This is the thought which occupies our minds as we try sortie after sortie against the Red fortress. The section of the city held by the Soviets borders immediately on the west bank of the Volga, and every night the Russians drag everything needed by the Red Guardsmen across the Volga. Bitter fighting rages for a block of houses, for a single cellar, for a bit of factory wall. We have to drop our bombs with painstaking accuracy because our own soldiers are only a few yards away in another cellar behind debris of another wall.
On our photographic maps of the city every house is distinguishable. Each pilot is given his target precisely marked with a red arrow. We fly in, map in hand, and it is forbidden to release a bomb before we have made sure of the target and the exact position of our own troops. Flying over the western part of the city far behind the front, one is struck peculiarly by the quiet prevailing there and by the almost normal traffic. Everyone, including civilians, go about their business as if the city were far behind the front. The whole western part is now in our hands, only the small eastern quarter of the city towards the Volga contains these Russian nests of resistance and is the scene of our most furious assaults.
Often the Russian flak dies down in the afternoon, presumably because by then they have used up the ammunition brought up across the river the night before. On the other bank of the Volga the Ivans take off from a few fighter airfields and try to hamper our attacks on the Russian part of Stalingrad. They seldom push home the pursuit above our positions, and generally turn back as soon as they no longer have their own troops below them. Our airfield lies close to the city, and when flying in formation we have to circuit once or twice in order to gain a certain height. That is enough for the Soviet air intelligence to warn their A.A. defence. The way things are going I dislike the idea of being away from my flight for a single hour; there is too much at stake, we feel that instinctively. This time I am physically at bend or breaking point, but to report sick now means the loss of my command, and this fear gives me additional stamina. After a fortnight in which I feel more as if I were in Hades than on earth, I gradually recover my strength. In between we fly sorties in the Northern sector North of the city where the front joins the Don. A few times we attack targets near Beketowa. Here especially the flak is extraordinarily heavy, the sorties are difficult. According to statements taken from captured Russians the A.A. guns here are served exclusively by women. When the day's mission takes us here our crews always say: "We've a date with the flak girls today." This is in no way derogatory, for all of us who have already been there know how accurately they fire.
At regular intervals we attack the northern bridges over the Don. The biggest of these is near the village of Kletskaja and this bridgehead on the West bank of the Don is most vigilantly defended by flak. Prisoners tell us that the H.Q. of a command is located here. The bridgehead is constantly being extended and every day the Soviets pour in more men and material. Our destruction of these bridges delays these reinforcements, but they are able to replace them relatively quickly with pontoons so that the maximum traffic across the river is soon fully restored. Up here on the Don the line is mainly held by Romanian units. Only in the actual battle area of Stalingrad stands the German 6th Army.
One morning after the receipt of an urgent report our wing takes off in the direction of the bridgehead at Kletskaja. The weather is bad, low lying clouds, a light fall of snow, the temperature probably 20 degrees below zero; we fly low. What troops are those coming towards us? We have not gone more than half way. Masses in brown uniforms - are they Russians? No. Romanians. Some of them are even throwing away their rifles in order to be able to run the faster: a shocking sight, we are prepared for the worst. We fly the length of the column heading north, we have now reached our allies' artillery emplacements. The guns are abandoned, not destroyed. Their ammunition lies beside them. We have passed some distance beyond them before we sight the first Soviet troops.
They find all the Romanian positions in front of them deserted. We attack with bombs and gun-fire - but how much use is that when there is no resistance on the ground ? We are seized with a blind fury - horrid premonitions rise in our minds: how can this catastrophe be averted? Relentlessly I drop my bombs on the enemy and spray bursts of M.G. fire into these shoreless yellow-green waves of oncoming troops that surge up against us out of Asia and the Mongolian Hinterland. I haven't a bullet left, not even to protect myself against the contingency of a pursuit attack. Now quickly back to remunition and refuel. With these hordes our attacks are merely a drop in the bucket, but I am reluctant to think of that now.
On the return flight we again observe the fleeing Romanians; it is a good thing for them I have run out of ammunition to stop this cowardly rout. They have abandoned everything; their easily defended positions, their heavy artillery, their ammunition dumps. Their cowardice is certain to cause a debacle along the whole front. Unopposed the Soviet advance rolls forward to Kalatsch. And with Kalatsch in their hands they now close a semi-circle round our half of Stalingrad.
Within the actual area of the city our 6th Army holds its ground. Under a hail of concentrated artillery fire it sees the Red assault waves surge up incessantly against them. The 6th Army is "bled white", it fights with its back to a slowly crumbling wall: nevertheless it fights and hits back. The front of Stalingrad runs along a plateau of lakes from north to south and then joins the steppe. There is no island in this ocean of plain for hundreds of kilometres until the fair-sized town of Elistra. The front curves East past Elistra.
A German infantry motorised division based on the town controls the mighty waste of steppe. Our allies also hold the gap between this division and the 6th Army in Stalingrad. The Red army suspects our weakness at this point, especially in the Northern sector of the lake district, the Soviets break through westwards. They are trying to reach the Don! Another couple of days and the Russians are on the river.
Then a Red thrust forces a wedge in our lines to the North West. They are trying to reach Kalatsch. This plainly spells the impending doom of the 6th Army. The two Russian attacking forces join hands at Kalatsch and then the ring round Stalingrad is closed. Everything happens with uncomfortable speed, many of our reserves are overwhelmed by the Russians and trapped in their pincer movement. During this phase one deed of anonymous heroism succeeds another. Not one German unit surrenders until it has fired its last revolver bullet, its last hand grenade, without carrying on the fighting to the bitter end.
We are now flying in all directions over the pocket wherever the situation seems most threatening. The Soviet pressure on the 6th Army is maintained, but the German soldier stands firm. Wherever a local penetration is successful it is sealed off and the enemy thrown back again by a counter-attack. Our comrades do the impossible to stem the tide; they stand their ground, knowing that their retreat is cut off because cowardice and treachery have come to the aid of the Red Army. Our airfield is now frequently the target of Soviet airforce attack in low and high level raids. In proportion to the great expenditure of force we sustain very little damage. Only now we are running so short of bombs, ammunition and petrol that it no longer seems prudent to leave all the squadrons within the pocket. So everything is flown out in two or three detachments and afterwards no support from the air will be possible from this airfield. A special flight under Pilot Officer Jungklausen remains in the pocket in order to give uninterrupted support to the hard-pressed 6th Army for as long as it is still able to take off. All the rest of our flying personnel moves back out of the pocket to Oblivskaja, just over 100 miles west of Stalingrad.
Fairly strong German forces now go in to the attack from the area of Salsk in co-operation with two newly arrived armoured divisions. These divisions have been out of the line and we know that they are elite troops thoroughly refreshed. The attack is a thrust from the South West in a North Easterly direction with the ultimate aim of re-establishing the broken communications with Stalingrad and thereby relieving the 6th Army. We support this operation daily from
dawn till dusk. It must succeed if the encircled divisions are to be freed. The advance goes rapidly forward, soon our comrades have over-run Abganerowo a bare 19 miles South of the pocket. By hard fighting they have gained nearly 40 miles.
Despite stiffening opposition we are still steadily advancing. If it were now possible for the 6th Army to exert pressure from the inside on the South rim of the pocket the operation could be accelerated and simplified, but it would hardly be able to do this even if the order were given. The 6th Army has long since succumbed to physical exhaustion; only an iron determination keeps it going. The debilitation of the encircled army has been aggravated by the lack of the barest necessities. They are now without food, ammunition or petrol. The temperature, generally between 20 and 30 degrees below zero, is crippling. The chance of their breaking out of the ring containing them depends on the successful execution of the plan to fly in the barest minimum of supplies into the pocket. But the weather god is apparently on the side of the enemy. A prolonged spell of continuous bad weather prevents us from flying in adequate supplies. In previous battles in Russia these operations have been so invariably successful that a pocket could always be relieved. But this time only a fractional part of the indispensible supplies is able to reach its destination. Later on, landing difficulties arise and we are compelled to rely on jettison drops. In this way again a part is lost. Notwithstanding, we fly with supplies in the thickest snow storms and under these conditions some of the precious freight falls into the Soviet lines.
Another calamity comes with the news that the Soviets have forced a huge gap in the sector of the front line held by our allies in the South. If the break-through is not pinned down it may bring disaster to the whole of the Southern front. There are no reserves available. The break-through must be sealed off. The assault group intended for the relief of Stalingrad from the South is the only one available. The most effective elements are taken out of it and despatched to the new danger zone. We have daily been flying over the spearheads of the German attack and we know the strength of the opposition. We also know that these German divisions would have reached the pocket and so relieved the encircled army there.
As they now have to divide up their potential, it is all over. It is too late to free the 6th Army, its tragic fate is sealed. The decision not to let the strongly concentrated assault group continue its advance on Stalingrad must be a sad blow, the weak residue of this force can no longer do it alone.
At two decisive places our allies have yielded to Soviet pressure. Through no fault of the German soldier the 6th Army has been lost. And with it Stalingrad. And with Stalingrad the possibility of eliminating the real dynamic centre of the Red armies.
8 - Withdrawal
JUNGKLAUSEN has just flown out the last remaining stores of bombs and petrol and is back with the Wing. He has done an excellent job under difficult circumstances, but even here in Oblivskaja the conditions in which he finds us are anything but quiet. One morning there is musketry fire on the far side of the aerodrome. As we discover later, the ground staff of another unit is engaged in a battle with the regular Soviet troops. The met. flier gives the alert by firing a succession of red Vereys. I immediately take off with the squadron and close to the airfield I see horses, their dismounted riders beside them, all Ivans. To the North an incalculable army of horses, men and material. I climb, knowing the condition of our defences and wanting to make a preliminary survey of the general situation. It does not take me long: a Russian cavalry division is advancing and there is nobody to stop them. North of us there is, as yet, no coherent front so that the Soviets have infiltrated unnoticed through a newly created gap. Their main force is two to three miles distant from our airfield with its spearhead on its periphery. There are no ground forces in this area; this is therefore the direst emergency. The first thing we do is to destroy their artillery with bombs and cannon fire before they can take up positions; then we attack the other constituents. A dismounted cavalry unit is immobilised and loses its fighting efficiency. Therefore we have no choice but to shoot down all their horses. Without intermission we take off and land; we are all in feverish haste. Unless we can wipe them all out before dusk our airfield will be threatened by nightfall.
In the afternoon we spot a few Soviet tanks. They are rolling at top speed in the direction of the aerodrome. We must destroy them, otherwise we are hopelessly lost. We go in with bombs. They manoeuvre to avoid them. The sheer urgency of self-defence gives us a precision we have never had before. After the attack we climb and fly back to the airfield by the shortest route, well satisfied with the good job we have done and with the success of our defensive measures. Suddenly I see straight in front of me . . . right on the edge of the airfield ... it is surely impossible! The last Soviet tank has escaped from the helter-skelter caused by our bombardment and is intent on carrying through its task. Alone it can shoot our whole airfield with everything on it to blazes. So into a dive, and the well aimed bomb hits the tank a few yards from the runway.
In the evening, I fly my seventeenth sortie of the day and we take a good look at the battlefield. It is quiet, everything is wiped out. Tonight we shall certainly sleep undisturbed. During the last sorties our A.A. on the airfield has left its sited positions and is forming a kind of protective screen in the forefield, in case any of the surviving Ivans should take it into his head to run in the wrong direction during the night. I personally think it unlikely. The few who have escaped will be more inclined to report back to some rear H.Q. that their late cavalry unit will not return and must be written off.
Shortly before Christmas we are at Morosowskaja, a little further to the West. Here much the same thing happens to us. Ivan is lurking a few miles away from the airfield at Urjupin. The weather hampers every take-off. We do not want to be surprised by Ivan during the night without the prospect of any means of hitting back from the air. On the 24th December we are, in any case, to retire to another airfield in the South East. The continuous bad weather forces us to turn back during our flight and to spend Christmas, after all, as best we can at Morosowskaja. On Christmas Eve we are all aware that our sentries may sound the alarm at any moment. In that case we shall have to defend the airfield and all our aircraft. No-one feels any too comfortable; it is more noticeable in some than in others. Although we sing the Christmas hymns, the proper Christmas atmosphere eludes us. Pissarek has had one over the eight. He seizes Jungklausen in a bear-like hug and whirls him round the room. The sight of the teetotaller dancing lady to the waltzing bear does something to liven things up. It amuses the men and dispels all gloomy thoughts and breaks the ice of unconviviality. Come what may, we are all conscious of the sense of fellowship.
The following day we learn that on Christmas Eve the Soviets have over-run the neighbouring airfield at Tazinskaja, 30 miles West, where a transport squadron of our command is stationed. The Soviets have behaved shockingly; the corpses of some of our colleagues are completely mutilated, with eyes gouged out and ears and noses cut off.
We have now a clear demonstration of the full extent of the Stalingrad debacle. During Christmas week we are engaged with forces North of Tazinskaja and near our own airfield. Gradually operational Luftwaffe units are brought up from the rear and also fresh units are being assembled from reserve organisations. In this way a light combatant screen is built up covering our airfields. Optimists may call it a front; but there is no real fighting power until seasoned divisions can again be put into the line who can retrieve the situation for which they are not to blame. But till that happens the going is hard and there is much need of improvisation. Owing to the new situation, we are no longer able to continue the support we have been giving to the Tschir front along the river of the same name, in the areas Nishtschirskaja and Surwikino.
This front is the first newly created barrier in an East-Westerly direction against the enemy attacking from the north. The country is perfectly flat and offers no sort of obstacles in the way of terrain. Everything is steppe as far as the e
ye can reach. The only possible cover is in so-called Balkas, clefts in the surface of the earth, or gulleys, the bottom of which lies some 30 feet below the surrounding plain. They are relatively wide so that vehicles can be parked in them, not only one behind the other but also side by side. The whole country stretches like this for many hundreds of miles from Rostow to Stalingrad. If the enemy is not encountered on the march, he is always to be found in these hiding places.
In fine, cold weather there is a good deal of fog in the early hours of the morning, but it frequently does not come up until we are already in the air. During one flight to the Tschir front we have just started on our way back when it suddenly thickens. I immediately make a landing with my flight on a large field. There are none of our own troops to be seen. Henschel goes off with some of the gunners to reconnoitre. They are back in three hours, they can find us again only by shouting for the last few hundred yards. I can hardly see my hand before my face. Shortly before midday the fog lifts a little, and a bit later we land smoothly on the airfield.
Stuka Pilot Page 8
