by Tom Zola
“Attention!” the sergeant yelled. All of the soldiers obeyed, standing straight.
Berning saluted and reported, “Herr Unterfeldwebel! Unteroffizier Berning reporting the platoon waiting for further orders.”
Ordinarily the soldier with the highest rank would now tell the soldiers to stand at ease but Pappendorf didn’t. He just stepped slowly into the room. Every step of his metal-plated boots clicked audibly on the planks of the wooden floor. Pappendorf’s gaze lingered on Berning.
“Tell me, Herr Unteroffizier,” he said in a conniving voice, “tell me why I see thirteen soldiers here that aren’t doing anything useful.”
Berning stared at his new platoon leader while sweat was forming on his palms again.
But Pappendorf wasn’t done yet. “And also tell me why you are one of these soldiers that aren’t doing anything.”
“I … err … I’m eating … so I’ll be ready for action … ”
“SHUT UP!” Pappendorf interrupted him. “Being a lazy good-for-nothing is one thing. But what’s even worse for me are the Pharisees! Don’t you tell me anything! You’re just loafing around here, nothing else!”
“I … ”
“Why does my platoon look like a bunch of Slavic farmers that don't know anything about water and soap? Herr Unteroffizier?”
Berning didn’t know what to say. Because last night we were shot to pieces by the Russian artillery, you son of a bitch! Because we had to deal with death and suffering! And – Goddammit – because we’re in a war!
Pappendorf glanced at his watch. “Berning, you’ve got exactly ten minutes to get yourself and the platoon cleaned up so well that it could be presented even to the Führer himself.”
“Jawohl!”
“Jawohl, HERR UNTERFELDWEBEL, Berning!” Pappendorf bawled.
Berning could kick himself for forgetting it again.
“Jawohl, Herr Unterfeldwebel!” he yelled.
Pappendorf stared at him.
What else does this guy want from me? Berning wondered.
“What does a German soldier do when he gets an order?” Pappendorf asked in a sharp voice.
Berning hesitated, thinking it was a trick question. “He … carries it out?” he finally stuttered.
“DO YOU TAKE ME FOR AN IDIOT OR WHAT?! He’ll repeat the order, Berning! He’ll repeat the order!”
Everybody in the room just stood there as if frozen and endured the scene, while Berning felt a sense of rage spreading throughout his guts. His right hand twitched slightly.
“I have the order … to get the platoon cleaned up so well … that it could be even presented to the Führer himself ... ”
Berning avoided Pappendorf’s eyes. Spontaneously he added another “Herr Unterfeldwebel.“
His platoon leader nodded and checked his watch again. “So, Sergeant, the first minute is already over!”
With these words Pappendorf clicked his heels and left the room. Berning folded his hands over his head and felt his breath racing again. He paused for a moment. Then he ordered, “Well, come on, guys. Get going! Clean yourselves, your uniforms and boots up! Move it!”
He wouldn’t have had to tell the soldiers anything. They stormed out of the room, out of the farmhouse, and ran to a narrow brook that flowed near the farm. While everybody was leaving the room and Hege was hastily reassembling his MG, Bongartz suddenly walked up to Berning.
“Goddamn Nazi bastard,” the lance corporal mumbled and threw his glowing cigarette butt on the ground, stepping on it.
Berning just nodded and looked at Bongartz, who was getting ready to leave and clean himself up, too.
“Gefreiter Bongartz?” the sergeant said spontaneously, feeling the need to talk.
“Jawohl?” Bongartz stopped and turned around.
“That business with the reconnaissance patrol … well, I mean … ” Berning didn’t know how to start, and he also didn’t really know what he was trying to say.
But Bongartz smiled softly, went over to him and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “It’s okay, Herr Unteroffizier. You’re a good guy.”
His smile was wide and sincere, and Berning had to smile, too. So he did have a friend here, after all.
Southwest of Prokhorovka, Soviet Union, May 6th, 1943
Heeresgruppe Süd – 86 kilometers south of Kursk
The casualties of the past days had forced the command of the 16th Panzer Division to reconsider their options. Now the 16th moved toward Prokhorovka, side by side with the 5th and 7th Panzer Divisions, while complete infantry and Panzergrenadier divisions followed. In the meantime the XIII Armee Korps went around the city, crossed the railway line to Belgorod with its divisions, and aimed for a shot at the Russian defensive line in the south. Lieutenant Engelmann had never seen so many military forces concentrated in such a small territory before. Tens of thousands of soldiers were moving in a sector that was only a few miles wide, and there were times when the German troops actually outnumbered the enemy during the infantry campaigns of Operation Citadel. If it hadn’t been for the massive enemy tank formations that seemed to sprout out of the ground like weeds, Engelmann really could have believed that the Wehrmacht had a long-term chance of winning this war after all.
Due to the large number of casualties – the workshop companies had been able to repair dozens of tanks and vehicles last night – the tank wedge in the section of PzRgt 2 could not be constituted as planned. The Tiger battalion with only 23 fighting vehicles left was too decimated to stand in the front alone. At this point General Paulus intervened personally because he didn’t want to see the new German “wonder weapon“, the VI Tiger, completely sacrificed in this important mission. He stated, “If the Tiger is to be not only a military success but also a psychological one, it must not only participate in Citadel but also survive the operation.”
Therefore the Division Commander von Angern developed the plan to reinforce the massive tank wedge with several medium-sized Panzer IV’s, as well as comparable captured tanks, in order to continue to move enforced firepower and as many tanks as possible to the front line. Today that tank wedge was to move onto the plains between the south curve of the Psel River and Prokhorovka, and challenge the armored Russian troops stationed there to the decisive battle, while the infantry formations were supposed to occupy the city center.
In preparation for this move, a raiding patrol had already taken hill 226.6 during the night. The hill was intended to serve as a “nest” for the artillery observers in the battle of the next day. And now, at dawn, the German tanks got going again.
*
So now we’re at the farthermost front line, Engelmann thought while his tank – in a row with the remaining members of his platoon, other Panzer IV platoons of the regiment, two T-34’s painted gray with a Balkenkreuz, as well as the rest of the Tiger panzers – was moving towards the possibly largest tank battle of all times. The armored forces of the division advanced to the plains north of Prokhorovka where, according to reconnaissance, 800 Russian tanks had gathered. The German Wehrmacht had 720 tanks and assault guns to face these concentrated Soviet forces. One thing was certain: At the end of the day, one of the two adversaries would have lost the majority of his armored troops in the Kursk salient, which would finally decide the battle of Kursk.
Just that minute a Russian radio signal with the message “Stal! Stal! Stal!” was intercepted. Steel! Steel! Steel!
It was beginning.
The German airplanes were already in the air and involved in combat with Soviet fighter planes. With screaming engines, military planes crashed onto the ground where they perished in gigantic explosions. The Russian fighter aircraft were massively present in the sky, and prevented most German dive-bombing attacks.
“Does it have to be so damn hot?” Münster whined.
“The I Abteilung reports contact with the enemy – T-34 in battalion size attacking from the north-northeast.“ Nitz put an emphasis on “east” by pulling the word long as a piec
e of jerky.
Nodding, Engelmann looked over at the Tiger tank to his right that was throwing up a dense dust cloud while squashing the grassy landscape. Dozens of hits had scorched the skin of the steel behemoth, leaving deep scars.
Again the sun burned mercilessly. The commander of the Tiger, who also was riding with his head out of the hatch, looked over to Engelmann and grinned. Then he disappeared into his metal beast while the first Russian artillery shells hit the wedge-shaped lines of attack.
Detonations tore up the ground and whirled soil over the tanks. Engelmann glanced at the terrain once more and disappeared into his tank as well. The area up here, northwest of Prokhorovka, was one big flat open space without any cover whatsoever. No trees, no rocks, no hills as far as one could see.
And now they would face the 5th Guards Tank Army on this terrain – battle-hardened, well-trained and motivated tankers in tough tanks.
Every muscle in Engelmann’s body tensed up.
“The téte of the 5th Panzer Division has run into a tank trench near the bank of the Psel River, and they are stuck there under Russian anti-tank fire,” Nitz reported.
Peering through his eye slits, Engelmann could already see little black blocks with tails of dust clouds on the horizon. His eyes widened. There were hundreds of Soviet tanks out there in front of them. And hundreds of German tanks to oppose them.
This will be a massacre, the lieutenant thought. Dear God, please let us survive this day alive and well.
Looking down for a moment, he noticed that the muscles of his arms trembled and burned.
“Hans, stay close to the Tiger on our right. He’s our life insurance.” Engelmann was ready for the battle.
“Yep, Sepp.”
Still tearing up the ground between the German tanks, the artillery now claimed its first victim. A Panzer III got a hit in the track, which ripped apart immediately and brought the tank to an abrupt halt. Yet the metal front kept on rolling towards the Russian tank armada.
“The 7th has encountered enemy T-34’s and KV-1’s,” Nitz informed Engelmann. The 7th Panzer Division moved on the left flank of the 16th. The black blocks up ahead gradually grew larger. The thunder of artillery fire rolled over the plains.
“I Abteilung is in a gun battle with one hundred and twenty Russian vehicles.” Nitz forwarded the message as coolly as if he was talking about the weather. “The 7th is getting its ass kicked. Twenty-four panzers finished so far.” Nitz looked directly at his commander, although that was not easy within the confined tank.
“Now it’s us or them.”
The blocks ahead of them turned into silhouettes of tanks; then the Tiger to Engelmann’s right fired without slowing down, which was forbidden and foolish. Engelmann couldn’t tell where the shot had hit. The impacts of armor-piercing rounds mingled with the hits from the artillery shells.
“AP round!” Engelmann ordered.
Born confirmed the order and loaded the first shell.
“I Abteilung has been penetrated! Enemy tanks are right in the middle of our formation!” Nitz groaned.
Instinctively Engelmann looked to his right but all he could see was Elfriede’s armored skin. Yet even from his cupola he could only see the right edge of the II Abteilung.
“The 2nd reports sixty tanks directly ahead of us – a total of one hundred and twenty sightings.” Nitz snorted loudly. “Order from the old man: Set targets yourselves according to the formation; then fire. Light and medium tanks. Tigers will deal with the heavy ones. 1st Platoon has permission to fire. 2nd and 3rd Platoon: Stay back and take care of enemy forces breaking through.” Again Nitz concentrated on the messages coming in over the radio.
“Ebbe, the platoon is to look for targets on its own. BT’s, light as well as T-34’s, max. We’ll leave the big ones to the Tigers. Fire at your own discretion!” Engelmann gasped, while Nitz immediately passed the message on. When the next signal came through, the staff sergeant looked up.
“What?” the lieutenant asked.
“The commander of the Tiger is on the line.”
“And?”
“He wishes us Waidmannsheil.”
The two steel fronts raced relentlessly towards each other and wrapped each other in a curtain of shells.
Olive and gray tanks were hit, stopped abruptly, and spit flames while the human beings inside were burned alive. For hours and hours, as far as one could see – and even farther – the battlefield was covered with the crowning achievement of the human art of killing. Tactics and thinking did not matter anymore. All that counted was steel and fire.
The two fronts interlocked, and then the tanks tore each other apart at close distance. They opened each other like tin cans, and smashed the vulnerable crews to a pulp or they burned their flesh off their bones. After battling for an eternity, the Germans finally proved to be the more efficient destroyers of the day. With over three hundred and thirty tanks hit, the 5th Guards Tank Army sounded retreat and the battle was decided. History would only register the German Wehrmacht as winner and the Red Army as loser, but the plains northwest of Prokhorovka on this day were lined with the remains of 1 780 tankers of both sides, of no interest to anyone anymore, just lying as charred clumps of human flesh in the smoldering wrecks of their tanks.
Southwest of Prokhorovka, Soviet Union, May 6th, 1943
Kursk Front – 86 kilometers south of Kursk
Though Sidorenko had had some hope of deciding the battle in Prokhorovka with his mechanized troops and tanks, in wise premonition he had already ordered his staff to be moved to Lgov, west of Kursk. He knew that Prokhorovka was the gateway to Kursk; and once the Germans pushed it open, Kursk would be defeated as well. For that reason Lgov had been the better choice from the start because he could continue to coordinate the forces from there after the fascists had completed the encirclement. In the end, the Nazi forces in Prokhorovka had simply been too powerful. Now Sidorenko was lying on a hill at the edge of the woods behind the cover of a tree; from here he could oversee almost the whole battlefield. His adjutant was waiting in the car parked at the other end of the woods, with his uniform probably soaked in sweat because the Nazis were already very close by. Still, Sidorenko had wanted to witness the combat action with his own eyes, and that was why he had stayed here. Now he was watching an open field that reached to the horizon and was covered with smoldering tank wrecks. Five hundred – maybe even six hundred – destroyed armored fighting vehicles lined the battlefield, while the remains of the socialist forces retreated. The Germans chased them in a closed front, pushing their own troops mercilessly. Sidorenko saw many of his tanks shot to pieces while fleeing. No more than a few hundred at the most would make it, and these already had their orders: Gather in the areas the 60th Army was holding. But Sidorenko could also see the masses of burning Nazi tanks; even some of the Tigers that the Soviet tankers were so scared of were now blazing in the fire. It had been a good idea to order his troops to always make it a priority to go after the Tigers. Every Tiger tank they killed would show that these monsters were not invincible, after all. Actually, looking through his field glasses Sidorenko himself could count sixteen Tiger wrecks right ahead of him.
Despite the fact that they had been defeated, Sidorenko was content. They had considerably weakened the German forces yet one more time. The Heeresgruppe Süd could not take many more strikes like this one. Still, the Kursk Front was not yet won by far. At first Sidorenko had underestimated his forces and clearly overestimated the forces of his foe. Putting his binoculars down, the Russian colonel general grinned with satisfaction, thinking about the fascists and their constant attempts to encircle their enemy. How predictable they had become! And that was exactly what played into the Russian officer’s hands so well. He knew that the Germans wouldn’t stop at the Kursk salient. The Nazis wanted to regain ground after the past year had been such an unsatisfying one for them. So their generals would keep pushing the troops to advance deep into the area, no matter how exhausted they were.
One day the fascists would pay dearly for their arrogance! Despite the fact that the German Army was no longer capable of carrying out such attacks, they would keep their soldiers marching on to Kastornoye and even farther. By then the Germans would be so weakened that they would barely be able to function, with no more forces available to cover their flanks and back. They would believe that the encircled Russian armies were doomed anyhow and would just surrender. Oh, how wrong the Nazis were to think that! The thought cheered Sidorenko up because he had another ace up his sleeve that he intended to play against their meager flank cover soon – when the Germans thought the victory was theirs! The fascists had even taught him something they called tank wedge.
Sidorenko took one last look at the battle scene down there in the open field. These hundreds of burning tanks would never help another fascist to tear down the homes and farms of honest laborers. Satisfied, Sidorenko nodded. Then he slowly crawled backwards to return to his vehicle. He couldn’t help reflecting that a defeat could sometimes turn into a victory.
Near Olchovatka, Soviet Union, May 6th, 1943
Heeresgruppe Mitte – 53 kilometers north of Kursk
Staff Sergeant Pappendorf had restructured the platoon into two squads. 1st Squad would be led by the only remaining NCO, Sergeant Berning, while 2nd Squad would be under the command of Senior Lance Corporal Weiss, a seasoned soldier with seven years of experience, a fact one could tell from the silver star over the white, angle-shaped rank insignia on his left sleeve.
Berning had the feeling that the senior lance corporal knew better what to do than he did himself – and the sergeant would have preferred to let someone else do his job as a squad leader. But that was out of the question.
So now he led his squad across wide-open flat country. The whole space was only interrupted by a few thin fruit trees and sunflower fields, but up ahead, a steep incline bordered the plain – the hills of Olchovatka, which the German forces had conquered in a hard battle over several days. The Russians had withdrawn in a southern direction but they were already preparing to start a counter-attack.
