by Tom Zola
She sighed silently, yet things just were the way they were. She didn’t really like to be perceived as a helpless little woman but right now that’s exactly what she was.
It was only then that she noticed that Herr Stern wasn’t wearing a yarmulke. Well, that meant that he was not an Orthodox Jew, thank God! He might even be a liberal one ...
“So can I help you in any way?” he asked, smiling pleasantly.
She sighed. There were no two ways about it – she had to get to work. So she said, “I was on my way to work when my car suddenly started to sputter and to rumble. And then it just died on me. And now I’m here and don’t know how I can get away.”
“Mhm.” He frowned.
Could it really be that this handsome man even knows something about cars? Luise cheered up considerably. His name, his looks, this bright and sunny day … maybe this encounter was destiny.
“Maybe you ran out of gasoline?” he suggested.
“I filled this old wreck just yesterday.“
“Or a leak in your tank? Anyway, it really sounds like you’ve run out of fuel. But then I’m no expert when it comes to cars, either.”
“That’s a pity.” She sighed.
“But I might be able to help you in another way.”
“You could?” Her eyes grew wide.
“I rode down from Bern on my bicycle this morning to take a walk in the forest. If you want, I could lend it to you.”
“Oh no, I can’t accept that! How would you get back then?”
“Oh, Miss. It’s only six miles from here to the city, and I’m a good hiker. But you need to hurry if you have to get to work.”
Luise didn’t really want to accept this very generous offer. Her good manners wouldn’t let her.
But then again she had no choice.
“That’s very kind of you. I … I don’t know what to say.” Now she felt really embarrassed.
“Oh, that’s quite all right. You can just return the bike to me tonight or tomorrow. There’s no hurry. My address is Nägeligasse 6 in Bern.”
“That’s … that’s incredibly kind of you. Thank you. Thank you so much!”
Of course she would return the bike to him. Luise immediately decided to ask her colleague at work later today if she could borrow some fresh clothes from her and get some help with her make-up. Because tonight she wanted her second impression to undo the first impression Herr Stern had of her.
Oh yes, she would most definitely return the bike to him. Luise Roth beamed happily.
Near Olchovatka, Soviet Union, May 8th, 1943
Heeresgruppe Mitte – 53 kilometers north of Kursk
Throughout the night the Russians made sure that Berning and his men could not get a wink of sleep. Even though there hadn’t been any combat action, the Ivan’s knew how to keep their friends on the other side of the hills happy.
Apparently they had installed powerful speakers in their trenches, because the Russians’ suggestions they should defect kept echoing loudly in Berning’s foxhole, repeating the same recording all night without a break:
“German soldiers! Don’t serve this criminal regime that makes you fight a hopeless battle many thousand kilometers away from your families any longer. Don’t believe the lies of your Chancellor von Witzleben, who continues the crimes and atrocities of Hitler’s Nazi Reich under the pretense of moderate politics. German soldiers! Decide for yourselves: Do you want to go on being used to attack and abuse peace-loving human beings? Do you want to go on suffering for an unjust cause? Or will you put a stop to it today and forsake criminal behavior? Then drop your weapons and come over to the trenches of your Russian brothers! There’s nothing to fear! We have warm food and cigarettes. The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics will treat you well and send you home as soon as this war is over … German soldiers! Don’t serve … “
The words were still drilling on Berning’s ears when the speakers were finally switched off as the first sunlight touched the Russian plain after fourteen hours of permanent noise.
Even the commander of the battalion had recognized the effect the Russian propaganda had on his soldiers, and therefore had ordered artillery fire here and there throughout the night to put a stop to it. But the effort had been in vain. Despite dozens of hits in the woods on the other side, the metallic voice continued to spread its message over the land. Sleep was out of the question. The MG nests had shot some harassing fire, too, but that had not brought them relief either.
Berning didn’t even notice the break of dawn. With bloodshot eyes he stared at the dirt wall of his hole and held onto his weapon as hard as he could. The words that had poured out of the Russian speakers kept running through his head. Maybe he, too, would have to decide for himself soon, because he had started to wonder how much longer he would be willing to go along with this shit.
While pondering this question, he didn’t notice that things were getting loud and hectic all around him. Then he heard suddenly the distant firing of flare guns. Berning looked up at the sky. Through the tops of the trees that were growing throughout the ridge he saw tails of purple comets flashing. They curled in the sky, indicating an enemy tank attack.
Oh no! Berning thought. He cautiously peered over the rim of his foxhole. In the early daylight he could barely make out the forest at the far end of the field, where T-34 tanks now started to break out from behind the underbrush, ready to storm across the open space. Soldiers with rifles and submachine guns had mounted the tanks and tried to present as little of a target as they could behind the turrets. More Russian infantry companies came out of their trenches and formed long columns of riflemen on the open field. They moved fast while the tanks also drove at full speed, quickly getting ahead of the foot soldiers.
Without a warning, the German anti-tank guns started to bang to Berning’s left and right; then the first rounds hammered between the attackers. Explosive shells tore the infantry formations apart, while armor-piercing projectiles were fired to take care of the T-34’s.
The first tank had already exploded, and its turret flew high up into the air. But there were still so many other tanks coming at them. Berning counted eight T-34’s in his company’s section alone. Tanks to his right and left as far as he could see! And the infantry! Too many of them to count them all.
Oh no! Berning moaned in desperation.
After the Russians had passed the first third of the open space, the German handguns and mortars joined the cacophony of the unfolding battle. Pappendorf ordered both squads to fire, and Berning passed the order on to his men; but himself, he could only stare mesmerized on the enemy moving in closer by the minute.
The T-34’s shot HE shells between the German trenches, destroying some of the anti-tank guns. Dirt and brush were hurled up to the treetops, from where they rained down on the soldiers’ foxholes. Berning ducked all the way down when fat chunks of soil dropped down over his head. He shut his eyes tightly and prayed that his comrades would stop the storm before the Russians reached the ridge of the elevation.
The tips of the enemy forces had left the second third of the plains behind them. The flood of brown uniforms rolled ahead while the German arms spit fire here and there into their rows.
Hundreds of Red Army soldiers died in the hail of bullets and shrapnel, but even more continued to storm forward. One tank broke down after it had been hit by an anti-tank shell; its crew jumped out through the black cloud of smoke and just started running. Despite massive casualties – some companies turned into platoons and some platoons turned into squads within mere seconds – the Russians just stubbornly continued.
After long moments of fear, Berning got a hold on himself again and raised to have a peek out of his foxhole. The roaring of thousands of weapons around him filled the air. Somewhere out there Pappendorf barked orders at 2nd Squad. Berning tightened the grip around his rifle. He had to fire!
Then he froze. The enemy forces had reached the bottom of the ridge. Russian soldiers were already crawling up
the hill in several places. Berning could hear Hege’s MG firing away. The enemy soldiers dropped like flies on the slope.
But more Russians followed, and then more and more and more. The German anti-tank cannons and their crews died one by one in the firestorm of tank rounds. Thick tree trunks were chopped off like matches, toppling over and crushing soldiers underneath them.
“Berning!” Pappendorf’s voice rang out through the chaos, but Berning couldn’t take his eyes off the scenes he was facing.
Right in front of his trench – no more than one hundred and fifty yards away – a Russian tank came to a halt. The infantry soldiers it had carried to this spot jumped off and stormed towards the hill. Hege saw them and turned his weapon around.
Two long bursts of fire later the Russians lay in the grass, writhing in pain and whimpering in the face of death. Then something heavy jumped into Berning’s cover hole and landed behind him.
Berning was startled; he let out a shrill scream and turned around. He almost hit Pappendorf in the face with his rifle, but the staff sergeant already grabbed him by the shoulder and held him with his shovel-like hands.
“Berning, go farther left to your MG. I’m taking over here. Your second assistant machine gunner got hit. Send one of your men to get extra ammunition! And you stay there and make sure that the enemy bites the dust!”
Gaping, Berning stared at Pappendorf.
“Get your ass moving, boy!” Pappendorf bellowed, lifted his submachine gun and sent a fire burst into the area ahead. Then he grabbed the sergeant and pushed him roughly out of the hole.
And suddenly Berning was standing right on the ridge without any cover while the Russian explosive rounds tore up the terrain.
Leaves and branches sailed down from the trees, and bark popped off the trunks. Tiny columns of dirt sprayed into the air. Berning ran off. He slid down part of the northern side of the hill in order to get to the level where the MG was positioned under the cover of the ridge.
He could hear guns fire and people scream. The Russians had already broken through in several places and stood in the German trenches. Heavy close combat flared up – with guns, with spades, with fists.
Berning dropped to the ground when he saw the brown uniforms that threw themselves into the foxholes of the company next to his and started to attack the men wearing field-gray. The soldiers stuffed together in the narrow space of the holes. The wave of combat rolled across the ridge and down the northern hill, leaving still shapes behind them.
And Hege was still firing away! His MG never stopped rat-a-tatting into the assailing Russians. Biting his lower lip, Berning tensed his body and jogged towards his comrade’s foxhole. Right in front of it he dropped to the ground, slid down the last yard, and finally his sorry rear hit the ground between what had to be hundreds of spent cartridges.
Though he had stuffed cotton balls into his ears, the loud blasts from the machine gun still seemed to saw into his head. Hege was already bleeding from his right ear. His face was filthy; only a few drops of sweat formed white tracks through the black layers of soot. He sent off long bursts of fire at the approaching infantry while the Soviet tanks already chomped down on the German anti-tank gun positions. Bongartz kept reloading. The sector of effective range of Hege’s weapon was already covered with Russian soldiers, who were either dead or dying. The remaining Red Army soldiers were pinned down to the ground by the merciless suppressive fire from the German machine guns. They only advanced yard by yard, and with every jump, fewer men than before got up from the ground. But there were still too many of them – way too many! The Soviet attack came with overwhelming manpower.
“Where’s the ammo?” Hege shouted and fired a whole belt, tearing up a Russian shock troop ahead of them.
“Rupp’s dead!” Berning yelled back.
Bongartz forced a distorted grin. “I’ll go get some ammo!” He patted Hege on his shoulder.
Then suddenly an explosive projectile tore a deep crater into the terrain right behind the position of the MG nest. Hege and Bongartz dropped into the hole while a wall of dirt swept over them. Berning pressed his helmet firmly to his head with both hands. The next boom already sounded close to the MG position, and again a brown column rose up. Bongartz risked a short glance.
“Scheisse!” he gasped. “A T-34 just shot at us! Two hundred meters on the terrain in front of our position! And the infantry’s coming closer!”
“No shit,” Berning cried, but Hege jumped up without any facial expression. He grabbed the MG and pulled the trigger until the belt had been emptied. Then he dropped back into the hole with his weapon. Another shell tore up the ground; this time it was a very close call.
“There are too many of them!” Hege snorted, fumbling his third from last belt into the weapon. “And I need ammunition!” With these words he got up and went on firing. Less than a hundred yards ahead of him, the Russian soldiers dispersed and searched for cover behind trees while dozens of rounds cut through soft tissue, slaying some of the attackers. Berning also risked a glance.
At the same instant the T-34 fired but the projectile missed them, flying up too high, way too high. The shell didn’t even detonate on the hill behind them. Yet Berning had felt the air draft of the projectile and heard the hissing sound cutting through the air. His hands shook uncontrollably while sweat ran into his eyes. His heart beat so hard that he felt it in his throat and nearly suffocated.
Hege kept firing while, to their left, German soldiers reconquered their positions. They ended dozens of lives with knives, potato mashers, and pistols.
Berning saw clearly that the T-34 was lowering its barrel and taking aim again. It wouldn’t miss them a second time! Berning wanted to flee but Hege just kept on shooting. Support on their right coming from the squad’s trenches helped to suppress the Soviet soldiers ahead.
Bongartz had already dashed from behind Berning to the rim of the hole, and started to run to the platoon command post to fetch more ammunition.
“Shit!” Hege gasped after having emptied his MG again. He immediately dropped back down into the trench to reload.
Now he also switched barrels and pressed the used one that was glowing red from heat into the ground to cool it off – as if that would do any good.
“These damn barrels are already all bent from that bullshit here!” he complained, and loaded his weapon.
In the meantime Berning was paralyzed by fear. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the Russian soldiers try to regroup in order to finally take the hill by storm. He noticed how Hege, who was next to him, emerged from the hole and raised his MG. He also saw how Russian soldiers again attacked the trenches to their left. The enemy fire on their right, however, was becoming too much. Berning could see that explosive shells were plowing the whole length of the ridge, and that two of his comrades collapsed under the heavy fire. At that very moment the last soldier of the anti-tank gun crew behind Berning’s squad, who had operated the tank gun up until the last second despite the fact that his buddies were already dead, was hit as well.
But all that didn’t count right now because Berning was looking straight into the barrel of the T-34. This is it!
A small device on wheels – it looked something like a miniature tank without a turret – suddenly drove up to the Russian tank and stopped. Berning had never seen anything like it but he didn’t think that a human being could fit into it. One moment later the strange object vanished in a huge explosion that tore the T-34 to pieces and silenced the tank gun forever.
While columns of dirt were spraying up around their MG position and Hege was cussing and firing, Berning dropped back in the hole like a piece of veggie and froze for a second, his eyes glassy, his fingers around his weapon. His body was soaked with sweat.
“Breakthrough!” he could hear Pappendorf yell in the distance. “Finish them off, men!”
Several submachine guns started to rattle in a relentless fire while Hege emptied his second to the last belt.
&nb
sp; “Motherfuckers!” he boomed and let himself drop into the foxhole where he immediately opened the top cover of his MG and put in the last belt.
“Sarge, you gotta do something!” he groaned. “The Ivan’s are swarming all over our trenches, and I’m running out of bullets!”
Berning just stared at Hege. What was he supposed to do?
“Come on!” Hege urged him. “Get the guys and start a counter-attack. We have to beat them off before they penetrate our trenches!“
Hege stared at the sergeant emphatically. Reluctantly, Berning climbed out of the hole without really knowing yet what to do. Again he could hear Hege’s machine gun fire behind his back.
Berning looked at the area ahead of him.
The open field was lined with smoking wrecks of dozens of T-34’s; tall clover hugged the tanks in a green embrace. In the meantime more Russian armored fighting vehicles had been turned into junk than those that could still be used for combat. And the number of Russian infantrymen had shrunk considerably as well. Some Red Army forces were already withdrawing back to their starting positions, followed by the detonations of German mortars.
But the fire on the ridge had not ceased yet. Berning suddenly noticed that the position of his squad was covered with motionless Russian soldiers lying on the ground. And then he discovered half an enemy platoon close by under siege of Hege’s fire.
Berning threw himself behind a tree for cover and risked another glance. The projectiles from Hege’s weapon shot up into the trees and into the ground around the Russians; yet the enemy lay low, waiting. Then Hege took a longer break. A Russian raiding party immediately stormed ahead on their way to the next cover. Hege pulled the trigger and mowed the men down without mercy. For one short moment nothing moved in the area ahead of them; then a German soldier scurried back and forth between two trees. Hege fired at him right away, and the German also collapsed, moaning while a fountain of blood sprayed from his neck.
“No!” Hege, who just now had realized what he had done, cried. “Shit! Bloody fool!” Without thinking, he moved his gun down to the Russians’ cover and started to fire, but after a few seconds his MG fell silent.
