Battle of Kursk

by Tom Zola

  “In addition there is the Great War,” Field Marshal Fedor von Bock interjected from the second row. Beck’s eyes narrowed while he continued to focus on Rommel.

  “Von Bock is right. In the eyes of the world we’re the ones who started the Great War … and now ...” Rommel paused for a moment, staring at Beck with a stern look. “…And now that …” He didn’t finish, yet everyone knew what he was trying to say.

  “So you want to keep fighting?” Beck summed it up, crossing his arms. “You want to finish what he started – or how am I supposed to understand this?”

  “No!” Rommel said decisively. “A fortunate end to the war hangs in the balance in the next weeks, and our opponents are getting stronger every day. Let’s act now and continue the war so as to at least achieve a military stalemate. Then we’ll be in a good starting position for peace negotiations. Right now the Allies won’t accept anything other than our unconditional surrender.”

  “But then millions of Germans will die,” Beck objected.

  “That’s correct. But our Vaterland will survive. We’ll be saving our people from being torn apart by the Allies and turned into farmers who will be forced to slave away for the welfare of the English or Russians.”

  Damn, Beck thought, old chap Rommel has really managed to make me think long and hard about this. Can you believe that? Beck started to contemplate the issue. After seconds that dragged on like hours he nodded very slowly. “All right … but only under the following conditions … ”

  “Go on, Herr General.” Von Witzleben wrung his hands even more vigorously.

  “First, take away all power from that Bohemian Private’s entire gang – even those in the officer corps. Second, dissolve the Waffen SS, the SA and other Nazi-organizations immediately because the monopoly on arms has to return to the Wehrmacht. Third...”

  “There is no need to worry,” Rommel interrupted him. “No need to worry. That point’s at the top of our agenda. The associations of the SS will be dissolved and their soldiers will be scattered throughout the whole Wehrmacht, with the goal of completely destroying these structures. As you determined so correctly, the Wehrmacht, as the rightful military institution of the Reich, must have the monopoly of arms.”

  “Third, war crimes. Any government I am to be part of, can no longer tolerate any war crimes. Not in Russia and not in these ominous camps. Anyone who is guilty of these matters will be … must be … excluded from the circle of German soldiers. Any government I am to be part of has to commit itself to humanism.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that. The SS will finally be dissolved; the soldiers from the camp divisions won’t even be integrated. And the Wehrmacht has stayed clean anyway,” Canaris, Head of Abwehr – the German Military Intelligence Service – chimed in. Beck’s eyes narrowed and fixated on Canaris like a predator about to jump. “We can talk about anything,” he countered sharply, “but don’t think for a minute you can play me for a fool. This war is a dirty war, and none of the sides have covered themselves with glory – including ours.”

  Some of the officers nodded; others appeared to be of a different opinion. But that wasn’t important right now. The only thing that mattered was that the foundation of a new military government was laid during this conversation.

  Beck clapped his hands dramatically. “That’s it, gentlemen.” He looked his old – new – comrades in the eyes.

  Rommel nodded, satisfied.

  “I sincerely hope, though, that none of you is insane enough to want to hold elections soon?” Beck’s eyes traveled from face to face, and now everyone was grinning.

  *

  One hour later the high-ranking officers had departed again. The majority of them wanted to get some sleep so they could arrange for all the necessary steps to be taken early the next morning. Von Witzleben and Canaris, who had been holding on to a file the whole time, were the only ones who lingered in the wood-paneled corridor for a few moments.

  “Please, Sir,” the Head of Abwehr said, “even though it’s late. This can’t wait. It’s bad enough that Fellgiebel didn’t want to pass it on to the Führer last summer.”

  The new chancellor of the German Reich, Erwin von Witzleben, took the file from him and read the title: “Report on the Roundup of the Network of Soviet Secret Service Agents in Warsaw.”

  To Frau Else Engelmann, April 13th, 1943

  (23) Bremen

  Hagenauer Str. 21

  My dearest Elly,

  I’ve finally found the time to write to you again and I want to tell you right away that I miss you with all my heart. I bet you’re already going crazy with worrying because lately there has been a lot of movement here on the Eastern Front, but please let me tell you that you don’t need to worry about me at all.

  Ever since Stalingrad I’ve been convinced that our army is accompanied by a whole division of guardian angels. When I think about what would’ve happened to our 6th Army if Paulus and von Manstein hadn’t gotten us out of the city in the last minute! Since then I’ve been praying to God every night. Don’t laugh at me, please! Fortunately we're currently back in the rear, doing nothing but training and relaxing. But I don’t want to burden you with all kinds of military matters; I just want to let you know that some things have improved here since last winter! Paulus is a capable man and probably won’t throw us away. But now let me proceed to the most important things: How’s our little one doing? Is she listening to her mommy like a good girl? Can you already sleep through the night or is the little brat still crying and complaining every hour? It’s already been another four months since we’ve last seen each other, and my next leave won’t be any time in the near future. I guess I’ll have to enjoy the summer in Russia until then. The thought that I’m missing out on half of Gudrun’s life is painful, but when all this is over, we’ll make up for lost time! Please give my love to my mother and my old man. He needs to stop stuffing himself with all that cake! Also give my regards to your parents and your sister. I’m thinking of all of you. All the time. Every day.

  Your Sepp.

  On the outskirts of Mezhove, Soviet Union, April 13th, 1943

  After the near-catastrophe in and around Stalingrad and the following violent battles between Stalin’s city and the Azov Sea in the winter, Tank Regiment 2 had suffered severe casualties. The Russians had swarmed the lines of Army Groups A and B with an unbelievable amount of soldiers and equipment and in the end pushed the front back to Maykop and Rostov, where the offensive by the enemy finally ended, granting the emaciated German military a break from the action. The 16th Panzer Division was reduced to 45 percent of its required numbers and therefore had to be taken out of the combat zone urgently, something which finally had taken place four weeks before. Panzer Regiment 2 hadn’t suffered quite as many casualties – yet the R&R in the rear was desperately needed. There, off the front, the regiment was resupplied with men and vehicles.

  Leaning against the trunk of a beech, Lieutenant Josef Engelmann sat on the ground in the shade of a cluster of trees that broke through the open fields of his unit’s operational area. In Engelmann’s opinion the area was anything but optimal: too much open space, too little vegetation to protect the equipment from prying eyes in the air, but the commander’s protest, sent to the high command leaders, had been in vain.

  Wild sunflowers with distinctly smaller and more ruffled petals than the sunflowers the lieutenant knew from the fields at home, raised their heads everywhere in the lowlands of the Ukraine, while the grass in the meadows presented itself in a rich green. Spring had arrived, accompanied by an unforgiving sun that grilled the weeds and pastures of the country mercilessly. Everything was quiet; you could only hear a man’s laughter echo loudly across the fields once in a while. That was Staff Sergeant Kreisel; everybody in the regiment knew him and could identify him by his distinct laughter.

  Engelmann, definitely happy with his letter, tucked a pen and some paper into his chest pocket and decided to mail it off today. The tall, s
lim officer rolled up the left sleeve of his black field jacket, and a Swiss watch became visible on his sweaty arm.

  11:38 am German time, he noted, nodding with satisfaction. Now he unbuttoned his other chest pocket and pulled out a red tin can. Taking off the lid, he took out a triangular piece of chocolate and pushed it between his teeth.

  Whether it’s twenty-five degrees Celsius or not – I have to have my Scho-Ka-Kola, he thought while chewing and stood up. Fine pearls of sweat had formed under his brown hair, which was curly, thick and unruly – so unruly that no pomade of this world could tame it. For that reason Engelmann tried to keep it as short as possible, because as a German officer he simply couldn’t look like Struwwelpeter.

  The lieutenant strolled along the grove of trees and stepped into the open field, where he was greeted by the sun. The black uniforms of the Panzer troop were anything but a blessing in this kind of weather but Engelmann nevertheless had to walk over three hundred yards south through the open plain because that was where the tanks of the 1st Platoon of the 9th Company were located – the tanks of his platoon. The sun was beating down mercilessly, so Engelmann walked faster.

  Sweat was pouring down his body in rivulets and even penetrated the outer parts of his uniform. At least his field cap offered some protection from the sun. It was not until now that the lieutenant realized the luxury problems he was privileged to face here in Ukraine. Just two months ago he had had to fight for his life, was hit by shrapnel, had frozen fingertips, and at times an ear blast injury from the noises of war.

  And now? Now I’m a little too warm and there are days when I’m bored to tears. What a life! Engelmann certainly didn’t want to go back to the front, and was happy for each day he was able to enjoy in the rear echelon.

  Rear echelon. He savored the words, and felt uneasy as he remembered that the good times would soon be over again. The German Army had been trying for a while to eliminate the expression “rear echelon“ in order to strengthen the team spirit in the troops, but general army slang worked slowly and sometimes not in the desired direction.

  Engelmann shook off these thoughts and tried to enjoy the peace of the moment instead. Here in Mezhove the soldiers of Panzer Regiment 2 even had the option of driving to Stalino to visit the opera house or a movie theater. It was almost like peacetime here even though Engelmann still wore a loaded pistol, his “pocket flak”, on his belt.

  After the lieutenant had crossed half the field, he could clearly see his men, who were busy with his platoon’s five Panzer IV Ausführung F2, in a small wooded patch. Recently fifty-eight recruits who were supposed to get their special training as quickly as possible had been assigned to the regiment.

  As of last week, Engelmann’s 1st Platoon was assigned the task of having the newbies familiarize themselves with the Panzer IV, with a focus on maintenance, technical service and tactical conduct – at least in instruction the boys had already learned how to move the vehicle and how to conduct themselves inside it – in theory, anyway. This morning until lunch as well as in the afternoon, camouflage was on the schedule, and the lieutenant liked what he could see from over a hundred yards’ distance. But now he wanted to take a closer look at the course of training even though he could fully trust his radio operator and the staff sergeant, Oberfeldwebel Nitz, in such matters.

  The lieutenant had finally reached his platoon. Here, at the edge of the small wooded area, the five tanks were parked so deep into the woods that the tree tops provided sufficient protection from the eyes of enemy aircraft pilots - though you didn’t really have to worry about them almost one hundred and twenty miles behind the front line. Nitz and some of the other men from Engelmann’s platoon were supervising the recruits, who crawled all over the tanks like black ants in order to camouflage them with branches and leaves. Other recruits brought huge armfuls of twigs and branches from the trees nearby which they then cut down to size with crosscut saws and pocket knives. When camouflaging an object, the most important thing was to blur the contours, and Engelmann was very satisfied with what he saw.

  The Panzer IV in the F variant looked a bit like an angular, three-tier pyramid with a rectangular base: A rectangular, smaller cabinet rose out of the wide tank, and the muzzle of a MG 34 protruded from the right side of the front of that cabinet. A basically rectangular turret sat on top, equipped with a 7.5-centimeter or 2.95-inch cannon that – in the F2 variant – extended past the tank. All in all, the Panzer IV with its impressive angular design stood out due to its sharp contours that you wouldn’t find in nature. For that reason it was so important to focus on the contours when camouflaging the tank, so as to turn it into as much of a green lump as possible – a lump that could be mistaken for a row of bushes by distant onlookers.

  Of course Staff Sergeant Nitz, a good man, knew that you don't salute in the field; therefore when he saw Lieutenant Engelmann, he only walked over to him to inform him about the status of the training.

  “Sir, the training’s going as well as we discussed,” the staff sergeant reported, tugging on his thin mustache. Nitz was several years older than Engelmann and conducted himself like a strictly correct soldier, always and everywhere. Behind his back, his subordinates often called him “Papa Nitz” because he would always listen to their problems and worries and only rarely acted like a slave-driver. He also owed his distinct dialect to the fact that he came from the area around Leipzig.

  “All right. It looks like you’ll be through by lunchtime, right?”

  “Jawohl, Herr Leutnant, we can do it. And as I said, after the lunch break we’ll continue with the camouflage nets.”

  From the basic to the complex. That’s how it has to be, Engelmann thought, cheering silently.

  “And how’s your back?” Here, behind the front line, the soldiers were slowly able to heal from the little ailments they had collected in the past months: impetigo, joint aches and lice were not uncommon during the Russian winter, and usually couldn’t be treated right away at the front line. Here in the rear echelon, however, the men’s health clearly improved – but now the number of those infected with sexual diseases had increased rapidly, though the army was issuing condoms in massive amounts. Nitz, on the other hand, had been complaining about back pain for months, at times fierce and at times bearable, which no military physician had yet found a cure for.

  “Bearable, Sir. It has to be,” he answered, pressing his lips together.

  “Then proceed.”

  The staff sergeant turned back to the recruits. “Oh no! No, no, no!” Nitz suddenly groaned when he saw what the recruits were doing to the platoon leader's tank, marked with white letters spelling "Elfriede" painted on her barrel. “Men, you can’t stuff thick branches between the wheels!”

  While his words were still reverberating, Nitz already reached the tank and started to pull thick branches out of the sprockets while three recruits in black Panzer uniforms stood next to him, showing remorse. Then Nitz began to explain to the young men why that wasn’t a good idea and what they could do instead to camouflage the sprockets. He talked to them the way one would read a book to a child.

  Engelmann couldn’t help but grin. He liked people like Nitz – people who used their heads and language instead of just bullying the soldiers with physical exercises and drills. He kept watching the scene for another moment. Then he turned away; after all, he still had to send out a letter. A low and constant roar began to close in from a distance. Looking up, Engelmann noticed a propeller aircraft that was fast approaching from the northeast. Unimpressed, he turned his head and left his platoon’s rear area. He had to walk more than a mile to get to the command post of the company where the mobile post office had also put up its tents. Above his head, the aircraft roared past. The rumbling of the propeller engine – at this time a rare item in the sky – got Engelmann thinking again; though this time he was forced to think about the entire situation. He saw the future with mixed feelings. It was true: A lot of things had improved since last winter but they
were all “internal“. He considered the situation on the front lines to be very critical. The war on two fronts that Hitler allegedly always had tried to avoid had long since become reality because of the bombing in the West, and the threat of an invasion on the western front hung in the air like a bad persistent smell. Engelmann was glad that von Witzleben had at least ended that madness in North Africa; that he had allowed the Afrika Korps to retreat. This had saved hundreds of thousands of German soldiers from allied captivity; it had also prevented tons of materiel, guns and tanks from being captured by the enemy.

  Overall von Witzleben’s move had released battle-hardened troops for other theaters of war. But it was not only the overall situation on the global map that worried Engelmann; he also felt as if he was confronted in a subtle fashion every day with all the shortcomings that might cost the German Reich victory in the end – and these started with such trivial matters as airplanes in the sky.

  At the beginning of the war in the East, the whole firmament had been covered by the aircraft of the Luftwaffe, the German Air Force, and when one needed air support in combat, the Stuka’s – the dive bombers – had been there in a flash. Last year there had already been considerably fewer planes in the sky to support the combat soldiers, and this winter it seemed to Engelmann that for the first time he had noticed more enemy military aircraft than German ones.

  This was an observation that applied to all sections of the Wehrmacht. And casualties could hardly be compensated for anymore. When had Engelmann last encountered a unit that had its full manpower? He honestly didn’t know.

  He also didn’t know how much longer the German Army would be able to fight this war if it didn’t experience a breakthrough somewhere soon. While the Germans had still launched long-range attacks over 1 500 miles in 1941, in 1942 their power had only been strong enough for an offensive against the southern half of the front line. And this year? The thoughts rattled around in Engelmann’s head while the aircraft’s propeller thumped behind his back.