Blood and Ice

by Leo Kessler

  Notes

  1. The 5th SS Panzer Division, to which the Europa belonged.

  2. Former Russian POWs in German hands who had volunteered for auxiliary service in the German Army. By 1945 there were 600,000 of them.

  3. Slang word for contraceptives.

  THREE

  Together the Regimental Commander and big Sergeant-Major walked down the lines of the Europa, speaking little but noting the busy activity on all sides with professional eyes. The men were mostly in their teens, poorly trained and probably unable speak anything but their native languages.

  For a while they paused at the outskirts of the little town and watched a group of smooth-faced, teenaged lieutenants uder the command of an older captain, whose left arm was in a sling, practising an infantry attack. But they obviously did not know the first thing about how to use the cover of the Royal Tiger which was leading the feigned attack. Their ‘grape’1 was too far behind the tank – probably they were too scared to get close enough to its roaring tracks.

  In the end Habicht barked: ‘Captain, punishment drill for your group. They are very idle and slack!’

  The captain did not hesitate. ‘Hinlegen!’ he bellowed.

  As one the young officers flopped face downwards into the thick grey mud churned up by the tank’s tracks.

  ‘Aufstehen!’

  They sprang to their feet again, their uniforms grey and soaked with mud.

  ‘Hinlegen!’ the captain barked again and they fell to the ground once more like a series of wooden puppets.

  ‘Straight from Bad Tolz cadet school,’ Habicht commented. ‘Seventeen year olds, the lot of ’em. Four months ago, they were still rubbing the seats of their trousers shiny in high school.’

  ‘Sir.’ Schulze said, but nothing more. He was wondering why he had been picked out for this guided tour of SS Regiment Europa’s weaknesses and deficiencies.

  Habicht seemed to be able to read his mind. He suddenly said, ‘Probably you are wondering why I am showing you all this, Schulze?’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘I shall tell you. The great days are long past when we of the Armed SS got the cream of the Fatherland’s new recruits. Not a man under one metre eighty, not even accepted if he had a single filling in his teeth. The barrel is about scraped clean. But there is no purpose in complaining about it. We must do what we have to do with what we have – those raw young officers and my Europeans. What they lack in experience and training, they make up for in fervour and their belief in the Folk, Fatherland, and Führer.’

  ‘But that won’t stop the Popovs’ bullets, sir,’ Schulze said.

  The light died in Habicht’s eye. ‘Agreed,’ he said as coldly as before. ‘That is why I requested Reichführer SS Himmler personally to let me have a cadre of experienced SS NCOs for my regiment. You and your comrades of the Wotan form that cadre.’

  In silence the two men walked to the shabby one-time synagogue which now served as the Europa’s HQ At the door Habicht crooked his linger at one of the two sentries, armed with machine-pistols, and barked, ‘Sturmmann, to my office, guard the door until I have finished my talk with Sergeant-Major Schulze.’

  Carefully Habicht locked the door behind a mystified Schulze and pulled the blackout shutters closed before putting on the light, a single fly-blown electric bulb without a shade.

  ‘Schulze,’ Habicht began slowly, ‘I’m going to tell you some thing which so far I have only told to my senior officers. I’m going to have to rely heavily on you and your Wotan men in what is to come. You have seen the standard of training of my young officers. I’m going to attach two of your veterans to each one of them. They will give him the experienced support he will need. You must give them the necessary motivation. The situation here in Hungary is very grim. Last November, as soon as the mass of the Hungarian Army began surrendering to the Reds, our whole front was forced back to the Danube and the Fatherland threatened anew. Our war economy depends on the Hungarian bauxite and one third of the crude oil we use in the refining industry to make the Luftwaffe’s aviation spirit comes from this country. As a result we tried to hold on to Budapest and stop the Reds driving any further into Hungary.

  ‘But while our forces were occupied with the task of keeping Malinovsky’s Army out of Budapest, that damned cunning Tolbuchin moved up from Belgrade and crossed the Danube near its confluence with the Drava. We had not expected the Reds to cross there but they did and driving rapidly north-west to Lake Balaton, they upset the whole German front in Hungary. By Chrisimas Eve, the two Armies completed the encirclement of Budapest, cutting off 150,000 of our troops, including comrades of ours of the 8th and 22nd SS Cavalry Divisions.’

  Habicht strode over to the big wall map. ‘Remember now, Schulze, what I am telling you now is absolutely secret. It will cost you your head if you breathe a word of it to anyone.’ Habicht drew himself up proudly. ‘Schulze, the German Army in Hungary is going over to the offensive again. The rot has stopped. There will be no more retreats. Soon we march again!’

  ‘General Balck of the 6th Army has decided that with the support of his infantry divisions, we of the Viking and our comrades of the SS Death’s Head Division will break out without any preliminary artillery or air support from the north – here.’ He tapped the map.

  MAP 1: The situation in Hungary, 1st January, 1945

  ‘But that’s mountain country, sir,’ Schulze objected. ‘Difficult for tanks and armoured vehicles.’

  Habicht beamed at him. ‘Exactly! That is why General Balck picked the area for the 4th SS Panzer Corps. The Reds will never expect us to attack through the mountains, especially in winter. It will be the task of the Viking to roll through the Vértes Mountains and take as its initial objective Bickse, which should place the whole southern Hungarian road network in our hands, a network that is particularly important to German High Command.

  ‘That is where Europa comes in. You see General Balck has honoured the Regiment with a special task. Viking will have as its initial object Bickse. On our left flank, Death’s Head will have as its object Zsambek. Both will use the only road network through the mountains to reach those objectives. Accordingly once the Reds tumble to what is going on, they will attempt to block those road networks.

  But there is one road through the Vértes Mountains which our Intelligence is sure that they do not know about. And even if they did, they would hardly imagine we would attempt to use it in the depths of winter because it is one thousand metres or more above sea-level, running here,’ he tapped the map, ‘between the twin objectives. Our object then is to slip in and through the Red lines without their spotting us, until we reach the road network beyond.’

  ‘And then, sir?’

  ‘Then, Schulze, we shall race towards Budapest at the head of the SS Panzer Corps.’ His hawklike face gleamed with sudden, almost crazy fanaticism. ‘Imagine it, Schulze. We will be a symbol of hope and renewed courage for the Fatherland – a symbol for the whole Western World. A regiment of European volunteers sacrificing their blood to save one of Europe’s oldest cities from the Bolshevik horde. The Western World will acclaim our success. We start in two days’ time. At twenty-two hundred hours on the first of January, 1945.’

  ‘Happy shitting New Year,’ Schulze thought with a helpless sinking feeling.

  Note

  1. An attack formation used in conjunction with a tank.

  FOUR

  ‘As the New Year begins, my dear Folk Comrades, I should like to thank all of you, men, women and the children of the Hitler Youth for what you have suffered, tolerated, done, achieved. Don’t despair! I want you to continue fighting with the utmost fanaticism in this moment of crisis for our nation...’

  Sergeant-Major Schulze let the words of the Führer’s New Year message to the nation drone on. ‘The Hawk’1 had insisted that everyone in the Regiment should listen despite the fact that most of the European troops could not understand a word of it.

  Moodily Schulze lounged in the lice-inf
ested straw next to Chink and surveyed the young soldiers of his new company, dressed in full battle-kit minus their helmets. The men were pale and tense. They smoked a lot and went often to the evil-smelling thunderboxes at the end of the long barn to urinate. They were scared; after all they were going into action for the first time.

  Outside it had been snowing heavily all day long. Schulze could imagine what the roads up in the mountains were going to be like.

  ‘I devote every hour to building up the will to resist of my armies, introducing new weapons, forming new divisions. And I assure you, Folk Comrades, our enemies will soon learn that I have not been sleeping...’

  ‘You shouldn’t have bothered to wake up, bastard,’ Schulze mumbled under his breath.

  ‘I cannot close this message without thanking the Lord God on high for the aid he has always given to me and my Folk, which has made us stronger than our enemies...’

  ‘Bloody hypocrite!’ Schulze snorted and pushed aside the black-out curtain.

  Half an hour later, Obersturmbannführer Habicht stamped through the snow to where Schulze and the Chink were working their way down the long line of waiting vehicles, checking tracks and suspension. In spite of the weather, he was beaming ‘You heard the Führer’s speech?’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘Wasn’t it magnificent?’

  ‘Sir!’ Both of them replied woodenly again.

  The Hawk smiled fanatically. ‘It would be an honour to die for a man like that.’

  Inwardly Schulze groaned, and said: ‘We have checked the vehicles’ tracks. They’re too tight for deep snow. Once we get up there in the mountains –’

  The Hawk waved aside his objection. He was in a tremendous mood, almost as if he had been drinking. ‘A mere bagatelle, my dear Schulze. We shall get through. Now order of march. I shall give myself the honour of leading in the command halftrack. You will follow in the VW jeep, leading the rest of the halftracks with the grenadiers. Convoy distance between my vehicle and yours will be two hundred metres. Understood?’

  Schulze gave a little sigh of relief. At least he was not going to be at point. If the Hawk bought it, he’d be two hundred metres away; that would give him and the Chink a chance of making dust. ‘Sir.’

  ‘We’ll be in constant radio communication, of course. Therefore if I run into trouble – which I don’t anticipate – you will bring up the grenadiers. The Royal Tigers will bring up the rear. I don’t want one of those monsters getting into trouble in the snow and blocking the road. When we are through and down on the plain again on the other side, they can then take the lead.’

  ‘If,’ Schulz thought grimly.

  ‘All right, Schulze. We have the cover of darkness now almost. It will take us three hours to get to the start line. I suggest you call out the men and mount up.’ Suddenly he shot out his one hand and said with surprising formality. ‘Hals und Bienbruch, Schulzel.’2

  Schulze took it uneasily. The hand was hot with suppressed fervour. ‘Hals und Beinbruch, Obersturmbannführer.’

  It was too late now to be afraid. Standing on his command halftrack, head ducked inside his camouflaged hood against the icy wind that blew across the limitless field of snow, Habicht looked at the green glowing dial of his watch. It was almost time to go. The feeling of heady excitement had been replaced by one of controlled happiness, like that of a child who knows he was soon going to receive a present.

  Germany was returning to the offensive again. Month after month, the Fatherland had suffered defeat after defeat. Russia, Poland, Rumania, Bulgaria, now Hungary – it seemed that nothing had been able to stop the Red Army. For every battalion the hard-pressed German forces had destroyed, a regiment had appeared; for every tank troop wiped out, a squadron; for every plane, a flight. The Reds seemed to possess an inexhaustible supply of men and material.

  Yet Habicht knew they could be beaten. Now it was no longer Germany on the march, fighting for some selfish imperialistic gain; it was Europe, striving to stop for good the Red tide which would swamp and drown it, if nothing were done soon.

  SS Regiment Europa would only be the start. Once Budapest was theirs, their success would bring thousands, hundreds of thousands of eager young men from all over Europe flocking to the silver banner of the SS. By then he might well be dead. But what did his sacrifice matter if the success of his Regiment meant that Young Europe would spring to the Germanic Cause, and put an end to the Reds.

  His fingers trembling with excitement, he pulled out his signal pistol. ‘One…two…three…’ he counted off the seconds in a shaky voice, ‘nine…ten.’

  His finger crooked round the trigger of the clumsy pistol. A soft plop and then a slight hush. The flare climbed rapidly into the dark night sky and exploded in a burst of bright green.

  It was the signal!

  All along the long column, the engines of the halftracks, jeeps, tanks burst into noisy, crazy life. Habicht, possessed by an almost uncontrollable excitement, slapped his hand on the driver’s shoulder. ‘FORWARD! …WE MARCH!’ he cried.

  ‘REGIMENT EUROPA ADVANCE!’

  Notes

  1. Habicht means ‘hawk’ in German.

  2. Roughly ‘happy landings’.

  SECTION TWO:

  THE MOUNTAIN ROAD

  ONE

  Dark clouds parted in the moon’s path for an instant. Schulze, crouched next to Chink and a couple of Cheeseheads they had brought with them for extra fire-power – in case – caught a quick glimpse of the distant peaks. But it wasn’t the scenery that held his attention. It was the little bunker, almost covered by deep snow, to the right of the mountain road, fronted by a very deep drop. Then the moon disappeared beneath the clouds again and an almost total darkness engulfed them.

  ‘What do you think, Chink?’ Schulze whispered.

  Chink sniffed the air a couple of times like a dog.

  ‘Ivans,’ he announced finally. ‘Chink can tell. You smell.’

  Schulze sniffed. Yes, the little Hiwi was right. There were Russians up there in the bunker, as the Hawk had predicted.

  Schulze thought for a moment. The Hawk would want to attack – would want a ‘sacrifice of blood’ – but that was not the way he saw it.

  ‘Listen, we’re gonna take out that bunker ourselves. The four of you Cheeseheads will advance to the base of the slope, that’s about fifty odd metres from the Popov bunker. Me and Chink here will come in at the same time from the flank. When we’re in position, I’ll whistle twice. You open up with all you’ve got. Then –’

  Chink beat him to it. His long curved knife gleamed wickedly in the faint light. ‘Sergeant-Major and Chink cut throats.’ The Hiwi giggled.

  Next to him the Limburger shuddered.

  ‘All right,’ Schulze commanded, ‘that’s the plan. Let’s get on with it. Move yer arses!’

  Schulze slid through the snow-heavy bushes, grateful for the mountain wind and flurries of snow muffling their approach. Behind him Chink made no sound whatsoever. Schulze could not even hear him breathing despite the steepness of the ascent to the bunker. He was obviously an expert at this sort of thing. Metre by metre they crawled nearer to the still bunker, silhouetted against the night sky. Had they sentries posted somewhere outside? Schulze asked himself. German sentries would have crawled back into the warmth of the bunker, confident no officer would be around, but the Popovs were different, he knew that. They could endure a tremendous degree of cold, and besides in the Peasants’ and Workers’ Army it was not unusual for an officer to shoot a common soldier out of hand for the slightest dereliction of duty. Schulze decided there would be Popovs outside somewhere or other.

  They were about fifty metres away from the bunker. There was no sound save for the howl of the wind in the firs. Schulze stopped suddenly, as Chink pressed his shoulder firmly. Very deliberately the little Hiwi brought his mouth close to Schulze’s ear. ‘Ivan,’ he whispered, ‘to right!’

  Schulze felt his heart beat more rapidly. Two dark shapes detached
themselves from the shadows cast by the trees and plodded across their path in the slow weary manner of infantry men all over the world, carrying out sentry duty in the middle of the night.

  ‘Shit!’ Schulze cursed to himself. The two sentries were directly to their front. He had to get rid of them before they could tackle the bunker, but the ten or fifteen metres of ground which separated them was devoid of cover. The Popovs would spot them before they managed to cover it. He remembered the Cheeseheads down below. If they opened up, it might well distract the sentries. They might run forward to the edge of the drop to check what was going on. In those few seconds, he and Chink would be on the bunker. A grenade through the door and they would be in. They could worry about the two sentries later.

  Schulze straightened himself slowly and whistled shrilly, hoping that the sentries would take the sound for that of some night bird. Nothing happened. Neither the sentries stirred, nor was there any reaction from down below.

  Schulze glared at the darkness angrily. Nothing!

  He tried again – again nothing.

  ‘They’re petrified down there, Chink. They’re not gonna move. The Dutch bastards have left us in the lurch!’

  Schulze was suddenly seized by an all-consuming rage. He pulled the heavy stick grenade out of his belt, ripped out the china pin and counted one-two-three. Then he hurled it over the edge of the drop down to where he imagined his men to be. It was an old trick. But it worked. In the same instant that it exploded in a vicious burst of scarlet just behind the Dutch men’s positions, they opened fire in wild, fearsome abandon. The sentries shouted something and ran to the side of the slope. Schulze waited no longer. ‘Come on Chink – at the double!’