The Valkyrie Option

by Markus Reichardt

  The next day the German press announced that Hitler’s inner circle and his key military supporters would be put on trial as war criminals and for crimes against Germany. They would be tried in Munich, the city that had given birth to the NSDAP. They would be tried by a panel of judges comprised of Germans as well as any number of former Supreme court judges representing the countries against which Germany had waged aggressive war and which she had occupied. The trial would be held in public and representatives of the international media would be invited.

  The response from some of the exile governments was cautiously positive. London, Paris and Washington had no comment. Moscow dismissed it as a charade. But lots of journalists talked and wrote about it. No matter what the censors said, it was news.

  What was not reported that day was the formal formation of the Wehrmacht’s 600th and 650th Infantry Division at Münsingen training grounds. 32 000 Russian men, wearing a modified Wehrmacht uniform with an emblem resembling the Tsarist eagle swore an oath of allegiance to the new ROA Army and its commander, General Vlasov. Two days later, they headed eastwards for frontline action while the next group of volunteers, seeking to escape the still dismal prisoner of war camp conditions began arriving.

  10am, October 19th

  airfield outside London

  As General Eisenhower headed for the steps of the waiting heavy bomber he was grateful for the engine’s roar drowning out the possibility of any conversation between him and his small entourage. The last thing he needed now was idle conversation to mask the reality that he was going back to Washington and most probably a series of unpleasant encounters with his boss and the President. Ever since the failure of Patton’s mad dash the President had acted as if he did not exist, formally routing all communication via Chief of Staff Marshall. Marshall had protected Eisenhower from the initial fall-out of the disaster but as the initiative in the west slipped further and further away from the allies, calls grew on Capitol Hill for his head. The accusation of being just a ‘desk general’ who had never led in combat was circulating again. Truth be told, in the last few weeks he had been just that. There was no strategy, with guidance from Marshall or the President, he had been unable to do more than oversee the ever more difficult logistical challenges of following the German units across France and into Holland and Belgium while supplies and units were re-routed to the Pacific or sent to the French to prevent their political crisis from developing into a small civil war.

  On the last step up the rung, Eisenhower paused and glanced back over his shoulder, the weather was grey and the landscape flat, unappealing. No he would not miss it on that account. A shrug and he bent to climb into the plane to find his seat. What he would miss would be the sense of history that had come with the position. On the eve of the D-Day invasions everything had hung on his decision. He had gambled and pulled off the largest amphibious assault ever launched in the history of mankind. Now the significance of the landings was almost gone. The German move had undercut the clarity of victory that had been within the grasp. Exasperated as he had been with Monty’s messy and costly attacks around Caen, he was also certain that they had softened up the Germans sufficiently for the planned American breakout to succeed. Then Hitler had been killed and Rommel had begun his retreat; now the mettle of the US troops in France would never be properly tested again; its last hurrah being Patton’s failed dash.

  The B-17 Boeing bomber taxied along the runway. The pilot pulled off a flawless take-off and Eisenhower settled in for a long flight. He could have dealt with this on the phone but with Marshall and Roosevelt playing politicians, some things just needed to be done in person. He had left Bradley in charge back in France. Nothing significant would be happening in his absence unless the German offensive in Russia pulled a real rabbit out of the hat. If the French situation got out of control, well then, he had told Bradley, ‘Churchill can bloody deal with it.’

  1pm October 20th

  East of Vilnius

  Gubkin and the remnants of the 184th cowered in the trenches they had held for the past day against two attacks. So far they held and they had even received some new recruits; men from other units fed piecemeal into the line to hold the blocking positions against the Panzers seeking to push through to Vilnius. Someone had even managed to scavenge some decent food from a shattered truck a few kilometres down the road. Gubkin was nervous, untried and unknown to his men the new arrivals were of little use to his regiment. Yes his regiment, how strange that felt. Last night after the death of his commander he had received a battlefield promotion to take over the regiment but he remained with his battalion – leading from the front.

  He stared over the rim of the trench at the approaching formation: covered by what looked like a regiment of Tigers a large infantry formation was advancing on his position. Gubkin glanced left and right. His men were as ready as they would ever be. Behind him three runners awaited his orders to the rest of the unit. Two telephone operators stood by to signal the artillery when to engage. The terrain was barely in his favour; undulating hills with no tree cover, the grasses long since trampled into the mud. Their trenches were clearly visible but the wet soil would absorb much of the heavy weaponry the Germans could throw at them.

  He peered above the trench. The tanks were at least seven hundred yards away, the infantry perhaps 500. It was time. He signalled his adjutant for artillery support. But the noise that came was that of jet engines. Out of nowhere something like a dozen shapes streaked across the battlefield and before Gubkin or anyone else in the unit had caught a got a good look at them they were past. Then came the rumble of the artillery mixed seconds later with secondary explosions. Georgi wanted to cry – the German planes must have just found the artillery in the act of firing the first salvo. There would be no place to hide. A few minutes later his adjutant confirmed that there was no reply from artillery support. The optimist in Gubkin put it down to a severed line, the realist in him knew better.

  As the Panzers closed the distance their shapes became clearer, Tigers! He really did not need this. The massive German tank enjoyed an almost mythical status among Soviet soldiers because it was so hard to knock out! Even the tracks could sometimes withstand a direct hit. Gripping the soil on the edge of his trench, he could see it on the faces of his men, they knew this would be sticky. With the artillery gone they had little chance of reducing the Tigers numbers, their anti-tank guns would have to be very lucky today.

  As he hurried along the trench calling out instructions and encouragement to his men, the roar of the jet engines returned. More explosions came from where the artillery had been, but then suddenly without warning, the ground along the trenches erupted as the Me 262s 30mm cannon raked the positions of the 184th. Everywhere men screamed and dove for cover. And in a split second it was over. Cautiously Georgi looked up – they were gone. These things just travelled so fast, it was incredible. He glanced around him, gratefully the damage did not seem too serious, mercifully he heard no screams or calls for the medics. Suddenly there was a different sound propeller aircraft. He pushed himself up only to see another wave of German fighters head his way. Messerschmidts or Focke-Wulfs either way they were bad news. And the Tigers were just 350 meters away. If the fighters kept him down until they were on top of him he would be overrun.

  But the fighters were not aiming for the 184th trenches. They gave it a brief pasting which caused only limited casualties but then they were gone, most likely to give their undivided attention to anyone stupid enough to try and come to his aid. Georgi popped his head over the rim of the trench. The Tigers were 250 meters away. Around him the men started readying their rifles.

  He scurried back to the command post where he found the weasel-faced polit commissar Vlasik cowering under the makeshift table. Without sparing the man a second glance, Gubkin grabbed the signal gun and fired a green flare which was the signal for the anti-tank weapons to fire at will.

  Almost instantly a series of shots rang out and one of the Tiger
s lost a track. Another was hit head-on, rocked back but just kept coming. A few Russians peered out of their trenches to keep down the enemy infantry. Almost immediately Gubkin saw one of them pitch back with his face blown off. Sharpshooters, this really stank. Gubkin kicked the table over almost hitting his polit commissar in the face. “Vlasik Move it Comrade! Into the trenches Rally the men. We need to hold. There is nothing between us and Vilnius. “ Strangely the words hit home and Vlasik picked himself up, grabbed a machine gun and hurried off. Only afterwards did it strike him that the grime-covered commissar had never looked at him on the way out.

  The anti-tank salvo did not go unanswered. Almost all of the Tiger turrets turned and fired. Gubkin did not know it at the time but he immediately lost one of his precious guns. Through the dust he saw one of the gunners come running screaming something about infantry support. Blood poured from a cut along the length of the man’s arm, but he seemed oblivious to it. One glance showed Gubkin that the German infantry was in range, he sent up a red flare and his line erupted with small arms fire. But the German infantry had anticipated this and used the shelter of the moving Tigers very effectively to leap-frog relentlessly towards the Russian line. There was no good target for the machine gunners who nonetheless tried their best to keep their opponents at bay. If the infantry reached the anti-tank guns they would be overrun. And by opening up the machine gunners had given away their position. The Tigers’ 88 spat fire and within second two machine gun nests were gone. No survivors.

  Bang ! Suddenly one of the Tigers went up in smoke, its turret sailed meters into the air before crashing down among the troopers advancing behind it. Dozens of field grey figures lay writhing in agony on the ground. Gubkin could see other shapes scattering in the smoke and flames. They were hurting them but not enough, with a loud ‘Hurraah!’ the German infantry swept out from behind the Tigers and surged into the forward trench.

  1:10pm, October 20th

  East of Vilnius

  Michael was furious. This was the third attack and the Luftwaffe had barely touched the trenches through which he needed to pass. So far it had cost him three Tigers and God knows how many men. What he did not know was that the Luftwaffe was desperately holding the Red Air Force back, otherwise his attack would have come apart under the pounding of the Shtormoviks. Luckily the mines had all been dealt with or else his force would have really been in trouble. Gratefully these Waffen SS men had spirit and experience. They had deployed sharpshooters to keep the Russian heads down until the main force was close enough. They had hugged the Tigers for as long as they offered shelter, now they were in the trenches. Again he thanked his lucky starts that he would be spared this kind of murderous hand-to-hand combat. Instead he signalled his Tigers to execute the next phase of the attack. It was risky but if they did not get through this time, there would not be enough left to carry on. This would be the last attempt to encircle Wilno.

  Under the covering fire of their comrades, three Tigers surged across the first Russian trench, turned sharply left or right and began motoring along its length, crushing everything within the trench. Immediately two Russian guns targeted these Tigers more vulnerable flanks only to come under fire from all the remaining Tigers. The tactic worked within seconds. Although one Tiger had its track blown off by an anti-tank shell, and another briefly caught fire when some courageous Russian hurled a Molotov cocktail at it, their opening in the Russian line was too wide to plug. The fire also betrayed the location of the anti-tank guns which cost Gubkin another gun. Hundreds of meters of trench were gone, its occupants either crushed or in flight. The German infantry picked off dozens scrambling for cover in the next line of trenches.

  1:15pm, October 20th

  East of Vilnius

  Over the sights of his submachine gun, Gubkin saw a group of his men leap out of the trench just meters from where the Tiger was crawling along, crushing everything in its path. Smoke erupted briefly hiding the monster for seconds. Then it reappeared, unharmed. Two of his men managed to throw grenades or Molotov cocktails at the monster before being cut down. Things were getting really hairy, nearly ten Tigers were now loose among the Russian line spitting death and crushing the trenches. To his left Gubkin saw a group of Panzer IV trying to outflank his position by hugging a streambed. Luckily his anti-tank gunners spotted them too as they hauled their guns into new positions and put one of them out of action, sending the rest retreating. But the distraction gave the exposed Tigers the break they needed.

  Everything was now so close and frantic. To his right two Tigers crashed into the second trench, attempting to repeat the exercise that had opened the line. One of the took a hit from an anti-tank gun, which screeched harmless along its side spewing sparks in every direction. The turret turned slowly searching for the gun while both machineguns cracked, raking the trench before it with death. Defying the hail of bullets the Russian gunners stayed at the post, aimed over the barrel and hit the Tiger again. The shell hit at the base of the turret but did not penetrate. Nonetheless the Tiger stopped for an instant. The turret stopped moving. And for a moment Gubkin thought the danger had passed.

  Then suddenly the monster lurched forward and fired. The brave gunners got of another round in the instant it took the 88mm shell to reach them before they disappeared in a ball of fire. Their shell slammed harmlessly against the massive frontal armouring of the Tiger. Gubkin was down to his last gun. And still the field grey figures kept coming. Potatomasher grenades flew through the air, their explosions sending shrapnel across the field and into the trenches.

  Around him he saw the remnants of his force fall back. Most just dashing along the parts of the trench not collapsed by the Tigers before sprinting across the open ground to the third and last line. German machine gunners took a heavy toll. Dozens of shapes lay twisting and writhing in agony on open ground over which the German troopers now began advancing, almost oblivious to the suffering around them. Their fire scattered Gubkin’s last effort to rally a counterattack. Two hand grenades sent shrapnel flying through his ranks as they surged forward to recapture part of the second trench. More than a dozen went down. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a man writhing on the ground holding his belly desperately trying to keep his innards from spilling out through the dreadful gash that some piece of scorching hot metal had torn. He scurried along a trench, leapt up on the ground and immediately rolled amid the smoke and fire that seemed to come from everywhere. In an instant he landed back among his men and looked around. He realised that he was down to less than 100 men, most of the injured and, as a quick show of hands indicated, most badly out of ammunition. He hoped that at least some of the anti-tank gunners lived. As if to answer his pleas one gun fired from a new position hitting a Tiger but again not scoring a killing hit. Still the monsters came on, turrets traversing as their machine guns raked the ground and the trenches. The third trench would not hold.

  1:18pm, October 20th

  East of Vilnius

  It was working, through the smoke Michael saw the Russians running, jumping out of their trenches and running. The tactic had been expensive, because by exposing their less armoured flanks, the Tigers had taken a great risk, but it was working. They had lost a third of their force but seemed to have accounted for all but one rather mobile anti-tank gun whose crew seemed very adept at firing and disappearing. Still as long as his crews kept their discipline and their heavy frontal armour exposed to the enemy, they stood a chance. Now there was no longer a need for that dangerous flanking manoeuvre. There was very little that got through a Tiger’s frontal armour.

  He did not see the group of Russian soldiers that leapt from the almost crushed second trench line and raced towards the two Tigers on the left flank. Led by a short officer wearing a torn coat six Russians charged the Tigers from behind overwhelming the few Waffen SS men covering the flanks. From less than ten meters they hurled hand grenades and Molotov cocktails at the Tigers more vulnerable rear. While the grenades did little damage, the Molo
tov cocktails proved decisive, both fell onto the Tigers rear where the motors vents were located. Not only was this thinly armoured, but the flames surged through the fan ducts into the engine, igniting the fuel. There was only one way in which the Tigers could hope to save themselves. Stop the engine and manually extinguish the flames.

  Alerted by frantic radio messages, Michael could only watch from a distance as the two Tigers burnt. The driver of one executed a last 90 degree turn his machine gun barking at the attackers and catching most of them still in the open. But by then flames had taken hold of the oil and fuel in the Maybach motor. With a big hiss the flames leapt up- and outward.

  Through his radio Michael heard the crews scream as the fire surged into their compartment. There were frantic screams but then somehow with its engine off, the crew managed to contain the fire.

  The second Tiger was luckier because somehow the flames did not spread to the motors oil and fuel. But it could not risk restarting the engine and so was immobilised. As one the other Tigers turned to provide cover for its crew it took a direct flank hit which stopped it in its tracks.

  Michael had seen the guns flash and was ready. “HE 11 o’clock Fire!” the gunner did not even respond but just fired.

  They scored a hit, another Russian gun and its crew disappeared into a fireball. He could not know that it was the last.