by Gee, Colin
Historians, examining each of the three major encounters at their leisure, have argued for decades over which was the most important victory or defeat for the protagonists of World War Three.
I will leave the resolution of those arguments in the hands of the reader.
2ND RED BANNER ARMY OF SOVIET EUROPE - MARSHAL KONEV
Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.
Proverbs 16:18.
Chapter 91 - THE COLOSSUS
0800hrs, Sunday, 14th October 1945, Western Germany.
Throughout the central area, every Allied unit had a mission, whether it was to rush to the front, hold a valuable position, or fall back in good order.
Except the 18th Airborne Corps, it seemed, left untouched by Eisenhower’s express order. Removed from Bradley’s direct command, the paratrooper formations were recuperating and rejuvenating in their bases through Belgium and Holland.
Perversely, the 101st was in the best shape, despite its excursion into Bavaria. Swiftly recovered, losses were made up by the disbandment of the 13th US Airborne Division, whose personnel filled out the vacant spots in both 101st and 17th Airborne Divisions, the latter formation having ventured into the fighting in Central Europe, where it suffered badly.
The 17th, on paper, was up to full strength, but there were questions about its morale and ability in combat, following its heavy losses.
The British 6th Airborne Division was up to its full TOE, but many of its personnel were recently liberated POW’s, who needed more time to regain the top fitness required of a paratrooper.
Another welcome addition to the 18th Corps was a German jump-qualified Regiment, ex-POW Fallschirmjager that had earned their spurs in Holland, Crete, and North Africa, mixed with a handful of hardened veterans who had fought through to the end on the Western Front.
Their commander had been released from British captivity and installed as head of the newly formed ‘Fallschirm Regiment Von der Heydte’. It was a unit that had existed in the previous war, and that had fought directly against the troopers of the 101st at Carentan, Normandy.
FallschirmRegiment VDH was encamped at Venlo, twenty-five miles north of the Eagles division, which was centred on Sittard-Geleen.
The British airborne concentrated around Eindhoven, with the 17th spread thinly from Maastricht through Genk to Hasselt, and beyond.
0812hrs, Sunday, 14th October 1945, Headquarters, 2nd Red Banner Central European Front, Schloss Rauischholzhausen, Ebsdorfergrund, Germany.
Konev pored over the map with his CoS, making small notations with a pencil here and there, occasionally scribing a wider appreciation of the situation.
He had already decided to exceed his orders and not be unduly confined by Zhukov, whom he was convinced held him back, because of his success at Berlin a few months before.
Allocating sufficient forces to the stated task of sealing up the south and south-west of the Ruhr, Konev had gathered the 6th Guards Tank Army, a newly allocated formation, ready to send it down a path towards his own personal target; a crossing of the Maas River.
5th Guards Army, recently removed from frontline duties, was committed back to the action in support of 6th Guards Tanks, having been bolstered with some of the prisoners of war, so recently made available by the change in policy in Moscow.
Whilst he waited for the right moment to make the key decision, he employed the two formations, in harness, west of Cologne, hammering into the thin screens that had been hastily formed in front of them, brushing most aside without too much difficulty.
But it was always the aircraft, the ground attack squadrons, or the bombers of the USAAF and RAF that halted the columns.
Throughout his command, casualties were heavy. The list of dead and wounded mounted up on both sides, but it was the Soviets that sustained the worst of it so far.
“Comrade General,” he didn’t bother looking up, knowing that Petrov would be attentive, “I want to open things up here.”
Petrov looked down at the markings indicated and started to recall the formations, both enemy and Soviet, that would soon become involved in and around Kerpen and Bergheim.
“We must keep up the pressure to the north, but we are in position there, and so we can switch our resources to pushing out to the west.”
This was no surprise, of course, but as each hour passed, Konev put more meat on the bones of his overall plan.”
“This difficulty at Wanlo must be resolved soon.”
Consulting a list of units not yet assigned, Konev selected two within reasonable distance of the troublesome spot.
“Pass orders to 6th Rifle, 40th Rifle and...” he considered the list further, “Also, 3rd Guards Rocket-Barrage, to move up and place themselves under 31st Army at Grevenbroich. Contact Comrade General Glagolev and inform him that these new resources are his, and he will take Wanlo within eighteen hours.”
Petrov made the appropriate note quickly, only too aware that Konev didn’t pause for long when he was on a roll.
“4th Guards Tank Army. Resources?”
“At this time, sufficient to undertake the mission assigned, Comrade Marshal. As normal, that could change, but the new supply procedures seem to be helping preserve quantities near to appropriate levels.”
Konev nodded, factoring in some additional losses in vital supplies.
“I see no reason why the 4th should not push a little harder here,” he indicated the area immediately south of Dusseldorf, “And even develop westwards towards Mönchengladbach...”
Konev searched his list once more.
“Send them them orders to hold the north front at Neuss, but develop the area to the west with a view to capturing Mönchengladbach, and opening the routes to Roermond and Venlo. Send them the remaining assets from 13th Army as a bolster, plus 112th Rifle Corps.”
Petrov had hardly finished before Konev made his important decision.
“6th Guards Tanks and 5th Guards will move up to,” the bald officer strained his eyes to see the finer detail of the map, “Titz and Immerath, and no further. And not at the rush either, I want little attention drawn to their forward movement, by comparison to Mönchengladbach and Düren. There, I need our forces to demonstrate heavily, encouraging the Allies to respond against them and ignore the centre.”
That meant a change to the instructions already noted, which Petrov swiftly made.
“As soon as 31st Army has secured Wanlo, 6th Guards Tank and 5th Guards will move through it and turn westwards and drive hard and fast towards the water.”
Again, he stooped to take in the relevant names.
“Hucklehoven, Geilenkirchen, Gangelt, Brunssum, Sittard-Geleen, and make a bridgehead across the Canal and River Maas at...” Konev double-checked, “Stein, and Berg.”
Waiting on Petrov’s furious scribbling, Konev took a deep breath, having finally committed himself to a course of action in excess of his orders.
Nodding to himself, he cast a look further down the map and circled a large green area.
“I want 60th Army to move to the south-west, and block against Aachen, and secure this forest to provide our forces with a secure flank.”
Petrov oriented himself, and frowned.
“Yes, I know. The Amerikanski learned a lesson there, did they not? So, we shall teach them some more.”
Petrov finished his notes, and removed his glasses, producing a handkerchief to clean them. As he carefully rubbed the lenses free of grease, he wondered if Kurochkin and Goncharov, commander and Chief of Staff of 60th Army respectively, would recognise the Hurtgenwald by name before they reconnoitred, and discovered it for what it was; a hellhole that had already made over sixty thousand soldiers casualties in the German War.
2042hrs, Tuesday, 16th October 1945, Headquarters, 2nd Red Banner Central European Front, Schloss Rauischholzhausen, Ebsdorfergrund, Germany.
“I have the report from 31st Army, Comrade Marshal.”
Anyone hearing Petrov’s voice w
ould recognise the strain in it. Lack of sleep was the main culprit, but there was also anxiety, mainly for his part in exceeding the instructions from Zhukov.
Konev extended his hand, his eyes assessing his Chief of Staff.
“Thank you, Comrade. Now,” he theatrically examined his watch before continuing, “You will take yourself to your quarters, and not return to the command centre until 0600hrs at the earliest.”
As the CoS drew breath, the commander shook his head.
“No. That is my order. I will make sure that no one disturbs you. Now, Comrade, go and rest.”
Petrov looked both pained and grateful.
“I need you fresh for what is to come.”
“Thank you, Comrade Marshal.”
Petrov was asleep in his quarters before the clock could strike nine.
The report guaranteed Konev wouldn’t rest, as it described, in precise military terms, how 31st Army had been halted at Wanlo and Erkelenz.
Opening the door to his office, he witnessed increased agitation amongst one section of his staff.
Wandering over as inconspicuously as is possible when you are a Marshal of the Soviet Union in his own headquarters, Konev managed to arrive at the group of four officers without them seeing his approach, whilst the rest of the staff had seen him coming and moved to safety.
Konev singled out the senior man, whose words he had just overheard.
“Comrade Polkovnik, what is the problem?”
The four jerked to the attention, ramrod stiff, the three eyeing the fourth sympathetically.
“Comrade Marshal, we have just received two reports of some significance.”
“Significant enough for you to mention defeat, Comrade Polkovnik?”
The Colonel knew he was a dead man walking, so chose to remain silent.
“And what do these reports say?”
Clearing his throat, the Colonel summarised the contents.
“This is from the acting Commander of the 90th Tank Regiment.”
Konev recognised the unit as one he had set aside for important support work.
“The report states that the 90th has been wiped out in an Allied air raid outside of Frankeshofen.”
“And?”
“The second report comes from the commander of the 3rd Guards Rocket-Barrage Division. It states the division has taken modest casualties from counter-battery fire and air strikes. His main concern is the absence of supply since he moved up under 31st Army command. His fuel and ammunition status is critical, his medical and food situation is,” the Colonel passed the report to Konev, “Well, they have none, Comrade Marshal.”
Konev read every word, digesting the meaning and the implications in one angry sweep of the paper.
Looking around the headquarters, he spotted the man he was looking for, the eye contact sufficient to bring the NKVD officer across the room in short order.
“Comrade Leytenant General Grebbenik, arrest this man and transfer him immediately into one of your shtrafbats. Please provide him with an early opportunity to redeem himself.”
It was a reasonable bargain for ex-Colonel Amanin, who had expected to be shot.
Both men, officer and former officer, saluted and walked smartly away.
One of the remaining three, a Major, attracted Konev’s attention.
“Speak, Comrade Mayor, speak.”
“Sir, Comrade Polkovnik Amanin stated that it was his view that if the supply situation was not sorted out quickly, then we might have to face the possibility of some short term defeats, Sir.”
Fully aware that he had just signed his own transfer order, the Major contented himself with the fact that he had acted in honour, and to hell with the consequences.
Konev’s eyes narrowed.
“And what do you think, Comrade Mayor?”
He was a proud man, and had never backed away from anything in his life.
“I believe that Comrade Amanin is wholly correct, Comrade Marshal. Unless we can supply our soldiers with the means, their bravery and skill will count for little, if all they have to use is sticks and stones.”
A hush had fallen over the headquarters, a silence that deepened tangibly, with what had amounted to a speech by the junior man.
Most there braced themselves for a storm.
Konev’s gaze bored deeply into the man’s eyes, but the junior man stood his ground under the pressure.
The gaze relaxed.
“You are quite correct, Comrade Major. The situation is unacceptable. Your name?”
“Mayor Kristian Borisovich Tarasov, Comrade Marshal.”
Konev grinned, finding the man’s resilience strangely invigorating.
“As of now, you are Polkovnik Tarasov, and attached to my personal staff.”
The Marshal turned on his heel and disappeared into his office, the slam of the door a signal for the room to relax and wonder at the survival of the sweating Major, now a bemused full Colonel.
0942hrs, Friday, 19th October 1945, Headquarters, 2nd Red Banner Central European Front, Schloss Rauischholzhausen, Ebsdorfergrund, Germany.
The sirens had long since hushed themselves, the all clear now in full swing.
Here and there, casualties were taken up, and swiftly delivered to medical stations.
Other bodies, less fortunate, were removed for suitable disposal later.
The early morning raid had not gone unpunished, the Red Air Force’s Area Commander had anticipated such a move from the Allied medium bombers, and had put assets in the air to stop them.
For the first time since hostilities had begun, he was able to honestly report more losses on the Allied side than his own, a very satisfactory state of affairs for a General with one foot in the Gulag already.
Little real damage had been caused to the military targets. Yet again, the German civilians seemed to have suffered most.
Konev observed the work of the rescuers whilst he drank tea, completely oblivious to the rapidly approaching Petrov.
“Comrade Marshal.”
Despite the quiet tone, Konev, deep in thought, jumped noticeably.
“Apologies, Comrade Marshal. I knew you would want to know immediately.”
Konev licked the tea from his hand, where it had splashed when he started.
“Go on then, Petrov, and make it good.”
The sound of a man in pain gave both men pause, and they watched as the hideously wounded soldier was lifted from the ruins and spirited away.
“31st Army have taken Wanlo. General Glagolev reports his troops exhausted, but capable of holding their ground. Your orders, Comrade?”
“Contact both major units immediately, implement...” he cut off short, reflecting on the possibilities open to him.
Narrowing the choices down to two, he went for the safer option.
“Implement Plan Blue-Two at oh-seven hundred on 20th October.”
Petrov looked quizzically at the Commander.
“You disagree, Comrade?”
“No, Comrade Marshal, just surprised. I always thought you intended a quicker advance.”
Konev laughed.
“I did, of course, but the logistics do not permit me that luxury at the moment, Comrade.”
‘Soon, I hope! By Mother Russia, let it be soon!’
“Now, Comrade General, whilst our Air Force comrades are still jubilant, let us go and extract a little more help from them.”
The two senior men entered the main building, intent on pressurising the Air Force General into providing more air cover for their assault force.
0759hrs, Saturday, 20th October 1945, Headquarters, Special Grouping Kravchenko, Schloss Bedburg, Bedburg, Germany.
The commander of the 6th Guards Tank Army checked his watch for the final time, his eyes watching as the second hand swept upwards, inexorably moving to the upright position.
And beyond?
Colonel General Andrei Kravchenko frowned, the second hand continuing on its endless journey, but without the audio bac
kdrop he had anticipated.
It had reached eleven seconds past the allotted time when the sounds of war reached the General’s ears.
A huge artillery barrage was initiated, the artillery of the two Guards Armies, joined with extra formations taken from sister units, or released by Konev from the Front reserve, expending considerable amounts of the stocks each commander had hoarded since the supply difficulties made themselves known.
He exchanged looks with Major General Zhadov, the commander of 5th Guards Army, the other major formation in Konev’s special plan.
With additional assets, such as artillery, anti-aircraft, and engineers, Special Grouping Kravchenko was a powerful force, albeit one that had already suffered at the hands of Allied aircraft and artillery.
5th Guards Army was oriented to the north of the central point, its assets focussed on rounding Mönchen-Gladbach and taking the towns of Roermond and Venlo.
6th Guards Tank Army intended to take west and south-west routes, broaching the Maas, west of Sittard-Geleen, whilst driving to Maastricht with the intent of isolating Aachen.
Between Roermond and Maastricht, only the bridges at Stein and Berg were intact enough to permit passage for the armour of SG ‘Kravchenko’, both protected by the small Dutch towns of Sittard and Geleen.
0949hrs, Sunday, 21st October 1945, Mobile Headquarters, 5th Guards Army, Jackerath, Germany.
The radio crackled in Zhadov’s ear, the static still awful, as it had been since the attack commenced.
He tried again.
“Viktor-zero-zero, Viktor-zero-zero, can you hear me, Nozh-zero-zero over?”
The voice was unrecognisable, but just understandable, Kravchenko’s distinctive tones lost in the disruption.
“Viktor-zero-zero receiving, I can just hear you, General, Viktor-zero-zero over.”
