Balck saluted, and was on his way. He knew who he wanted to see first, his incomparable Hauser. He would have him get his fast moving motorcycle battalion down south and scout out the situation while he got the rest of the division ready to move.
* * *
The fighting in the Kalach Bridgehead had been a grinding battle of attrition. Steiner had kept both the Brandenburg and Grossdeutschland divisions in the fight, eventually reinforcing their effort with Das Reich and all his Korps assets. They pushed relentlessly along the main road that led through Martinovka, a vital rail station and airfield and the site of Chiukov’s Volga Front headquarters. As Balck was moving into the lower Donets, Steiner continued to push up that road until they came up against a stolid wall of old steel.
It was a Soviet Armored Division, one of the last of the old formations that had once been their massive mobile arm. The 1st Division had been moved to Volgograd long ago by rail, but now had little transport and almost no fuel. Chiukov had simply placed it astride the road to block the way to Martinovka. Like water seeing the path of least resistance, Steiner’s troops simply washed up against it, then turned to attack the airfield to the southwest of that town. By the 30th of August, they were attacking the field, their tanks shooting up the hangers, what remained of them after the artillery preparation.
The 502nd Schwerepanzer Brigade, had been a part of the fighting in the bridgehead. It had arrived on the front with 45 of the new Tiger tanks, and an equal number of Lions. Now it was down to 67 tanks, an acceptable level of attrition given the normal rates on this front. Yet it had less than 10% of its normal supply issue, low on both ammunition and fuel, and had to be pulled off the line. So that unit sat in reserve 15 kilometers west of the river, and its brother unit the 503rd Brigade had also been pulled off the line to await supply at the rail depot of Surovinko on the Chir.
It was this lack of supply, as much as anything else, that was holding Steiner up. Once a unit got provisioned, he quickly moved it over the Don and back into the fight to relieve troops that had fought so hard for that bridgehead. Now some of the rifle companies in the Brandenburg Division had no small arms ammo at all. In spite of the massive effort, Steiner was told that it would be at least another two weeks before the rail line from Belaya Kalivta on the Donets could be repaired as far as Surovinko on the Chir.
Meanwhile Chiukov had retreated from the line of the Askay River and fell back on the Myshkova defense line to better consolidate his forces. The nose of Steiner’s attack was still about 50 kilometers west of the city, but many of his positions on the Myshkova were only 30 kilometers southwest of Beketova, the southernmost outlier to the main city of Volgograd. There Volkov had his 1st Khazak Field Army reinforced by the Kazakh Mobile Corps, and to its left, his Mountain Corps had joined with 9th Infantry Corps to fight their way up from Nizhny Chirskaya. They were now shoulder to shoulder with the Germans after linking up the previous week.
East of the Volga, the 4th Orenburg Army still sat in its fortified bunkers, with 5th Orenburg Army occupying the line of the Volga as it reached north from the city. All of Chiukov’s supplies still depended on that single rail line coming down from the north, and a second spur that ran northwest near Golubinskaya, the only rail crossing on the Don still retained by Soviet troops. That was a new line, never built in Fedorov’s history. It ran from Golubinskaya on the Don, through Kalmykov, Perelazovsky and then on to Veshenskaya on the upper Don, where it crossed the river again.
All these forces surrounded the defenders of the city on three sides, the battle becoming a slow WWI style grind, with progress of one to three kilometers achieved per day. Further west, in the hard fought battle for Voronezh, the German 2nd and 3rd Panzer Armies continued to apply relentless pressure on the defense. Hoth’s push for Lipetsk was called off. Instead his Army was directed southeast to close on Voronezh from the north. Model was pulling in units from the north near Tula, as they were slowly relieved by infantry still coming up from the Kirov Pocket. More than anything, it was this steady flow of one new infantry korps after another that would keep the panzers free to maneuver to weaker sectors of the Soviet defense without trying to hold ground they had already taken.
September 3 was a big day in the field there, when 2nd Panzer Armee punched through southeast of Voronezh and drove a deep wedge all the way to the Donets. Seeing his opportunity, Rundstedt gathered all the bridging equipment he could find and sent it to Model. If a crossing could be forced there, the entire Soviet position could come unhinged. Three Soviet armies that had fallen back from Kursk were still holding in a bulge south of that breakthrough. Their position was fed by one rail line running through Georgu Deza on the Donets, and Model had elements of 4th and 5th Panzer Divisions some 20 kilometers from that vital crossing point.
At his wits end, Sergei Kirov summoned Zhukov and demanded to know what he would do about the situation. “We cannot let them cross the Donets there,” he said. “It would cut off all those troops! Last month you argued that a timely withdrawal was needed when you pulled out of the Kursk Bulge, yet now all those same troops are at risk again.”
There was good ground where I posted them, but look at the map,” Zhukov pointed. There must be 15 or more Panzer Divisions, all massed in this drive to take or isolate Voronezh. I have thrown everything at them, 2nd Guards Army, and yes even the first of the new Tank Armies we were building. We have delayed them, but we simply cannot stop such force. I need another army.”
Kirov ran a hand over his forehead. “You say that like you are asking for a new pair of shoes, but I can read a map as well. Everything we have is tied up on the line.”
“Then we must pull something off that line,” said Zhukov. “I propose we take the 17th Siberian, and what little is left of the 24th. They were on the line well south of Tula at the point of the initial German breakthrough. Then they folded back to hold the northern shoulder. Now that the panzers have all pushed south, that sector is quiet again. There is nothing but German infantry there, and I could relieve those troops with reserves from the armies to either side. They can assemble at Yeremov and then move by rail to Voronezh.”
“What about the Shock Armies you used in Operation Mars?”
“I would rather leave them right where they sit. Those troops are still reasonably well equipped and supplied. If we are to mount any kind of a winter offensive, they will be the armies I must use again.”
“General Zhukov, you assume we will survive until winter. One more disaster and the entire front could collapse.”
“That danger is very real,” said Zhukov, “but given the circumstances, this is all I can do. There is not a single army remaining in reserve now. Anything we use must come off the line from somewhere else.”
“What about the line west of Moscow? That sector has been quiet for months.”
“Yes, and our men there have fattened up, as have the German Infantry they oppose. We could launch a spoiling attack, but as it is so far from Voronezh, it would do little to affect that battle. Better to leave those troops for a possible attack in the winter.”
“What about Karpov and the Siberians?
“He is obsessed with his effort to take Sakhalin Island from the Japanese. We can expect no further help from him now.”
“That is useless,” Kirov ran a hand through his thick hair, his frustration evident. “I must arrange a meeting with that man, and get him to understand the gravity of our situation. What good will it do if he takes Sakhalin while we lose Voronezh and Volgograd?” His eyes played over the map. “What about Rostov? What about the Donets Basin?”
“They moved the reserve panzer corps they used to blunt my Summer counterattack. It crossed the Don at Belaya Kalivta and so I have had to pull in everything I could in that sector to reform a front there. I have even pulled the Marines out of Novorossiysk and sent them through the Kerch Strait to Taganrog. We will hold Rostov, perhaps for another month. After that, I cannot guarantee you anything, unless we give ground s
omewhere else to get the troops. Take a good look at the map now. The Kuban and Donets Basin are the largest pocket ever formed in the annuals of military history. They must now fight with what they have, and supplies they can produce in Rostov and the other cities there.”
“Those troops you pulled back from Kursk,” said Kirov, pointing at the map. “Are you going to leave them there? The Germans are breaking through behind them.”
“I will attempt to get as many out as I can, but withdrawal from a prepared line in heavy contact with the Germans will not be easy. I expect casualties of 30% or higher. Yet if I do leave them in place, we get yet another pocket, and they have the infantry to digest this one after Kirov fell.”
Kirov was silent for a time, thinking, the lines around his eyes deep with worry. “And the morale of the troops?” He asked. “Will they fight?”
Zhukov could see his distress, and passed a moment of pity for him, wanting to be able to say something, anything that might bring him some comfort or relief. “Yes,” he said, “they will fight. They haven’t given up yet, not anywhere I have been on the front.”
“Then get them out of that trap. Save them. Pull them back to the Donets as you planned earlier, and god help us if we can’t stop those panzers after that. I approve your plan to extract those two Siberian Armies from the line south of Tula. Let us hope they still have some fight in them.”
The order for that withdrawal was given, and Zhukov was pleased that the casualty rate was much lower than he expected, perhaps no more than 5%. On the high ground southwest of Voronezh, troops in the 8th Panzer Division could see masses of brown infantry moving like a great herd of animals towards the river. More than 25 divisions had pulled back, all trying to get to any bridge the engineers could erect, or make it over the one bridge at Georgu Dezu.
North of that town, a small flotilla of Soviet river gunboats bravely patrolled the muddy waters, and they saw hordes of mechanical animals heading their way, in utter awe. Model had decided to cross north of their position, his engineers quickly building a pontoon bridge over which he pushed the massed armor of 1st, 4th and 18th Panzer Divisions, along with both the 101st and 103rd Schwerepanzer Brigades. There were over 400 tanks in the operation, a mailed fist that was driving right over the river bridge and then fanning out in all directions, pushing up to the rail line about 15 kilometers east of the crossing point.
It was there that a wild melee ensued, for the panzers arrived just as the troops of the 17th and 24th Siberian armies were leaping from the trains to deploy. The German tanks were advancing in rows, blasting at the long line of train cars that seemed to stretch over 20 kilometers. Soviet troops were throwing equipment from the flat cars, seized by the infantry, which then turned and began to set up makeshift positions for their AT guns, mortars, and machineguns. The armored assault was coming up against seven or eight Siberian Rifle Divisions, all deploying from the boxcars, clutching little more than a rifle and a few grenades. If they failed to stop Model’s thrust, those fast moving tanks could roll up behind Voronezh from the south, and that was the plan.
North of the city, Hoth’s 3rd Panzer Army was massing to form another pincer, and the Germans hoped to clamp down on the entire defense of the city with those two massive jaws of steel. There was no good news for either Zhukov or Kirov that day. Even in the south, Balck’s intrepid Ghost Division had punched through the thin Soviet line, and Hauser went dashing into the breach, soon finding his battalion alone on the road south to Rostov. On the 6th of September, Balck received a radio call from him.
“Where are you? I haven’t heard from you for two days.”
“I am five kilometers from Rostov. I sent a squad up to have a look an hour ago. The city is virtually undefended. There are heavy flak units, a few Marines and lots of service troops, but no line army here. Come on down! Bring the division and we can take it for the asking in three days!”
Hauptman Paul Hauser and General Hermann Balck were out to make a mockery of Zhukov’s prediction that he could hold Rostov for another month. It seemed that everywhere, Soviet hopes were failing, and the German summer offensive was reaching for its final objectives with the violence of its sweeping advance. If Rostov fell, Balck would literally cut the massive pocket Zhukov had spoken of right in two. The Donets Basin pocket would be separated from the Kuban Pocket, and he would be occupying the primary base of supply for both.
It was then that Zhukov decided on another desperate gamble. When the Germans had taken the Crimea the previous year, they extracted 17th and 11th Armies and replaced them with Rumanian troops, which simply invested Sevastopol, making no effort to take it. There were six Soviet infantry and two tank divisions in a small enclave around that port, and if he could get them out by sea, they might be enough to save Rostov. Sergei Kirov now had to choose which city to hold, and of the two, Rostov was by far the most important. His Black Sea Fleet would sortie to cover the operation, and then simply move south to base at Novorossiysk.
For Kirov it was the gravest moment of the war, even surpassing the holocaust in Moscow the previous winter. At one throw, four major Russian cities were all under threat of imminent capture. Sevastopol would surely fall once those divisions were moved out, Rostov’s fate was as yet in doubt. Voronezh was slowly being surrounded by two massive arms of German steel, and the citizens of Volgograd could hear the German guns at night, the sound growing louder day by day.
Chapter 17
Kirov sat in his office at the Smolny Institute in Leningrad, the one city that had been spared the fire of war. The news seemed so far off in the quiet of the night, but he knew it was only a brief respite. If we lose the south, he thought, then next year they will come for us here. If we lose Rostov…. Then the Kuban is next, and Hitler finally gets the one city and rail line he needs to move the oil home to Germany. Damn him and damn that traitor Ivan Volkov to hell. I have fought that man tooth and nail since the revolution, and all the while I knew there was one sure way I might eliminate him. Yet I let him live because the consequences of taking his life were too uncertain—potentially catastrophic. Yet that is what I see unfolding now—catastrophe.
Yes… One sure way….
“Grishin!” he shouted over his shoulder, wanting his Intelligence Chief Berzin.
“Sir?” The bristly haired Chief came in from the study.”
“Round up a team of the best men we have—the very best—company strength. Then get me an airship big enough to lift them.”
Berzin stood there with a puzzled look on his face. “May I ask what for? Are we going to move the headquarters?”
“You might say that, my friend. Yes, we are moving it to the one city that matters now, more than any other we fight for this day.”
Berzin could take his pick. “You want to go to Volgograd?” He chose that city because he knew Kirov prized it above all the others, even Moscow.
“Not yet,” said Kirov, a far off look in his eye. “We are going to Ilanskiy.” He stood up, opening his desk drawer, and taking out a pistol he had kept for decades. It was the weapon he had used as a young man to kill Josef Stalin.
“Ilanskiy?” said Berzin. “What are we to do there with a hundred men and a pistol?”
Kirov looked at him, a cold light in his eyes. “I am going to kill Ivan Volkov.”
“What? Kill Volkov? At Ilanskiy? What are you talking about?”
“Don’t be a fool,” said Kirov. “You know what I have told you about that place, and you also know what I have told you about Volkov. He doesn’t belong here. He came from another time, and his presence here is a blight on all these events. How many divisions do we have facing Volkov’s troops? Do you know what I could do with those men if I had them now? I could defend Volgograd, stop the German offensive, save Rostov! All the oil Volkov is sitting on would be mine, and I would not have to scrimp and dig for it in Siberia under Karpov’s guard, and then transport it a thousand miles before I can use it. What if the Siberian Rail goes down? Our armies wo
uld be frozen like ice this winter!”
“But sir…. Think about this. To begin with, Karpov is sitting on Ilanskiy with three divisions. After Volkov’s raids, he won’t let anyone come within a hundred miles of the place. He’s got airships on constant patrol, particularly after the German airship incursion. We would never get through.”
“Oh, yes we would. I’ll simply send him a message requesting an emergency meeting there, a wartime summit to plan the defense of the motherland. I can waltz right in. He’ll even provide me an honor guard, and all proper diplomatic niceties. We’ll get through. All I need to do is get to that railway inn with a handful of our best men. From there it’s just a short walk to victory.”
“Victory? What in God’s name do you plan to do?”
“I’ve said that—kill Volkov.”
“But where? How?”
“At Ilanskiy. With my pistol—the same one I used to kill Stalin. I’ll put an end to this madness once and for all. Let’s see what the front looks like after I eliminate Volkov in 1908.”
“In 1908? You think you can get back there again—by using that stairway?”
“I got here from there once, didn’t I? Where do you think the material all came from? I went up that stairway and brought it back. This time I’ll start at the top.”
“You think you can get to the past—to 1908—simply by walking down that back stairway?”
“Why not? Volkov did it. That’s how he got here in the first place. So I can do it as well.”
“Madness…” Berzin did not know what else to say. “Madness! Suppose you did do this. Then what? You expect to find Ivan Volkov sitting there having tea and waiting for you to put a bullet in him? Think, Sergei. Think! You say Volkov came here that way, but how do you know it will work for you?”
“I’ll test that proposition with my feet.”
“Alright. Suppose it does work. You have told me you were there yourself, as a young man—back when you called yourself Mironov. How can you go there now? Can there be two of you—two versions of the same man, one young, one old? This is madness!”
Tigers East (Kirov Series Book 25) Page 14
