering the flask forward as Tatu swigged from the other, his eyes darting to the back of the carrier as Peter and Kurt clambered in, a welcoming smile once more forming on his face, ‘Ah, our younger men…have a drink with us.’ Then he turned back, his jaw tightening, ‘It has been hard for us all…the Russkie defences were far worse than even I imagined. Units bogged down in heavy fighting and merciless attrition…Russian soldiers fighting to the death.’ He shook his head, a passing soldier depositing two more flasks at the entrance of the carrier as Udet’s eyes widened in relish, nudging Heinrich and then frowning as the radio operator winced once more in pain.

  Major Wolff continued, ‘It has been more difficult than we ever considered, but we have destroyed many of their tanks and the Tigers are rolling forward once more. They will be here by morning to lead the advance with self propelled guns and more infantry. The maintenance crews have worked on our tanks and vehicles all night to keep them running and even the Panthers are now beginning to perform well…we may see some tomorrow.’ He glanced across at Tatu, nodding as the Romanian swigged greedily from a flask, ‘Enemy aircraft have been falling from the skies in increasing numbers…we must be close to victory. The Russkies have to give…we will break through…it is only a matter of time now.’

  Udet leant forward, lifting a mess tin from the bench opposite and offering it to the major, Wolff accepting it readily, his eyes glancing round as the soldiers swigged from the flasks, ‘Get some rest tonight…I will get the new arrivals to post sentries, give you men some peace.’

  They drank for some time, all eating from the nourishing stew, Wolff advising he had located a stash of American tinned beef and chicken in the captured town behind, that the new supplies would be added to theirs in the coming days. As heads began to droop, Hausser slipped outside for a cigarette, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol as he walked slowly between the vehicles, stepping over soldiers sleeping against their helmets, the men too exhausted to get back into their carriers or even prepare basic shelter.

  Reaching the edge of the trees, he stared out towards the north, several tanks nearby with engineers working on the engines, the supply crews loading fresh ammunition into their turrets. Drawing deeply on his cigarette, he watched the men work, realising the physically shattered Panzer crews were sleeping underneath the nearby trees in the low mist, the men also without shelter.

  Shaking his head, he stared off towards the north, the distant thump of artillery firing from the sou
th causing flashes on the horizon, glows extending across the darkness from burning villages and hamlets, his eyes narrowing as he considered the morning and the extensive Russian defences they had seen.

  He sniffed, pinching the bridge of his nose as his eyes glistened in exhaustion, his frame shuddering as hands rested on either shoulder, Tatu and Petru emerging either side of him, with Udet and Hase following. The Romanian quartermaster handed cigarettes to all, ‘When we throw the damn Russkies from the hill, we should be able to see the road clear before us. I will cook then; the major has offered some of the meat tins for a feast.’ He placed a cigarette between his lips, flicking a lighter and inhaling deeply on the smoke, ‘These are Americanisch cigarettes…the major gave them to us after you left…he says they are for us alone, ‘Lucky Strikes’. Let us hope that is what we experience tomorrow.’

  Situation Report:

  Army Group Centre:

  Model concentrated his 9th Army attacks for the next three days at Olkhovatka and Ponyri, both strategically important villages to the northern advance. The Russian commander, Rokossovsky countered by moving reserves from other quieter parts of the front to blunt the German attacks.

  With the Germans breaking into Ponyri, desperate house to house fighting ensued with the Wehrmacht capturing half of the town by day’s end.

  Army Group South:

  With the German slow advance continuing, Zhukov, the Russian commander of the sector, ordered the Russian 17th Air Army to fully support the Russian defenders. The 5th Guards Tank Army, newly ordered into the sector as support began advancing towards Prokhorovka, the summer sun now scorching the terrain, dust rising in large clouds from the armoured forces virtually blinding any air support. With strong Russian forces now surrounding the German advance from north to south east, a large counter attack was ordered by the Red Army for the following morning, the intent of defeating II SS Panzer Corps and exposing the flanks of the remaining German advance, preventing them from breaking through into the Russian rear. 593 tanks and self propelled guns along with virtually the entire sector’s air power were committed to turning the enemy offensive and driving it back.