Free Republic

Rush may have something.
Already the news media are doing diaper dumps in their Obama jammies because the feeling in a large part of the media right now is that it's 'rescue time' for their idol.
Without the AP scandal attached to idiot Holder, the criminality of the Obama mob would probably have been suppressed like so many other (illegal) things they have accomplished.

While the media seems to actually be doing their job right now-don't be fooled.
People forget that a large contingent of reporters and TV media (especially in New York, Washington & the west coast) are gay and there is no way the so-called 'gay mafia' in the media are going to let anything bad happen to this guy .

when the revolution takes place it will be policies such as this that helped start it.

There are other ways to get this information-nothing, but nothing, the government does can stay secret in the computer age.......stay tuned!

Very possibly one of the most brainless buffoons on TV. I say possibly because he’s on a station with many of the sickest, most vile and bizarre collection of primitives this side of a petri dish.

Not a bad idea-I happen to have an aversion to woman & young girls defacing themselves with Tattoos-nothing sexy about them at all [IMO]

neighbor's daughter came home with bed bug bites on her arms. Turns out several classmates had them in their clothes and the school bus was crawling with them

You're not far wrong with your post-how many people are aware that one of the protocols on Ellis Island when checking new immigrants, beside checking for certain diseases, was to also check for insect infestation like lice and bed bugs.

The basic inspection was to determine physical, economic, mental and moral fitness to enter this country. The inspection itself would usually last three to five hours and this was beside the US requirement for steamship carriers to conduct preliminary health and legal inspections at the port of embarkation or on board ship before debarkation.

NY Times Irate...that we would dare profile a Muslim in Boston.

I spent most of my educational life in Catholic schools being taught by nuns and brothers. Many kids in publics schools would dread the NY regents exams but we in Catholic HS also had to take the proprietary (Catholic) school exams which was always harder than regents.

also if I remember correctly on the school exams we had to get a higher grade to pass. To my way of thinking you can never make tests too hard-but I say that with one caveat-IF you have teachers who really know what they are doing teaching your children.

The one thing I liked about Bush:he wasn't a hypocrite or a phony-people generally knew what they were getting.

People forget that when we first went into Iraq a large segment of the American people, including congressional Rats, were for it. It only took a few months for those same Democrats that voted to go into Iraq to turn around and reject what they voted for-in fact many Democrats in congress secretly (and some not so secretly) hoped we would lose in Iraq so Bush would get a bloody nose.

Consider that the man spent eight years being literally hated by the media who gleefully played pocket-pool with their ethics and lied constantly about Bush and our troops exactly like their traitorous butt-buddys in the Democrat party.

RIP Yousuf

Dell is now offering a downgrade to Windows 7 on its new systems-that's how horrible Windows 8 has become.

Word is they were inundated with complaints from potential customers who were refusing to buy their new computers if they sold with Windows 8

It’s the newest FAD among Pols.

What a creep

Almost a daily occurrence these days.

Title shortened to meet minimum.

There are many cases of either one or both gay partners sexually abusing their (male) adopted children but you'll never see these cases in the MSM.

I happen to spend many hours a day surfing criminal court arraignment sites around this country and reading the judicial summaries of some of these charges is sickening!
Anybody who still supports homosexual adoptions should have their heads examined. Someone has to investigate just how many of these adoptions end with the so-called parents being dragged into criminal court while the child(s) life is ruined!

One of his former hangers-on claims he trying to emulate rock bands in spite of the fact that most of today’s hard rockers consider him a little queen.

90% of the cases of priests engaging in underage sex as well as “other” sex have been homosexuals. The Catholic priesthood has been virtually destroyed by homosexuals. Not pedophiles, as most homosexuals would have you believe, but Homosexuals.

With the NY State Unemployment system now completely online it is entirely possible to have your UI benefits signed for and directed into your bank account for 99 weeks without ever talking to a human.

One of the not-so-secret little scams is that a large portion of cab drivers are collecting benefits while driving a hack-whether the advent of credit card use in yellow cabs will make a dent in this racket remains to be seen!

Unsaid in all this is the fact that at least a good half of Dominicans living in the US are here illegally! (so, what else is new?)

Stranger than fiction

The youngest US serviceman was 12 year old Calvin Graham, USN. He was wounded in combat and given a Dishonorable Discharge for lying about his age. (His benefits were later restored by act of Congress)

It was a common practice on fighter planes to load every 5th round with a tracer round to aid in aiming. This was a mistake.
The tracers had different ballistics so (at long range) if your tracers were hitting the target 80% of your rounds were missing. Worse yet the tracers instantly told your enemy he was under fire and from which direction. Worst of all was the practice of loading a string of tracers at the end of the belt to tell you that you were out of ammo. This was definitely not something you wanted to tell the enemy. Units that stopped using tracers saw their success rate nearly double and their loss rate go down.

A number of aircrewmen died of farts. (ascending to 20,000 ft. in an unpressurized aircraft causes intestinal gas to expand 300%).

The Russians destroyed over 500 German aircraft by ramming them in mid-air (they also sometimes cleared minefields by marching over them). "It takes a brave man not to be a hero in the Red Army" - Joseph Stalin

When the US Army landed in North Africa, among the equipment brought ashore was 3 complete Coca Cola bottling plants

Among the first "Germans" captured at Normandy were several Koreans. They had been forced to fight for the Japanese Army until they were captured by the Russians and forced to fight for the Russian Army until they were captured by the Germans and forced to fight for the German Army until they were captured by the US Army.

Following a massive naval bombardment 35,000 US and Canadian troops stormed ashore at Kiska. 21 troops were killed in the firefight. It would have been worse if there had been Japanese on the island.

Most members of the Waffen SS were not German

During the Japanese attack on Hong Kong British officers objected to Canadian infantrymen taking up positions in the officer's mess. No enlisted men allowed you know

I happened to find these at the end of a little pdf file I downloaded-not sure how true they are but they are interesting.

Stalin Wanted More Than Stalingrad-Part 2

The morning of 15th January was clear and freezing. Captain Gerhard Tebbe's Panzer companies, with his riflemen of the Münster 60th Motorized Infantry Regiment riding on the tanks, were moving against the Soviet strongpoints from the north-east. They took no notice of what was happening on their right or left. They continued driving on. They radioed signals. They fired their guns. They punched their way through. They seized the high ground in the rear of the Russians who had already crossed the river. They about-turned and with three assault parties attacked the enemy-held village.

A T-34 and four 7.62-cm anti-tank guns, positioned to cover the village, were knocked out. Two T-34s came to their aid. One of them was hit at once, the other turned back.

On the left wing of the armored combat group was a troop of Lieutenant Kühne's 3rd Company. The troop commander was a Sergeant Hans Bunzel, a Thuringian with quite the reputation for dealing with bridges and fortified hills. He was one of those resilient and resourceful daredevils who are the backbone of any tank regiment. He demonstrated this once again on 15th January 1943. His tanks pushed as far as the Spornyy dam over the Manych. Bunzel in his Panzer III was driving furiously towards the bridge. His 50-mm tank cannon was pounding the Soviet anti- tank guns covering the bridge. The sergeant was probably thinking back to that July day in 1942, when, with four tanks of his troop, he had tried to take the enormous Manych dam, the unofficial boundary between Europe and Asia, at that very spot—only in the opposite direction. But on that occasion the dam was blown up right in front of his eyes.
Would he succeed this time?
Yes—this time he was luckier.
All went well. On the southern slope the Russian anti- aircraft guns captured a year ago were still in position, although somewhat rusty. As soon as Hans Bunzel had snatched the Spornyy bridge from the Soviets, Lieutenant Klappich with the 3rd Battalion, 60th Motorized Infantry Regiment, drove up along the southern bank of the Manych in a thick blizzard and cautiously approached Samodurovka.

Here too the Russians had already established a strongly protected bridgehead with units of their 2nd Mechanized Rifle Brigade—another dangerous base for the Soviet thrust against Bataysk. Klappich attacked. In fierce fighting he pushed on to the western edge of the village. The chief of staff of the Soviet brigade was taken prisoner.

His interrogation and the documents found on him revealed the full extent of the danger threatening the Rostov bottle-neck from the enemy forces deployed at Manychskaya. Rotmistrov had strict orders to open the final attack against Bataysk on 23rd January.

His reinforced corps was to launch the assault against the town at 0630 hours. The 55th Tank Regiment and newly brought up motor-sleigh battalions were intended as an advanced detachment for taking the Bataysk bridges by a surprise coup. The commander of the army's armored forces had personally taken command.

Lieutenant Klappich realized that this was no time to ask questions. He made the only correct decision—to hold Samodurovka.
To hold it at any cost. To hang firmly to the village and thereby continue to threaten the flank of the main Soviet bridgehead at Manychskaya.

Klappich's battalion was a thorn in the flesh of the Soviet forces which were already operating in the approaches to Bataysk. Like a lance, German-held Samodurovka was pointing dangerously at Rotmistrov's bridgehead at Manychskaya. Rotmistrov could not risk pushing past the village to help his advanced detachments close the door of Bataysk. General Rotmistrov was forced to engage Klappich.

Klappich did not yield an inch. He tied down Rotmistrov's formations and stopped them from moving into the bottleneck. One first lieutenant stood between victory and defeat. One Grenadier battalion upset Stalin's plan. For this decisive action Klappich was awarded the Oak Leaves to the Knight's Cross. Thanks to his action, Manstein's combined counter-attack with 11th Panzer Division and 16th Motorized Infantry Division against the strong Soviet offensive forces in the Manychskaya area and bridgehead on 22nd January was still in time.

On 22nd January 1943 General Balck's 11th Panzer Division was pulled over the Don at Rostov.

Rotmistrov's advanced detachments under Colonel Yegorov had organized themselves for all-round defense near the Lenin collective farm.

Balck's spearheads attacked. Yegorov lost five of his eight T-34s and two of his three T-70s. He had to fall back. The Soviet spearhead at Bataysk was smashed.
On 23rd January 11th Panzer Division, together with parts of 16th Motorized Infantry Division, broke through the Soviet positions covering Manychskaya in a dashing assault. The village was of particular importance. There the Manych flowed into the Don. There the great highway crossed the wide river. While the village and the bridge remained in Russian hands the Soviets would be in a position to renew their thrust towards Rostov from the south whenever they felt like it.

Attack!
Count Schwerin moved off from the south-east with his Panzer Battalion 116 and 156th Motorized Infantry Regiment. The 11th Panzer Division made a frontal attack against the village. It was strongly held. Numerous tanks had been buried between the houses, forming steel bunkers. They were barely identifiable and very difficult to silence.

Worse still was a cunning obstacle on the south-eastern edge of the village, an obstacle which had not been spotted by reconnaissance.
"Watch out! Deep anti-tank ditch!" the commanders of Captain Tebbe's Panzer Battalion suddenly heard in their earphones.
But already they were caught in front of the ditch in the furious fire of anti-tank rifles and anti-tank guns. The ditch was almost invisible under the snow. One Panzer IV, whose crew had mistaken the soft snow for firm ground, had already crashed into it. Captain Tebbe and Lieutenant Gittermann, his ADC, drove along the ditch. At one spot it had been leveled out by shell bursts.
Get through!
And the two tanks moved into the village.
But two Panzer IVs against a dozen dug-in T-34s—that was hardly an equal battle. Tebbe was hit first. Then Gittermann. The crews were able to "abandon ship". They dodged, crawled, and rolled to the snow-covered anti-tank ditch. Bleeding, half-frozen, and totally exhausted they reached the foremost outposts of their battalion. Clearly they could not succeed that way. The fire-power of the T-34s buried in the village had to be eliminated. But how?
Balck resorted to a ruse.
On the morning of 25th January he concentrated the fire of the entire available artillery on the northern part of the village. He ordered smoke shells to be fired. Armored scout cars and armored infantry carriers moved forward cautiously and fired tracer in all directions.
Balck was feigning a full-scale attack on the north-eastern part of Manychskaya.

The Soviet brigade commander fell for the bluff.
The unsuccessful German attack of the day before confirmed him in the belief that the Germans would now try their luck from the north-east. In order to meet this presumed attack with massive defensive forces he ordered the dug-in T-34s to be made mobile again and switched them to the north-eastern edge of the village.
That was precisely what Balck had been waiting for.
With his chief of operations, Lieutenant-Colonel Kinitz, he sat in a good observation post on a hill south of Manychskaya. As soon as he saw the Soviets regroup he immediately got his divisional artillery to switch its fire to the southern part of the village. Only one troop, firing smoke-shells, continued the sham attack in the north.

Then came the order; "Panzers forward!"
The German attack came almost under the bursts of their own shells. The 3rd Battalion, 15th Panzer Regiment, under Captain Schmidt rolled up the village from south to north. Count Schimmelmann meanwhile with his regiment attacked the Russian tanks in the northeastern part of the village from the rear and annihilated them.

The enemy infantry fled and were shot down among the tanks, suffering serious losses.

Captain von Häuser sent out his Motorcycle Battalion 61 to pursue the fleeing Russians. Past the still-raging tank battle in the northeastern part of the village the wild chase continued, completing the Soviet disaster.

It was a strange and a memorable battle.
German losses, thanks to the successful ruse, were astonishingly low: one man killed and fourteen wounded. The Soviets, on the other hand, lost twenty tanks and over six hundred dead in Manychskaya alone.

On the following day, Rotmistrov, the general commanding the defeated corps—later to emerge as the "lion of Prokhorovka" and the master of the great tank battle in the Kursk salient—sent the following sober and unmistakable message to General Malinovskiy, C-in-C of the Second Guards Army: "In view of the situation and their heavy losses the troops can no longer engage in any active operations at the moment."

Clearly, twenty tanks, or two-thirds of a tank battalion, were an appreciable loss even for the Russians in January 1943. Not only the Germans had had to cover the great distance from Brest-Litovsk to Stalingrad; the Soviets had also had to cover those 1200 miles, and mostly in flight. They too were at the end of their strength.

General Rotmistrov's report on the situation of the armored and motorized formations of Second Guards Army on 26th January contains clear proof: The V Guards Mechanized Corps was down to 2200 men, seven tanks, and seven anti-tank guns. All brigade commanders had been killed. The 3rd Guards Armored Brigade and the 2nd Motorized Guards Rifle Brigade were down to six tanks and two antitank guns. The 18th Guards Armored Brigade was down to eight tanks, two anti-tank guns, and a combat strength of fifty men; the II Guards Mechanized Corps had only eight tanks left. Thus the entire Second Guards Army was left with a mere twenty-nine tanks and eleven anti-tank guns on 26th January. That was the harsh reality on the Soviet side during those early weeks of 1943.

It is not surprising therefore that in his memoirs Marshal Yeremenko writes: "All further attempts to take Rostov and Bataysk in January 1943 remained unsuccessful."

The Rostov door to the Caucasus remained open. The First Panzer Army succeeded in slipping through. In never- ending columns its formations were pulled out through the narrow bottleneck. Four days later, on 1st February, Lieutenant Renatus Weber from Hamburg, orderly officer on the staff of XL Panzer Corps, was sitting in the icy drawing-room of an old patrician house in Taganrog, pouring out all the excitement of the past twenty-four hours in a letter home.

The young lieutenant described to his mother an exciting adventure from the great retreat from the Caucasus. The staff and the light units of XL Panzer Corps had slipped out of the trap across the ice of the Sea of Azov.

"This crossing of the ice marks the end of our expedition to the Caucasus. We were incredibly lucky to get out of the Rostov bottleneck alive," the lieutenant wrote to Hamburg.

No-one who lived through this march over the sea will ever forget it. It was an adventure which is not only XL Panzer Corps had evacuated its sector far away on the Terek, at the foot of the Higher Caucasus, during New Year's Eve, during the very last hours of 1942. Good-bye, Ishcherskaya, scene of much bloody fighting; good-bye, northern Caucasus and Caspian Sea. But there was no nostalgia in the parting—only hope that one would still be in time to escape from the great trap. Once again Hitler had been unable to take an important decision. He had only permitted First Panzer Army to withdraw partially and at certain points, and from his distant headquarters at Rastenburg he decided what sector had to be held and how long.

The great retreat from the Terek to the Don took thirty days. During the day it meant holding out and fighting, during the night it meant marching. Thus they withdrew from one sector to the next. Marching at night, they pulled out of the promised land of Caucasian oil—the regiments of the Terek divisions who had fought their way to the very gates of Groznyy and had got within an arm's reach of Baku. They were the Berlin 3rd Panzer Division, parts of the 5th (Viking) SS Panzer Grenadier Division, the Brandenburg, Lower Saxon, Saxon, Silesian, Anhalt, and Austrian Regiments of 13th Panzer Division, of lllth, 370th, and 50th Infantry Divisions, and of 5th Luftwaffe Field Division. In addition there were Cossack squadrons, volunteer battalions of Caucasian mountain tribes, and the formations of the Rumanian 2nd Mountain Division.

Corporal Alsleben of the Panzerjäger Company, 117th Infantry Regiment, jotted down a few sentences, a few key words, in his diary each day. The whole long march of 11th Infantry Division thus unrolls before our eyes like a film strip—a film typical also of the retreat of all the other regiments involved.
During the day, fighting. Then, towards 2000 hours, departure. Sometimes not until 2200 hours, or even 0400 hours. Alsleben reports: "Panzerjägers are covering our withdrawal road. Endless columns are flowing back along them. Rain. Muddy roads. The Russians are pressing on our heels. The rearguard is suffering heavy losses. Abandoned trucks are blown up. Damaged vehicles are left behind."

His entry of 6th January first mentions the name which is remembered by all who went through this retreat: "Soldato-Aleksandrovskoye. Our division is temporarily holding the Kuma sector."

The Kuma sector! The Kuma was the first natural river barrier once the Terek had been abandoned. The divisions and corps had to cross the river to get back. It was vital to secure the bridges until all straggling formations had crossed it— all the supply columns and damaged vehicles—and to blow it up afterwards to slow down the dangerous Russian pursuit and allow the infantry and supply columns to gain a little time.

Soldato-Aleksandrovskoye was particularly important because the railway running along the northern bank of the Kuma had to be kept open as long as possible to allow for the evacuation of the gigantic supply dumps. Those dumps were vitally needed—food supplies, spares, motor fuel, ammunition.

Major Musculus, commanding the Panzerjäger Battalion 111, established a barrier in front of these important bridges with his companies, together with grenadiers and engineers of 50th Infantry Regiment, and for three days resolutely blocked the approaches to all Soviet attacks from the south and east. The Russians were anxious to seal off the Kuma bridges before the German formations crossed them. Between the Kuma and its eastern tributary the Zolka, a deep and ice-cold mountain torrent- the Soviets charged against Soldato-Aleksandrovskoye from Georgiyevsk. Between the villages of Letrovskiy and the Kuma Lieutenant Piedmont with his 2nd Company of the Panzerjäger Battalion and one troop of 117th Artillery Regiment had set up a switchline right in the middle of a treacherous swamp, directly on the only road leading to Soldato-Aleksandrovskoye. This was the road by which the Russians hoped to reach the bridge.

What happened is described by Lieutenant Piedmont in a very revealing account.
His unit was on undulating ground with a view of no more than three hundred yards. Shortly before nightfall a sentry reported enemy cavalry, a few hundred horsemen attacking. Piedmont brought two machine guns into position alongside a solitary house. He alerted the anti-tank guns. He was about to send out his reconnaissance parties—but the Russians were already on top of them. They came galloping up in a broad front in roughly squadron strength—a hundred and fifty horsemen, their sub-machine- guns at continuous fire.

But now the two German machine-guns suddenly opened up. The two guns, under Hain and Klabus, were firing high- explosive rounds into the cavalcade. Nearly half the attackers collapsed in the first burst of fire from the Panzerjägers; only loose horses raced on. The rest wheeled to the right and left. Piedmont's men were just about to cheer when the second wave appeared. A far bigger wave than the first.

"Fire!"
The Russian sub-machine-gun bullets rattled against the protective shields of the anti-tank gun. One of the German MGs had a stoppage. But the Soviet attack was slaughtered by the exploding rounds fifty yards in front of Piedmont's lines.

Now came the third attack.
Only one machine-gun was left in action. The anti-tank guns were out of ammunition. Their sub-machine-guns chattering and with shouts of "Urra" the Soviets charged again. The bulk of them collapsed in the German fire. But thirty or forty horsemen rode down Piedmont's position. They also rode down the artillery emplacements behind it. But they were too few. They were picked off one by one, or disappeared into the impenetrable swamp.

They then wheeled eastwards, back towards the Zolka, and splashed back through the water to the eastern bank.

Fortunately there was no fourth attack. That would have been dangerous. Piedmont had no ammunition left. The road through the swamp was jammed with abandoned vehicles whose drivers had first got under cover themselves. Not until night was it possible to clear the road again.

Lieutenant Piedmont's report states factually and undramatically:

"This cavalry attack left a strange impression on all of us. To begin with, we did not take the attack seriously; it was too much like a joke. But before long we were unpleasantly surprised by the effect it had on our morale. The rapid succession of the attacking waves was unnerving, and the bravery of the Russians was uncanny. Only the protective shields of the guns saved us from the bullets of the sub-machine-guns which the horsemen fired from the saddle at full gallop. Later, when our men moved into new positions, their knees were still shaking. About two hundred Russians were littering the ground, dead or wounded. Our casualties were two men slightly wounded."

Meanwhile, on the far side of the Zolka, Major Musculus with his 1st Company was holding the village of Mikhaylovskiy, hard-pressed by the Soviets who were striking towards the river from the east.

The combat group of 111th Infantry Division was surrounded.
In hand-to-hand fighting it fought its way out. It crossed to the far bank, through the icy water of the deep stream, the non-swimmers being passed on from one soldier to the next.

Step by step the Panzerjägers were falling back to the Kuma bridges at Soldato-Aleksandrovskoye. Machine-gun parties which had already penetrated into the villages were dislodged again with hand-grenades and sub-machine-guns.

Musculus's Panzerjägers thus gained two days' time for the regiments of 111th Infantry Division and 3rd Panzer Division.
Things were pretty hot also at the neighboring 50th Infantry Division. General Friedrich Schmidt found himself exposed to extremely heavy tank attacks. His 122nd Grenadier Regiment lost its entire 3rd Battalion in a mass attack by a Soviet armored brigade.

The front was reeling.
A two-mile gap was yawning between 50th Infantry Division and 111th Infantry Division.
Suppose the Russians struck now? They did strike.
But Schmidt threw his 150th Artillery Regiment into the threatened gap. Together with assault guns from 13th Panzer Division they succeeded in smashing the enemy tank attackers before they reached their line. The enemy infantry suffered heavy losses from the grenadiers' machine-gun fire. The Soviet regiment ebbed back.

In this fighting the 3rd Battalion, 123rd Grenadier Regiment, especially distinguished itself. It launched a massive counter-attack and threw back the enemy who had penetrated into their positions. The attack by a Soviet punitive battalion, which was driven ruthlessly against the German lines and penetrated right to the battalion command post, was wiped out by mortars and in man-to-man fighting.

The commander of 3rd Battalion, 123rd Grenadier Regiment, was a Captain Erich Bärenfänger, holder of the Knight's Cross. No one suspected that twenty-seven months later this young officer would be the youngest general of the German Wehrmacht in its final tragic battle for Germany, the battle of Berlin.

At very first light on 9th January Lieutenant Klümpel of the Panzerjäger Battalion 111 moved off with an anti-tank troop of his 1st Company to secure the bridge over the Kuma north of the town. The river at that time was deep and the banks steep. It was a good tank obstacle—providing the bridge was blown up in time. But it had to remain intact until the last German forces had gained the northern bank. That was always a risk, always a gamble.

The approach to the bridge led over a high dam. Klümpel had a plan: he positioned one 3.7-cm anti-tank gun at the southern end of the bridge and two more by the dam on the northern bank. The rearguard was just crossing the bridge when another truck approached. They waited tensely.
It was not an enemy truck, but Sergeant Reinecke's vehicle. There were two men in the cab. They raced over the bridge. Then the driver pulled up, heaving a sigh of relief. Only then did he notice that his platoon commander Reinecke next to him was dead.

A Russian T-34 came into sight. About three hundred yards south of the bridge it went into position—out of the effective range of the 3.7 guns. Fortunately it contented itself with firing its cannon—instead of charging the bridge and attempting a coup.

The moment of the gamble had arrived. Should they wait any longer? Perhaps some stragglers were still on the far bank? But the risk was too great. It was high time to blow up the bridge.

Lieutenant Buchholz ordered Sergeant Paul Ebel, a section commander in the engineer platoon of 50th Grenadier Regiment: Blow it up now!
Paul Ebel, an agricultural worker in civilian life, nodded. The Panzerjägers and Grenadiers gave him covering fire with everything they had—HE shells, machine-guns, sub-machine-guns, and carbines. All their fire was aimed at the T-34. Ebel sprinted over the dam to the bridge. He succeeded in lighting the fuse. A big flash. A roar like thunder. But when the smoke dispersed everyone's heart missed a beat—only part of the bridge had been blown up. One of the cables had failed. The bridge was still usable.

On the far side the Russians ran up to the half-destroyed ramp.
The T-34 followed them slowly.
They were hoping to get across.

Under cover of the smoke Ebel had made his way back over the dam and was now standing crestfallen at the failure of his mission. "Ebel!" Buchholz called over to him. "Ebel, there's nothing for it—you've got to have another go at it!"

The sergeant cursed under his breath. Again covering fire was opened from all barrels. The Russians again took cover. The machine-gun bullets again rattled against the T-34. Ebel once more reached the bridge unscathed. He was fiddling with the fuses. The minutes seemed to drag eternally. Now he retreated a few steps. He flung himself down against the slope. And now the big detonation shook the ground. With a roar and a rumble the high bridge went up. Under cover of the dense smoke Sergeant Ebel made his way back over the dam to the north bank. For his feat he was awarded the Knight's Cross.

Not until 10th January did the Russians succeed in advancing cautiously over the river. The rearguard had won three days for the bulk of the troops. Three whole days.
This kind of fighting lasted for four weeks altogether. On 31st January Corporal Rolf Alsleben from Hildesheim noted in his diary. "We are almost out of the wood now. We've marched over three hundred miles since Mozdok. A whole month of retreat."

Yes, they were almost out of the wood. They were close to Bataysk, near the last bridges, near the last loophole out of the big trap.

At the same time, Lieutenant Renatus Weber of the staff of XL Panzer Corps wrote in his diary: "We are in the Belyy area, south of Rostov, with parts of 3rd Panzer Division, some corps troops subordinated to it, and some squadrons of Cossacks. New operation orders have come for our corps. We are to be employed in the Donets area. Assembly in the Taganrog area, beyond the Sea of Azov. Some of the way we are to march over the frozen sea!!" The two exclamation marks are a reflection of Renatus Weber's feelings at the prospect.

The operations staff and a Cossack squadron set out from the village of Ilinka in the early morning of 31st January 1943. The light units of the corps and the Cossack squadron were to take the road over the frozen Sea of Azov. The tanks and heavy vehicles were routed over the bridge of Bataysk and through the Rostov bottleneck because the ice would not bear their weight.

The 31st January 1943 was a hazy winter's day. At first the trek made good progress along the road from Tikhoretsk to Rostov, the K1. Then came the fishing village of Azov. Large signposts now diverted the columns: Turn here for the ice route. Over the sea, forward march!

Engineers had built a ramp down to the frozen surface of the sea and accurately marked out the first few hundred yards of the ice road. But the distance across to Taganrog was twenty-six miles. At first the track ran across the Don delta, through frozen marshes and dunes and over an island. Then came the deep sea.

At first the ice was milky white and bumpy. But over the deep water it became smooth and clear as glass. The route was only thinly marked; a few empty petrol cans at long intervals. But one could hardly go wrong because the creaking, brittle road was littered with spectral signposts. Buses, trucks, and heavy staff cars which had broken through the ice, with often only their roofs showing. Signposts and warning signals at the same time.

The ice cover was treacherous. There were holes and there were thin patches. The haze compelled the drivers to move slowly. In long-drawn-out columns, infantry and horse-drawn transport moved forward. The Cossacks were trotting towards Taganrog in extended formation.

For the first time the men of 3rd Panzer Division had a new kind of companion—a kind unknown to the advancing troops but henceforward to become a regular feature of their retreat. Civilians were trekking along right and left.
Cossack families following their menfolk who had joined German volunteer units or enlisted as auxiliary police, and who now feared the return of the Soviets.

A motley transport— peasant carts piled high, cattle and horses on long ropes, and children. Towards midday the haze lifted a little. And almost at once the Soviet ground-attack aircraft arrived. At barely a hundred and fifty feet the IL-2s swept over the ice. They dropped bombs. They fired their guns. There was no ditch, no shrub, no house—nothing to provide cover. As far as the eye could see there was nothing but the frozen sea, as flat as a pancake.

The columns scattered.
The Cossack squadron chased off in all directions, the horsemen galloping over the ice as if the devil were at their heels.

The bombs raised gushing fountains of ice. Splinters tinkled over the frozen sea. One could only pray or fire. Many were praying. But many also flung themselves down on their backs and with their rifles or machine-guns let fly furiously at the Soviet aircraft. Fortunately the sky soon clouded over again. It even began to snow. Under the white veil the trek continued across the sea, winding along slowly like some giant snake.

General Siegfried Henrici, commanding the XL Panzer Corps, and Colonel Carl Wagener, his chief of staff, did not leave their command post until late in the morning. A thick blizzard reduced visibility to virtually nil. As the small column stopped at a point where the tracks on the ice divided, a peasant cart overtook them at a fair speed and without any hesitation took the left fork. Colonel Wagener signaled the muffled driver to stop. He assumed him to be a local auxiliary and in his best Russian asked him the shortest way to Taganrog.
Horrified the man stared at the Russian-speaking colonel.
Wagener understood: he was being taken for a Russian.
He therefore repeated his question in German. The terrified soldier burst out laughing with relief. In broadest Saxon he replied: "Very sorry, Herr Oberst, but I'm a stranger here myself." And with a sly smile he added: "But my instinct tells me: Arthur, keep to the left!"

The instinct of Arthur, the Saxon, was quite correct. At least where the Sea of Azov was concerned. About three miles east of Taganrog the ice road terminated in another ramp built by the engineers and rejoined the coast road from Rostov to Taganrog. The columns of XL Panzer Corps were again on firm ground. But now all the transport difficulties associated with Russia's roads were with them again—jammed-up trucks, guns stuck in the mud, impassable swampy stretches. Only now did the infantrymen realize what a fast and smooth journey they had had over the sea.

The heavy formations of First and Fourth Panzer Armies were moving westwards with difficulty along the congested road. Mixed up with them were the ground formations of the Luftwaffe and various rearward services. And among them also were the treks of the Caucasian mountain tribes. Vehicle after vehicle—trucks, staff cars, armored scout cars, guns, light tanks. An interminable queue.

Harassed field police were desperately trying to unravel the bunched-up traffic at bridges and crossroads. The spearheads of XL Panzer Corps reached Taganrog on the evening of 31st January. As he was warming himself by a hurriedly lit fire, Major Kandutsch, the Corps Intelligence Officer, thoughtfully' asked his Baltic interpreter: "What do you suppose we shall remember most about our march across the Sea of Azov?"
The answer came promptly: "The fear, Herr Major, the fear!"

Indeed, fear had marched with them all the way over the ice. But they had escaped the trap. And the day's other news reminded them of the fate which, thanks to Manstein's skill, they had been spared. It was the 31st January 1943, the day when the German Sixth Army died at Stalingrad.

Lieutenant Renatus Weber also thought of Stalingrad at this hour of salvation. In his letter to his mother, written from Taganrog, he said: "In the last analysis we owe our escape to the resistance of Sixth Army at Stalingrad, who cut the railway and tied down strong Russian contingents."

What the young lieutenant wrote then remains true to this day. It has, moreover, been since confirmed by historical fact. The salvation of First Panzer Army, and indeed of the whole of Army Group A and of parts of Army Group Don, was due not only to Manstein's generalship and the gallantry of the troops, but very largely also to Sixth Army which had been holding out in Stalingrad throughout January.

In its death struggle, Sixth Army had not only tied down half a dozen Soviet armies and kept them on the Volga, thereby preventing them from intervening in the decisive battle of Rostov, but—and this was possibly of even greater importance—the fighting on the Volga meant the blocking of the three principal railway lines from Stalingrad to the west and hence vastly increased supply difficulties for the Soviet armies operating against Rostov.

Indeed, these supply problems were the real reason why Stalin’s gigantic pincers could not snap shut around the German armies in the Caucasus and on the Don and thus trap the entire southern wing of the German forces.

Soviet records support this statement. In the History of the Great Fatherland War, volume three, page 98, we read:

"The Soviet southern front, in particular the Second Guards Army, which was due to take Rostov at the beginning of January, was low in all kinds of supplies, notably fuel and ammunition, because the battle of Stalingrad was paralyzing supplies and in particular rail traffic."

Thus, on 31st January, just as the resistance of Sixth Army in Stalingrad was collapsing, the rearguards of Fourth Panzer Army crossed the bridges of Rostov. The Soviets were unable to slam the door shut.

On 5th February, the Panzerjägers of General Recknagel's 111th Infantry Division had arrived on the spot and, with the support of some 8.8-cm guns, kept the Russian tank packs at a healthy distance from the escape hole.

On 6th February at 2200 hours the last units of Recknagel's Lower Saxon regiments crossed the bridges of Bataysk and moved through Rostov—by then a dead city. Behind them rumbled the thunder of demolitions—the Bataysk bridges were being dynamited. And not before time, for already Soviet reconnaissance parties were crawling over the ice of the Don to the bridge piers in order to disconnect the demolition charges. Did they succeed? Or was the desperate haste of the retreating Germans to blame for the fact that demolition was only partially successful?

Two days later, during the night of 7th-8th February, in the fitful light of tracer ammunition, Panzer No. 300 crossed the Don bridge at Aksayskaya. Lieutenant Klaus Kühne of the 16th Motorized Infantry Division was the last man to cross this miracle of German army engineering skill. In ten days of ceaseless day and night work Lieutenant Kirchenbauer's bridge-building unit 21 had built that bridge over the ice-covered Don. It was strong enough to withstand storm and drifting ice, and to carry loads in excess of sixty tons—in other words, suitable for all armored vehicles and the heaviest artillery.

A few minutes later, Sergeant Wagner of the demolition squad of Engineer Battalion 675 blew up the massive pontoon bridge. It took one and a half tons of high explosives.

The job was done. The long journey of First Panzer Army from the Terek to the Don was successfully concluded—a distance of 375 miles. The Fourth Panzer Army had been successfully wheeled from the approaches of Stalingrad over the Manych to the northern shores of the Sea of Azov.

But meanwhile, what had happened to the divisions of Seventeenth Army which had penetrated far into the forests and mountain ranges of the Caucasus? To the snow-covered passes of Mount Elbrus, Klukhor, and Sanchar? And down to the coastal road on the Black Sea? And to the oilfields of Maikop?
The disaster of Stalingrad and the Russian push to the Don meant that their positions on the eastern edge of the Black Sea, up on the mountain passes and down by the drilling rigs of the oilfields, had become untenable.

They had to be pulled back. The army was already on the move. By the time the demolition of the pontoon bridge of Aksayskaya rang out over the snow-covered Don Cossack steppe like a salute in honor of the salvation of half a million men of First and Fourth Panzer Armies, the corps of Seventeenth Army in the western Caucasus had also, in a manner of speaking, turned the corner. The worst part of the retreat had been successfully completed. Colonel-General Ruoffs formations had been obliged to hold on to their positions even after the departure of First Panzer Army from the Terek at the beginning of January, in order that the flank of Kleist's Army Group A should not be pushed in by the Russians. On 10th January, at long last, XLIX Mountain Corps evacuated its old positions in the high part of the Caucasus and began to move back to the Maikop area.

The plan of the withdrawal envisaged Seventeenth Army disengaging itself sector by sector towards the north-west, via the "Cable-car Line" and the "Gothic Line", into a bridgehead in the lower reaches of the Kuban. It was Hitler's idea to establish there a kind of springboard into Asia, where 400,000 men would be held ready to be moved forward again in the summer of 1943 against the Caucasus and its oilfields. The base for this bridgehead was to be the Crimea.

This plan was typical of Hitler's strategy of illusions. It was unbelievable. Was this the man who in 1940 and 1941 had stunned the world by well-thought-out operations and bold improvisation? At that time he tended to be over-cautious in critical situations. Since Stalingrad, however, he had been conducting the war with an almost pathological obduracy, simply refusing to accept clear and unmistakable facts.

Yet these facts were only too obvious even to the most junior staff officer. At Stalingrad 250,000 men were encircled. Between Chir and Don the situation was disastrous. Yet 200 miles from Rostov, on the Kuban, 400,000 men with more than 2000 guns were to be immobilized —just as though they were encircled. Hitler had originally even intended to move First Panzer Army into the Kuban bridgehead as well. Only the most determined representations by the commanders in the field persuaded him to give up this absurd idea and to transfer the bulk of First Panzer Army to Manstein, switching only its LII corps and 13th Panzer Division into the Kuban bridgehead. And that was quite foolish enough.

What the bridges over the Don at Rostov meant to First and Fourth Panzer Armies, the Kuban bridges at Krasnodar and Ust-Labinskaya meant to the infantry, rifle, and mountain corps of Seventeenth Army. They were vital pivoting points and equally vital supply centers for the retreating corps. Here too, therefore, a nerve-racking race began against time. And against the enemy.

These were no longer mobile troops, indeed hardly motorized units, but only greatly weakened small armored formations of 13th Panzer Division—mostly infantry, rifle units, mountain troops, and horse-drawn artillery who covered this distance of 250 miles in four weeks, without motor vehicles, with only pack animals, and with horses pulling the guns and supply carts. Much of the way they were engaged in fighting. From the icy slopes of Mount Elbrus, Klukhor, and Sanchar, and from the marshes of the Gunayka valley, they moved down into the Kuban plain, and then northwest into the "Gothic Line", the last bastion before the Kuban bridgehead.

This retreat too was an achievement almost without parallel in military history. A chapter in the war, marked by gallantry, dedication, and readiness for sacrifice on the part of officers and men, and not with weapons only but equally so with spades, alongside horses and mules.

Here more than anywhere else did the German Wehrmacht reap the benefits of its progressive, modern structure, its lack of social barriers and class prejudice. The German Army was the only army in the world in which officers and men shared the same food. The officer was not only the leader in battle but also the "foreman", a "trooper with epaulettes", whose unhesitating participation in carrying loads or freeing stuck vehicles set an example which conquered fatigue. In no other way could the adventure of this great retreat have succeeded.

Retreat is invariably a depressing chapter for the troops. Since November 1942 General de Angelis's XLIV Jäger Corps and General Konrad's XLIX Mountain Corps had been defending their positions in the western Caucasus, on the road to Tuapse and along the famous Military Highways of the Central Caucasus, with an incredible amount of enthusiasm and readiness for sacrifice. And all the time they were in sight, within a few miles, of their ultimate objective—the Black Sea and the Turkish frontier. They could not make it.

In mid-November 1942 the great rains came. The Caucasian mountains, valleys, and forests were swept by cloud-bursts and gales. The rivers broke their banks. Brooks turned into raging torrents. Bridges were carried away, telephone wires were ripped from their poles. The mud was knee-deep. Movement was impossible even with peasant carts and beasts of burden. Horses and mules broke into the morass up to their bellies. Vehicles and guns were immobilized. Horse-drawn held kitchens were caught on the fords by the torrential streams and men and horses were swept away like toys and drowned. Foxholes and command posts were flooded. Grenadiers and riflemen died in their trenches of cold and exhaustion. Horses and mules disappeared in the quagmires or developed mange and died. The gunners dragged their ammunition into dry caves in the rock.

But what was the use of it all?

It was easy enough to fire a shell but if was impossible to score a hit: because of the strong cross-wind the deviations were incalculable and targets were invariably missed.

The work done by the medical orderlies in collecting the wounded and transporting them back was beyond description. Each day of this atrocious war was filled with heroic deeds of humanity. And in the end the war itself died in this mountain world of howling storms and eerie lightning and dark, brooding forests. It was drowned in the raging torrents. It froze to death among the glaciers. It was suffocated in the mud and the rubble of inundated valleys. There was no time left for killing. No aircraft took off any more, neither bombers nor reconnaissance planes.

Artillery, flak, and assault guns were withdrawn. The positions high up in the mountains were evacuated. The blood- drenched Zemasho, 3400 feet high, south of Krasnodar was abandoned—the last mountain before the coast, the mountain from which they had seen the sea and the road to Tuapse, their longed-for objective.

Here Major von Hirschfeld and Major Dr Lawall had fought and bled with the riflemen of 98th Regiment. Now, so near their objective, they had to abandon their positions. Just like the men of First Panzer Army had done on the blood- soaked battlefield on the Terek. On 10th January the withdrawal operation known as "Cable Car", the retreat towards the Goryachiy Klyuch to Maikop line, began for all formations of Seventeenth Army. The group of Colonel von Le Suire, which had held the high mountain passes with units of 1st Mountain Division, had disengaged itself from the enemy on 4th January and made its way back, to the Maikop area, in twenty-three days of fighting.

The Württemberg 125th Infantry Division fell back to the area south of Krasnodar. This was a vital line, as Krasnodar was to be the turntable for the withdrawal of the whole of Seventeenth Army. For Colonel Alfred Reinhardt, at that time commanding the 125th Infantry Division, that meant that the town with its river crossings had to be held at all costs. Krasnodar must not be surrendered. Not only because of its importance as a traffic junction but also because it was a mammoth supply centre. It contained enormous stores of all kinds of goods. And since the heavy ice in the Strait of Kerch ruled out, for the time being, all other approaches to the Kuban area, the 400,000 men of the Seventeenth Army were utterly dependent on the stores in Krasnodar—at least until the Strait of Kerch was clear of ice. And that would not be for another seven weeks at least.

Reinhardt's task therefore was not unlike that performed by Hoth's divisions at Rostov. The 125th Infantry Division had to prevent the Russians from emerging from the northern slopes of the Caucasus. It must stop them at all costs from getting near the only two usable roads of retreat from Goryachiy Klyuch to Krasnodar and to Krimskaya and Novorossiysk. Reinhardt's division had to defend Krasnodar. It had to secure the roads. And it had to keep in check the partisans in the forests. That was quite a job.

Under cover from 125th Infantry Division the XLIV Rifle Corps was successfully pulled out of the swamp via Krasnodar with all its heavy weapons. A magnificent achievement.
Meanwhile, XLIX Mountain Corps under General Konrad had to disengage from the enemy in the snow-covered passes of the Higher Caucasus. Here the companies of the Franconian-Sudeten 46th Infantry Division under General Haccius acted as the rearguard covering the difficult withdrawal. It worked out all right. The worst part of it was the recovery of the heavy weapons from the by then quite impassable valley of the Gunayka and the Pshish.

One has to read the account of Colonel Winkler, the artillery commander, to get an insight into the difficulties involved in the withdrawal of the heavy guns. During the dry season they had been moved into the roadless valleys, and now they were standing axle-deep in mud on the valley floor. In this chaotic situation Colonel Winkler worked wonders with a mere dozen tractors. It really was a case of doing the impossible. Three tractors hitched to a gun. Heave! And again! Yard by yard the guns were pulled out of the sticky mud. Then they were taken apart. Piece by piece the troops manhandled them down the steep slopes. Then they loaded them on sledges. And then on pack animals. And finally on vehicles.

Not even the Russians, who were masters of improvisation, achieved anything like it. They were defeated by the difficult terrain and only managed to follow the retreating Germans at a considerable distance. Only hard work, sweat, ingenuity, and unshakeable courage saved the corps of Seventeenth Army.

When the Soviets had reformed, their main attacks were aimed at the German withdrawal road from Saratovskaya to Krasnodar. This, the only highway to the north, was known as the "Stalin Highway", and was negotiable in all weathers even by heavy vehicles. The Russians tried desperately to get at this road. The large forests offered them favorable jumping-off positions. For months combat squads and partisan formations had seeped into the area south of Krasnodar. The German line was so thin that this was unavoidable. Thus a dangerous partisan area had gradually developed. Now and then a group or a leader of these formations was caught behind the German lines.

The engagement reports of 97th Rifle Division record an episode typical of the savagery of this type of partisan warfare. A unit of Turkmen volunteers who had fought bravely at Tuapse alongside 97th Rifle Division used a small abandoned village near Severskaya for their sleeping quarters during the winter nights. Occasionally the unit commanders would forget to post sentries.
One morning the Turkmens did not turn up for duty. A German patrol cautiously approached the village, which seemed suspiciously quiet. The patrol leader was the first to enter a house, pistol in hand. His men heard him yell an angry oath. And then they were able to see for themselves. The same picture in every hut: the Turkmens were lying in their beds with their heads cut off. Chalked on the walls was the slogan "Traitors will not escape revenge!"

This gruesome scene was part of the psychological warfare conducted by the Soviets against the much-feared cooperation of various non-Russian, anti-Bolshevik nationalities with the German Wehrmacht.

A good part of the Soviet intelligence effort behind the German lines was concerned with watching and foiling these collaborators. It worked extremely well. Officers and commissars of this secret front recruited suitable inhabitants behind the German lines by means of regular call-up orders. Moscow's emissaries in this dangerous struggle were real dare-devils.

Lieutenant Alex Buchner of 13th Mountain Jäger Regiment describes how one day his Karachai militia, while out on patrol in the spurs of the Caucasus, captured a tall Soviet officer. Under interrogation he refused to disclose how he had got behind the lines. He merely rolled his eyes and remained silent.

When the Karachai had stripped him of his uniform for a closer examination, the prisoner began to betray clear signs of nervousness as Büchner picked up his fine peaked cap to cut off the big enameled Soviet star from it as a souvenir. A few knife cuts into the top of the cap revealed everything: out of the lining came maps printed on tissue paper, orders and authorities from Moscow, and identity documents. The patrol had caught the man who was to have built up a secret front in the Kuban area.

But partisan units also engaged in merciless open combat in the wooded region of Severskaya. The 8th Troop, 125th Artillery Regiment, was overrun there by strong forces. The 7th Troop escaped the same fate only thanks to the vigilance of an infantry platoon providing cover for it.

Interrogation of a captured sergeant confirmed 125th Infantry Division in the view that the Russians were extremely anxious to block the German route of retreat. "Our commanders," the sergeant said, "have read out to all units an order from headquarters. It said that the German retreat route must be cut, at no matter what sacrifice." This was not surprising. The prize, if the attempt succeeded, was the bagging of the whole of XLIV Jäger Corps.

The most savage fighting on the right wing was for the crucial hill 249.6. This was held by 3rd Battalion, 421st Grenadier Regiment, under Captain Winzen. Unshaven and haggard with sleeplessness, the captain sat in his stone hut. Outside the machine-guns were barking.

A runner came galloping up to the command post: "They're coming again, Herr Hauptmann!"
They were coming. Just as yesterday and the day before. Only one in every four had a uniform, and one in every three, at best, carried a rifle. They had no heavy weapons at all. They yelled "Urra!" and charged. Right in front were young officers, some still cadets from officer training centers. Behind them came boys of thirteen or fourteen, as well as old men and invalids.

It was the scraping of the barrel. The German machine-guns mowed down the first wave. Those behind it picked up the rifles of the wounded and killed, and charged on. To judge by their features, all Caucasian tribes were represented.

Soon mountains of dead and wounded piled up a mere fifty yards in front of the positions of 3rd Battalion. It was impossible to identify the units of the killed as the men did not carry any documents.

We know now that they were hurriedly levied special formations of the Soviet Fifty-Sixth Army and came under the newly raised Soviet 9th Mountain Division. This inferno continued for four days. They came again and again. They used the mountains of their own dead for cover. Behind these gruesome parapets they reformed and with a spine-chilling yell of "Urra!" they would charge again, over their own dead. "Hand-grenade throwers forward!" the German platoon commanders called whenever a pause intervened in the fighting. Only with hand-grenades could the Soviet assembly positions behind the mountains of corpses be reached. But what was the use of it? Like shifting dunes the mountains of dead crept closer and closer. Fifty yards became twenty-five. Then ten. "Urra!" And then already they were in the command post.

Captain Winzen rounded up every man he had. Immediate counterattack. Quick! Every man knew why they had to be quick. They had had some grim experience of these fanatical militias. Like lightning the German assault party was back in their old battalion command post. But the scene before them was frightful. The boys had avenged their dead. The men of 3rd Battalion had another grim reminder that they were fighting in Asia.

The only man found still alive and not massacred in the recaptured battalion command post was a seriously wounded Russian lieutenant. When Captain Winzen interrogated him amidst that scene of carnage and demanded an explanation for the atrocities, the Russian merely shrugged his shoulders and said, "You Germans know how to fight; we are still learning."

They learnt all right.
But for the moment they were still making bad mistakes and costly ones. Thus the commanders of these Red "Home Guard'' and partisan units at Krasnodar led their men in a strange manner. They put out their tactical orders to their subordinate officers over the radio en clair, together with frightful threats: "Unless you attain the objective I'll have you shot!" or, "If you retreat I'll order fire to be opened on your units!"

The forward monitoring service of 125th Infantry Division listened in to all this, and Reinhardt and his staff therefore always knew in advance where to expect an enemy attack. His tactical reserves were always on the spot before the Soviet attacker.

"At times I conducted operations entirely on the strength of the Russian commands by radio," General Reinhardt recalled. Wherever the "Urra!" of the charging regiments shattered the grey dawn, the combat squads of the Baden-Württemberg battalions were already behind their machine-guns, their carbines ready on the parapets of their dugouts, and hand- grenades within easy reach. Then the attack came.
A hundred times death swept over the plain, into the undergrowth and against the flat flanks of the river valleys.
The "Regimentsgruppe Ortlieb", a combat group of roughly regiment strength, was holding the village of Penzenskaya. It was situated at the important road fork where the old highway to Krasnodar crossed the east-west road from Maikop to Novorossiysk.

The Russians were stubbornly trying to take the village. Major Ortlieb had to organize his men for all-round defense. Supplies for his force had to come through by heavily armed convoy. Every such convoy was an adventure. The Russians were lying in wait like Red Indians, their snipers picking off the German drivers, Their engineers mined the roads and buried in it remote-controlled high-explosive charges. It was a small-scale war, but exhausting. Ortlieb was holding the western approaches to Krasnodar.

The other important strongpoint covering the approach to the vital centre of Krasnodar was Saratovskaya, immediately on the "Stalin Highway" which ran from the Maikop oilfields through the mountains to Krasnodar. This road was negotiable by heavy trucks and in all weathers. But it had a few dangerously vulnerable points—the bridges over the deep cut valley north of the town.

The commander of 125th Infantry Division needed every single man at the focal points of his defensive front; thus the bridges had to be covered by Ukrainian volunteer units. They were commanded by reliable German NCO's—but it was not the same thing.

During the night of 27th-28th January, at 0200, Reinhardt was woken by his orderly officer, Lieutenant Roser. "Herr Oberst, the Russians have got to the bridges!"
"All three of them?" Reinhardt asked, flabbergasted.
"All three of them, Herr Oberst."
For a moment Reinhardt was heard muttering Swabian curses. Then he ordered: "Get Lieutenant Sauter!"
The commander of the 14th Panzerjäger Company, 421st Grenadier Regiment, was sent off to the bridges with a machine-gun platoon and a 7.5-cm anti-tank gun.

A company of 420th Grenadier Regiment was loaded on trucks. Reinhardt himself went along with this company.

They came to the first bridge.
"Patrol forward!"
"Bridge not held by friend or enemy!" the report came back. Reinhardt's eyes flashed angrily.
Off to the next bridge.
All by himself, a German NCO was crouching behind his machine-gun by the ramp. He gestured over to the third bridge, not lit up by fires.
"As soon as the first few bangs came from over there, together with a handful of fleeing Ukrainians, my Ukrainian lot also took to their heels. An enemy assault party made an attack but were stopped by my fire and have evidently withdrawn now."
Sauter cautiously approached the third bridge with his assault party. A Slovak fighting vehicle was burning on its ramp. In the light of the fire a few Russian infantrymen could be seen digging in. A Russian sentry by the approach to the bridge was scrounging through a supply vehicle for booty.

"Just what I want," muttered Sergeant Maier of 14th Company. He crept up to the truck. Softly he hissed: "Psst!" The Russian straightened up. Maier struck with his rifle butt. The Russian keeled over noiselessly.

That was what Sauter was waiting for. With his combat squad he moved up to the most convenient range. Then he raked the surprised Russians with HE shells and machine-gun fire.The company of 420th Grenadier Regiment, which followed Sauter, crushed the last resistance. The bridge was clear again.

That was most fortunate. For on the following day the last battalions of 198th Infantry Division, the Slovak Fast Division, as well as the Special Service Battalion 500 and the Cyclist Battalion of 101st Jäger Division, passed through Saratovskaya and continued in the direction of Krasnodar. They would have been lost if Reinhardt's Swabians had not kept the road open. One more instance of a major turn in the situation depending on the resolution of a single commander or indeed the gallantry of one man behind a machine-gun guarding a bridge.

At last Reinhardt was able to order his combat groups still holding covering positions to the east and south of Krasnodar to fight their way back.

The Russians immediately followed up. They tried desperately to overtake the German rearguards and break through to Krasnodar. These were very different formations from the wild hordes of the last few weeks. These were all young people, well trained, in new khaki uniforms and short greatcoats. None of their equipment was of Russian origin— uniform, underwear, socks, and boots all bore the American stamp GI. Not till you came to their skins were they Russian.

Their light weapons too came from the U.S.A., and in their pockets the Soviet soldiers had Camel cigarettes. Roosevelt's inexhaustible war production was now also being employed against the German armies on the borders of Europe and Asia.

But even these crack troops with their American equipment did not succeed in breaking through to Krasnodar. On 30th January the 125th Infantry Division had taken up new defensive positions to both sides of Pritsepilovka. On the same day, on the left wing of the army, the last units of XLIX Mountain Corps crossed the Kuban by the army bridges of Ust-Labinskaya which had been kept open by formations of 13th Panzer Division and 46th Infantry Division. Twelve hours later these bridges were blown up by the rearguards of the Franconian-Sudeten 46th Infantry Division. But the Seventeenth Army was not out of the wood yet.

Scorched Earth by Paul Carell

I'll always remember when I was younger, the huge, hulking cops that made up the NYPD. As I grew older I assumed that maybe they just seemed like giants to me, a young, impressionable kid.

But guess what? They really were huge!
In those days one had to be at least five foot ten to even consider taking the police exam-at least until it was found that tall cops were actually being discriminatory because they were so.....tall. A few years later the height requirement was dropped mainly because it was said to prevent many women and Hispanics from the job.
So we went from a police department with literal giants to what we have today when there are actually cops under five feet tall that look as though my sister could jack their weapons off them-and forget about them when it comes to a punch-out with criminals-it's no contest!

Stalin Wanted More Than Stalingrad

THE time: Christmas 1942.
The headquarters of Field-Marshal von Manstein, C-in-C Army Group Don, was at Novocherkassk, twelve miles behind the Lower Don. The Marshal and his staff officers looked weary. They were all depressed by the fate of Sixth Army.
But behind their anxiety about the situation at Stalingrad there was an even graver one. The Soviet High Command was patently out to exploit the fortunes of war, or rather Hitler's mistakes in making Sixth Army rush ahead too far without adequate cover for its weak flanks, to achieve a far greater prize than the mere annihilation of one army.

Behind the operations of three Soviet army groups, which had been ceaselessly attacking between Volga and Don ever since 19th November 1942, which had encircled Stalingrad and torn open the Italian-Rumanian front for some sixty miles—behind that operation was more than just the liberation of Stalingrad and the encirclement of Paulus's Army. Behind it was a far greater, a breath-taking plan of the Soviet High Command.
Carefully prepared over a long time, dearly bought with great sacrifices, with lost armies, lost territory, and very nearly a lost war, the great counterblow was at last to be struck—here, from the Volga, from the womb of old Mother Russia, from Stalingrad, the holy place of the Bolshevik revolution. All past omissions were now to be redeemed, the great operation against Hitler was now to be mounted —the giant blow as against Napoleon, the annihilation of the Germans in the vast, open spaces of Russia. Stalin intended no more and no less than the shattering of the entire southern wing of the German armies in the East.

A super-Stalingrad for a million German troops—that was his objective.
By means of a gigantic operation of eight armies altogether, striking towards Rostov and the Lower Dnieper from the middle Don and the Kalmyk Steppe, he wanted to cut off and annihilate the entire German southern wing—three groups with altogether seven armies.

There is no parallel in military history for an operation plan of similar gigantic scale. Moreover, it seemed like success. Hour by hour more alarming reports arrived at Manstein's map table. How and with what was he to stem the Red flood? How was he to seal the huge gap between Don and Donets? The German High Command was facing a danger such as it had not faced before.

"Quiet," grunted the Soviet general. His reproachful glance fell on his orderly officer who was talking to a runner. Alarmed the major fell silent. The only sound now was the crackling of the fire in the stove of the peasant hut which served the Soviet XXIV Tank Corps as its command post during the night of 23rd-24th December 1942. The general was pressing a telephone to his ear. "Da—yes, yes." He chuckled. Then he gave his name again. "Everything according to plan," the general reported. "The Italians seem to have been blown away. They have no resistance left in the area behind their Eighth Army either. My formations are advancing unimpeded. We are already deep in the enemy hinterland and are covering some thirty miles a day. Our spearheads are at Tatsinskaya." Major- General V. M. Badanov, commanding the Soviet XXIV Tank Corps, was clearly proud of the telephone report he was making to the C-in-C of the First Guards Army. And General Kuznetsov sounded pleased too: "Excellent, Comrade Badanov. I shall report your successes to headquarters. But keep moving, always keep moving—this is our moment!"

It was indeed Badanov's moment. His XXIV Tank Corps, assigned to First Guards Army, was racing far ahead of the Soviet offensive wedges which were advancing through the shattered front of the Italian Eighth Army, on towards the Donets. Badanov encountered hardly any appreciable opposition. Blocking units employed in the depth of the Italian front, in the catchment area of the Chir, soon scattered under the impact of the Soviet attacks. Guns and motor vehicles were abandoned. Many officers removed their badges of rank and tried to make good their escape. So why should the other ranks be more heroic? They threw their weapons away and fled also.

All Badanov's corps had to do was to keep moving. By the evening of 23rd December 1942 their spearheads had reached Tatsinskaya, the important forward airfield and supply centre for Stalingrad, 150 miles behind the shattered Italian front. The corps had covered this distance in five days—blitzkrieg in the best German tradition! A distance of 150 miles in five days—that was nearly the distance and the speed of Manstein's famous Panzer raid to Dvinsk in the first week of the war. Then, eighteen months earlier, his LVI Panzer Corps had covered the distance from the area east of Tilsit to Dvinsk, a distance of 170 miles, in four days. The Russians had learnt a lot since then.

As General Badanov replaced the receiver of his field telephone he turned to his chief of staff: "What d'you think, Comrade Colonel, do we attack the German base and the airfield tonight or do we wait till tomorrow?"
The Colonel slowly shook his head. "Tomorrow the Germans celebrate Christmas—that's the most sentimental of their feasts. They make up little presents, they stick candles on fir trees and prepare for their Holy Night. That'll make them careless. We might take them by surprise."
Badanov nodded. Then he made out his orders for his unit commanders. The plan succeeded.
In thick fog during the small hours of 24th December Badanov's tanks moved off. They rolled straight down the runways of the airfield of Tatsinskaya.
Of course, VIII Air Corps realized the threatening danger, but Fourth Air Fleet was not allowed to order the evacuation of the important supply base and its huge stores. Orders said: Hold on. But how was one to hold on, far behind the main German defensive line on the Chir, when faced with a Soviet armored corps? A mere 120 men, one 8.8-cm gun and six 2-cm flak guns—that was all the Germans had to oppose the Soviets with at Tatsinskaya.

General Badanov records in his memoirs that the Soviet armored spearheads found the German gun positions and strongpoints unmanned. The aircrews too were in their bunkers. "Everybody was sleeping peacefully," the general records. According to his account the signal for the attack was given by a mortar battery. A few hours later the vital supply base for the encircled city of Stalingrad fell to the Russians without appreciable resistance. Badanov states that 350 aircraft and enormous quantities of materiel, food supplies, and ammunition, including complete train transports, were captured.

The poor defense of the important base of Tatsinskaya was certainly a serious blunder. But one thing is certain: Badanov's figure of captured aircraft cannot be correct.
Only 180 machines were on the field. Most of these took off under enemy fire, in spite of the fog. And 124 arrived safely at other airfields.

Nevertheless it was a terrible blow. Tatsinskaya was not only the supply centre for Stalingrad but also a communications centre—the railhead of the important lines from Rostov and the Donets area. The development was particularly serious for Army Detachment Hollidt. This formation was still a long way to the east of Tatsinskaya, on the Chir, and now found itself threatened from its rear. Once more the price had to be paid for Hitler's disastrous strategy of holding an at all costs. Nothing was ever to be surrendered. Hold on, hold on, hold on—whatever the price.

Admittedly, the position held by Hollidt on the Chir was of very considerable importance. It was from there that XLVIII Panzer Corps was to support Hoth's relief attack towards Stalingrad. For that reason, favorable salients in the front line seemed useful to OKH. But wish and reality were incompatible. The danger grew from day to day, and the prospect of success became less. Hitler, however, refused to see the danger. When Manstein asked for reinforcements Hitler's reply was: "I haven't got any." When he proposed strategically unavoidable withdrawals, Hitler lamented: "Without the Caucasian oil and the mineral wealth of the Donets area the war can no longer be won."

Manstein was in a difficult position. He had to battle not only against the Russians but also against the Führer's headquarters. Any other man would have caved in. But Manstein found a way. He resorted to an ingenious system of strategic make-shift arrangements. In this he had the help of three experienced commanders in the field, men on whom he could rely—Colonel-General Hoth, whose Fourth Panzer Army was still fighting south-east of the Don; General Hollidt, whose mixed Army Detachment in the big Don bend was holding the main defensive line of the Gnilaya and the Chir; General Fretter-Pico, whose newly organized Army Detachment was trying to set up a blocking position in the area between Millerovo and the Kalitva river.

The main danger now was Badanov, the spearheads of the Soviet First Guards Army. For it was a mere eighty miles from Tatsinskaya to Rostov. Manstein knew that, in the present conditions, a fearless tank commander could cover the distance in three days. And Badanov certainly was fearless. If he struck at Rostov things would be really critical. If the Soviets succeeded in slamming the only door, the only overland link with the armies of Army Group A in the Caucasus, then 800,000 men would be trapped. And Fourth Panzer Army as well. Field-Marshal Manstein realized this. And General Badanov realized it too.
The Field-Marshal sat at Novocherkassk and together with his chief of staff, Major-General Schulz, and his chief of operations, Colonel Busse, coolly evaluated the situation. This was the moment for bold, daring, but also fateful decisions. It was one of those moments when a general must decide how much he can expect from his officers and men. Manstein knew the capacity of his formations but he also knew the limits to which they could be stretched. That too was part of his genius as a general.

Manstein asked Hoth, whose army on the southern front of Army Group Don was still engaged in the relief attack towards Stalingrad, to let him have one division in order to save Tatsinskaya. On his own responsibility, because he realized the disastrous situation, Hoth transferred to him his most powerful Panzer Division, the 6th Panzer Division under General Raus. Colonel von Hünersdorff, Manstein's chief of staff during the offensive operations of the previous year, now commanded the Paderborn 11th Panzer Regiment in that division.

In an icy night march the division was transferred to the north, to Army Detachment Hollidt, where Colonel Wenck, its indefatigable chief of staff and a brilliant improviser, had built up a first weak line of defense from a motley array of formations.
It was a difficult and a fateful decision which Manstein and Hoth had taken upon themselves. For with the loss of his 6th Panzer Division Hoth also lost his last feeble hope of being able to hold on in his hard-pressed position thirty miles from Stalingrad, and thus of ever being able to resume the relief attack. But then this relief attack, though begun with such high hopes, had in any case virtually failed. Even without a successful blow against Badanov, Hoth's situation would soon have become untenable because he too would be threatened with encirclement. The only choice he had was between a greater and a lesser disaster.

And the greater disaster could be averted—if at all—only by means of Manstein's plan. And this plan was based on the following considerations. The only real armored formation which Hollidt still possessed on the Chir was General Balck's well-tried Silesian 11th Panzer Division. It had been engaged in skirmishes with penetrating enemy tanks on the left wing of Hoth's group ever since mid-December. Colonel Count Schimmelmann commanded its 15th Panzer Regiment. True, he only had twenty-five armored fighting vehicles left, but General Balck had nevertheless been able, with this force of tanks, reinforced by Panzer grenadiers, engineers, and flak, and with 336th Infantry Division under General Lucht, to annihilate two strong enemy striking forces in a kind of running battle and in knocking out sixty-five tanks without losing a single one himself.

The outstanding part played in this fighting by the infantry is also shown by the fact that 336th Infantry Division knocked out ninety-two enemy tanks in five days.
This success enabled Manstein to move 11th Panzer Division against Badanov's corps after a tiring night march on 23rd December in a temperature of minus 4 degrees Fahrenheit.
Jointly with 6th Panzer Division, which was coming up in forced marches, it was to halt General Badanov's daring and dangerous raid.
In the flat, snow-covered steppe between Kalitva and Chir the German Panzer regiments again demonstrated the meaning of modern tank tactics. While the Grenadier battalions of 306th Infantry Division sealed off the important supply centre from the east and then sent in assault parties of 579th Grenadier Regiment to recapture parts of the airfield, the German counter-attacks were mounted. As early as 24th December an armored advanced detachment of 6th Panzer Division, supported by assault guns, captured the area north of Tatsinskaya. By 27th December General Balck's formations had laid an iron ring around the Russian corps at Tatsinskaya. The 6th Panzer Division now blocked the retreat of the Soviet formations, cut them off from their supplies, and screened off the front along the Bystraya against any attempts from the north for their relief.

Then began the battle for Tatsinskaya.
Badanov's armor was trapped. The corps had been taken by surprise. Badanov sent one SOS after another to his Army Group. General Vatutin replied with reassuring signals. He urged him to hold on. He employed what forces he had—two motorized corps and two rifle divisions—to relieve Badanov. He was determined to save Badanov and get his corps moving again. Too much was at stake for the Soviet Command: they wanted to get to Rostov. But the Russians too were at the end of their strength that winter.

General Raus with his 6th Panzer Division resisted all attacks. And Balck's 11th Panzer Division, together with 4th Panzer Grenadier Regiment, commanded by the fearless Colonel Unrein, and with the grenadiers of 306th Infantry Division, turned the battle into a costly defeat for Badanov's regiments at Tatsinskaya. The Soviet XXIV Tank Corps was wiped out in heavy night fighting in a cutting cold. Badanov's units resisted desperately. Many groups fought to their last round. The burning grain silos and storage depots of Tatsinskaya lit up a ghostly battle scene—rammed tanks, crushed anti-tank guns, overturned supply columns, wounded men frozen to death. By 28th December it was all over. Isolated Soviet troops broke through the German encirclement in the north of the town and made good their escape across the Bystraya stream. Badanov's corps, which so hopefully launched its offensive towards Rostov just before Christmas, had ceased to exist.

The Soviet High Command and the Supreme Soviet bestowed on Badanov's regiments the halo of heroes. Their gallant stand to the last, and above all their unparalleled armored raid deep into the rear of the German lines were to be a shining example to the rest of the Red Army. The newly raised corps was therefore granted the title of "II Tatsinskaya Tank Corps". And Badanov himself was the first officer of the Red Army to be decorated with the Order of Suvorov.
German blitzkrieg methods with large armored formations had clearly become the model for Soviet operations. For the moment, however, these new tactics did not bring them success. The German tank commanders were still superior in skill. This was again demonstrated four days later. Late on New Year's Eve, just before the beginning of 1943, the Soviet XXV Tank Corps ran into a trap in an attempt to imitate Badanov's method. An error and recklessness led it into disaster.

Misled by the very slight resistance they had encountered when breaking through the southern wing of the Italian Eighth Army, the Corps omitted to send reconnaissance units out. It was thought that there was no serious adversary left. The Russian armored brigades emerged from their patches of woodland north of the Bystraya stream with their headlights full on and made for the ford near Maryevka. They intended to cross the river in a southerly direction in order to strike at the rear of the German Army Detachment Hollidt.

But the battle outposts of 6th Panzer Division on the Bystraya noticed the Soviet advance towards the ford. General Raus swiftly made his plan for a night engagement. He ordered his 7.5-cm antitank troops forward in order to delay the Soviet tanks. The 11th panzer Regiment was alerted and kept in readiness. The bulk of the Soviet XXV Corps was allowed to cross the ford into Maryevka with most of its tanks. Then the crossing point was sealed off with the anti-tank troops held in readiness and with heavy armored scout cars. And now General Raus opened the nocturnal tank battle between Maryevka and Romanov. The enemy, held up frontally, was attacked from both flanks and in the rear. The Russians were taken by surprise and reacted confusedly and nervously. Raus, on the other hand, calmly conducted the battle like a game of chess. Blazing T-34s lit up the scene. Using separate packs of tanks, the Soviets again and again tried to force a breach. Who was a friend and who an enemy? This question could be answered only at closest range. Furiously the Soviet tank commanders tried to exploit the robust construction of their T-34s and to eliminate the German Panzers by ramming them. But the mobility of the Panzer IV and the experience of the German tank commanders paid off—especially in the breakthrough attempt of a Soviet armored group at Novomaryevka, where Major Dr Bäke held a covering position with his 2nd Battalion, 11th Panzer Regiment.

Bäke had ten Panzer IVs available, and only a handful of infantrymen. Soviet T-34s attacked towards 3AM and broke into the village.
Battles of tank against tank developed between the houses. The straw-thatched huts were soon ablaze. The flickering flames produced bizarre shadows. Standing about in the village were a few damaged, unmanned German tanks, awaiting repair. These provided an unexpected support for Bäke's small fighting force. In the uncertain light of the blazing 'village the Russians regarded the wrecks as intact tanks and time and again concentrated their fire on these tempting stationary targets. This gave Bäke's tanks the time and opportunity to move into good firing positions themselves. Eventually he withdrew his little armada from among the damaged tanks and houses of the village. In the course of this disengagement Bäke's command tank—which, like all other command tanks, merely carried a wooden dummy gun because of the space inside being needed for the bulky radio equipment and the map table— happened to cross the bow of a T-34. The Russian immediately traversed his gun to open fire. "Ram him!" Bäke ordered. But the maneuver would hardly have saved him. Salvation came from the tank of the commander of 7th Company, Captain Gericke. His Panzer IV was lying in ambush at a street corner, its gun ready for action. He saw the Russian tank just in time: "Fire!" It was a direct hit. When he rallied outside the village, Bäke found that he was left with six tanks and twenty-five men. Once it got light and the Russians realized their superiority things might look ugly. For that reason the night had to be exploited for the counter-attack. At night deception was possible. Night favored the weaker side. Under cover of darkness one might, by means of lights and noise, make six tanks look like a whole battalion.

Major Bäke posted his six tanks all round the village. On the prearranged flare signal they all attacked. The twenty-five infantrymen, strung out between the tanks, yelled "Hurra" as loud as they could and fired as many rounds as possible from their small arms. The tanks also made as much noise as possible and fired tracer ammunition. The bluff succeeded.
Bäke quickly reached the centre of the village. The Russians, suspecting a large-scale attack, fell back towards the Bystraya. But there they were caught by the German anti-tank guns which were waiting for them. The Russians had crossed the Bystraya with ninety tanks. When day broke, ninety wrecked T-34s littered the wintery battlefield. Thus XXV Tank Corps, the second offensive wedge of the Soviet Guards Army, was wiped out.

The losses of 6th Panzer Division amounted to twenty-three armored fighting vehicles. And since it remained in possession of the battlefield, most of these were made battle-worthy again by the workshop companies. With the smashing of the two Soviet armored groups on the northern front of Army Group Don the immediate danger threatening Rostov from the north-east was averted. The equally dangerous Soviet thrust by the Soviet Sixth and First Guards Armies from the northern edge of the breach in the direction of the Donets via Millerovo was successfully halted by the weak formations of Army Detachment Fretter-Pico.

Army Detachment was rather a grand name for the forces available to General Fretter-Pico for sealing a gap of nearly 120 miles. At Millerovo parts of 3rd Mountain Division resolutely and successfully resisted superior enemy armored forces. Field-training regiments and draft-conducting battalions, together with von der Lancken's battered Panzer group, had to face the assault of enemy armored divisions.
Eventually the 304th Infantry Division was transferred to Russia from France. From coastal-defense duties along the peaceful Atlantic Wall. Its regiments, after a mere twelve hours' fighting on the Eastern Front, found themselves at breaking point.
The fact that Fretter-Pico and the division's experienced commander, Major-General Sieler, nevertheless succeeded in nursing the riflemen and gunners through the initial shock of being faced with powerful enemy armor and in turning them, within a few weeks, into tough fighters, was an amazing achievement. Luckily, Fretter-Pico had two experienced and battle-tested Panzer Divisions at his disposal—the Thuringian 7th and the Lower Saxon 19th, whose indefatigable counter-attacks made the defensive fighting easier for the infantry and also protected the northern flank of the threatened front. Thus the Army Detachment Fretter-Pico, though in fact a weak corps, became a successful breakwater between Don and Donets and by its elastic method of operation prevented a strategic breakthrough by an enemy more than twenty times its numerical superior. Fretter-Pico rightly observed: "It was a victory for the infantryman's fighting morale." The successful German defensive operations between Don and Donets held the door open for the German armies still in the Caucasus against the northern jaw of the Soviet pincers. But the absence of the forces employed to avert this danger was now acutely felt by Manstein on the right wing of his front, at Hoth's Fourth Panzer Army, between Don and Manych. And now disaster threatened there.

Every morning at daybreak during those last few days of December, Colonel-General Hoth set out in his armored command car on a tour of his shrunken divisions and visited their commanders at their headquarters. Many a regiment was reduced to the strength of a weak battalion. Battalions were down to company strength. Fourth Panzer Army was left with a mere fifty to seventy battle-worthy tanks, normally the equipment of a single weak battalion. At nightfall the tough and energetic army commander returned to his headquarters, completely exhausted. Colonel Fangohr, his chief of staff, was waiting for him with the situation map, the signals from Manstein, and the log of telephone conversations. It was a hopeless struggle. Fourth Panzer Army was spending itself in costly defensive fighting.
In the evenings there was only one subject: How, having given away its 6th Panzer Division, could the army hold the front with the small forces it had left?
Hitler persisted in refusing to release 16th Panzer Grenadier Division which was still holding positions deep in the Kalmyk Steppes at Elista. The 5th (Viking) SS Panzer Grenadier Division, promised by Army Group A from the Caucasus, was still somewhere in transit.

Day after day Fangohr reported how he had been on to Army Group. And day after day he received the same reply from Manstein's chief of operations, Colonel Busse: We keep asking Hitler to release First Panzer Army and put it under our command—but in vain. OKH cannot make up its mind about anything. Step by step, Hoth moved his troops back from switchline to switch-line, towards the south-west. From the Myshkova sector to the Aksay. From the Aksay to the Sal to the Kuberle. By sudden sharp counter-attacks he kept harassing the enemy who was pressing hard on his heels. Toughness, ingenuity, fresh ideas, indefatigable drive, and fearlessness —these were the qualities which enabled the colonel-general to stand up with his weakened LVII Panzer Corps to a superior Soviet force of three armies. And all the time he was conscious of his responsibility for the further course of the fighting—he must prevent a Russian advance to Rostov from the east and south-east, just as Hollidt and Fretter- Pico had averted it from the north, and he must cover the rear of the German armies still in the Caucasus. At long last, at the end of December, Hitler authorized the evacuation of the Caucasus. But the rearguards of First Panzer Army were still on the Terek, 400 miles from Rostov.

The situation map of the southern front of the German armies in the East looked terrible. Everywhere there were red arrows, indicating Soviet thrusts, and the thin blue lines of the German positions were submerged in this red sea. There was no longer any secure contact between Hollidt's and Hoth's formations, since, about mid-January, Fourth Panzer Army had been forced towards the south-east, behind the Manych. Between Don and Sal was a new, dangerous gap of twenty-five miles. Into that gap two Soviet armies of Yeremenko's Army Group were now advancing—the Second Guards Army and the Fifty-First Army. They kept moving forward. They covered their flanks to right and left, but the bulk of both armies was inexorably moving towards Rostov. Its movements, entered on the situation map, looked like a huge, nine-headed hydra—a hydra whose tentacles were threatening both Hoth and Hollidt. But the first part of this advancing hydra had already reached the Don to the north-east of Rostov. This was the Soviet III Guards Tank Corps under General Rotmistrov, the crack formation which earned its Guards title in the fighting for Stalingrad.

A chill ran down the spines of the staff officers of the German Army Group Don at Novocherkassk whenever they glanced at their situation map. The world's eyes were still riveted on Stalingrad, but down here, at Rostov, at the bridges of Bataysk, the real decisions were being made. Here a disaster was threatening which was three times the magnitude of Stalingrad. Could the race against time and against the Soviets be won? Would Field-Marshal von Kleist's Army Group A get to Rostov in time to slip through the narrow door?
On 7th January 1943, an icy-cold Thursday, Captain Annius, the orderly officer, burst into Manstein's room: "Herr Feldmarschall, Soviet tanks have crossed the Don only twelve miles from here and are making straight for us. They are evidently trying to mop us up. Our Cossack covering parties have been overrun. We've nothing left."
[Cossack units from the Russian and Ukrainian steppes, as well as units of Caucasian and other non-Russian tribes in the German-held parts of the U.S.S.R., had either defected to the Germans or been raised by them from the civilian population. They were traditionally anti-Russian rather than specifically anti-Soviet, and served as "auxiliary units", usually mounted, on the German side. After the war Stalin took savage reprisals against some of these tribes, often deporting the entire population to Siberia and abolishing such limited local autonomy as they had enjoyed. After Stalin's death and Khrushchev's denunciation of Stalin's crimes some of the tribes were brought back from east of the Urals and allowed to resettle in their old homes. (Translator's note.)] Manstein calmly regarded his orderly officer. All he said was: "That so?"
It was one of those moments when the Field-Marshal showed that he was not only a strategist of genius but also a man of imperturbable temperament. He hated alarms and excitement.
"We've got all sorts of things left, Annius," he said to the captain with a smile. "Scrape together whatever you can find. That tank repair shop next door—surely there are bound to be a few more or less operational tanks there. Collect whatever can be used, and go and knock out the Soviets. Get the staff organized for defense. We're staying put. I'll leave you to cope with this little disturbance!" Annius, staggered by the Field-Marshal's stolid calm, rushed out. The tank repair shop! Why didn't he think of it himself?

Half an hour later the captain led a small, motley handful of armor from Novocherkassk against the Don, intercepted the forward Soviet reconnaissance units, and threw the enemy armored spearheads back across the river. The day was vibrant with excitement and with frost. This episode is typical of the drama of the situation. One Soviet tank regiment with a go-getting commander might well have decided the war at this point. For the capture of Rostov would have decided the war; it would have meant the undoubted encirclement of three or four German armies with roughly a million men.

Why did Yeremenko, the Soviet Supreme Commander of the Southern Front, not assign this task to such a go-getter?
Did he overrate the German defensive forces? Or had the example of Badanov's XXIV Tank Corps had a sobering effect?
With a dark scowl General Malinovskiy listened to the reports about the unsuccessful Soviet armored thrust against Novocherkassk. Even the best troops can't do the impossible," his chief of staff said apologetically. The general nodded. He did not need to be told. As the experienced commander-in-chief of the Second Guards Army, Malinovskiy knew that even a crack formation such as his III Guards Tank Corps was now exhausted. It was dangling at the end of an extremely tenuous supply thread. Its fighting power was melting away, that once so dramatic fighting power with which General Rotmistrov had stopped the German relief attack towards Stalingrad. Malinovskiy was aware of all that and so was Yeremenko, the C-in-C of Army Group Southern Front. Even Nikita Sergeyevich Khrushchev, the powerful Military Council member for the Army Group, realized the difficulties. But Moscow headquarters refused to see them. Khrushchev and Yeremenko had to justify the orders of headquarters. And these orders were now on Malinovskiy's map table: "Second Guards Army will reach the Donets by the evening of 7th January. The III Guards Tank Corps will cross over to the western bank of the Don and take firm possession of the river crossings. The 98th Rifle Division will widen the penetration. The II Guards Mechanized Corps will.... The V Guards Mechanized Corps will…. "Will, will, will!" Malinovskiy exploded, his hand slamming down on the map table at each word. "And what about the Germans who are still there? Not Rumanians or Italians, but Germans! That's something ; headquarters seem to have forgotten!"

But what was the use of arguing? "Bataysk must fall—Rostov must be taken!" These were the daily orders from Khrushchev and Yeremenko. Orders in writing. Orders by telephone. Verbal orders. Urgent directives. The armies passed on the orders to the corps. And the corps passed them on to the regiments. And the regiments to the battalions. But orders were not yet battles won. Progress was slow. Much too slow. Not until 20th January did the spearheads of Yeremenko's slowly advancing forces cross the Manych at Manychskaya and thrust towards the west in the direction of Bataysk. Colonel Yegorov commanded the advanced detachment. Eight T-34s, three T-70s, nine armored infantry carriers, five armored scout cars and 200 infantry riding on the vehicles were charging towards the great objective—the objective they hoped to take by a surprise coup. The bulk of III Guards Tank Corps was waiting for its cue to follow up. Everything had been carefully planned. Farther south, Fifty-First Army moved its III Guards Mechanized Corps towards Bataysk with a strong armored combat group. The door was to be slammed shut. Already the railway line to Rostov had been cut and the Lenin collective farm reached.

In the Manychskaya bridgehead Malinovskiy was standing ready to follow up with two corps. The danger threatening the southern wing of the German Eastern Front was tremendous. Three German armies were in danger of being cut off. The gap was now only nineteen miles wide.
A mere nineteen miles stood between roughly 900,000 German troops and the fate of Stalingrad.
Nineteen miles no distance at all. It was one of those rare moments when history was visibly and breath-takingly concentrated within a few square miles, waiting to be given a crucial push one way or another. "How can we push in this dangerous bridgehead of Manychskaya?" Field-Marshal von Manstein asked his chief of operations, Colonel Theodor Busse. "Hoth can't possibly do it on his own," Busse replied. "No, he obviously can't. But what have we left?"
Manstein stepped up to the map. It showed clearly what had happened during the past week. The Field-Marshal had at last wrung from Hitler permission for the Army Detachments Hollidt and Fretter-Pico to fall back to the Donets. This now made it possible for forces to be pulled out to support Hoth and to defend Rostov. "We'll take Balck's 11th Panzer Division from Hollidt, pull it through Rostov to the southern bank of the Don, and give it to Hoth for his counter-attack against Malinovskiy's bridgehead," Manstein was thinking aloud. "But the 11th on its own won't be a match for the strong Russian armored corps at Manychskaya," Busse objected. Manstein nodded. "But Hoth still has the intact 16th Motorized Infantry Division which managed to disengage itself from Elista. Count Schwerin successfully piloted it through the Soviet Twenty-Eighth Army. With its Panzer Battalion 116 and a company of Tiger Battalion 503 it is just what's needed to strike against Manychskaya."

Manstein was referring to the superb achievements of Count Schwerin's 16th Panzer Grenadier Division during the past few weeks. Everyone still called it the 16th Motorized Infantry Division, for it was under that name that it had gained fame originally. The "Greyhound Division" had accomplished one of the most unusual, the most adventurous, and downright fantastic tasks of the whole Russian campaign—it had formed the easternmost outpost of the German armed forces in the Kalmyk Steppe and had secured the area around Elista as far as the Caspian Sea and the southern estuary of the Volga. Long-range reconnaissance parties of its Motorcycle Battalion 165 had got within sight of the Caspian, blown up oil trains from Baku, and by a ruse even telephoned the station-master of Astrakhan.

For months the division had covered the 200-mile gap between First Panzer Army and Fourth Panzer Army against the Soviet Twenty-Eighth Army, thus protecting the two Panzer armies against being encircled from the Kalmyk Steppe. All alone in the boundless steppe, reduced entirely to their own devices, the men from the Rhineland, Westphalia, and Thuringia discharged their task brilliantly. When the overall situation called for it, Count Schwerin, against Hitler's orders to the contrary, withdrew his formations at the right moment and established new switchlines along the Manych. Eventually, in mid-January 1943, the 16th Motorized Infantry Division foiled a particularly dangerous operation of the Soviets between Manych and Don. At that moment General Kirchner's LVII Panzer Corps had fallen back to the Manych in furious fighting. There, Hoth's Panzer Army was desperately trying to hold the Manych line. To hold that line was vital if the Don crossing near Rostov and Bataysk was to be kept open. Until 12th January Kirchner was able to hold a bridgehead over the Manych east of Proletarskaya with 23rd Panzer Division, 5th (Viking) SS Panzer Grenadier Division, and 17th Panzer Division, as well as the Tiger Battalion 503. Then the 16th Motorized Infantry Division was overtaken by fast Soviet formations. Strong units of armor and infantry of the Soviet Twenty-Eighth Army were thrusting towards Proletarskaya in order to force a crossing of the Manych there. Simultaneously a mechanized corps of Fifty-First Army attacked between Proletarskaya and Salsk. And a further corps of the Second Guards Army was wheeling towards Spornyy from the north. From there it was to move on towards Tikhoretsk in order to link up with units of the Soviet Transcaucasian Front. The objective of this boldly conceived Soviet operation was to split up the German Army Group A, to prevent First Panzer Army from getting to Rostov, and at the same time to cut off and surround the Seventeenth Army. It was an exceedingly dangerous operation at the worst possible moment: the retreating transport columns of First Panzer Army were jammed up at Bataysk. Numerous hospital trains and supply columns were bogged down outside the town. The few poor roads from south to north were clogged for miles on end. A Russian thrust into these immobilized columns would have meant chaos.

Frederick the Great once said: "A general must not only have courage; he must also have la fortune." Major-General Gerhard Count Schwerin had a lot of courage and he also had la fortune. Two days before the Russian thrust at Manych from the north, Captain Tebbe's Panzer Battalion 116 captured a Soviet General Staff officer in the course of a counter-attack. The officer's dispatch case contained maps and orders. They were the Soviet plans and directives for their operation against Spornyy. Count Schwerin did not hesitate. With all the forces at his disposal he chased towards Spornyy.

The Russians had already crossed the dam as well as a temporary bridge which had been built over the damaged parts, and were now moving fast towards the west, towards the retreat roads of First Panzer Army. Their objective was Bataysk. It was a well thought-out plan. But General Gerasimenko, the C-in-C of the Soviet Twenty-Eighth Army, had made his calculations without Schwerin. The morning of 15th January was clear and frosty. Captain Gerhard Tebbe's Panzer companies, with riflemen of the Münster 60th Motorized Infantry Regiment riding on the tanks, were moving against the Russian strongpoints from the north-east. They took no notice of what was happening on their right or left. They just drove on. They radioed signals. They fired their guns. They punched their way through. They seized the high ground in the rear of the Russians who had already crossed the river. They about-turned and with three assault parties attacked the enemy-held village.

A T-34 and four 7.62-cm anti-tank guns, positioned to cover the village, were knocked out. Two T-34s came to their aid. One of them was hit at once, the other turned back. On the left wing of the armored combat group was a troop of Lieutenant Kühne's 3rd Company. The troop commander was Sergeant Hans Bunzel, a Thuringian with quite a reputation for dealing with bridges and fortified hills. He was one of those resilient and resourceful men who are the backbone of any tank regiment. He demonstrated this again on 15th January 1943. His tanks pushed as far as the Spornyy dam over the Manych. Bunzel in his Panzer III was driving furiously towards the bridge. His 5-cm tank cannon was pounding the Soviet anti- tank guns covering the bridge. The sergeant was thinking back to that July day in 1942, when, with four tanks of his troop, he had tried to take the Manych dam, the frontier between Europe and Asia, at that very spot—only in the opposite direction. But on that occasion the dam was blown up right in front of his eyes.
Would he succeed this time? Yes—this time he was luckier. All went well. On the southern slope the Russian anti- aircraft guns captured a year ago were still in position, even though somewhat rusty. As soon as Hans Bunzel had snatched the Spornyy bridge from the Soviets, Lieutenant Klappich with the 3rd Battalion, 60th Motorized Infantry Regiment, drove up along the southern bank of the Manych in a dense blizzard and cautiously approached Samodurovka. Here too the Russians had already established a strongly protected bridgehead with units of their 2nd Mechanized Rifle Brigade—another dangerous base for the Soviet thrust against Bataysk. Klappich attacked. In fierce fighting he pushed on to the western edge of the village. The chief of staff of the Soviet brigade was taken prisoner.

SCORCHED EARTH by Paul Carell

To Be Continued:

Hoth launches a Relief Attack

ON 12th December Hoth launched his attack.
The task facing this experienced, resourceful, and bold tank commander was difficult but not hopeless.

Hoth's right flank had been secured, like the line on the Chir, by drastic means. Colonel Doerr, who was Chief of the German Liaison Staff with the shattered Rumanian Fourth Army, had built up a thin covering line with ad hoc units and scraped-together parts of German mobile formations, in much the same way as Colonel Wenck had done in the north.

The combat groups under Major Sauvant with units of 14th Panzer Division, and under Colonel von Pannwitz with his Cossacks, flak units, and ad hoc formations, restored some measure of order among the retreating Rumanian troops and the German rearward services to whom the panic had finally set in.
The 16th Infantry Division (mot) retreated from the vast wastes of the Kalmyk steppe to prepared positions.
In this way it also proved possible on the southern wing to foil Russian attempts to strike from the east at the rear of the Army Group Caucasus and to cut it off.

One would have thought that Hitler would now have made available whatever forces he could for Hoth's relief attack, to enable him to strike his liberating blow across the 60 miles of enemy territory with the greatest possible vigor and speed. But Hitler was again stingy with his formations.
With the exception of 23rd Panzer Division, which was coming up under its own steam, he did not release any of the forces in the Caucasus. The only fully effective formation allocated to Hoth was General Raus's experienced 6th Panzer Division with 160 tanks, which had to be brought from France. It arrived on 12th December with 136 tanks. The 23rd Panzer Division arrived with 96 tanks.

Sixty miles was the distance Hoth had to cover—60 miles of strongly held enemy territory.
But things started well.
Almost effortlessly the 11th Panzer Regiment, 6th Panzer Division, under its commander Colonel von Hunersdorff on the very first day dislodged the Soviets, who fell back to the east. The Russians abandoned the southern bank of the Aksai, and Lieutenant-Colonel von Heydebreck established a bridgehead across the river with units of 23rd Panzer Division.

The Soviets were taken by surprise.
Colonel-General Yeremenko telephoned Stalin and reported anxiously: "There is a danger that Hoth may strike at the rear of our Fifty-seventh Army which is sealing off the south-western edge of the Stalingrad pocket. If, at the same time, Paulus attacks from inside the pocket, towards the south-west, it will be difficult to prevent him from breaking out."

Stalin was angry.
"You will hold out—we are getting reserves down to you," he commanded menacingly. "I'm sending you the Second Guards Army—the best unit I've left."

But until the Guards arrived Yeremenko had to manage alone.
From his ring around Stalingrad he pulled out the XIII Armored Corps and flung it across the path of Hoth's 6th Panzer Division. He also ruthlessly denuded his Army Group of its last reserves and threw in the 235th Tank Brigade and the 87th Rifle Division against the spearheads of Hoth's attack.

Fighting for the high ground north of the Aksai went on for five days. Fortunately for Hoth, the 17th Panzer Division, which Hitler had at last made available, arrived just in time. Consequently the enemy was dislodged on 19th December.

After a memorable all-night march the armored group of 6th Panzer Division reached the Mishkova sector at Vasilyevka in the early morning of 20th December. But Stalin's Second Guards Army was there already. Nevertheless General Raus's formations succeeded in establishing a bridgehead two miles deep.

Only 30 to 35 miles as the crow flew divided Hoth's spearheads from the outposts of the Stalingrad front.

What meanwhile was the situation like inside the pocket?
The supply position of the roughly 230,000 German and German allied troops was pitiful.
It soon turned out that the German Luftwaffe was in no position to keep a whole Army in the depth of Russia supplied from temporary air-strips in mid-winter. There were not enough transport aircraft. Bombers had to do service as transport machines. But these could not carry more than a few tons of cargo. Moreover, their withdrawal from operational flying had unpleasant consequences in all sectors of the front.
Once again the crucial problem of the campaign was clearly revealed:
Germany's material strength was insufficient for this war.

General von Seydlitz had put the daily supply requirements at 1000 tons.
That was certainly too high.
Sixth Army regarded 600 tons as desirable and 300 tons as the minimum figure for keeping the Army in some sort of fighting condition. Bread requirements alone for the defenders in the pocket amounted to forty tons a day.

Fourth Air Fleet tried to fly in these 300 tons a day. Lieutenant-General Fiebig, the experienced Commander of VIII Air Corps, was assigned this difficult task—and at first it looked as though it could be accomplished. Soon, however, frost and bad weather proved insuperable enemies, more dangerous than Soviet fighters or the Soviet heavy flak. Icing up, poor visibility, and the resulting accidents caused more casualties than enemy action.
Nevertheless the air crews displayed a dash and gallantry as in no previous operation. Never before in the history of flying had men set out with such disdain of death and such firm resolution as for the supply airlift to Stalingrad.
Some 550 aircraft were totally lost.
That means that one-third of the aircraft employed were lost together with their crews—the victims of bad weather, fighters, and flak. One machine in every three was lost—a terrifying rate which no air power in the world could have kept up.

Only on two occasions was the minimum cargo of 300 tons delivered—or very nearly so. On 7th December, according to the diary of the Chief Quartermaster of Sixth Army, 188 aircraft landed at the airfield of Pitomnik and delivered 282 tons.

On 20th December the figure was 291 tons. According to Major-General Herhudt von Rohden's excellent essay, based on the records of the Luftwaffe, the peak day of the airlift was 19th December, when 154 aircraft delivered 289 tons of supplies to Pitomnik and evacuated 1000 wounded.

On an average, however, the daily deliveries between 25th November and 11th January totaled 104-7 tons.
During that period a total of 24,910 wounded were evacuated. At this rate of supplies the men in the pocket had to go hungry and were seriously short of ammunition.

Nevertheless the divisions held out.
To this day the Soviets have not published any definite figures of German deserters. But according to all available German sources their number, until mid-January, must have been negligible.
Indeed, as soon as the news spread among the troops that Hoth's divisions had launched their relief attack a real fighting spirit spread among them.

There was hardly a trooper or an officer who was not firmly convinced that Manstein would get them out. And even the most battle-weary battalion felt strong enough to strike at the ring of encirclement to meet their liberators half-way. That such a plan existed was generally known inside the pocket. After all, units of two motorized divisions and one Panzer division were standing by on the southern front of the pocket, ready to strike in the direction of Hoth's divisions the moment these were close enough and the order for " Winter Storm " was given.

The afternoon of 19th December was cold but clear—magnificent flying weather. Over Pitomnik there was a continuous roar of transport aircraft. They touched down and unloaded their cargoes, were packed full with wounded, and took off again. Petrol-drums were piled high, packing-cases were stacked on top of one another. Shells were trundled away. If only they had this kind of weather every day!

Twenty-four hours earlier an emissary from Manstein had arrived in the pocket in order to acquaint the Army with the Field-Marshal's ideas about the break-out.
Major Eismann, the Intelligence Officer of Army Group Don, had meanwhile flown back again.
No one suspected as yet that his visit was to become an irritating episode in the Stalingrad tragedy— simply because no written record is extant of the conversations, and the account written by the major from memory ten years later has given rise to many conflicting thesis. To this day it has not been definitely established what Paulus, Schmidt, and Eismann really said and what they meant.
Did Eismann convey clearly and accurately Manstein's view that the present situation offered only the brutal alternative of early break-out or annihilation?
Did he convey clearly that Hollidt's group on the Chir was so busy defending itself against Soviet counter-attacks that there could be no question of its launching an attack in support of Hoth?
Did he report that ever-stronger Soviet formations were being deployed against Hoth?
Above all, did he state unambiguously that the Field-Marshal was entirely clear about one thing—that the break-out demanded the surrender of Stalingrad in several stages, no matter what label was given to the operation, in order not to arouse Hitler's suspicions too soon?
And what did Paulus and Schmidt say in reply? Questions and more questions—and none of them capable of being answered now, Eismann's mission is likely to engage the attention of military historians for a long time yet.

The 19th December might be called the day of decision, the day when the drama of Stalingrad reached its culmination.

Paulus and his chief of staff, Major-General Schmidt, were standing in the dugout of the Army chief of operations, in front of a teleprinter which had been connected to a decimeter-wave instrument, a radio circuit which could not be monitored by the Soviets. In this way Sixth Army had an invaluable, even though technically somewhat cumbersome, direct line to Army Group Don in Novocherkassk.

Paulus was waiting for the arranged contact with Manstein. Now the time had come. The machine started ticking. It wrote:
" Are the gentlemen present?"
Paulus ordered the reply to be sent:
" Yes." "Will you please comment briefly on Eismann's report," came the message from Manstein.
Paulus formulated his comment concisely.
Alternative 1: Break-out from pocket in order to link up with Hoth is possible only with tanks. Infantry strength lacking. For this alternative all armored reserves hitherto used for clearing up enemy penetrations must leave the fortress.
Alternative 2: Break-out without link-up with Hoth is possible only in extreme emergency. This would result in heavy losses of material. Prerequisite is preliminary flying-in of sufficient food and fuel to improve condition of troops. If Hoth could establish temporary link-up and bring in towing vehicles this alternative would be easier to carry out. Infantry divisions are almost immobilized at moment and are getting more so every day as horses are slaughtered to feed men.
Alternative 3: Further holding out in present situation depends on aerial supplies on sufficient scale. Present scale utterly inadequate.
And then Paulus dictated into the teleprinter:
"Further holding out on present basis not possible much longer."
The teleprinter tapped three crosses.
A moment later Manstein's text came ticking through:
"When at the earliest could you start Alternative 2?"
Paulus answered:
"Time needed for preparation three to four days."
Manstein asked:
"How much fuel and food required?"
Paulus replied:
"Reduced rations for ten days for 270,000 men."
The conversation was interrupted. A quarter of an hour later, at 1830 hours, it was resumed, and Manstein and Paulus once more talked to each other through the keyboards of their teleprinters. In a strangely anonymous way the words appeared, clicking, on the paper:

"Colonel-General Paulus here, Herr Feldmarschall."
"Good evening, Paulus."
Manstein reported that Hoth's relief attack with General Kirchner's LVII Panzer Corps had got as far as the Mishkova river.

Paulus in turn reported that the enemy had attacked his forces concentrated for a possible break-out at the southwestern corner of the pocket.

Manstein said:
Stand by to receive an order
A few minutes later the order came clicking over the teleprinter. This is what it said:

Order!
To Sixth Army

(1) Fourth Panzer Army has defeated the enemy in the Verkhne-Kumskiy area with LVII Panzer Corps and reached the Mishkova sector. An attack has been initiated against a strong enemy group in the Kamenka area and north of it. Heavy fighting is to be expected there. The situation on the Chir front does not permit the advance of forces west of the Don towards Stalingrad. The Don bridge at Chirskaya is in enemy hands.

(2) Sixth Army will launch attack "Winter Storm" as soon as possible. Measures must be taken to establish link-up with LVII Panzer Corps if necessary across the Donskaya Tsaritsa in order to get a convoy through

(3) Development of the situation may make it imperative to extend instruction for Army to break through to LVII Panzer Corps as far as the Mishkova, Code name: "Thunderclap." In that case the main task will again be the quickest possible establishment of contact, by means of tanks, with LVII Panzer Corps with a view to getting convoy through. The Army, its flanks having been covered along the lower Karpovka and the Chervlenaya, must then be moved forward towards the Mishkova while the fortress area is evacuated section by section

Operation "Thunder-clap" may have to follow directly on attack "Winter Storm." Aerial supplies will, on the whole, have to be brought in currently, without major build-up of stores. Airfield of Pitomnik must be held as long as possible
All arms and artillery that can be moved at all to be taken along, especially the guns needed for the operation, and to be ammunitioned, but also such weapons and equipment as are difficult to replace. These must be concentrated in the southwestern part of the pocket in good time

(4) Preparations to be made for (3). Putting into effect only upon express order "Thunder-clap

(5) Report day and time of attack

It was an historic document. The great moment had come. The Army was to assemble for its march into freedom. For the moment, however, only "Winter Storm" was in force— i.e., a corridor was to be cleared to Hoth's divisions, but Stalingrad was not to be evacuated for the time being.

During the afternoon Manstein had again tried to obtain Hitler's consent to an immediate total break-out by Sixth Army, to Operation "Thunder-clap." But Hitler only approved "Winter Storm," while refusing his consent to the major solution. Nevertheless Manstein, as this document reveals, issued orders to Sixth Army to prepare for "Thunder-clap," and explicitly stated under (3): "Development of the situation may make it imperative to extend instruction for Army to break through."

To extend it, that is, into a break-out.

The drama had reached its climax. The fate of a quarter million troops depended on two code names— "Winter Storm" and "Thunder-clap"

At 2030 hours the two chiefs of staff were again sitting in front of their teleprinters. General Schmidt reported that enemy attacks were engaging the bulk of Sixth Army's tanks and part of its infantry strength. Schmidt added: "Only when these forces have ceased to be tied down in defensive fighting can a break-out be launched. Earliest date 22nd December." That was three days ahead.

It was an icy night.
In the bunkers at Gumrak there was feverish activity. On the following morning at 0700 hours Paulus was already on his way to the crisis points of the pocket. Throughout the day there was local fighting in many sectors. In the afternoon, when the two chiefs of staff, Schultz and Schmidt, had another conversation over the teleprinters, Schmidt reported: "As a result of losses during the past few days manpower situation on the western front and in Stalingrad exceedingly tight.
Penetrations can be cleared up only by drawing upon the forces earmarked for 'Winter Storm.'
In the event of major penetrations, let alone breakthroughs, our Army reserves, in particular the tanks, have to be employed if the fortress is to be held at all. The situation could be viewed somewhat differently," Schmidt added, "if it were certain that 'Winter Storm' will be followed immediately by 'Thunderclap.' In that event local penetrations on the remaining fronts could be accepted provided they did not jeopardize the withdrawal of the Army as a whole. In that event we could be considerably stronger for a break-out towards the south, as we could then concentrate in the south numerous local reserves from all fronts."

It was a vicious circle, a problem that could be solved only if permission for "Thunder-clap" was obtained.

General Schultz replied, unfortunately through the medium of the teleprinter so that the imploring note in his voice was lost, as he dictated to his clerk:
"Dear Schmidt, the Field-Marshal believes that Sixth Army must launch 'Winter Storm' as soon as possible. You cannot wait until Hoth has got to Buzinovka. We fully realize that your attacking strength for 'Winter Storm' will be limited. That is why the Field-Marshal is trying to get approval for 'Thunder-clap.' The struggle for this approval has not yet been decided at Army High Command in spite of our continuous urging. But regardless of the decision on 'Thunder-clap' the Field-Marshal emphatically points out that 'Winter Storm' must be started as soon as possible.

As for fuel supplies, food-stuffs, and ammunition, over 3000 tons of stores loaded on columns are already standing behind Hoth's Army and will be ferried through to you the moment the link-up has been established. Together with this cargo column numerous towing vehicles will be sent to you in order to make your artillery mobile. Moreover, thirty buses are standing by to evacuate your wounded."

Thirty buses! Nothing, evidently, had been forgotten. And all that stood between Sixth Army and salvation was 30 miles as the crow flew, or 40 to 45 miles by road.

At that moment, right in the middle of these considerations and calculations, planning and preparations, a new disaster befell the German front in the East:
three Soviet Armies had launched an attack against the Italian Eighth Army on the middle Don on 16th December. Once again the Russians had chosen a sector held by the weak troops of one of Germany's allies.

After short savage fighting the Soviets broke through.
The Italians fled. The Russians raced on to the south.
One Tank Army and two Guards Armies flung themselves against the laboriously established weak German line along the Chir. If the Russians succeeded in overrunning the German front on the Chir there would be nothing to halt them all the way to Rostov.

And if the Russians took Rostov, then Manstein's Army Group Don would be cut off and von Kleist's Army Group in the Caucasus would be severed from its rearward communications. It would be a super-Stalingrad.

What would be at stake then was no longer the fate of 200,000 to 300,000 men, but a million and a half.

On 23rd December, while the men of Sixth Army were still hopefully awaiting their liberators, enemy armored spearheads were already striking down from the north towards the airfield of Morozovsk, 95 miles west of Stalingrad, on which the surrounded Army's entire supplies depended. The disastrous situation was thus plain.

Hollidt's group on the Chir no longer had any flank cover.

In this situation Manstein had no other choice than to order Hoth to switch one of his three Panzer divisions immediately to the left, to the lower Chir, in order to forestall a further breakthrough by the Russians. Hoth did not hesitate, and made his strongest unit available for this vital task.

The 6th Panzer Division was in the middle of its attack in the direction of Stalingrad when the order to turn away reached it.
Left with only two battle-weary divisions, Hoth now found it impossible to continue his attack towards Stalingrad.
Indeed, under pressure from the Soviet Second Guards Army, he even had to withdraw behind the Aksai on Christmas Eve.

Field-Marshal von Manstein was a very worried man.
He sent an urgent teleprinter signal to the Fuehrer's Headquarters, imploring him:

The turn taken by the situation on the left wing of the Army Group requires the immediate switching of forces to that spot. This measure means dropping for an indefinite period the relief of Sixth Army, which in turn means that this Army would now have to be adequately supplied on a long-term basis. In Richthofen's opinion no more than a daily average of 200 tons can be counted on. Unless adequate aerial supplies can be ensured for Sixth Army the only remaining alternative is the earliest possible breakout of Sixth Army at the cost of a considerable risk along the left wing of Army Group. The risks involved in this operation, in view of that Army's condition, are sufficiently known.

In military officialese this message said all there was to be said: Sixth Army must now break out or else it is lost.

Tensely the reply was awaited at Novocherkassk.
Zeitzler sent it by teleprinter: The Fuehrer authorizes the withdrawal of forces from Army Group Hoth to the Chir, but he orders that Hoth should hold his starting-lines in order to resume his relief attack as soon as possible.

It was beyond comprehension.
Admittedly, Hitler had a cogent argument against authorizing "Thunder-clap": Paulus, he argued, did not have enough fuel to get through to Hoth. This view was based on a report by Sixth Army to the effect that the tanks had enough fuel left only for a fighting distance of 12 miles. This report has since been frequently questioned, but General Schmidt has recalled his strict controls designed to establish stocks of 'black' petrol, and Paulus himself has pointed out, and justly so, that no Army could base a life-and-death operation on the suspected existence of 'black' petrol supplies.

Faced with this situation, Manstein once more had himself put through to Paulus by teleprinter in the afternoon of 23rd December, and asked him to examine whether "Thunderclap" could not after all be carried out if no other choice was left.

Paulus asked:
Does this conversation mean that I have authority to initiate 'Thunder-clap'?
Manstein:
I cannot give you this authority today, but am hoping for a decision to-morrow
The Field-Marshal added:
The point at issue is whether you trust your Army to fight its way through to Hoth if long-term supplies cannot be laid on for you
Paulus:
In that case we have no other alternative
Manstein:
How much fuel do you need?
Paulus:
One thousand cubic metres

But a thousand cubic meters meant about a quarter of a million gallons or a thousand tons

Why, one might ask, did Paulus not mount his operation at that moment in spite of all risks and all of his misgivings?
Why did he not comply with the order to launch "Winter Storm"—regardless of fuel supplies and foodstuffs, considering that in any case the survival of the Army was at stake?

In his memoirs Field-Marshal von Manstein outlines the responsibility which that order placed on Paulus. The three divisions in the south-western corner of the pocket, where the break-out was to be made, were extensively involved in defensive fighting. Could Paulus run the risk of launching his attack with only parts of these divisions, in the hope of bursting through the powerful ring of encirclement?
Besides, would the Soviet attacks even give him a chance of doing so?
And would he be able to hold the remaining fronts until Army Group issued the command "Thunder-clap," thus authorizing him to launch the full-scale break-out? And would the tanks have enough fuel to get back again into the pocket in the event of "Winter Storm" being a failure?

And what would become of the 6000 wounded and sick?

Paulus and Schmidt could see only the possibility of launching "Winter Storm" and "Thunder-clap" simultaneously. And even that would be practicable only after sufficient quantities of fuel had been flown in.
Army Group, on the other hand, wanted to initiate the full-scale break-out by "Winter Storm" alone, taking the view that the Soviet ring must first be breached along the south-western front before the separate sectors of the pocket front could be dismembered one by one—in other words, before "Thunderclap" could be set in motion.

Quite apart from military considerations, Manstein's schedule was based on the conviction that only such a phased evacuation would lead Hitler to accept the inevitability of the abandonment of Stalingrad;
only then would he be unable to countermand it.
Field-Marshal von Manstein knew very well that if Army Group were to order Sixth Army from the outset to launch its full-scale break-out and abandon Stalingrad this order would undoubtedly be countermanded by Hitler without delay.

Paulus, however, tied down in his pocket and fully engaged with improvisations against Soviet attacks, was unable at the time to see the overall picture.

Clearly there is nothing to be gained from seeking the causes of the Stalingrad tragedy at the level of Sixth Army or of Army Group Don, or by trying to pin responsibility on any individual in the sector.

Hitler's strategic mistakes, based as they were on underrating the enemy and overrating his own forces, had brought about a situation which could no longer be remedied by makeshift expedients, ruses of war, or hold-on orders. Only the timely withdrawal of Sixth Army in October could have averted the catastrophe which befell a quarter-million troops on the Volga.
Admittedly, even that would no longer have changed the outcome of the war.
To-day, moreover, it is clear from what we know about Russian strength, as revealed by Soviet military writers and newly released Soviet documents, that even "Winter Storm" and "Thunder-clap" would no longer have saved a combat-worthy Army. But there might possibly have been a hope of saving the bulk of the men in the Stalingrad pocket. When Hoth's relief attack had to be called off about Christmas even that hope was lost.

The sector of 2nd Battalion, 64th Panzer Grenadier Regiment, contained something unusual—a snow-covered wheat-field with the ears of grain just about showing above the snow. At night the men would crawl out on their bellies, cut off the wheat-ears, and, then back in their dug-outs, would shake out the grams and boil them with water and horse-flesh to make soup. The horse-flesh was that of their animals, which had either been killed in action or died a natural death and were now lying all over the countryside, frozen rigid under small mounds of snow.

On 8th January Lance-corporal Fischer had just laboriously collected the last handful of wheat-ears and brought them back to his bunker, shaking with cold. Back in the bunker everybody was wildly excited. From Battalion headquarters a report had filtered through that the Russians had made an offer of honorable capitulation. The news spread throughout the pocket like wildfire—heaven only knows by what channels.

It had all happened in the Marinovka area, in the sector of the 3rd Motorized Infantry Division.
A Russian captain had appeared under a white flag in front of the foremost positions of the Combat Group Willig. The men sent for their commander, Major Willig. The Russian courteously handed over a letter, addressed "Colonel-General of Panzer Troops Paulus, or representative."

Willig thanked him and allowed the Russian with his white flag to return. Then the telephones started to hum. A courier took the letter to Gumrak. Paulus personally rang through on the telephone with an order that no one was to conduct negotiations for surrender with any Russian officers.
On the following day every trooper could read what Colonel-General Rokossovskiy, the Soviet Commander-in-Chief Don Front, had written to Sixth Army. All over the pocket Russian aircraft dropped leaflets with the text of the Soviet offer of surrender. There it was in black and white, signed by a General from Soviet Supreme Headquarters as well as by Rokossovskiy—all official and sealed:

To all officers, NCOs, and men who cease resistance we guarantee their lives and safety as well as, at the end of the war, return to Germany or any other country chosen by the prisoner-of-war.

All surrendering Wehrmacht troops will retain their uniforms, badges of rank, and decorations, their personal belongings and valuables. Senior officers may retain their swords and bayonets.

Officers, NCOs, and men who surrender will immediately be issued with normal food rations. All wounded, sick, and frost-bitten men will receive medical attention. We expect your answer in writing on 9th January 1943 at 1500 hours Moscow time by way of a representative personally authorized by you, who will drive in a staff car made clearly recognizable by a white flag along the road from Konnaya passing loop to Kotluban station. Your representative will be met at 1500 hours on 9th January 1943 by duly authorized Soviet officers in Rayon 8, 0-5 km. south-east of passing loop No. 564.

In the event of our call for capitulation being rejected, we hereby inform you that the forces of the Red Army and Red Air Force will be compelled to embark upon the annihilation of the encircled German troops. The responsibility for their annihilation will lie with you.

A leaflet which was dropped simultaneously with the text of the letter, moreover, contained the sinister sentence: "Anyone resisting will be mercilessly wiped out."

Why did not Sixth Army accept this offer of capitulation?
Why did it not cease its fruitless struggle before the troops were completely finished physically and mentally?
There is little doubt that most German troops in the pocket gave little credibility to Russian promises of humane treatment if they surrendered since many Germans had already seen or heard of examples of just what happened to German wounded or captured soldiers who had the misfortune to wind up in Russian hands. Yet it is a question that has been asked continuously to this day.

Paulus continued to declare, even while still in captivity, that he did not surrender on his own initiative because at the beginning of January he could still see a strategic purpose in continued resistance—the tying down of strong Russian forces and hence the protection of the threatened southern wing of the Eastern Front. The same view was expressed after the war by Field-Marshal von Manstein. He says quite clearly: "Since the beginning of December Sixth Army had been tying down sixty major Soviet formations.
The situation of the two Army Groups Don and Caucasus would have taken a disastrous turn if Paulus had surrendered at the beginning of January."

Until not so long ago this thesis might have been dismissed as the arguments of men pleading their own case. To-day this objection no longer applies. The Soviet Marshals Chuykov and Yeremenko in their memoirs both fully confirmed Manstein's view. Chuykov attests that in mid-January Paulus was still tying down seven Soviet Armies.
Yeremenko made it clear that the unusual offer made to Paulus on 9th January, the offer of "honorable capitulation," was motivated by the hope of releasing the seven Soviet Armies in order to move them against Rostov with a view to crushing the southern wing of the German Eastern Front.
The Sixth Army's fight to the finish foiled this plan. Whether in retrospect this sacrifice makes sense, in a political assessment of the war, is a different question.

But Paulus was confirmed in his attitude also by another circumstance. On 9th January General Hube returned to the pocket from an interview with Hitler and reported what the Fuehrer and also the officers of the Army High Command had told him:
a new relief offensive from the west was being planned. Replenished Panzer formations had already been set in motion; they were being concentrated east of Kharkov. Aerial supplies were to be entirely reorganized. Just like the winter crisis at Kharkov in 1941-42, Hube argued, Stalingrad too would yet be turned into a great victory.
The prerequisite, of course, was that the southern part of the Eastern Front was re-established and the Army Group Caucasus successfully pulled back. For that reason Sixth Army had to hold out—if need be by progressively reducing the pocket down to the built-up area of Stalingrad.

It was just a race against time.

Hübe's news agreed with the reports which Major von Below, the chief of operations of 71st Infantry Division, brought back to Stalingrad. Below, who became an officer in the Bundeswehr, had fallen ill in Stalingrad in September 1942 and had been flown back to Germany; on 9th January he returned to the pocket together with Hube.

Before his return Below had been at Army High Command about the end of December. There he had been extensively questioned both by Major-General Heusinger, the Chief of the Operations Department, and by Zeitzler, the Chief of the General Staff, about the possibilities of attacking from the west, across the Don at Kalach. Below had gained the impression that Army High Command still viewed the situation of Sixth Army optimistically and considered the chances of a renewed relief attack to be favorable. General Zeitzler had dismissed the Major with the words: "True, we've got quite enough General Staff officers in the Stalingrad pocket as it is. But if I don't let you return they'll think we've written them off already."

Considering the strategic situations on the one hand and this glimmer of hope on the other, can one blame Paulus for turning down the Soviet call for capitulation on 9th January?

This was a direct result of the Kennedy Immigration act passed in the mid-sixties. The program of a group of liberal politicians who basically believed in a one-world philosophy.
Their idea was to change the European orientation of the United States population in order to more closely mirror the world's population. What has and will happen because of this change is that the most successful country in the history of mankind, with the highest standard of living and most productive and efficient citizens will now gradually lose our standard of living but eventually turn into a country little different from many others.

Not only will China surpass us economically but so will Europe and Asia.

It was basically a form of social and economic suicide brought about by the same people that now govern this country today. Don't let their platitudes about fairness, equality and multiculturalism fool you because their is a high degree of just plain hatred and payback in many of the people who are for this change.

For some reason I had always assumed (always a mistake) that the murder of millions of European Jews had come as a complete shock to the U.S. Government and was basically unknown until near the end of the war in Europe.

One thing now seems crystal clear: there were enough hints and enough information and news available by the end of 1943 for Roosevelt and many of the major players in his administration, especially in the State Dept, to have to have been aware of what was going on
Whether it was because this news was too shocking to believe or whether our government just didn't care what happened and chose to ignore it is almost unbelievable.

I can't shake the feeling that we knew exactly what was going on but chose for reasons unknown, to ignore it.

Velikiye Luki

No consideration of the winter fighting would be complete without some mention of the battle of Velikiye Luki, the ancient fortress in the vast swampy region north of Vitebsk between Lovat and Western Dvina.
A beautiful old town, with 30,000 inhabitants at the beginning of the War, Velikiye Luki used to attract Intourist parties with its folklore. Velikiye Luki began to play an important part during the German offensive battles of 1941 and continued to do so during the first Soviet counter-offensive from the Moscow region. The Lower Saxon 19th Panzer Division, parts of the Hessian 20th Panzer Division, and the infantrymen of 253rd Infantry Division had taken the town by storm in August 1941 after heavy fighting.

Four and a half months later the first Soviet offensive was launched against the fortress in the swamp.
On 9th January, 1942, Colonel-General Yeremenko and General Purkayev drove their striking armies across the chain of lakes from Ostashkov against Vitebsk, with a view to gaining the vast area to the west of Moscow by means of an enveloping attack and to annihilating the German Army Group Centre which stood poised for its leap to Moscow. But the Soviet thrust was halted by the German infantry in desperate fighting. It spent its force against the breakwaters of Kholm, Velizh, and Velikiye Luki.

Parts of the 83rd Infantry Division, hurriedly switched from France to Russia, were defending the "city in the swamp", the fortress astride the vital routes from Leningrad, Kiev, and Moscow to Belorussia and the Baltic. Throughout the summer of 1942 the Soviet Third Striking Army again and again tried to break the defenders of Velikiye Luki with sudden and heavy artillery bombardment. However, the German 277th Grenadier Regiment under Colonel von Rappard fortified its positions. Supplies were difficult as there was no such thing as a continuous front along either side of Velikiye Luki.

On the northern side, especially towards Kholm and the Lovat, there were only weak pickets. Only just south of Kholm did a continuous line start again, held by 8th Panzer Division. But the division staff had to watch in amazement how, immediately south of them where the front abruptly ended, the Russians were recruiting young men in the hinterland with complete impunity, driving away all livestock and collecting any useful material. In this situation a vital part was played by the German armored trains—the armored train No. 3 from Munich and the auxiliary armored train No. 28. Without them it would have been impossible; to get supplies through to Velikiye Luki.

On 19th November, 1942, the second great Soviet winter offensive began on the southern front, with the main weight at Stalingrad and on the Don. On the northern front, meanwhile, Soviet large-scale attacks were designed to tie down the German forces and sweep away those irritating German breakwaters in the Vitebsk area. The Soviet Third Striking Army was to get into Vitebsk at long last. But in order to take Vitebsk it would first have to capture Velikiye Luki.

General Purkayev attacked the town with three divisions.
Three divisions against one regiment.
The Soviets thrust past Velikiye Luki in the north and south, through the chain of strongpoints of 83rd Infantry Division, and encircled the town. Inside the fortress were 7500 German troops under Lieutenant-Colonel von Sass, defending a front line of thirteen miles.

They were grenadiers, gunners, engineers, baggage and medical units of 83rd Infantry Division. They were reinforced, or had simply been joined by the following units who found themselves inside the " fortress " after their retreat: railway engineers and construction units, Nebelwerfer units of the 3rd Mortar Regiment, and Light Observation Battalion 17, a German local defense battalion, and a battalion of Estonian volunteers, composed of Estonians who, in the course of the fighting, had come over in bulk from the Red Army. There were, moreover, three troops of Army Flak Battalion 286 and a troop of light flak, as well as the heavy mortars of 2nd Troop, Army Artillery Battalion 736, the 3rd Battalion, 183rd Artillery Regiment, and parts of the 70th Motorized Artillery Regiment.

A miniature Stalingrad.
General Purkayev naturally wanted to take the town by storm. But the attempt miscarried. He thereupon started to batter it systematically by artillery and aerial bombardment. Day after day this pounding continued. Building after building, bunker after bunker, street after street were reduced to rubble. Fire gutted the ruins.

The German defenders of Velikiye Luki received their meagre supplies of food and ammunition from the air. Because too many of the dropped supplies were coming down among the enemy lines outside the small combat area of only seven square miles, Stukas were used to deliver the supplies for the first time in the War. For that purpose the Sixth Air Fleet had organized a mixed operational formation. It was led by Heinz-Joachim Schmidt, the Commodore of 4th Bomber Geschwader. He was based, together with his operations staff, at the Great Ivan Lake in order to be as near as possible to the threatened town. In spite of the great superiority which the Russians had in the air and in spite of their anti-aircraft defenses all round the fortress in the swamp, the flying formations did everything in their power to drop their " supply bombs " accurately into the progressively shrinking dropping area. Food and ammunition containers as a rule hit the target accurately. Nevertheless, supplies soon had to be curtailed by 25 per cent and later had to be cut down by half.

On 13th December, after a heavy barrage, four rifle divisions and an armored brigade under General Purkayev mounted their general attack on the western part of the city.
There was savage fighting for the bridge over the Lovat. This was held by Lieutenant Albrecht with his column of engineers against a tenfold Russian superiority. Time and again the Russian companies penetrated into the small German bridge-head. Each time they were dislodged in hand-to-hand fighting with trenching tools, bayonets, and hand-grenades. Lieutenant Albrecht was seriously wounded. Shot through the throat he lay at his post but continued to direct the defensive fighting of his engineers.

On the second day of Christmas, 26th December, 1942, the Soviets attacked with strong armored forces from the south and south-west. In fierce house-to-house fighting they forced their way right across the town on a narrow front.
The defenders' heavy infantry weapons and anti-tank guns were eliminated one by one. In this way the German strongpoints were rendered almost helpless in the face of the enemy tanks. The Soviet rifle battalions fought with outstanding gallantry. In particular the Komsomols, fanatical young communists, distinguished themselves by their devotion to duty throughout the next few weeks. Private Aleksandr Matrosov of the 254th Guards Rifle Regiment earned the title of Hero of the Soviet Union by sacrificing his life.
Matrosov put an end to his company's heavy losses outside a German bunker whose machine-gun had been pinning the Russians down and exacting a heavy toll from them. Matrosov crept up to the bunker's firing slit, covered it with his body, and thus blocked the view of the bunker's crew. Matrosov held on to the machine-gun barrel, and his fingers were still gripping it tight when he had long since died. His company used the pause in the fire to storm the bunker.

At the beginning of 1943 there were only two strongpoints left in the frozen swamp—the Citadel and the railway station.
The Citadel was held by Captain Darnedde, commanding the Field Depot Battalion of 83rd Infantry Division. With 427 men he defended an area of no more than 100 by 250 yards. At the railway-station, in the eastern part of the city, Lieutenant-Colonel von Sass with 1000 men was holding the wrecked railway installations and the barracks. The troops were hoping to be relieved. It was that hope that kept them going—in spite of biting cold and a gnawing hunger. Out of forty-five supply containers dropped over their positions only seven had reached their target. The three hundred horses originally in the city had long been eaten. There was only one loaf of bread for every ten men per day. Twenty men had to share one tin of meat.

It is scarcely imaginable for us today what these men went through. Without sleep, without the least bodily care, full of lice, filthy and starving, they yet fought on. Some 3000 shells crashed down on them each day. They had no time to move their dead out of the way. The wounded lay among the wreckage, only scantily looked after. Drinking water had to be brought in, under danger of death, from a pond outside the ramparts. And in that pond lay a knocked-out Soviet tank with its dead crew.

But where was the main German line?
Was nothing done to relieve the encircled city?
The attempt was made all right. But once again it was a case of inadequate forces.

The first on the spot was General Brandenberger's 8th Panzer Division. The regiments of this Berlin-Brandenburg division—which had always been employed in the East, and which had its own peculiar character owing to its many Baltic officers—had just abandoned its positions south of Kholm. It was to have been taken to the Stalingrad area by train. However, this laudable intention had to be cancelled in view of developments on the division's own doorstep.

On the evening of 21st November 8th Panzer Grenadier Regiment received an order by telephone:
"The regiment will mount an immediate attack against the enemy advancing west of Velikiye Luki who has already crossed the Leningrad-Odessa railway. The regiment will thus save Novosokolniki."
"Save" was the actual word.

Novosokolniki, a rear base and centre of field hospitals, was already being attacked by Soviet tank battalions and a motorized brigade. It was being defended by supply units of 3rd Mountain Division under Colonel Jobsky.

On the following morning the regiment made contact at Gorki with unsuspecting enemy forces and succeeded in dislodging them. On the following day the division's two Panzer Grenadier Regiments fought their way to the east: 28th Regiment under its commander Lieutenant-Colonel Baron von Wolff, stormed the high ground east of Gorki, and 8th Regiment attacked in the direction of Velikiye Luki.

Captain Bernd von Mitzlaff's 2nd Battalion, 8th Panzer Grenadier Regiment, reinforced by a dozen captured tanks, dislodged the Soviets and took the village of Glazyri. Things had now begun to move. Major Schmidt was containing the enemy with what few armored fighting vehicles 10th Panzer Regiment possessed. Mitzlaff's battalion stormed the high ground east of the village.
In the distance they could see the spires of Velikiye Luki.
Once again the moment had come where that decisive battalion was lacking which might have tipped the balance. Schmidt's tanks were out of ammunition. The 1st Battalion was still hanging back. The 2nd Battalion had to regroup for defense. Soon the enemy had rallied again. The Soviet regiments mounted their counter-attack. Once more Colonel von Skotti's well-tried 80th Artillery Regiment came to the rescue. Skotti again proved himself a past master in directing and concentrating his regiment's entire fire-power. The gunners bore the brunt of the fighting since at that time 8th Panzer Division possessed anything but adequate armor. It was equipped with captured Russian tanks, some Czech Skoda-38 fighting vehicles, and a few German Mark IVs. The battalions were halted.
Even the intervention of Combat Group Jaschke with parts of the Hamburg 20th Motorized Infantry Division and the 291st Infantry Division could not change the situation. The first attempt to reach the encircled city of Velikiye Luki in one smooth move from the north-west had failed.

There was only one kind of help which Colonel von Skotti was able to give the beleaguered city—he ordered his long barrel troops to move up to the front lines and pounded General Purkayev's regiments of the Third Striking Army as they were pressing against the city.
Preparations for a relief attack from the south-west were meanwhile under way. While General Kurt von der Chevallerie with the divisions of his LIX Corps was holding a cover line around Vitebsk, General Wöhler, the former Eleventh Army Chief of Staff, formed a relief group which got to within six miles of Velikiye Luki by 24th December. Combat groups of 291st and 331st Infantry Divisions, parts of the reinforced 76th Panzer Grenadier Regiment, of 10th Panzer Regiment, and of Assault Gun Battalion 237 pushed this relief wedge via Novosokolniki to within sight of the encircled city. But there the troops and vehicles, having suffered exceedingly heavy losses, got stuck in the deep snow. Yet Wöhler did not give up.

The Austrian 331st Infantry Division under Lieutenant-General Dr Franz Beyer eventually got to within two and a half miles of the western edge of Velikiye Luki. But they did not get beyond that point.
A mere two and a half miles! No distance at all—but the distance between heaven and hell.
One last attempt was made on 9th January. A combat group under Major Tribukait, the commander of the Jäger Battalion 5, mounted an attack against the fortress with tanks, assault guns, and armored infantry carriers. The few infantry carriers belonged to 8th Panzer Division, the tanks were from 1st Battalion, 15th Panzer Regiment, and the assault guns from the reinforced Panzer Battalion 118.

"Keep moving and firing!" had been their order.
Don't stop.
The crews of knocked-out vehicles were to climb on to the outside of others without halting. With this method of "keeping going and firing" Tribukait did in fact succeed in piercing the strong enemy ring. A number of tanks and infantry carriers were lost, but the group got through.

It was exactly 1506 hours when Darnedde's half-starved men saw the tanks from the ramparts of the Citadel. They wept with joy and fell into each other's arms. "They've done it!" they kept shouting, "They've done it!"

Fifteen armored fighting vehicles clanked into the courtyard of the Citadel; they included the last three tanks of 1st Battalion, 15th Panzer Regiment, under Lieutenant Koske. But the fortunes of war had turned against Darnedde's battalion.
As soon as the overrun Russians realized the Germans had broken through they concentrated their artillery and furiously pounded the area of the Citadel

Tribukait immediately ordered his tanks to get out of the confined yard among the ruins, to which there was only one approach. But everything seemed to conspire against him. Just as one of the fifteen tanks was passing through the entrance in the ramparts it received four direct hits and remained lying motionless, its tracks shot to pieces.

Tribukait's small force was now in a trap and became the target of furious Russian shelling by guns of all calibres. One tank after another fell victim to the Soviet bombardment. It was an unprecedented disaster.
Tribukait's surviving Jägers and tankmen joined the defenders in the role of infantry.

On 15th January a parachute battalion made an attempt to get into the Citadel.
But that attempt failed too.
Disaster came to the eastern part of Velikiye Luki on 16th January. There was diphtheria inside the " Budapest " strongpoint.
The building containing the command post of 2nd Battalion, 277th Infantry Regiment, and the dressing station with three hundred wounded was blazing. Russian tanks were outside. At that point Major Schwabe gave up.

Lieutenant-Colonel von Sass likewise surrendered in his wrecked command post.

When General Wöhler received the signal informing about their situation he decided to put an end to the tragedy inside the Citadel. He radioed to Major Tribukait who, as the senior officer, had been in command since 9th January:
"The defenders will fight their way out westwards to their own lines."

The defenders will fight their way out—all well and good. But what about the wounded?
Tribukait consulted with Darnedde. They concluded that the wounded would have to be left behind.
To avoid panic the break-out was kept secret from them. Only the medical officer and four medical orderlies who were to stay behind with the wounded and share their ominous fate were let into the secret. Captain Dr Wehrheim, the medical officer, was handed a sealed letter only to be opened two hours after the break-out.

At 0200 at night the defenders assembled. There were only 180 men left. They all knew what was at stake. And they moved off with the kind of determination shown only by men doomed to death. They broke through three Soviet lines. They knocked-out an anti-tank gun and two machine-gun posts. They overran the crew of a Soviet strongpoint and at 0530 hours eventually arrived at the German main defensive line with seven prisoners.

The wounded in the Citadel, of course, had discovered what was up.
Eyes wild with fear they had listened to every noise. They had heard the words of command. (it was no secret to German troops what happened to wounded prisoners who had the misfortune to fall into Soviet hands). And as the silence of terminated battle crept through the basements a ghostly operation began: thirty casualties who believed they could just about keep on their feet set out under the leadership of a lieutenant and a sergeant.

Eighteen of them reached the German lines after a frightful journey.

Subsequently a third group also made its way back to the German positions.

Altogether eight men made their escape from the eastern part of Velikiye Luki and, after the most incredible adventures, fought their way through to the German lines. Eight out of a thousand.
One of them was Lieutenant Behnemann, commanding 9th Troop, 183rd Artillery Regiment. The story of his journey through the enemy lines is one of those dramatic Odysseys from the chronicle of escapes which constitute a special chapter of the war in Russia.

It is worth recording here.

The date was the 13th January and the time 1900 hours.
A few centers of resistance were still holding out among the railway sidings. Lieutenant Behnemann counted the men in his bunker. There were forty-one left. Twenty of them were seriously wounded and were lying on the floor and on bunks. The men were a sorry sight. For nights on end they had stood in the trenches, a little cold coffee substitute in their flasks and one-seventh of a loaf of bread in their knapsacks—their daily ration.

At 2200 contact was lost with the observation post. The sentry who had just been relieved at the blockhouse next to the bunker came in and reported: "OP and Battalion HQ are being shot up by a Soviet tank. They're both blazing."

Clearly, the end had come for Major Hennigs, the artillery commander of Velikiye Luki. Less than twelve hours previously he had rung through to the bunker: "You hold the bunker, Behnemann! I'm hanging on to the OP."

The men were dozing. The air was thick enough to cut. The wounded were moaning. The medical orderly had no morphia left for them and no dressings. At daybreak, towards 0700, Behnemann went across to the small blockhouse to have a look for himself. Things were getting critical. The house was more or less destroyed. In its floor a shell had torn a deep hole. It was possible to get through that hole, under the floor, and watch events outside through the wrecked external wall. Behnemann could see clearly that the OP was in Russian hands. Obviously they were about to storm the bunker.

A T-34 was already slowly moving up alongside the trench. Behnemann was watching it.
And thus he missed what was happening behind him. Suddenly there was a noise.
Orders shouted in Russian. Shots.
The Soviets had reached the blockhouse and the bunker from the other side. Behnemann rolled under the floorboards. Less than two feet away from him, along the outer wall, were Russian soldiers.

They were tossing hand-grenades at the door and firing their sub-machine-guns through the firing slits of the bunker.

A German voice shouted from the bunker entrance: "Don't shoot— we surrender. We're all wounded!"

A Russian replied in German: ("Come out!" The bunker door opened. Behnemann's men reeled out, their hands up.

"Where guns?" the Soviet NCO asked the first German. He nodded his head towards the bunker. "Get them, quick, quick," the Russian shouted. The men about-turned and brought out their weapons and ammunition. By then an interpreter arrived on the spot. He ordered the prisoners to get into the blockhouse with raised hands. Behnemann crept even farther away from the hole in the floor and pressed himself into a corner.

Overhead the interrogation began.

"Officer?" was the first question, as always.
Then: "Occupation?"
Whenever the answer was "worker" the interpreter said: "Good."
"Peasant? Good."
One of them replied: "Office worker." And the interpreter said: "Also good."
One question asked repeatedly was: "Photo?" What was meant was a camera. But only one German NCO possessed this coveted article. After the interrogation the prisoners were made to jump down into the trench. "Quick, quick!" Then they were marched across to the "Red House". The wounded had flung woolen blankets over their shoulders and were staggering along the trench. There was no ill-treatment.

But there was that ceaseless shouting: "Davay, davay—quick, quick!" Accompanied by a nervous and menacing clicking of rifle bolts.

All day long Behnemann lay under the floor of the blockhouse. In the early afternoon a long column of prisoners was marched through the old firing pit. Something like 500 or 600 men. They were a sorry sight. A few officers were reeling through the snow in stockinged feet.
Their felt boots had been taken away.
"Anything rather than that," Behnemann thought. "Anything."
At that moment the man from Visselhövede in Lower Saxony made up his mind. Captivity was not for him. He had no map—only a pocket compass. And in his pockets he had a pistol with eight rounds. And his daily ration—one-seventh of a loaf of bread. That was his whole equipment. Would it be enough to cross the vast swamp and reach the German lines?

The time was 1930 hours. The first night of Behnemann's escape was beginning. He crawled out of his hiding place. He swung himself out of the window. He boldly walked upright down the trench and then let himself roll down the slope to the right. The ruined scenery was steeped in an eerie light by the brilliant moon. The frozen snow crunched and cracked under his felt boots.
Careful now.
Behnemann had reached the spot where the Russians had cut through the barbed-wire fence to lead their prisoners through. That was where Behnemann wanted to slip through too.
"Stoy," a voice called.
Behnemann continued running. Another shout: "Stoy!"
Damn.
He flung himself into the snow. For half an hour he acted a dead man. Then he crawled on, working his way through the wire.

Suddenly there was activity all round him. Russian soldiers were rounding up loose horses and driving them in the direction of Maksimovo. That was a piece of luck. A single man moving along the edge of the herd of horses would not attract attention. Behnemann hurried on.
Suddenly he started:
surely there was something crouching in the snow.
Motionless. Cautiously he approached it —a dead German soldier. Fifty yards on—another. Frightful markers along the road. Every thirty or fifty yards was another lifeless soldier. Sagged over forward. Or wrapped in a blanket. Or fully extended in the snow. All of them clearly wounded men who had wanted to take a moment's rest on their march into captivity and in doing so had frozen to death. Not until a good way farther down did the terrible signposts come to an end. Behnemann was walking briskly. The night was bright and silent. He glanced at his compass. Four days earlier he had taken a bearing on the triangulation point two and a half miles north-west of the city. That was where he was now making for. Sleigh tracks crossed the swamp in all directions. Behnemann had to dodge into the scrub whenever a Soviet sleigh column approached.

After two and a half miles he reached the triangulation point. He scuttled across the first big supply route from east to west. He was to cross another six or eight such compacted snow roads in the course of that night. Alongside the road or on the ridges of clear snow ran Russian field telephone cables. During that first night Behnemann cut many of them with his pocket knife. After that he no longer bothered.

There was not much traffic. He encountered only about twenty vehicles, all of them driving confidently with unmasked headlights. They, of course, had nothing to fear from partisans. By 2400 hours Behnemann had reached the frozen Lovat river. He had to cross it. On the far side, parallel with the river, ran the road from Nevel to Staraya Russa. He kept on to the north. Around 0500 he crossed the Nesva. And then the last east-west highway near the village of Molodi. Behnemann knew it from observation through his trench telescope: it was the only village which stood out from the swamp forest. Day was breaking. And daytime was the enemy of wild beasts and men on the run. He had to find a hideout. He found it a hundred yards beyond the road—a willow thicket over six feet high. A day is a long time. And at twenty degrees below zero Centigrade, when one had to stay put in the same spot, it was positively unending. The lieutenant counted the trees around him. He estimated distances and every half-hour he performed ten knee-bends. Then, for a change he would "mark time at the double", or else beat his arms round his body.

Dusk fell at long last. It was twenty-four hours since he had set out. He had only slept standing up and had sucked snow to assuage his thirst. To cope with his hunger he had eaten small pieces of bread. He never broke off more than a minute piece and then took a long time chewing it. The bread pulp went all sweet in his mouth if he chewed it long enough. Above all, he must not be in a hurry to swallow it. Progress during the second night was particularly laborious. First his route lay through a thick forest deep in snow. Then across a flat swamp with tall tufts of reed and thick patches of willow. Wearily Behnemann moved on, and for the second time came upon the Nesva river. And then it happened. He slipped, rolled down the steep bank, and struck the ground with his head. He got to his feet in a daze. He caught his breath. Immediately opposite, on the far bank of the frozen stream, was a Soviet sentry eyeing him curiously. The Russian worked his rifle-bolt to get a round in the breach. But he did nothing else.

Behnemann stood rooted to the ground. One minute passed. Two minutes. A second Russian appeared on the far bank. The two exchanged a few words.
The new man ran down the far bank and shouted: "Parol!"
That meant the password.
Behnemann cut and ran. The bullets sang past him. He scrambled up the bank. He raced, panting, towards a ditch. He flung himself into it. He pressed himself firmly to the ground. There were voices around him everywhere. "They'll find you, they'll find you," he kept saying to himself. But they did not find him. The moon set. Now it was dark. That was what saved Behnemann. When the noise had died away, he moved on, now to the west. He had set his compass to 40—the direction of a conspicuous star. He kept to this course.

He was enveloped by a dark, thick forest. The zig-zagging trails of animals in the deep snow were the only sign of life. Behnemann followed the trails. Here there was no need to be afraid of encountering a human being. He therefore continued to push on even after daybreak. At 0800 he was at the edge of the forest. He was surrounded by tall reeds. Slowly he moved forward, step by step. Suddenly there were voices. Cautiously, he peered through the reeds. He caught his breath. He was right in the middle of a line of Soviet sentries, established in front of the thick reeds. Every two hundred yards a machine-gun. In front and in between them were sentries with rifles. He crawled and rolled into a snowy hollow. From there he observed. He chewed his last piece of crust and swallowed several handfuls of snow. Hours passed. The cold tingled through his skin, and crept over his body like icy fingers. It lay heavily on his brain and on his heart. His breath was slow. Behnemann counted his pulse beat. It was forty-five. Near the danger-point of freezing to death.

At 1700 hours the Russian sentries on the edge of the reeds were relieved. Here was his opportunist Ducking low, Behnemann pushed ahead between the sentries. But in the bright moonlight there could be no hope of slipping through the front line. At the same time he lacked the strength to crawl back. Regardless, he walked back upright. He turned north. From somewhere on his right came a shout: "Parol!" He paid no attention. There was a crack of carbine fire. And three short pursts from a machine-gun. He crossed the open ground, avoiding the thickets where the sentries were posted. He had walked for a little over a mile when he suddenly found himself in the middle of the Russian main defensive line. All round on the high ground he was able to make out the course of the front. Machine-gun fire towards the west enabled him to discern the positions. Bent double, he ducked and slipped through the lines. He lost his gloves. He tore his cap in two and wrapped the bits of cloth round his hands so they should not get frost-bitten with all that flinging of himself down in the snow.

His strength was now failing fast. He was talking to himself, semi-audibly. "I can't go any farther," he said and collapsed. But a moment later he picked himself up again: "I can manage a little way yet!"

This was repeated every half hour. Always he remained in the snow just to that danger-point where indifference may mean death. But each time he forced himself up again. He followed the tracks of the hares, running straight towards the moon, towards the west. From 0200 onwards the planet Venus fixed his direction for him. At 0400, at the end of the third night and the beginning of the third day, he suddenly found himself in front of a barn. There was hay inside. He flung himself down. Sleep!

But hunger, thirst, and the fear of freezing to death stopped him from getting more than two hours' feverish dozing. Then he pulled himself up again. He could not die here in this hay. He had to get out. He stepped outside. The grey dawn was all round him. He reeled on. He saw some farmhouses.

"Parole!" someone shouted.
Let them shout. He moved on, unconcerned. Ten paces. Twenty. Then something flashed in his brain: What did that voice say? Parole? That final "e"—surely that was not part of the Russian word?
Could it be ...?
immediately west of Velikiye Luki, was in German hands. He knew that for certain. The last battle reports he had listened into at his OP had reported that this sector of railway had been crossed and secured in a relief attack by a combat group of 8th Panzer Division. No point in hesitating. He was finished one way or another. So he turned about and reeled back to the farmhouses, to human habitations. He reached an isolated peasant hut. He drew his pistol. He knocked. An old man opened the door.
He stared at him.
Behnemann pointed outside: "Germanski soldier or Ruski soldier?"
The old man shook his head: "Germanski."

And he pointed across to, a stone-built house. Behnemann staggered out of the door. He dragged himself across. His lips trembled as he spelt out for himself the tactical sign on the door: 5th Troop, 80th Panzer Artillery Regiment. "The 8th from Cottbus," he muttered. He knew the famous 3rd Light Division; which in 1940 had been transformed into 8th Panzer Division and had proved its value as an armored formation on the northern and central fronts.

He reeled through the door, into the big room which housed the command post.
The troops looked up startled as they caught sight of the spectre in the door—an emaciated figure, one hand wrapped into the hood of his camouflage cape, the bearded face disfigured with frost boils.
They sat as if turned to stone.
The ghost-like visitor stared fascinated at the iron stove. And at the white enamelled German Army can in which coffee substitute was being heated.
He picked it up. He raised it to his lips and drank. He kept on drinking. Then he put it down. And only then did he utter his first words:
"I've come from Velikiye Luki."

Then the others leapt up and pushed a chair under him. He dropped into it and laughed and laughed.

His tears were streaming down his frozen white face. He had been on the go for sixty hours. In the icy cold he had walked twenty-five miles. And they had not caught him. He had escaped from the hell of Velikiye Luki—he, Lieutenant Behnemann of 9th Troop, 183rd Artillery Regiment.

Thus Behnemann escaped captivity and the revenge which a fanatical Soviet leadership was later to take for the defeats of Velikiye Luki.
After the War they picked out from their P.O.W. camps the German troops who had fought at Velikiye Luki; took them back to the fortress and there tried them by court martial. One man of each rank was sentenced to death by hanging—one general, one colonel, one lieutenant-colonel, one major, one captain, one lieutenant, one top sergeant, one sergeant, one senior corporal, one corporal, and one private.

On 29th January, 1946 the men were publicly hanged in Lenin Square in Velikiye Luki. Among them were the commander of 277th Infantry Regiment and the former town commandant, company commanders, railway officials, junior commanders, and rankers. All others who could be rounded up were sentenced to twenty or twenty-five years' imprisonment. Only eleven of them survived to return to Germany between 1953 and 1955.

That was Velikiye Luki, one of the focal points of the winter battle of 1942-43.

Sixth Army in the Pocket

THE sky was covered with lowering clouds and a blizzard was blowing from the steppe, blinding the eyes of ground and aerial reconnaissance and rendering impossible the employment of ground-attack aircraft and Stukas. Once again the weather was on Stalin's side.
In desperate operations the Luftwaffe, hardly ever able to operate with more than two machines at a time, pounced upon the enemy's spearheads at the penetration points. Hurriedly rounded-up units of supply formations of Sixth Army, rearward services, Army railway companies, flak units, and Luftwaffe ground personnel were strenuously building a first line of defense along the Chir in order, at least, to prevent an extension of the Russian breakthrough into the empty space towards the south-west, in the direction of Rostov.

Particularly grim was the news that the forward air strip at Kalach had been over-run and the short-range reconnaissance planes of VIII Air Corps wrecked.
North of Kalach the 44th Infantry Division was still established in good positions west of the Don. Admittedly, it was cut off from its supply units and had to depend on itself, but it acted as a vital crystallizing point west of the river. That in itself was hopeful. It was not to last.

In Stalingrad, General Paulus had suspended all offensive operations in the evening of 19th November, on orders from Army Group. Only a few hundred yards from the objectives a halt had to be called.
Units of the three Panzer divisions—the 14th, 16th, and 24th—were formed into combat groups, pulled out of the front, and dispatched towards the Don against the enemy advancing from the north-west. But in view of the headlong development of the situation in the breakthrough area these weak forces were unable to achieve anything decisive.

On 22nd November at 1400 hours Paulus and Schmidt flew back over the enemy lines to Gumrak, inside the pocket. The new Army headquarters were a little over a mile west of the small railway station. At nightfall on 22nd November the northern wedge of the Soviets had reached the high ground by the Don and taken the bridge of Kalach by a coup. The southern attacking group was likewise outside the town. On 23rd November Kalach fell.
The trap was closed behind Sixth Army.
What was to be done now?
This is the question that has been asked time and again in the voluminous literature that has since appeared about Stalingrad, and that has been answered by a number of conflicting theories. It is a well-known fact, after all, that once a battle has been lost every young subaltern knows how it might have been won. What interests the military historian is what led to the mistakes and errors of judgment. After all, most battles are lost through mistakes and errors of judgment. And the mistakes and errors which led the Sixth Army into the pocket of Stalingrad did not just date from the beginning of November. They cannot be put at Paulus's door, but sprang from the directives issued by the most senior German commands in the late summer.

It is probably true that the period between 19th and 22nd November represented the last chance of rectifying these mistakes and errors. The German High Command ought perhaps to have realized on 19th November the extent of the danger threatening the Army: by ordering it to disengage from the Volga and abandon Stalingrad it might have saved the situation.

But this was not a decision that Sixth Army could take on its own authority. General Paulus could not have a sufficiently clear picture of the overall situation for taking such a far-reaching decision on his own authority, a decision which might have threatened the entire southern front, such as withdrawing Sixth Army from its position and starting a precipitate retreat. Besides, a sober assessment of the situation compels one to admit that on 19th, 20th, and even on 22nd November disaster did not yet appear to be inevitable. This is borne out by a careful examination of the state of affairs.

At the General Staff College of Military District I in Königsberg in East Prussia, Arthur Schmidt and Wolfgang Pickert had both been pupils of the late General Osswald, an expert on tactics. "The Southern Cross" his students nicknamed him. His particular trick was to give a brief outline of a situation and then say to his class, "Gentlemen, you have ten minutes— then I want your decision with brief statement of reasons." It was a phrase that none of Osswald's students ever forgot.

When General Pickert, commanding 9th Flak Division, arrived at Nizhne-Chirskaya on the morning of 22nd November he was greeted by his old friend Arthur Schmidt with Osswald's stock phrase: "Pickert—decision with brief statement of reasons."
Pickert's reply came at once: "Get the hell out of here."
Schmidt nodded: "That's what we'd like to do, too, but—" And then Paulus's chief of staff explained to his old friend the official view of the Army: there was no cause for panicky measures; there was nothing yet in the tactical situation to justify independent local decisions in disregard of the overall situation. The most important thing was to cover the Army's rear.

Any precipitate withdrawal from the safe positions in Stalingrad might have disastrous consequences. That these considerations were in fact justified was shown only a few days later. But on 22nd November, when he had that conversation, Schmidt could not know that Hitler had already decided to pin down the Army in Stalingrad.

At the time of his discussion with Pickert at Nizhne-Chirskaya, therefore, there were only two things to be done: secure the threatened rear of the Army—i.e., establish a solid front to the west and south—and then prepare for a break-out towards the south-west.

What was needed for this, more than anything else, was fuel, and this would have to be flown in by the Luftwaffe. Fuel for the tanks and fuel for the gun-tractors. This view was in line with the ideas of Weichs's Army Group, which had issued orders in the evening of 21st November to hold Stalingrad and the Volga front "in all circumstances" and to prepare for a breakout.

But Pickert doubted that the Luftwaffe would be able to supply the Army even for a short period, and again urged an early breakout. Schmidt pointed out that one could not leave behind the units of XIV and XI Corps which were still on the western bank of the Don or the 10,000 wounded.
"That would be like a Napoleonic retreat," he said.
The fact that Paulus and Schmidt were also firmly resolved to break out eventually, after appropriate preparation, is proved by what happened during the next few hours. During the afternoon of 22nd November Paulus received an order by radio from Army High Command via Army Group : "Hold on and await further orders." Quite clearly this was intended as a bar to any overhasty disengagements.
Paulus meanwhile had formed an accurate picture of the situation on his southwestern flank, where Soviet forces were operating with about a hundred tanks, and sent a signal to Army Group B at 1900 hours, containing the following passage:

South front still open east of the Don. Don frozen over and crossable.
Fuel almost used up.
Tanks and heavy weapons then immobilized. Ammunition short.
Food sufficient for six days.
Army intends to hold remaining area of Stalingrad down to both sides of Don and has set into motion appropriate measures.
Indispensable for this is successful sealing off of southern front and continuous plentiful supplies by air.
Request freedom of action for the event that hedgehog formation in the south does not come off.
Situation might then compel abandonment of Stalingrad and northern front in order to defeat enemy with full force on southern front between Don and Volga and regain contact with Rumanian Fourth Army . . .

The signal made it perfectly clear what Paulus had in mind.
He had made careful plans for all eventualities. He intended to form a hedgehog, but he also demanded freedom of action—i.e., the freedom to disengage rapidly, if the situation should make this necessary.

At 2200 hours a personal signal arrived from Hitler.
It refused freedom of action and ordered the Army to stay put. "Sixth Army must know," it said in the signal, "that I am doing everything to help and to relieve it. I shall issue my orders in good time."

Thus the break-out from the pocket was explicitly and firmly forbidden. Paulus reacted instantly. At 1145 hours on 23rd November he radioed to Army Group: "I consider a break-out towards the south-west, east of the Don, by pulling XI and XIV Army Corps over the Don, still possible at present moment, even though material will have to be sacrificed."
Weichs supported this demand in a teleprinted message to Army High Command, emphasizing: "Adequate supply by air is not possible."
At 2345 hours on 23rd November Paulus, after careful reflection and further conversation with the GOCs in his Army, sent another radio message direct to Hitler, urgently requesting permission to break out. All the Corps commanders, he pointed out, shared his view. "My Fuehrer," Paulus radioed,

since the arrival of your signal of the evening of 22.11 there has been a rapid aggravation of the situation. It has not been possible to seal off the pocket in the south-west and west. Enemy break-throughs are clearly imminent there. Ammunition and fuel are nearly used up. Numerous batteries and anti-tank weapons have run out of ammunition. Timely and adequate supplies are out of the question. The Army is facing annihilation in the immediate future unless the enemy attacking from the south and west is decisively defeated by the concentration of all available forces. This demands the immediate withdrawal of all divisions from Stalingrad and of strong forces from the northern front. The inescapable consequence must then be a breakthrough towards the south-west, since the eastern and northern fronts, thus depleted, can no longer be held. Admittedly, a great deal of material will be lost, but the bulk of valuable fighting men and at least part of the material will be saved. I continue to accept full responsibility for this far-reaching appraisal, although I wish to record that Generals Heitz, von Seydlitz, Strecker, Hube, and Jaenecke share my assessment of the situation. In view of the circumstances I once more request freedom of action.

Hitler's reply came at 0838 hours on 24th November by a radio signal headed "Fuehrer Decree"—the highest and strictest category of command. Hitler issued very precise orders for the establishment of the pocket fronts and the withdrawal across the Don into the pocket of all Army units still west of the river. The order concluded: "Present Volga front and present northern front to be held at all costs. Supplies coming by air."
Now the Sixth Army was definitely pinned down in Stalingrad by supreme order, even though Army Group, Army, and the local Luftwaffe commander questioned the practicability of aerial supplies. How could such a thing have happened?
It has been generally accepted that Goering had personally guaranteed to supply the Army from the air and had thus been responsible for Hitler's disastrous decision. But historical fact does not entirely bear out this theory.

Contrary to all legend, the decisive conversation with Hitler at the Berghof in Berchtesgaden was conducted not by Goering, but by his chief of staff, Jeschonnek, a sound and sensible man. He reported Goering's affirmative answer to the question of supplying Sixth Army by air, but tied it to a number of conditions such as the indispensable holding on to airfields near the front and passable flying weather. To represent this qualified undertaking to supply the Army by air as the sole reason for Hitler's mistaken decision would be an unjustified shifting of responsibility from Hitler to Goering—i.e., on to the Luftwaffe. Hitler was only too ready to snatch at Goering's straw, for he did not want to surrender Stalingrad. He was still hoping to strike the Russians mortally by the conquest of territory. No retreat whatsoever!
He implored his generals to remember the winter of 1941 before Moscow, when his rigid orders to hold on had saved Army Group Centre from annihilation. He forgot that what was the correct decision at Moscow in the winter of 1941 need not necessarily apply on the Volga in the winter of 1942. Holding out inflexibly was no panacea.

Besides, there was no strategic necessity for holding on to Stalingrad at the risk of endangering an entire Army.
Surely the real task of Sixth Army was to protect the flank and rear of the Caucasus operation. That, at least, was how it had been clearly laid down in the time-table for "Operation Blue." And this task could be implemented even without the capture of Stalingrad—for instance, along the Don.

After the war in a lecture to officers of the German Bundeswehr, Colonel-General Hoth formulated this important aspect of the problem of Stalingrad in the following way:

"From Directive No. 41 it emerges that the main target of the campaign in the summer of 1942 was not the capture of Stalingrad, but the seizure of the Caucasus with its oilfields. This area was indeed vital to the Soviet conduct of the war, and it was also of outstanding economic and political importance to the German Command. At the end of July 1942, when the spearheads of the two German Army Groups were approaching the lower Don earlier than expected, and while the Armies of the Russian South-West Front were falling back in disorder across the middle Don, Hitler on 23rd July ordered the continuation of the operation towards the south, into the Caucasus, by Army Group A, which was assigned four Armies for this purpose. Only the Sixth Army continued to be deployed against Stalingrad. The Chief of the Army General Staff, who had from the outset opposed the far-reaching objective of an operation across the Caucasus, considered it necessary to seek out the enemy grouping at Stalingrad and to defeat it before the Caucasus was crossed. He therefore urged that Sixth Army should be reinforced by two Panzer divisions, which were therefore detached from Fourth Panzer Army. Shortly afterwards . Army Group A, although with the focus of the campaign in its sector, was deprived of the Fourth Panzer Army and the Rumanian Third Army, which were both dispatched up the Don to Army Group B. The focus of the campaign had thus been switched to the capture of Stalingrad. Army Group A, thus weakened, ground to a halt north of the Caucasus."

At that moment the Sixth Army's operations at Stalingrad lost their strategic meaning. According to the laws of strategy, the Army should now have been pulled back from its positions jutting out far to the east, in order to dodge the enemy counterblow that was to be expected and in order to gain reserves. Paulus himself flew to the Fuehrer's Headquarters on 12th September and tried to win Hitler over for such a decision.
It was in vain.
Hitler remained stubborn. He was unfortunately confirmed in his attitude by the disastrous reports from the Eastern Department of the General Staff, to the effect that the Russians had no appreciable reserves left along the Eastern Front.

Hitler stuck to his orders that Stalingrad must be taken, and the weakened Sixth Army got its teeth into the city. The longer the fighting continued the more did the capture of the last few workshops and the last few hundred yards of river-bank become a matter of prestige for Hitler, especially as he believed that, after the reverses in Africa and in the Caucasus, he must not give ground at Stalingrad. Prestige, and not strategic considerations, demanded the struggle for the last ruin.

This view was also shared by Weichs's Army Group, whose shrewd chief of staff, General von Sodenstern, has said:

"Stalingrad had been taken and eliminated as an armaments centre; shipping on the Volga had been cut. The few technical bridgeheads which the enemy had in the city were no objective that justified the pinning down and using up of the bulk of available German forces. Army Group command was, instead, vitally interested in getting the troops into adequate winter positions as soon as possible, reinforcing the fast formations, and making them mobile for the winter; in addition, it was anxious to form the urgently necessary tactical reserves behind the expected key points of the defensive fighting, and in particular behind the three Armies of Germany's allies on the Don. Such reserves could be drawn only from Sixth Army. That was why about the end of September or the beginning of October, as soon as it was found that Stalingrad could not be taken at the first assault, the command of Army Group B proposed that the offensive against Stalingrad should be suspended altogether. It had also asked for permission' to evacuate the front bulge of Stalingrad and, instead of holding the arc, to adopt a position along a chord covering the area between Volga and Don; the left wing of Fourth Panzer Army was to have been bent back south-west of Stalingrad and the new line to have run north-west towards the Don. The Chief of the Army General Staff agreed. But he did not succeed in getting the proposal approved by Hitler."

This then was the background to Hitler's disastrous order to Paulus on 24th November, with its two key demands: hold out and await supplies by air.
Goering's promise merely supported Hitler in his attitude against his generals—but it was not the decisive motive for his order. It sprang not from the grandiloquence of one of Hitler's paladins, but from Hitler's own intentions. Stalingrad was the brain child of his strategy, the product of his war which had been a gigantic gamble from the outset, based on victory or ruin.

One often hears the view to-day that because Hitler's hold-on order with its reference to airborne supplies was an unmistakable death sentence on the Army Paulus should not have obeyed it. But how could Paulus and his closest collaborators in Gumrak judge the strategic motives behind the decision of the Supreme Command? Besides, had not 100,000 men been encircled in the Demyansk pocket for some two and a half months the previous winter, supplied only by air, and had they not eventually been got out? And had not Model's Ninth Army held out in the Rzhev pocket in accordance with orders?
And what about Kholm? Or Sukhinichi?
At the operations centre of the surrounded Sixth Army there was a witness from 25th November onward whose observations about Stalingrad have not up to the present received the attention they deserve—Coelestin von Zitzewitz, now (at the time this book was written) a businessman in Hanover, but then a General Staff major in the Army High Command. On 23rd November he was dispatched to Stalingrad with a signals section by General Zeitzler, the Chief of the General Staff, as his personal observer with instructions to send a daily report to Army High Command about the situation of the Sixth Army. Zitzewitz was summoned to Zeitzler at 0830 hours on 23rd November and informed of his assignment. The way in which Zitzewitz received his orders from the Chief of the General Staff throws an interesting light on how the situation was assessed at Army High Command. This is Zitzewitz's account:

"Without any preamble the general stepped up to the map spread out on the table: 'Sixth Army has been encircled since this morning. You will fly out to Stalingrad to-day with a signals section of the Operations Communications Regiment. I want you to report to me direct, as fully as possible and as quickly as possible. You will have no operational duties. We are not worried: General Paulus is managing very nicely. Any questions?”
No, sir.”
Tell General Paulus that everything is being done to restore contact. Thank you." With that I was dismissed."

On 24th November Major von Zitzewitz with his signals section—one NCO and six men—flew from Lötzen [Now Gizycko.] via Kharkov and Morozovsk into the pocket. What opinions did he find there?
Zitzewitz reports: "General Paulus's first question, naturally, was how did the Army High Command see the relief of Sixth Army. That I could not answer.
He said that his principal worry was the supply problem. To supply an entire Army from the air was a task never accomplished before. He had informed Army Group and Army High Command that his requirements would be at first 300 tons a day and later 500 tons if the Army was to survive and remain capable of fighting. These quantities had been promised him.
"The Commander-in-Chief's view seemed to me entirely reasonable: the Army could hold out only if it received the supplies it needed, above all fuel, ammunition, and food, and if relief from without could be expected within a foreseeable time. It was up to the Supreme Command to do the necessary staff work and plan these supplies and the Army's relief, and then to issue appropriate orders.

"Paulus himself took the view that a withdrawal of Sixth Army would be useful within the general picture. He kept emphasizing that Sixth Army could be employed much more usefully along the breached front between Voronezh and Rostov than here in the Stalingrad area. Moreover, the railways, the Luftwaffe, and the entire supply machinery would then be freed for tasks serving the general situation.

"However, this was not a decision he could take on his own authority. Nor could he foresee that his demands concerning relief and supplies would not be fulfilled; for that he lacked the necessary information. The Commander-in-Chief had communicated all these considerations to his generals—all of whom were in favor of breaking out, like himself—and had then given them his orders for their defensive operations."
What else could Paulus have done—Paulus, a typical product of German General Staff training?
A Reichenau, a Guderian, or a Hoepner might have acted differently. But Paulus was no rebel; he was a pure strategist.

There was one general in Stalingrad whose views differed fundamentally from Paulus's and who was unwilling to accept the situation created by the Fuehrer's order—General of Artillery Walter von Seydlitz-Kurzbach, commanding LI Corps.
He urged Paulus to disregard the Fuehrer's order, and demanded a break-out from the pocket on his own responsibility. In a memorandum of 25th November he set out for the Commander-in-Chief Sixth Army the views he had already passionately expressed at a meeting of all GOCs on 23rd November, but had then failed to carry his point. His point had been: immediate break-out.
The memorandum began as follows: "The Army is faced with a clear alternative; breakthrough to the south-west in the general direction of Kotelnikovo or annihilation within a few days."
The main arguments of the memorandum about the necessity of a break-out did not differ from the views of the other GOCs in Sixth Army, or from the views held by Paulus himself. The accurate assessment of the situation, worked out by Colonel Clausius, the brilliant chief of staff of LI Army Corps, voiced the opinions of all General Staff officers at all the headquarters in the pocket. Seydlitz proposed that striking forces should be built up by means of denuding the northern and the Volga fronts, that these forces should attack along the southern front, that Stalingrad should be abandoned and a breakthrough made in the direction of the weakest resistance—i.e., towards Kotelnikovo.

The memorandum said:

This decision involves the abandonment of considerable quantities of material, but on the other hand it holds out the prospect of smashing the southern prong of the enemy's encirclement, of saving a large part of the Army and its equipment from disaster and preserving it for the continuation of operations. In this way part of the enemy's forces will continue to be tied down, whereas if the Army is annihilated in its hedgehog position all tying down of enemy forces ceases. Outwardly such an action could be represented in a way avoiding serious damage to morale: following the complete destruction of the enemy's armaments centre of Stalingrad the Army has again detached itself from the Volga, smashing an enemy grouping in doing so. The prospects of a successful breakthrough are the better since past engagements have shown the enemy's infantry to have little power of resistance in open ground.

All this was correct, convincing and logical. Any General Staff officer could subscribe to it. The problem lay in the final passage of the memorandum. This is what it said:

Unless Army High Command immediately rescinds its order to hold out in a hedgehog position it becomes our inescapable duty before our own conscience, our duty to the Army and to the German people, to seize that freedom of action that we are being denied by the present order, and to take the opportunity which still exists at this moment to avert catastrophe by making the attack ourselves. The complete annihilation of 200,000 fighting men and their entire equipment is at stake. There is no other choice.

This highly emotional appeal for disobedience carried no conviction with Paulus, the cool General Staff type. Nor did it convince the other Corps commanders. Besides, a few polemically colored and factually untenable statements left Paulus unimpressed. "The Army's annihilation within a few days" was a wild exaggeration, and Seydlitz's argument on the issue of supplies was unfortunately also incorrect.
Seydlitz had said: "Even if 500 aircraft could land every day they could bring in no more than 1000 tons of supplies, a quantity insufficient for the needs of an Army of roughly 200,000 men now facing large-scale operations without any stocks in hand."
If the Army had in fact received 1000 tons a day it would probably have been able to get away.
Nevertheless Paulus passed on the memorandum to Army Group. He added that the assessment of the military situation conformed with his own views, and therefore asked once more for a free hand to break out if it became necessary.

However, he rejected the idea of a breakout against the orders of Army Group and the Fuehrer's Headquarters. Colonel-General Freiherr von Weichs passed on the memorandum to General Zeitzler, the Chief of the General Staff. Paulus did not receive permission to break out.
Was Seydlitz therefore right in demanding disobedience?
Setting aside for the moment the moral or philosophical aspect of the matter, the question remains of whether this proposed disobedience was in fact practicable. How had Khrushchev acted when General Lopatin wanted to withdraw his Sixty-second Army from Stalingrad at the beginning of October because, recalling its frightful losses, he could foresee only its utter destruction?
Khrushchev had deposed Lopatin before he could even set the withdrawal in motion. Paulus, similarly, would not have got far with open insubordination to Hitler. It was a delusion to think that in the age of radio and teleprinter, of ultra-shortwave transmitter and courier aircraft, a general could act like a fortress commander under Frederick the Great, taking decisions against the will of his Supreme Commander and watching while his sovereign could not do anything about it. Paulus would not have remained in command for another hour once his intention had been realized. He would have been relieved of his post and his orders would have been countermanded.

Indeed, an incident affecting Seydlitz personally shows how reliable and quick communications were between Stalingrad and the Fuehrer's Headquarters at the Wolfsschanze, thousands of miles away. The incident, moreover, illustrates the dangers inherent in a precipitate retreat from the safe positions along the Volga.

During the night of 23rd/24th November—i.e., before handing in his memorandum—General Seydlitz had pulled back the left wing of his Corps on the Volga front of the pocket, contrary to explicit orders.
This move was intended by Seydlitz as a kind of signal for a break-out, as a priming of the fuse for a general withdrawal from Stalingrad. It was designed to force Paulus's hand.
The 94th Infantry Division, which was established in well-built positions and had not yet lost touch with its supply organization, detached itself from its front in accordance with Seydlitz's orders. All awkward or heavy material was burnt or destroyed—papers, diaries, summer clothing, were all flung on bonfires. The men then abandoned their bunkers and dugouts and withdrew towards the northern edge of the city. Foxholes in the snow and icy ravines took the place of the warm quarters the troops had left behind: that was how they now found themselves, this vanguard of a break-out.

But far from triggering off a great adventure, the division suddenly found itself engaged by rapidly pursuing Soviet regiments.

It was over-run and shot up. The entire 94th Infantry Division was wiped out.
That then was the outcome of a spontaneous withdrawal aiming at a break-out. What was far more significant was that even before Sixth Army headquarters got to know of these developments, along its own left flank Hitler was already informed.
A Luftwaffe signals section in the disaster area had sent a report to the Luftwaffe Liaison Officer at the Fuehrer's Headquarters. A few hours later Hitler sent a radio signal to Army Group:

"Demand immediate report why front north of Stalingrad was pulled back."

Paulus made inquiries, established what had happened, and —left the query from the Fuehrer's Headquarters unanswered.
Seydlitz was not denounced to Hitler.
In this way Hitler was not informed about the whole background and did not know that Seydlitz was responsible for the disaster. By his silence Paulus accepted responsibility.

How many Commanders-in-Chief would have reacted in this way to a patent infringement of military discipline?
Hitler's reaction, however, was a shattering blow to Paulus. Hitler had held Seydlitz in high regard ever since the operations of the Demyansk pocket, and now regarded him as the toughest man in the Stalingrad pocket; he was convinced that Paulus was responsible for the shortening of the front. He therefore decreed, by radio signal of 24th November at 2124 hours, that the northern part of the fortress area of Stalingrad should be "subordinated to a single military leader" who would be personally responsible to him for an unconditional holding out.

And whom did Hitler appoint?
He appointed General von Seydlitz-Kurzbach.
In accordance with the principle "divide and rule" Hitler decided to set up a second man in authority by the side of Paulus, as a kind of supervisor to ensure energetic action. When Paulus took the Fuehrer's signal to Seydlitz in person and asked him, "And what are you going to do now?"
Seydlitz replied, "I suppose there is nothing I can do but obey."
During his captivity and after his release General Paulus referred to this conversation with Seydlitz time and again. General Roske, the commander of Stalingrad Centre, recalls that General Paulus told him even before he was taken prisoner that he had said to Seydlitz, "If I were now to lay down the command of Sixth Army there is no doubt that you, being persona grata with the Fuehrer, would be appointed in my place. I am asking you: would you then break out against the Fuehrer's orders?"
After some reflection Seydlitz is reported to have replied, "No, I would defend."
This sounds strange in view of Seydlitz's memorandum, but his answer is attested. And officers well acquainted with Seydlitz do not consider it improbable. "I would defend."
That is precisely what Paulus did.
Like Chuykov on the other side of the line, Paulus and his staff also lived below the ground. In the steppe, four miles west of Stalingrad, close to the railway station of Gumrak, Army Headquarters were established in twelve earth bunkers. The bunker where Colonel-General Paulus lived was twelve foot square. With some six feet of solidly frozen soil as their ceilings these dugouts provided adequate cover against bombardment by medium artillery. Internally they were finished with wooden planks and any material that was to hand. Homemade clay stoves provided heat whenever there was enough fuel available; such fuel had to be brought from Stalingrad Centre. Blankets were fitted across the entrances, as protection against the wind and to prevent too rapid loss of heat. The vehicles were parked some distance away from the bunkers, so that practically no change in the steppe landscape was observable from the air. Only here and there a thin wisp of smoke could be seen coming from a snowy hummock.

On that eventful 24th November, shortly after 1900 hours, Second Lieutenant Schätz, the signals officer, entered General Schmidt's bunker with a decoded signal from Army Group. It was headed :

"Top secret-Commander-in-Chief only"-i.e.,
the highest classification. It ran: "Assuming command of Army Group Don 26.11. We will do everything to get you out. Meanwhile Army must hold on to Volga and northern fronts in accordance with Fuehrer's order and make strong forces available soonest possible to blast open supply route to southwest at least temporarily." The signal was signed "Manstein."

Paulus and Schmidt heaved a high of relief.
It was not an easy task that confronted the Field-Marshal. He was bringing with him no fresh forces, but was taking over the encircled Sixth Army, the shattered Rumanian Third Army, the Army-sized Combat Group Hollidt consisting of scraped together forces on the Chir, and the newly formed Army-sized Combat Group Hoth. The headquarters of the new Army Group Don, under which Paulus now came, were in Novocherkassk. Manstein arrived in the morning of 27th November and assumed command at once.

In spite of all difficulties Manstein's plan looked promising and bold. He intended to make a frontal attack from the west, from the Chir front, with General Hollidt's combat group direct against Kalach, while Hoth's combat group was to burst open the Soviet ring from the south-west, from the Kotelnikovo area.

To understand the general picture we must cast back our minds to the situation on the Chir and at Kotelnikovo, the two cornerstones of the starting-line of the German relief attack. The situation between Don and Chir had stabilized beyond all expectation. That was very largely due to the work of a man we have come across before—Colonel Wenck, on 19th November still chief of staff of LVII Panzer Corps, which was engaged in heavy fighting for Tuapse on the Caucasus front.

On 21st November he was ordered by Army High Command to fly immediately to Morozovskaya by a special aircraft made available by the Luftwaffe in order to take up the post of chief of staff with the Rumanian Third Army. That same evening Wenck arrived at this badly mauled Rumanian Third Army. He gives the following account:

"I reported to Colonel-General Dumitrescu. Through his interpreter, Lieutenant Iwansen, I was acquainted with the situation. It looked pretty desperate. On the following morning I took off in a Fieseler Storch to fly out to the front in the Chir bend. Of the Rumanian formations there was not much left. Somewhere west of Kletskaya, on the Don, units of Lascar's brave group were still holding out. The remainder of our allies were in headlong flight. With the means at our disposal we were unable to stop this retreat. I therefore had to rely on the remnants of XLVIII Panzer Corps, on ad hoc units of the Luftwaffe, on such rearward units of the encircled Sixth Army as were being formed into combat groups by energetic officers, and on men from Sixth Army and Fourth Panzer Army gradually returning from leave. To begin with, the forces along the Don-Chir arc, over a sector of several hundred miles, consisted merely of the groups under Lieutenant-General Spang, Colonel Stahel, Captain Sauerbruch, and Colonel Adam, of ad hoc formations from rearward services and Sixth Army workshop personnel, as well as of tank crews and Panzer companies without tanks, and of a few engineer and flak units. To these was later added the bulk of XLVIII Panzer Corps which fought its way through to the south-west on 26th November. But I was not able to make contact with Heim's Panzer Corps until Lieutenant-General Heim had fought his way through to the southern bank of the Chir with 22nd Panzer Division. The Army Group responsible for us, at first, was Army Group B under Colonel-General Freiherr von Weichs. However, I frequently received my orders and directives direct from General Zeitzler, the Chief of the Army General Staff, since Weichs's Army Group was more than busy with its own affairs and probably could not form a detailed picture of my sector anyway. "My main task, to start with, was to set up blocking units under energetic officers, which would hold the long front along the Don and Chir along both sides of the already existing Combat Groups Adam, Stahel, and Spang, in co-operation with Luftwaffe formations of VIII Air Corps-at least on a reconnaissance basis. As for my own staff, I literally picked them up on the road. The same was true of motor-cycles, staff cars, and communications equipment-in short, all those things which are necessary for running even the smallest headquarters. The old NCOs with experience of the Eastern Front were quite invaluable in all this: they adapted themselves quickly and could be used for any task.

"I had no communication lines of my own. Fortunately, I was able to make'use of the communications in the supply area of Sixth Army, as well as of the Luftwaffe network. Only after countless conversations over those connections was I able gradually to form a picture of the situation in our sector, where the German blocking formations were engaged and where some Rumanian units were still to be found. I myself set out every day with a few companions to form a personal impression and to make what decisions were needed on the spot-such as where elastic resistance was permissible or where a line had to be held absolutely.

"The only reserves which we could count on in our penetration area was the stream of men returning from leave. These were equipped from Army Group stores, from workshops, or quite simply with 'found' material. "In order to collect the groups of stragglers who had lost their units and their leaders after the Russian breakthrough, and to weld these men from three Armies into new units, we had to resort sometimes to the most out-of-the-way and drastic measures.

"I remember, for instance, persuading the commander of a Wehrmacht propaganda company in Morozovskaya to organize film shows at traffic junctions. The men attracted by these events were then rounded up, reorganized, and re-equipped.
Mostly they did well in action.
"On one occasion a Field Security sergeant came to me and reported his discovery of an almost abandoned 'fuel-dump belonging to no one' by the side of a main road. We did not need any juice ourselves, but we urgently needed vehicles for transporting our newly formed units. I therefore ordered signposts to be put up everywhere along the roads in the rearward area, lettered 'To the fuel-issuing point.' These brought us any number of fuel-starved drivers with their lorries, staff cars, and all kinds of vehicles. At the dump we had special squads waiting under energetic officers. The vehicles which arrived were given the fuel they wanted, but they were very thoroughly screened as to their own functions. As a result of this screening we secured so many vehicles complete with crews-men who were merely driving about the countryside trying to get away from the front-that our worst transport problems were solved. "With such makeshift contrivances new formations were created. Although they were officially known as ad hoc units, they did in fact represent the core of the new Sixth Army raised later. Under the leadership of experienced officers and NCOs these formations acquitted themselves superbly during those critical months. It was the courage and steadfastness of these motley units that saved the situation on the Chir, halted the Soviet breakthroughs, and barred the road to Rostov."

That was the account of Colonel—subsequently General of Armoured Troops—Wenck.

A firm rock in the battle along Don and Chir was the armored group of 22nd Panzer Division. By its lightning-like counterattacks during those difficult weeks it gained an almost legendary reputation among the infantry. Admittedly, after a few days this group was down to about six tanks, twelve armored infantry carriers, and one 88 flak gun. Its commander, Colonel von Oppeln-Bronikowski, sat in a Mark III Skoda tank, leading his unit from the very front, cavalry-style. This armored group acted as a veritable fire-brigade on the Chir. It was flung into action by Wenck wherever a dangerous situation arose.

When Field-Marshal von Manstein took over command of the new Army Group Don on 27th November, Wenck reported to him at Novocherkassk. Manstein knew the colonel. His laconic order to him was therefore simply: "Wenck, you'll answer to me with your head that the Russians won't break through to Rostov in the sector of your Army. The Don-Chir front must hold. Otherwise not only the Sixth Army in Stalingrad but the whole of Army Group A in the Caucasus will be lost." And Army Group A meant one million men.

It was hardly surprising that in such a situation the commanders in the field would frequently resort to desperate means.

Above all, there was a severe shortage of fast armored tactical reserves to deal with the enemy tanks which popped up all over the place, spreading terror in the rearward areas of the Army Group. Wenck's staff thereupon raised an armored unit from damaged tanks and immobilized assault guns and armored troop carriers; this unit was used very effectively at the focal points of the defensive battle between Don and Chir.

Naturally, this unit had to be replenished. And so Wenck's officers conceived the idea of "securing occasional tanks from the tank transports passing through their area on their way to Army Group A or Fourth Panzer Army, manning them with experienced tank crews, and incorporating them in their Panzer companies."

Thus, gradually, Wenck collected his "own Panzer Battalion."
But one day, when his chief of operations, Lieutenant-Colonel Hörst, in his evening situation report was careless enough to refer to the clearing up of a dangerous penetration on the Chir by "our Panzer Battalion" the Field-Marshal and his staff sat up. Wenck was summoned to Army Group headquarters. "With what Panzer Battalion did your Army clear up the situation?" Manstein asked. "According to our records it has no such battalion."
There was nothing for it—Wenck had to confess.
He made a factual report, adding, "We had no other choice if we were to cope with all those critical situations. If necessary, I request that my action be examined by court martial."

Field-Marshal von Manstein merely shook his head, aghast. Then a suspicion of a smile flickered round his lips. He decided to overlook the whole thing, but forbade all further "tank-swiping" in future. "We passed on some of our tanks to 6th and 23rd Panzer Divisions, and from then onward employed our own armored units in no more than company strength so that they should not attract attention from higher commands."

In this manner the wide breach which the Soviet offensive had torn in the German front in the rear of Sixth Army was sealed again. It was a tremendous triumph of leadership. For weeks a front about 120 miles long was held by formations consisting largely of Reich railway employees, Labour Servicemen, construction teams of the Todt Organization, and of volunteers from the Caucasian and Ukrainian Cossack tribes.

It should also be recorded that numerous Rumanian units which had lost contact with their Armies placed themselves under German command. There, under German leadership and, above all, with German equipment, they often acquitted themselves excellently, and many of them remained with these German formations for a long time at their own request.

The first major regular formation to reach the Chir front arrived at the end of November, when XVII Army Corps under General of Infantry Hollidt fought its way into the area of the Rumanian Third Army. Everybody heaved a sigh of relief.

At Wenck's suggestion Army Group now subordinated to General Hollidt the entire Don-Chir sector with all formations which had been fighting there; these were formed into the "Armeeabteilung Hollidt." Thus the motley collection of units known to the troops as "Wenck's Army" ceased to exist. It had accomplished a task with few parallels in military history. Its achievement, moreover, provided the foundation for the second act of the operations on the Chir—the recapture of the high ground on the river's south-western bank, indispensable for any counter-attack.

This task was accomplished at the beginning of December by the 336th Infantry Division brought up for the purpose and by the 11th Panzer Division following behind it. The high ground was taken in fierce fighting and held against all Soviet attacks. These positions on the Chir were of vital importance for the relief of Stalingrad as planned by Manstein, an offensive for which the Field-Marshal employed Hoth's Army-sized combat group from the Kotelnikovo area east of the Don. The Chir front provided flank and rear cover for this rescue operation for Sixth Army. More than that—as soon as the situation permitted XLVIII Panzer Corps, now under the command of General of Panzer Troops von Knobelsdorff, was to support Hoth's operation by attacking in a northeasterly direction with 11th Panzer Division, 336th Infantry Division, and a Luftwaffe field division. The springboard for this auxiliary operation was to be Sixth Army's last Don bridgehead at Verkhne-Chirskaya, at the exact spot where the Chir ran into the Don. There Colonel Adam, General Paulus's Adjutant, was holding this keypoint with hurriedly collected ad hoc units of Sixth Army in truly heroic 'hedgehog' fighting. Thus all steps were being taken and everything humanly possible was being done at this eleventh hour by dint of courage and military skill to rectify Hitler's great mistake and to rescue the Sixth Army.

Hitler Moves East-Paul Carell

Disaster on the Don

STALINGRAD is on the same parallel as Vienna, Paris, or Vancouver. At that latitude the temperature in early November is still fairly mild. That was why General Strecker, commanding XI Corps in the great Don bend, was still wearing his lightweight overcoat as he drove to the headquarters of the Austrian 44th Infantry Division, the Hoch-und-Deutschmeister Division.

In the fields the soldiers were busy lifting potatoes and fodder beet, and raking maize straw and hay—supplies for the winter.
General Strecker's XI Corps was to have covered the left flank of Stalingrad along the big Don bend. But this loop of the river was 60 miles long—and 60 miles cannot be held by three divisions. As a result, the general was compelled to adopt a position along a chord of the arc; in this way he saved about 30 miles, but it meant surrendering to the Soviets the riverbend at Kremenskaya.

Lieutenant-General Batov, commanding the Soviet Sixty-fifth Army, immediately seized his opportunity, crossed the Don, and was now established in a relatively deep bridgehead on the southern bank. Batov's regiments made daily attacks on the positions of Strecker's divisions in an attempt to bring about the collapse of the German flank on the Don. But Strecker's divisions were established in good positions. Colonel Boje, for instance, when he welcomed the Corps Commander at the headquarters of 134th Infantry Regiment, was able to point to such a clever system of positions on the high ground behind the river that he confidently assured him: "There will be no Russian getting through here, Herr General."

Strecker asked for very detailed reports, especially about everything that had been noticed from the division's observation post at the edge of a small wood south-west of Sirotinskaya since the end of October. From the edge of that wood there was an excellent view far across the Don. Through the trench telescope it was even possible to make out the German positions of VIII Corps all the way across to the Volga.

But above all the enemy's hinterland lay revealed to the eye, like a relief map. And, indeed, a great many significant moves had been spotted: the Russians were bringing up troops and materials to the Don in continuous day-and-night transports, both against Strecker's front and against that of the Rumanian Third Army adjoining it on the left.

Anxiously Corps headquarters recorded these reports every evening. They were fully confirmed by aerial reconnaissance of Fourth Air Fleet. Every morning Strecker passed the reports on to Golubinskaya, where General Paulus had his headquarters. And Paulus, in turn, had been passing the reports on to Army Group since the end of October. Army Group's reports to the Fuehrer's Headquarters stated: The Russians are deploying in the deep flank of Sixth Army.

On this flank along the Don there stood, next to Strecker's Corps, the Rumanian Third Army along a front of about 90 miles. Next to it was the Italian Eighth Army, and next to that the Hungarian Second Army. "Why is such a broad sector held only by Rumanians, Herr-General?" the staff officers would ask their GOC.
They had nothing against the Rumanians—they were brave soldiers— but it was common knowledge that their equipment was pitiful, even more pitiful than that of the Italians. Their weapons were antiquated, they lacked adequate anti-tank equipment, and their supplies were insufficient. Everybody knew that.

But Marshal Antonescu, the Rumanian Head of State, had insisted—as had also Italy's Mussolini—that the forces he was making available for the Eastern Front must be employed as complete units only, and under their own officers. Hitler had reluctantly agreed, although he would have preferred to follow his generals' advice to adopt the "boned corset" method— i.e., to employ alternate foreign and German formations, the latter acting as stiffening units.

This idea, however, was ruled out by the national susceptibilities of Germany's allies. As a result, the flank cover of the main German forces at Stalingrad, with their thirteen infantry divisions, three motorized divisions and three Panzer divisions, was entrusted to foreign Armies whose operational effectiveness was inadequate.

Naturally, Hitler too read the reports about Soviet troop concentrations opposite the Rumanian front. At his situation conferences he heard the Rumanian Colonel-General Dumitrescu warn of the danger and ask that the Rumanian Third Army should be given anti-tank and Panzer formations to support it, or else should be allowed to shorten its front. To shorten a front was a proposal which invariably aroused Hitler's indignation.

To yield ground was not part of his tactics. He wanted to hold everything, forgetting Frederick the Great's old adage: "He who would defend everything defends nothing at all."
In judging the situation on the Don front in the autumn of 1942 Hitler was confirmed in his optimistic assessment by a paper prepared by the Army General Staff, a document so far not widely known. This suggested that an analysis of the General Staff section for "Foreign Armies East" of 9th September 1942 showed that the Russians had no operational reserves of any importance left on the Eastern Front. This Hitler was only too ready to believe. Why then yield ground?

As for the Rumanians' request for anti-tank and Panzer support, Hitler proved reasonable. But the only major formation that could be made available and directed behind the Rumanian Third Army—apart from a few formations of flak, Panzers, Jäger battalions, and Army artillery—was Lieutenant-General Heim's XLVIII Panzer Corps with one German and one Rumanian Panzer division, as well as units of 14th Panzer Division. This Corps was temporarily detached from Fourth Panzer Army and transferred to the area south of Serafimovich.

Normally a German Panzer Corps represented a very considerable fighting force, and more than adequate support for an infantry Army. It would have been quite sufficient to protect the threatened front of the Rumanian Third Army. But Heim's Corps was anything but a Corps. Its centre-piece was the German 22nd Panzer Division. This division had been lying behind the Italian Eighth Army since September in order to be rested and replenished. Contrary to the plans of the Army High Command, it had been only partially re-equipped with German tanks, to take the place of the Czech-manufactured ones, and as yet had few Mark Ills and Mark IVs. Moreover, the division had parted with its 140th Panzer Grenadier Regiment under Colonel Michalik a few months before to send it to Second Army in the Voronezh area. There the "Brigade Michalik" was made into 27th Panzer Division.

The division's Panzer Engineers Battalion finally had been engaged in street fighting in Stalingrad for several weeks. It is important to remember these facts to understand with what kind of shadow unit the German High Command was hoping to meet a very palpable threat to the Rumanian front on the Don.

Was Hitler aware of all this?
Was he informed of the fact that 22nd Panzer Division had not yet been re-equipped?
There are many indications that this had been kept from him. On 10th November Corps headquarters and 22nd Panzer Division received orders for the division to move into the sector of the Rumanian Third Army. The division's last units left for the south on 16th November, making for the big Don loop. It was a 150-mile journey through frost and snow. But neither the frost nor the snow was the main problem. There seemed to be a jinx on this Panzer Corps: one nasty surprise was followed by another.

While stationed on a "quiet front" the 22nd Panzer Division had received practically no fuel for training or testing runs. Its 204th Panzer Regiment, consequently, had been lying scattered behind the Italian Don front, camouflaged under reeds and entirely immobile. The tanks had been well hidden in pits dug into the ground and protected against the frost with straw.

The Panzer men had been unable to convince their superior commands that a motorized unit must keep its vehicles moving even during rest periods, and for that purpose required fuel. But no fuel was assigned to it, and engines therefore could not be tested. That then was how Colonel von Oppeln-Bronikowski found the 204th Panzer Regiment shortly before it was moved. When departure was suddenly decided upon and the tanks were to be brought out hurriedly from their pits, only 39 out of 104 could be started up, and that only with difficulty. A further 34 dropped out in the course of the move: the engines simply conked out and the turrets of many tanks refused to turn. In short, the electrical equipment broke down.

What had happened?
The answer is staggeringly simple. Mice, nesting in the straw with which the tank-pits were covered, had entered the tanks in search of food and had nibbled the rubber insulation of the wiring. As a result, faults developed in the electrical equipment, and ignition, battery-feeds, turret-sights, and tank guns were out of action. Indeed, several Panzers caught fire from short circuits and sparking. And since disasters never come singly, there was a severe drop in temperature just as the unit set out on its march—but the Panzer Regiment had no track-sleeves for winter operations. Somewhere these had been lost on the long journey to the Don.

The result was that the tanks slithered from one side of the icy roads to the other and made only very slow headway. The Tank Workshop Company 204 had not been taken along on this move because of fuel shortage, which meant that no major repairs could be carried out en route. Instead of the 104 tanks listed in the Army Group records as constituting the strength of 22nd Panzer Division, the Division in fact reached the assembly area of XLVIII Panzer Corps with 31 armored fighting vehicles. Another 11 followed later.

On 19th November, therefore, the Division could boast 42 armored vehicles—just about enough to amalgamate the tanks, armored carriers, and motor-cycles, as well as a motorized battery, under the name of Panzer Combat Group Oppeln.

The second major formation of the Corps—the Rumanian 1st Panzer Division—had 108 tanks at its disposal on 19th November. But of that total 98 were Czech 38-T types—perfectly good armored fighting vehicles, but inferior in armor and fire-power even to the Soviet medium tanks. The "corset boning" designed to stiffen the Rumanian Third Army on the middle Don about mid-November was therefore no real stiffening at all. Yet it was here that the Russian Armies were massing.

November 1942 was a month of disasters. On 4th November Rommel's Africa Army was badly mauled by Montgomery at El Alamein and had to save itself by withdrawing from Egypt into Tripoli. Four days later Eisenhower's invasion army landed in the rear of the retreating German forces, on the west coast of Africa, and started advancing on Tunis. The long-range effects of the shocks in Africa were felt on all German fronts. Hitler now found himself compelled to secure also that part of Southern France which had hitherto been unoccupied. As a result, four magnificently equipped major mobile formations, which might otherwise have been available for the Eastern Front, were tied down in France— the 7th Panzer Division, and the " Leibstandarte," " Reich," and " Death's Head " Waffen SS Divisions.

Against the firepower and effective combat strength of these four divisions Chuykov with his troops on the Volga bank would not have stood up for forty-eight hours.

On 9th November Hitler returned to Berchtesgaden from a visit to the Munich Lowenbrau Cellar, where he had assured his old comrades of the 1923 putsch: "No power on earth will force us out of Stalingrad again!"
Jodl now handed him the latest reports. They indicated that the Russians were deploying not only north-west of Stalingrad, on the middle Don, opposite the Rumanian Third Army, but also south of the hotly contested city, where two Corps of the Rumanian Fourth Army were covering the flank of Hoth's Fourth Panzer Army. These Soviet moves, reported from various sources, indicated an early attack.

Scowling, Hitler read the reports and bent down over his map. One glance was enough to show him what was at stake. The Soviet deployment along both wings of the Stalingrad front suggested an intended pincer operation against Sixth Army. Although he was still inclined to under-rate Soviet reserves, Hitler nevertheless realized the danger threatening along the extensive Rumanian sectors of the front. "If only this front were held by German formations I wouldn't lose a moment's sleep over it," he observed. "But this is different. The Sixth Army really must make an end of this business and take the remaining parts of Stalingrad quickly."

Quick action was what Hitler wanted. He was anxious to put an end to the strategically useless tying down of so many divisions in one city; he wanted to regain his freedom of operation. "The difficulties of the fighting at Stalingrad and the reduced combat strength of the units are well known to me," the Fuehrer said in a radio message to General Paulus on 16th November. "But the difficulties on the Russian side must be even greater just now with the ice drifting down the Volga. If we make good use of this period of time we shall save a lot of blood later on. I therefore expect that the commanders will once again display their oft-proved energy, and that the troops will once again fight with their usual dash in order to break through to the Volga, at least at the ordnance factory and the metallurgical works, and to take these parts of the city."

Hitler was right about Russian difficulties due to the ice on the river. This is confirmed by Lieutenant-General Chuykov's notes. In connection with the situation reports of the Soviet Sixty-second Army and its supply difficulties, Chuykov observes in his diary: "14th November. The troops are short of ammunition and food. The drifting ice has cut communications with the left bank.
"27th November. Supplies of ammunition and evacuation of wounded have had to be suspended."

The Soviet Command thereupon got Po-2 aircraft to carry ammunition and foodstuffs across the Volga. But these machines were not much help since they had to drop their cargoes over a strip only about 100 yards wide. The slightest error, and the supplies dropped either into the river or into enemy hands.

Paulus had Hitler's message urging him to make a quick end at Stalingrad read out to all commanding officers on 17th November. On 18th November the assault parties of the Stalingrad divisions renewed their attack. They hoped that this would be the final charge.
And so they stormed against the Russian positions—the emaciated men of Engineers Battalions 50, 162, 294, and 336. The grenadiers of 305th Infantry Division leapt out of their dug-outs, bent double, weapons at the ready, knapsacks bulging with hand-grenades. Panting, they dragged machine-guns and mortars across the pitted ground and through the maze of ruined factory buildings.

Bunched around self-propelled AA guns, behind tanks or assault guns, they attacked—amid the screaming roar of Stukas and the rattle of enemy machine-guns. Soaked to the skin by drizzling rain and driving snow, filthy, their uniforms in tatters. But they stormed—at the landing-stage of the ferry, at the bread factory, at the grain elevator, among the sidings of the "tennis racket." On their first day they "conquered" 30, 50, or even 100 yards. They were gaining ground—slowly but surely. Another twenty-four hours, or perhaps forty-eight hours, and the job would be done.
However, on the following morning, 19th November, at first light, just as the assault parties were resuming their step-bystep advance through the labyrinth of masonry among the factory buildings, storming barricades made of old Russian gunbarrels, flinging explosive charges down manholes into effluent tunnels, slowly inching their way to the Volga bank, the Russians launched their attack against the Rumanian Third Army on the Don, 90 miles away to the north-west.

Colonel-General von Richthofen, commanding Fourth Air Fleet, notes in his diary: "Once again the Russians have made masterly use of the bad weather. Rain, snow, and freezing fog are making all Luftwaffe operations on the Don impossible."
The Soviet Fifth Tank Army was striking from the Serafimovich area—the exact spot where there should have been a strong German Panzer Corps, but where in fact there was only the shadow of a Panzer Corps, Heim's Corps.
The Soviets came in strength of two armored Corps, one cavalry Corps, and six rifle divisions. On the left of the Fifth Tank Army the Soviet Twenty-first Army simultaneously struck southward from the Kletskaya area with one armored Corps, one Guards cavalry Corps, and six rifle divisions.

This multitude of Soviet Corps sounds rather frightening. But a Soviet Army as a rule had only the fighting strength of a German Corps at full establishment, a Soviet Corps more or less equaled a German division, and a Soviet division was roughly the strength of a German brigade. Colonel-General Hoth very rightly observes: "We over-rated the Russians on the front, but we invariably under-rated their reserves."
The Soviet attack was prepared by eighty minutes of concentrated artillery-fire. Then the first waves came on through the thick fog. The Rumanian battalions resisted bravely. Above all, the 1st Cavalry Division and the regiments of the Rumanian 6th Infantry Division, belonging to General Mihail Lascar, fought stubbornly and held their positions.
But the Rumanians soon found themselves faced with a situation they were not up to. They fell victim to what Guderian has called " tank fright," the panic which seizes units inexperienced in operations against armor. Enemy tanks, which had broken through the line, suddenly appeared from behind, attacking. A cry went up: "Enemy tanks in the rear!" Panic followed. The front reeled.

Unfortunately the Rumanian artillery was more or less paralyzed by the fog, and fire at pin-point targets was impossible. By mid-day on 19th November the catastrophe was taking shape. Entire divisions of the Rumanian front, in particular the 13th, 14th, and 9th Infantry Divisions, disintegrated and streamed back in panic.

The Soviets thrust behind them, westward towards the Chir, south-westward, and towards the south. Presently, however, their main forces wheeled towards the south-east. It was becoming obvious that they were making for the rear of Sixth Army.
Now it was up to XLVIII Panzer Corps. But everything suddenly seemed to go wrong with General Heim's formations. Army Group directed the Corps to counter-attack in a north-easterly direction towards Kletskaya—i.e., against the infantry of the Soviet Twenty-first Army, which had 100 tanks at their disposal. But no sooner had the Corps been set in motion than an order came from the Fuehrer's Headquarters at 1130 hours, countermanding the original order: the attack was to be directed towards the north-west, against what was realized to be the much more dangerous breakthrough of the fast formations of the Soviet Fifth Tank Army in the Blinov— Peschanyy area.

Everything about turn!
To support its operations the Corps was assigned the three divisions of the Rumanian II Corps—badly mauled and disintegrating units with little fight left in them. By nightfall on 19th November the Soviet armored spearheads had penetrated some 30 miles through the gap at Blinov. The German Corps, in particular the armored group of 22nd Panzer Division under Colonel von Oppeln-Bronikow-ski, performed an exemplary wheeling maneuver through an angle of 180 degrees and flung itself into the path of the enemy armored forces at Peschanyy. But the full damage done by the mice now began to show: the forced march through icy gorges, without track-sleeves to stop the tanks slithering about, resulted in further losses. As a result, the gallant but unlucky division arrived at the battlefield of Peschanyy with only twenty tanks, to face a vastly superior opponent.
Fortunately the Panzer Jäger Battalion was near by and, in some dashing actions and hotly fought duels of antitank gun against tank, succeeded in battering the Soviet armored spearhead.
Twenty-six T-34s lay blazing in front of the hurriedly established defensive lines. If there had been just one Panzer regiment on the right and left of them, one single Panzer regiment, the Red storm might have been broken here, at its most dangerous point. But there was nothing at all to the right or left—nothing except fleeing Rumanians.

The Soviets simply streamed past.
The 22nd Panzer Division, which apart from the Armored Group Oppeln had nothing left except its Panzer Jägers, one Panzer grenadier battalion, and a few batteries, was threatened with encirclement. It was forced to take evasive action. As a result, the Rumanian 1st Armored Division, engaged in gallant fighting under General Radu farther to the east, now became separated from 22nd Panzer Division. The Corps was split up and its fighting power gone.
Army Group realized the danger and hurriedly sent an order by radio to the Rumanian 1st Armored Division to wheel to the south-west to regain contact with Oppeln's group. But things continued to go wrong with Heim's Corps—almost as if there was a curse on it. The German signals unit with the Rumanian 1st Armored Division had been knocked out and so did not receive the order. As a result, instead of facing south-west, the gallant division continued to fight with its front towards the north. Meanwhile the Russians were driving south-east unopposed.

The intentions of the Soviets now emerged clearly. They were aiming at Kalach.
There was nothing left to oppose them with. The bulk of the Rumanian Third Army was in a state of dissolution and panic.
Within four days it lost 75,000 men, 34,000 horses, and the entire heavy equipment of five divisions. The Soviet offensive was well conceived and followed the pattern of the German battles of encirclement of 1941. While its two-edged northern prong was cutting through the shattered Rumanian Third Army, the southern prong launched its attack on 20th November against the southern flank of the Stalingrad front, from the Beketovka-Krasnoarmeysk area and from two other concentration points farther south.

Here too the Soviets had chosen for their offensive an area held by Rumanian units.
It was the sectors of the Rumanian VI and VII Corps. With two fully motorized Corps, so-called mechanized Corps, as well as a cavalry Corps and six rifle divisions, the Soviet Fifty-seventh and Fifty-first Armies of Yeremenko's Army Group launched their attack. Between these two Armies lurked the IV Mechanized Corps with a hundred tanks. As soon as a breakthrough was achieved this Corps was to race off for a wide outflanking attack on Kalach.
The bulk of the Soviet Fifty-seventh Army, with its tanks and motorized battalions, encountered the Rumanian 20th Division west of Krasnoarmeysk and smashed it with the first blow.
A dangerous situation developed, since that blow was aimed directly, and by the shortest route, at the rear of the German Sixth Army.

But now it was seen what a single experienced and well-equipped German division was able to accomplish;
it was also seen that the Soviet offensive armies were by no means outstanding fighting units.
When the disaster struck, the experienced 29th Motorized Infantry Division from Thuringia and Hesse was stationed in the steppe some 30 miles south-west of Stalingrad, as an Army Group reserve. It had been pulled out of the Stalingrad front at the end of September, reinforced to full fighting strength, and earmarked by the Fuehrer's Headquarters for the drive to Astrakhan.
At the beginning of November, in view of the difficult situation on the Caucasus front, it received orders through Hoth's Panzer Army to prepare to leave for the Caucasus at the end of November. Once there, the 29th was to prepare for the spring offensive. Such was the optimism in the German High Command at the beginning of November—notwithstanding the situation at Stalingrad.

Shortly afterwards a special leave train took some thousand men of the division back to Germany.

Then, on 19th November, this division in full combat strength, under the command of Major-General Leyser, was a real godsend. Since Colonel-General Hoth was unable to get through to Army Group on the telephone, he acted independently, and at 1030 hours on 20th November dispatched Leyser's Division straight from a training exercise to engage the units of the Soviet Fifty-seventh Army which had broken through south of Stalingrad.

The 29th set off hell for leather.

The Panzer Battalion 129 roared ahead, in a broad wedge of fifty-five Mark III and Mark IV tanks. Along the flanks moved the Panzer Jägers. Behind came the grenadiers on their armored carriers. And behind them was the artillery. In spite of the fog they drove forward, towards the sound of the guns.

The commanders were propped up in the open turrets. Visibility was barely 100 yards. Suddenly the fog cleared.
At the same moment the tank commanders jerked into action. Immediately ahead, barely 400 yards away, the Soviet tank armada of the XIII Mechanized Corps was approaching. Tank-hatches were slammed shut. The familiar words of command rang out: "Turret 12 o'clock—armor-piercing—400— numerous enemy tanks—fire in your own time!"
Everywhere there were flashes of lightning and the crash of the 7-5-cm. tank cannon. Hits were scored and vehicles set on fire. The Soviets were confused. This kind of surprise engagement was not their strong suit. They were milling around among one another, falling back, getting stuck, and being knocked out.

Presently a new target was revealed. A short distance away, on a railway-line, stood one goods train behind another, disgorging masses of Soviet infantry. The Russians were being shipped to the battlefield by rail.
The artillery battalions of the 29th Motorized Infantry Division spotted the promising target and started pounding it. The break-through of the Soviet Fifty-seventh Army was smashed up. But no sooner was this breach successfully sealed than the alarming news came that 18 miles farther south, in the area of the Rumanian VI Corps, the Soviet Fifty-first Army had broken through at the centre along the southern wing, and was now driving towards Sety with its fast IV Corps. A crucial moment in the battle had come. The 29th Motorized Infantry Division was still in full swing. If this unit could keep up its offensive defense by driving south-west into the flank of the Soviet mechanized Corps, which had about ninety tanks, it seemed very likely that this penetration too would be sealed off. Colonel-General Hoth was therefore getting ready to deliver this second blow at the flank of Major-General Volskiy's Corps.

But just then, on 21st November, an order came down from Army Group: Break off attack; adopt defensive position to protect southern flank of Sixth Army. The 29th Division was detached from Hoth's Fourth Panzer Army and, together with General Jaenecke's IV Corps, subordinated to Sixth Army. But it was not till the morning of 22nd November that General Paulus was informed that the 29th Motorized Infantry Division was now under his command.

In this way a magnificent, elite fighting unit with considerable striking power was held back and employed defensively in a covering line as though it were an infantry division, although in fact there was nothing to defend.
Admittedly, orthodox military principles demanded that the flank of an Army threatened by enemy penetrations should be protected—but in this particular instance Army Group should have realized that the southern prong of the Soviet drive was not for the moment directed at Stalingrad at all, but at Kalach, with a view to linking up with the northern prong on the Don and closing the big trap behind Sixth Army.

Weichs's Army Group has been accused, and not without justification of having pursued a strategy of piecemeal solutions, a strategy of "first things first." Naturally, it is easy to be wise after the event. In all probability, the Army Group did not at the time realize the aim of the Russian attacks. Nevertheless a properly functioning reconnaissance should have revealed what was happening within the next few hours. Major-General Volskiy's IV Mechanized Corps had meanwhile got as far as Sety. Even before nightfall the Russians took up rest positions. They halted their advance. What was the reason? The answer is of some interest.

The surprising appearance of the 29th Motorized Infantry Division on the battlefield had caused the Soviet Corps commander, Major-General Volskiy, who had just then been informed by radio of the disaster that had overtaken the Soviet Fifty-first Army, to lose his nerve. He was afraid of being attacked along his extended unprotected flank. In fact, he was afraid of the very thing that Hoth intended to do. He therefore halted his force even though his Army commander furiously demanded that he should continue to advance. But not until the 22nd, when no German attack came and when he had received another brusque order from Yeremenko, did he resume his advance, wheel towards the north-west and reach Kalach on the Don twenty-four hours later.

This course of events shows that a well-aimed thrust by 29th Motorized Infantry Division and units of Jaenecke's Corps could have changed the situation and prevented the encirclement of Sixth Army from the south. But when are reliable reconnaissance reports ever available during major breakthroughs? To make matters worse, Paulus and his chief of staff had spent most of their time on the move during these decisive days and hours. On 21st November Paulus had transferred his Army headquarters from Golubinskaya on the Don to Gumrak, close to the Stalingrad front. Meanwhile, accompanied by Arthur Schmidt, his chief of staff,, and by his chief of administration, he had flown to Nizhne-Chirskaya because there, at the point where the Chir ran into the Don, a well-equipped headquarters had been built for Army, with direct lines to Army Group, to the Army High Command, and to the Fuehrer's Headquarters. Nizhne-Chirskaya had been intended for the winter headquarters of Sixth Army—for the period after the capture of Stalingrad.

Paulus and his chief of staff had intended to make use of the good communications facilities at Nizhne-Chirskaya in order to acquaint themselves thoroughly and comprehensively with the situation before moving on to Gumrak. There never was the slightest shadow of suspicion—nor is there to this day —that Paulus intended to remain outside the pocket, away from his headquarters.
But Hitler clearly misunderstood the motives and intentions of the Commander-in-Chief Sixth Army. Paulus had barely arrived at Nizhne-Chirskaya when Hitler peremptorily ordered him to return into the pocket.
Colonel-General Hoth had also gone to Nizhne-Chirskaya in the morning of 22nd November, on orders from Army Group, in order to discuss the situation with Paulus. He found him irritable and profoundly upset by the humiliating order he had received from Hitler. The features of this military intellectual bore a pained expression and reflected his deep anxiety over the confused situation. Major-General Schmidt, the chief of staff, on the other hand, was calmness itself. He was constantly on the telephone to the various commanders in the field, collecting information, compiling a picture of the enemy's intentions, and discussing defensive measures. He was the typical detached, calm, professional General Staff officer. He was to again prove his strength of character during twelve years of Soviet captivity.
The details which Schmidt entered on his map, which lay spread out before him by the telephone, were anything but encouraging. The situation looked bad in the rear of Sixth Army, west of the Don. And it was not much better along its south-western flank.

Hitler Moves East-Paul Carell

Maybe if Rudel’s masters had bothered to equip the Romanians with something that was more effective against T-34s than a handful of rocks, they might have stayed in their positions and fought. As it was, many Romanian units did hold their ground until they were surrounded and overwhelmed.

You're absolutely right-many Rumanian divisions fought to the death considering that death was preferable to what would happen if they surrendered to the Russians. Hitler had plenty of warning about the Stalingrad offensive and what part of the front it would take place at. The Germans were quite adept at blaming others for their screw-ups.

Attack At Kletskaja

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 Rumanian 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. Rumanians. 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 Rumanian 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 re-munition 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 Rumanians; 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 motorized 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 northwest. 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.

Stuka Pilot-Han Ulrich Rudel

Tough sentence for one of Holder's people.

Stalingrad

It was Hitler’s ill-fortune that the battle [Stalingrad] perfectly suited the elemental spirit of the Red Army.
A panzergrenadier officer wrote:

‘We have fought for fifteen days for a single house, with mortars, machine-guns, grenades and bayonets. The front is a corridor between burnt-out rooms … The street is no longer measured in metres, but in corpses. Stalingrad is no longer a town. By day it is an enormous cloud of burning, blinding smoke; it is a vast furnace lit by the reflection of the flames. And when night arrives – one of those scorching, howling, bleeding nights – the dogs plunge into the Volga and swim desperately for the other bank. The nights of Stalingrad are a terror for them. Animals flee this hell; the hardest stones cannot bear it for long; only men endure.’

Max Hastings-All Hell Let Loose

That area of Far Rockaway has many projects and is largely black & Hispanic. A little further to the west is Rockaway and Breezy Point, largely white and home to many present and former city workers. At one time the Rockaway Beach area was largely Irish and Jewish and was considered the premier summer beach community of the middle class but since then huge condos in one area and city housing projects in another area has robbed the whole area of its identity.

One problem has to be the large amount of duplicate (or triplicate) posts on FR. How about having a little patience when we post?
Try to allow at least 5 minutes before you repost.

One thing I don’t understand is the polls agree that Romney is winning among Independents, by 7 points or so. Whoever has done this in the past has won. Why are they thinking it will be different this time?

One main reason was because Zero had a substantial lead among women-which appears to not be the case anymore.

Last week I was polled by Quinnipiac. Although the poll was mainly concerned with NY matters it did ask "if the election were held today.......etc.
now the person who asked the questions on this poll was unmistakably African-American which raises the question-how many white Romney voters felt comfortable telling her their true voting preferences (like me)?

I have a friend who is the nicest guy in the world but he's a bit of a gun connoisseur. Beside a basement full of [legal] sporting rifles he also has a collection of old military rifles [M1-semi] [1903 Springfield] [Mauser KAR 7.92]
I may have the designations wrong-not much into guns but he also has one of the Italian rifles used to kill Kennedy. He's always bragging that if anything ever happens he will take care of his neighborhood by arming anyone without a gun. I don't know whether to worry more about him or potential rioters if something happens.

Noticed the small blurb on the disappearance of the USS Grunion which vanished on her way to Dutch Harbor with seventy souls on board.

She left Pearl Harbor on 30th June, 1942 and after calling at Midway to top up her tanks, headed north to the Aleutians on her first war patrol.
She was ordered to patrol north of Kiska and on 15 July she reported that she had been attacked by an enemy destroyer and that she had fired three torpedoes at the vessel, but all missed.

Later that same day she reported that she had engaged three Jap submarine chasers , sank two, and badly damaged the other.
After the war Jap records confirmed the Grunion had indeed sunk the Ch.25 and Ch.27.

On 19 July she joined other US subs patrolling the approaches to Kiska harbor.On the 28th she reported an unsucessful attack on enemy shipping and a subsequent depth charging.

Her last report on the 30th told of heavy anti-submarine activity in her patrol area so she was ordered to leave the area and proceed to Dutch Harbor.
USS Grunion and her crew of seventy were never seen or heard from again.

The loss of Grunion will always remain a mystery and post war examination of Japanese records reveal no enemy action after she left Kiska.

Lucky I’m not in charge of those drones-I would make it an extra-exciting visit for these hags.

Considering that many of the Guardian’s readers would have been rooting for the Commies, I’m not surprised they didn’t like it.

SIXTH ARMY MOVES TOWARD ITS FATE (PART V)

DURING the night of 17th/18th September Chuykov had to clear out of his bomb-proof shelter near the Tsaritsa.
It was virtually a flight, for grenadiers of the Lower Saxon 71st Infantry Division, the division with the clover-leaf for its tactical sign, suddenly appeared at the Pushkin Street entrance to the dug-out towards noon. Chuykov’s staff officers had to grab their machine pistols.
The underground gallery was rapidly filling with wounded and with men who had become separated from their units. Drivers, runners, and officers smuggled their way into the safety of the dug-out under all kinds of pretexts, “in order to discuss urgent matters.”

As the underground passages had no ventilation system they were soon filled with smoke, heat, and stench. There was only one thing to do—get out. The headquarters guard covered the retreat by way of the second exit, into the Tsaritsa gorge. But even there German assault parties of Major Fredebold’s 191st Infantry Regiment were already in evidence.
Carrying only his most important papers and the situation map, Chuykov surreptitiously made his way through the German lines to the Volga bank, through the night and the fog, and together with Krylov crossed to the eastern side by boat. Chuykov at once boarded an armored cutter and recrossed the Volga to the upper landing-stage in the northern city.

There he established his battle headquarters in the steep cliff towering above the river, behind the “Red Barricade” ordnance factory—a few caves blasted into the 650-foot-high bluff in the blind angle of the German artillery. The various dug-outs were linked by well-camouflaged communication trenches in the steep scarp.

Glinka’s kitchen was accommodated in the inspection shaft of the effluent tunnel of the “Red Barricade” works. Tasya, the serving-girl, had to perform real acrobatics dragging her pots and pans up the steel ladder of the shaft into the daylight and then balancing them down a cat-walk along the cliff-face into the Commander-in-Chief’s dug-out. Admittedly, the number of mouths to be fed at headquarters had greatly diminished. Various senior officers, including Chuykov’s deputies for artillery and engineering troops, for armor and for mechanized troops, had slipped away quietly during the move of headquarters and had stayed behind on the left bank of the Volga.
“We shed no tears over them,” Chuykov records. “The air was cleaner without them.”

The move which the C-in-C Stalingrad had to perform was symbolical: the focus of the fighting was shifting to the north. The southern and central parts of the city could no longer be held. On 22nd September the curtain went up over the last act in the southern city. Assault parties of 29th Motorized Infantry Division, together with grenadiers of 94th Infantry Division and the 14th Panzer Division, stormed the smoke-blackened grain elevator.

When engineers blasted open the entrances a handful of Soviet marines of a machine-gun platoon under Sergeant Andrey Khozyaynov came reeling out into captivity, half insane with thirst. They were the last survivors.

Men of the 2nd Battalion of the Soviet 35th Guards Division were lying about the ruins of the concrete block—suffocated, burnt to death, torn to pieces. The doors had been bricked up: in this way the commander and commissar had made all retreat or escape impossible.
The southern landing-stage of the Volga ferry was likewise occupied. Grenadiers of the Saxon 94th Infantry Division under Lieutenant-General Pfeiffer, the division whose tactical sign was the crossed swords found on Meissen porcelain, took over cover duty along the Volga bank on the southern edge of the city.

In Stalingrad Centre, in the heart of the city, Soviet opposition also crumbled. Only a few fanatical nests of resistance, manned by remnants of the Soviet 34th and 42nd Rifle Regiments, were holding out among the debris of the main railway station and along the landing-stage of the big steam ferry in the central river-port. By 27th September—applying the customary criteria of street fighting—Stalingrad could be said to have been conquered.

The 71st Infantry Division, for example, had reached the Volga over the division’s entire width—211th Infantry Regiment south of the Minina gorge, 191st Infantry Regiment between the Minina and Tsaritsa gorges, and 194th Infantry Regiment north of the Tsaritsa. The fighting now centred on the northern part of the city with its workers’ settlements and industrial enterprises. The names have gone down not only in the history of this war, but in world history generally—the “Red Barricade” ordnance factory, the “Red October” metallurgical works, the “Dzerzhinskiy” tractor works, the “Lazur” chemical works with its notorious “tennis racket,” as the factory’s railway sidings were called because of their shape. These were the “forts” of the industrial city of Stalingrad.

The fighting for Stalingrad North was the fiercest and the most costly of the whole war. For determination, concentration of fire, and high density of troops within a very small area these operations are comparable only to the great battles of material of World War I, in particular the battle of Verdun, where more than half a million German and French troops were killed during six months in 1916. The battle in Stalingrad North was hand-to-hand fighting. The Russians, who were better at defensive fighting than the Germans anyway, benefited from their superior possibilities of camouflage and from the skilful use of their home ground.

Besides, they were more experienced and better trained in street fighting and barricade fighting than the German troops. Finally, Chuykov was operating right under Khrushchev’s eyes, and therefore he whipped up Soviet resistance to red heat. As each company crossed the Volga into Stalingrad three slogans were impressed on it:

Every man a fortress!

There's no ground left behind the Volga!

Fight or die!

This was total war. This was the implementation of the slogan "Time is blood."

The chronicler of 14th Panzer Division, Rolf Grams, then a major commanding Motor-cycle Battalion 64, quotes a very illuminating account of an engagement: "It was an uncanny, enervating battle above and below ground, in the ruins, the cellars, and the sewers of the great city and industrial enterprises—a battle of man against man. Tanks clambering over mountains of debris and scrap, crunching through chaotically destroyed workshops, firing at point-blank range into rubble-filled streets and narrow factory courtyards. . . . But all that would have been bearable. What was worse were the deep ravines of weathered sandstone dropping sheer down to the Volga, from where the Soviets would throw ever new forces into the fighting. Across the river, in the thick forests of the lower, eastern bank of the river, the enemy lurked invisible, his batteries and his infantry hidden from sight. But he was there nevertheless, firing, and night after night, in hundreds of boats across the river, sending reinforcements into the ruins of the city."

These Soviet supplies flowing in steadily across the river to buttress the defenders, this fresh blood continually pumped into the city through the vital artery that was the Volga— these constituted the key problem of the battle. The key to it all was in the weathered sandstone gorges of the Volga bank. The steep bluff, out of reach of the German artillery, contained the Soviet headquarters, the field hospitals, the ammunition dumps. Here were ideal assembly points for the shipments of men and material across the river at night. Here were the starting-lines for counter-attacks. Here the tunnels carrying the industrial sewage emerged on the surface—now empty underground galleries leading into the rear of the German front.

Soviet assault parties would creep through them. Cautiously they would lift a manhole cover and get a machine-gun into position. Suddenly their bursts of fire would sweep the rear of the advancing German formations, mowing down cookhouse parties and supply columns. A moment later the manhole covers would drop back into place and the Soviet assault parties would have vanished. German assault troops assigned to deal with such ambushes were helpless. The steep western bank of the Volga was worth as much as a deeply echeloned bomb-proof belt of fortifications.
Frequently only a few hundred yards divided the German regiments in their operations sectors from the Volga bank.

General Doerr in his essay on the fighting in Stalingrad observes quite correctly: "It was the last hundred yards before the Volga which held the decision both for attacker and defender."
The way to this vital bank in Stalingrad North led through the fortified workers' settlements and industrial buildings. They formed a barrier in front of the vital steep bank. It would take an entire chapter to describe these operations. A few typical examples will testify to the heroism displayed on both sides.

At the end of September General Paulus tried to storm the last bulwarks of Stalingrad, one after another, by a concentrated assault. But his forces were insufficient for an all-embracing large-scale attack on the entire industrial area. The well-tried 24th Panzer Division from East Prussia, advancing from the south across the airfield, stormed the " Red October " and " Red Barricade " housing estates. The Panzer Regiment and units of 389th Infantry Division also captured the housing estate of the " Dzerzhinskiy " tractor works, and on 18th October fought their way into the brickworks. The East Prussians had thus reached the steep Volga bank. In this sector, at least, the objective had been attained. The division then moved south again into the area of the " Lazur " chemical works and the " tennis racket " railway sidings.

The 24th had tackled their task—but at what cost! Each of the grenadier regiments was just about large enough to make a battalion, and the remnants of the Panzer Regiment were no more than a reinforced company of armored fighting vehicles.

Those crews without tanks were employed as rifle companies. The huge " Dzerzhinskiy " tractor works, one of the biggest tank-manufacturing enterprises in the Soviet Union, was stormed on 14th October by General Jaenecke's 389th Infantry Division from Hesse and by the regiments of the Saxon 14th Panzer Division. Across the debris of the vast factory grounds the tanks and grenadiers of the 14th drove through to the Volga bank, wheeled south, penetrated into the " Red Barricade " ordnance factory, and thus found themselves immediately in front of the steep bank close to Chuykov's battle headquarters.
The ruins of the gigantic assembly buildings of the tractor plant, where Soviet resistance kept flaring up time and again, were gradually being captured by battalions of the 305th Infantry Division from Baden-Württemberg, the Lake Constance Division, which had been brought from the Don front on 15th October to be employed against Stalingrad's tractor plant.

The men from Lake Constance were engaged in protracted fighting with companies of the Soviet 308th Rifle Division under Colonel Gurtyev. The operation was a perfect illustration of General Chuykov's remark in his diary: "The General Staff map is now replaced by the street plan of part of the city, by a sketch plan of the labyrinth of masonry that used to be a factory."

On 24th October the 14th Panzer Division reached its objective—the bread factory at the southern corner of the " Red Barricade." The Motor-cycle Battalion 64 was heading the attack. On the first day of the fighting Captain Sauvant supported the assault on the first building with units of his 36th Panzer Regiment. On 25th October the attack on the second building collapsed in the fierce defensive fire of the Russians. Sergeant Esser was crouching behind a wrecked armored car. Across the road, at the corner of the building, lay the company commander—dead. Ten paces behind him the platoon commander —also dead. By his side a section leader was groaning softly —delirious with a bullet through his head.

Quite suddenly Esser went berserk. He leapt to his feet. "Forward!" he screamed. And the platoon followed him. It was some 60-odd yards to the building—60 yards of flat courtyard without any cover. But they made it. Panting, they flung themselves down alongside the wall, they blasted a hole into it with an explosive charge, they crawled through, and they were inside. At the windows across the room crouched the Russians, firing into the courtyard. They never realized what was happening to them when the machine pistols barked out behind them: they just slumped over. Now the next floor. Cautiously the men crept up the stone staircase. Each door-frame was covered by one man. "Ruki verkh!" Aghast, the Russians raised their hands. In this way Esser captured the building with a mere twelve men, taking eighty prisoners and capturing an anti-tank gun and sixteen heavy machine-guns. Hundreds of Soviet dead were left behind on the macabre battlefield of the second block of a bread factory.

Across the road, in the line of buildings forming the administrative block, Captain Domaschk was meanwhile fighting with the remnants of the 103rd Rifle Regiment. All the company commanders had been killed. The brigade sent Second Lieutenant Stempel from its headquarters personnel, so that at least one officer should be available as company commander. A sergeant put him in the picture about the situation. A moment later Stempel moved off with his motor-cycle troops to attack between a railway track and a shattered wall. In front of him Stukas were pasting all nests of resistance. In short bounds the men followed the bombs, seizing the ruins of the administrative block and approaching the steep Volga bank. But there were only two dozen men left.

And from the gorges of the steep bank ever new masses of Soviet troops were welling up. Wounded men with bandages, commanded by staff officers, drivers from transport units, even the sailors from the ferries. They were mown down, and dropped to the ground like dry leaves in the autumn. But they kept on coming. Stempel sent a runner: "I cannot hold out without reinforcements!" Shortly afterwards came seventy men, thrown into the fighting by a forward command. They were led by a lieutenant. Two days later all seventy were dead or wounded. Stempel and the men of 103rd Rifle Regiment had to withdraw and give up the river-bank.

Nevertheless some four-fifths of Stalingrad were in German hands during those days. Towards the end of October, when the Westphalian 16th Panzer Division and the infantrymen of 94th Infantry Division had at last captured the hotly contested suburb of Spartakovka, which had been fought over ever since August, and smashed the Soviet 124th and 149th Rifle Brigades, as much as nine-tenths of the city were in German hands.

Outside Chuykov's headquarters in the steep cliff the Soviet 45th Rifle Division was holding only a short strip of bank, approximately 200 yards across. South of it, in the " Red October " metallurgical works, only the ruins of its eastern block, the sorting department, the steel foundry, and the tube mill remained in Russian hands. Here units of the 39th Guards Rifle Division under Major-General Guryev were fighting stubbornly for every piece of projecting masonry. Every corner, every scrapheap, had to be paid for dearly with the blood of the assault parties of 94th and 79th Infantry Divisions. Contact towards the north, with 14th Panzer Division, was maintained by the companies of 100th Jäger Division, which at the end of September had been switched from the Don bend to Stalingrad—a further illustration of how the long Don front was being everywhere denuded of German troops for the sake of capturing that accursed city of Stalingrad.

South of the " Red October " metallurgical works only the " Lazur " chemical works with its " tennis racket " sidings, as well as a minute bridgehead around the steam ferry landing-stage in the central river port, were still being held by the Soviets.

By the beginning of November Chuykov was altogether holding only one-tenth of Stalingrad—a few factory buildings and a few miles of river-bank.

BTW: I will be posting the final part of 'Soviet Atrocities' within the next couple of days.
I am on vacation at the moment and all attempts to transfer the file from home to my luxurious vacation villa in upstate New York have been unsuccessful.

Three photographs depicting infantry of 389th Infanterie-Division cautiously moving through a ruined factory. During the battle for the Tractor Factory the Soviet 37th Guards Rifle Division was driven back, but they contested every meter of ground. Hand grenades were used extensively by both sides. By evening of 4 October these German troops had gained one block of flats in the factory apartment block. But still the Soviets would not give up. During the night they counterattacked the German positions with Katyusha rockets with considerable successes. For the next week bitter fighting raged. On 14 October, billed as "the final offensive," von Paulus sent five divisions supported by the Luftwaffe against the tractor factory. Throughout the day a bloody battle ensued around the factory and inside the workshops. In just one day in the area the Germans lost 40 tanks and 2,000 soldiers killed.

Tractor Factory (2)

Tractor factory (3)

A picture of complete destruction. One of the ruined factories following the bitter fighting. Significant numbers of troops on both sides were injured by nail punctures, twisted ankles, injured knees and elbows, and falling debris. During mid October after the tanks had broken through the strong Soviet defenses, 389th Infanterie Division moved into the 2-1/2-kilometer long hive of destroyed factory buildings and shops.

An officer, probably a Kompaniechef, of 389th Infanterie-Division issues orders to his troops during a pause in the fighting for the factories. With the high casualty rate junior NCOs were often leading platoons and Gefreiter leading groups. An NCO in the center holds a 9mm MP40 submachine gun, known as a Kugelspritze (bullet-squirter). The soldier to the left carries a Soviet 7.62mm SVT-40 semi-automatic rifle, which the Germans designated the SI.Gew.259(r).

German infantry prepare to move a 7.5cm le1G.18 light infantry gun forward during a heavy exchange of fire. An infantry regiment's infantry gun company usually had four 7.5cm and two 15cm infantry guns. Note the scalloped shield that helped distort its shape making it more difficult to detect. An experienced gun crew were able to fire at least eight to twelve shells a minute. The crew are all wearing camouflage helmet covers made of salvaged Zeltbahn fabric.

A heavy machine gun group covers infantrymen as they investigate a knocked out StuG III 7.5cm assault gun. It was common practice for troops to occupy knocked out vehicles and turning them into pillboxes. Armored vehicle crews were very reluctant to take their machines forward into built-up areas unless protected by infantrymen from close-in attack.

A soldier fires an MG34 on the outskirts of the city amid a workers' housing area. On the edge of his position is a 7.92mm Mauser Kar.98k carbine, the standard Wehrmacht shoulder weapon. The Landser referred to it variously as a Gewehr (rifle, even though it was a carbine), Mauser Suchse (Bochse container, but also an old term for a firearm), Mauser Karabiner, Flint (colloquialism for shotgun), or Knarre (colloquialism for rifle). He also possesses a 7.62mm PPSh-41 submachine gun.

An MG-4 heavy machine gun group brings its gun into action in one of the city's suburbs. The infantry battalion's machine gun company had two heavy machine gun platoons, each with four guns. On open terrain they would protect the flanks of advancing rifle companies, place long range suppressive fire through gaps between units, or deliver overhead fire on enemy positions. In built-up areas they had to operate forward with the rifle platoons, often as light machine guns with bipods only, but could still sometimes be positioned to take advantage of their accurate long-range fire.

A group of Panzergrenadiere hitch a ride on board a StuG III 7.5cm assault gun after successfully capturing a part of the city center in early October. Soviet prisoners are herded forward to clear rubble, recover bodies, and remove mines, booby traps and dud munitions. The city was covered with a layer of fine dust from explosives-churned ground, masonry mortar, and ash. When it rained this turned into a slimy mud.

German panzer troops, part of the Panzer battalion under Count Strachwitz, complete mopping up prisoners in the Kalach area. Most of the Soviets were shocked when German panzers stormed into the town without warning. The following day the great bridge at Kalach was taken by Second Lieutenant Kleinjohann with units of 3rd Company Engineers Battalion 16 by a daring coup which involved putting out a fire on the bridge. The damage done to its roadway and sub-structure was quickly repaired.

German troops inside the Red October Steel Plant.

Troops of the 16th Panzer division in the northern part of the city. But by day's end the position of the 16th Panzer was perilous. The Soviets were holding the approaches to the northern part of the city and were bringing in troops from Voronezh. The success of the German effort depended on holding and strengthening that slender corridor across the land from Kalach to the Volga. In this day's fighting the Germans had actually been forced back more than a mile.

One of the twenty-odd bridges across the Don built by German engineers. Here parts of V Panzer Corps cross the river on Aug 23.

The investigative findings of the Wehrmacht War Crimes Bureau relating to war crimes of the Red Army against captured and/or wounded German soldiers as well as attacks upon medical orderlies, physicians and stretcher bears – all illegal in international law – during the first months of the war between Germany and the Soviet Union, exceeded the worst fears and all the powers of human imagination. From the very first day of the war, the conduct of the Soviet Union simply wiped out all the obligations of international law, reached by treaty agreements between [nearly all] civilized nations as expressed in the Fourth Hague Convention on Land Warfare and the various Geneva Conventions [1929 Geneva Prisoner of War Convention and 1929 Geneva Convention on the Amelioration of the Condition of the Sick and Wounded in the Field], not to mention other treaties, utilizing the same methods of brutality towards prisoners and the wounded prisoners of war and medical personnel as were customarily employed by the Soviet authorities against its own citizens.

The following case records contain graphic and explicit case histories of Soviet atrocities committed against German soldiers and airmen on the Eastern Front during World War 2.
It is being posted for a couple of reasons. First, it was incidents such as these that helped turn the Eastern Front into the vicious, inhuman and terrifying fighting conflict it ultimately became. Most German fighting men viewed the war in Russia with hatred, revulsion but, most of all, terror. It also was a large reason why so many German soldiers fought to the death rather than surrender to an enemy who would shoot them down the minute they surrendered, if they were lucky. Rumors quickly spread among the Wehrmacht fighting units of the tortures their sick and wounded comrades had endured at the hands of the Soviet enemy. Not only were most of these horrors true, they were abundant. The German fighting man may have had mixed feelings about their Russian enemy at the start of the war but after hearing some of these terrible stories that quickly changed, particularly during the early years of the war. Another reason these are posted is that many of these incidents are virtually unknown to us in the west. While Soviet atrocities were somewhat familiar to the higher-ups in Washington and London very little news of these horrifying events reached most of the Allied people until very late in the war. Since the Soviet Union was the one responsible for keeping the large bulk of the German Army and Luftwaffe pinned to the Eastern Front and since the Russians were paying the price in millions of causalities a year-it was felt that opening this can of worms was not worth the price. Anyone who doubts the authenticity of these terrible stories is just fooling themselves-I have read a large part of the extra documentation that goes with many of these incidents (transcripts and judicial proceedings) and in my opinion they are largely accurate.

Out of respect for the dead, the names of victims were abbreviated in all cases. The full names are available for consultation in the Freiburg Military Archives by document volumes. By contrast, the names of all judges, witnesses, and experts-where I include them, etc. are given in full.

One further thing-there are a massive amount of these cases so I have left out a huge number but have tried to include only a moderate amount that are interesting (if one can use that word when dealing with these horrors)-even with that I have had to break up the cases into separate postings on different days. For those of you who feel I have included too much information-I apologize ahead of time.

Lieutenant General von Hubicki, Commander of 9th Panzer Division and members of staff being briefed about the possibility that German airmen have been executed in the city of Lemberg (Lvov), which has just been seized by German forces.

Soviet Atrocities

Two German fliers, a First Lieutenant and Wachmeister (Cavalry Sergeant)were captured by the Russians after bailing out of their burning plane on 22 June 1941, southwest of Lomza, in the vicinity of Zambro.
One of the two fliers had a serious knee injury after bailing out and also had suffered a wound in the face, which seriously hindered his vision due to severe bleeding. Immediately after being taking prisoner, Russian soldiers tore off their clothing down to shirt and underclothing. All their private property was confiscated. They were insulted and finally forced to walk for two hours, clothed only in shirt and underclothing, barefoot, with their hands up, in front of the Russians on poor, rutted paths through the fields for approximately two hours. Whenever they allowed their hands to drop due to exhaustion, they were jabbed with rifle barrels. One of the two German prisoners, a First Lieutenant was even whipped with a Nagaika by a Russian officer. After painful hours, they reached the village of Sambridze-Stare. There they were interrogated by high-ranking Russian officers. They were interrogated as to their membership as German troops. When the two Germans refused to give information, they were led to a fenced-in potato patch one of the roads from Ostrow-Maz.-Bialystok, where there was a barn on the side opposite the road. They were ordered to stand with their backs up against the barn. They were guarded by mounted sentries armed with carbines, on both sides of the field. When the area suddenly came under fire, obviously by German forces, one of the sentries aimed his carbine at the Wachmeister (cavalry sergeant) and shot him in the thigh and immediately afterwards shot him again in the upper arm. When the Wachmeister called out to his superior “First Lieutenant, I’m hit!”, he received no answer, because the First Lieutenant had also been fatally shot in this same moment by a shot in the back. The Russian sentries ran away. During the night, Russian officers appeared and checked to be sure that both POWs were dead. Since they both looked dead, they went away again. The survivor succeeded in reaching German lines again the next day.

Case 002

On 22 June 1941, a wounded German soldier in the municipality of Mosty-Male (on the demarcation line) had to be left behind in the company of an unwounded German soldier. Both men were to be rescued soon afterwards. Before this could be accomplished, Russian troops reached Mosty-Male. A Russian officer and two soldiers visited the Mayor’s office, found the wounded German soldier lying there, and shot him dead, although his status as a wounded man was clearly discernible from his bandages. The unwounded German soldier only escaped the same fate because he was concealed by members of the municipality. After the withdrawal of the Russians, the members of the municipality buried the murdered German POW in their cemetery. Establishment of the facts concerning the wounded German soldier is based on the sworn testimony of the rural innkeeper, Michajlo, and the rural innkeeper, Wasylyna, as well as the daughter of the house, Huta, in Mosty-Male.

Case 003

The Russian POW, Colonel Antonoff, tank liaison officer with the 10th Russian Army in Bialystok, made the following statement under interrogation: “On 22 June 1941, a German flier was shot down over Bialystok. The pilot saved himself by bailing out. He was captured and interrogated. After the interrogation he was shot for no special reason.”

Case 004

Flight Lieutenant T. who bailed out near Dziembrov on 22 June 1941, was beaten after being taken prisoner on the same day in Dziembrov, tied up with his hands tied behind his back, and transported to Minsk, together with Russian or Polish civilian prisoners, where he was shot in a house at no. 10 October Street on 25 June 1941, according to information from the Russian school inspector Dajnako. These facts are proven by the testimony of the bookkeeper Michael Zmarzly and master butcher Antoni Rodziewicz.

Case 005

At Smigliai, likewise on the same day as the outbreak of the German-Russian war, four German soldiers captured by the Russians were found dead by advancing German troops shortly afterwards. They had been murdered by shots in the back of the neck, two of them furthermore with numerous additional bullet wounds (sworn testimony of Lieutenant Zernack).

Case 008

On 24 June 1941, a German military aircraft was hit by Russian fire west of Minsk. The crew, consisting of Lieutenant Sch. as pilot, Corporal W as radio operator, Gefreiter H as mechanic and Feldwebel Aubeck as observer, were forced to bail out of the burning plane.
The witness Feldwebel Aubeck, upon whose testimony the following description of the facts of the case is based, met Lieutenant Sch and Corporal W soon after hitting the ground. They decided to try to reach a forest lying in a western direction, but as a result of the swampy terrain they made only slow progress. In this situation, they were suddenly surrounded by four Russian soldiers, armed with weapons, machine guns and other heavy weapons. Since resistance was completely hopeless, they gave themselves up by raising their hands. The Russians nevertheless continued to fire their weapons at the downed fliers, but without hitting them. They were then taken prisoner by the Russians, and Lieutenant Sch was tied up with his hands crossed behind his back by means of a leather strap. After a short march they were loaded onto a vehicle with and tied to the vehicle with ropes. About an hour another two German fliers were brought up. The fliers, now five in number, were then loaded onto a truck under the escort of a Russian flier lieutenant and a large number of Russian soldiers. But first they had all their private property taken away. Two Russian women, who were present when the fliers were taken prisoner, “rode shotgun” on the truck as well. Shortly before reaching Minsk, all the POWs were blindfolded. The further procedure after their arrival at Minsk was described by Feldwebel Aubeck in his testimony of 20 October 1941:

“The truck stopped suddenly and we were pushed out of the truck onto the ground with kicks. There I was grabbed by the collar and, as I could perceive despite the blindfold, pushed into a house. Then we went up some stairs, during which I was pushed once against the wall or against the landings, another time I received a blow to the back of the knee, so I fell on the floor. Finally we were brought into a room in which the only talking was in a whisper. There my straps were loosened, but immediately tied up again, even tighter than before. My arms were bound against my back, first beneath the elbows and then the hands were crossed. We were then pushed down the stairs again. I heard that a flier, who was unknown to me by name, expressed pain due to the swelling of his knees, which he had drawn together. The Russians obviously didn’t like that, since I immediately heard him receive a blow to the head with a rifle butt after which he was pulled downstairs by his legs. I could see out from beneath my blindfold, and was able to observe for a moment the manner in which aircraft officer was dragged past me. We were led through a type of cellar passageway into an unlit courtyard. They forced us to lie down in a corner by the wall. I immediately lay down voluntarily, since I had given up all hope of life and only wished to lose consciousness as quickly as possible. I deliberately lay down in such a way that my face on the ground and turned to the wall, because I did not wish the first blows to hit me in the face. While on the ground, I pushed my blindfold upwards, and lost it on the ground. As my eyes became accustomed to the darkness, I could see what was going on in my immediate vicinity. At first, I immediately received a blow with a hard object; I had the impression that it was a brick. In the meantime I turned somewhat and saw behind me Corporal W, now without blindfold, who had sat up, and said “Goodbye” to me. Immediately afterwards, I only heard a gurgle from him. I then received a blow. On the other hand, I saw how Lieutenant Sch lay near me, rolled over on his back, his face upwards. A Russian repeatedly stomped Lieutenant Sch’s face with the heel of his boot. At first, Lieutenant Sch kept saying to him, “You’re crazy, you’re crazy”, until he, too, could only gurgle. I myself alternated between consciousness and unconsciousness. I then still saw the manner in which the pilot, who was not known to me by name, received a blow in the back. As he writhed around and groaned, a Russian stuck his bayonet in his side several times.

“I was afraid that I might be buried alive, so I attempted to receive a fatal blow as quickly as possible. I also saw a Russian standing on Lieutenant Sch, with one foot on his mouth and one foot on his stomach. In the effort to receive a decisive blow, I straightened up and first received a blow with a boot against my mouth and nose, so I fell over again, with my face to the wall. I then received a powerful blow to the left side of my skull, as a result of which I lost consciousness.
“I regained consciousness the next morning, mainly as result of the heat, due to the fact that the Russians had set fire to the entire area. My whole face was swollen, until I had only a slit for a left eye, allowing me to see a little bit. I only came to slowly and gradually and I finally remarked that I was lying between Lieutenant Schw’s legs. I finally succeeded in getting to my feet. I saw that Lieutenant Sch was still warm, but that he was dead. He was no longer breathing and gave no signs of life when I shook him. On the other hand, Corporal W. was still alive and asked me where Lieutenant Sch was. The other pilot was still giving signs of life, while his radio operator lay dead. I couldn’t see the Russians any more, except for one Russian prisoner, who was also tied up, almost naked, and trying to remove his ropes by rubbing them against some roof guttering. I dragged myself into the house to look for a knife. At the same time, I noted that the house was a prison. Finally, the only useful object I found was a rusty knife; I dragged myself further along with the knife, until I came to a washroom in which there was an old chaise longue with a hole in it. I stuck the handle of the knife into the hole, put the edge between my ropes, and sawed them through. Then I ran back to the courtyard. I saw how the captured Russian and a German, whom I took for Corporal W, lay in the courtyard. I dragged the German quickly into the house after loosening his ropes. I placed him on top of some laundry lying there, in a room in which I had found water. I went back out to the courtyard to look after the other one. But I saw that the corner where we wanted to break out was already enveloped in flames. So I went back and hid in the room in which I had hidden my comrades. On the third day, I noted that the comrade whom I had saved was not Corporal W, but rather the pilot from the other machine. He died during the night of the third day. The next morning, I laid him on a bunk in a cell. I maintained what was left of my vital energy by calculating that the Germans could be there by the sixth or seventh day. On the seventh day after I crash-landed, I actually heard the sounds of fighting and dragged myself outside, until I saw German tanks on a street, and the tanks picked me up.”

Case 007

In the region of Suwalki, on the morning of 23 June 1941, four German soldiers traveling by truck towards Kalwarja were compelled by sudden heavy Russian fire to leave the vehicle and seek cover in ditches alongside the road. Since they were unarmed, they were forced to surrender to a force of approximately 25 Russians. There were forced to raise their hands and led into the Russian position. There were forced to take off their shirt and boots, their personal property, in particular, watches rings, handkerchiefs etc. was taken away, and they were briefly interrogated. Finally, they were compelled to sit down at the edge of a ditch, where they were blindfolded. The Russian position then came under unexpected German fire. The Russians began to vacate the position. In any case, Gefreiter Roeben who has reported these events as a sworn witness, decided, from the actions of the Russians, that the Russians intended to withdraw. The Russians started their vehicle and fired six another shots before they drove away. The witness immediately had the feeling that they had killed his three comrades with two shots each, and was waiting for them to kill him, too, which they didn’t, however. Very distinctly, he heard his comrades’ death-rattle and death struggles, and one of them spoke to him after that, until all was still. After other Russians repeatedly appeared during the night without discovering him, he was found by German comrades. He then found that his three comrades had been killed by the withdrawing Russians.

Case 009

On 2 July 1941, it was my task to view captured vehicles on the river bank opposite Kernarava (northwest of Vilna). In the forest, I was told that the body of a German soldier had been found by the side of the road.
I found it by accident.
The uniform was open, the hands and elbows were tied together, and the skull had been smashed in (apparently) with a spade. The brain lay approximately 1 meter away from the body. Judging by the uniform he was a Gefreiter 2 from the Anti-Tank [Company] [?] of the 253rd Division. In the piece of forest in the direction of the Fort, another Anti-Tank [specialist] was found murdered in the same manner. He lay only a few meters from the piece of ordinance, which he had apparently been attempting to use to fire on enemy batteries approximately 70 m away. On 3 July 1941, the locals reported that pieces of German uniforms had been found in a ditch. The ditch was immediately opened and several other anti-tank soldiers were also found, also bound. The first had been killed by several stab wounds in the breast, while the second was without any lower jaw. The above mentioned corpses were photographed by myself. On the location of the two graves were two pools of blood, one of which I also photographed. The graves were photographed according to location and marked by stacks of roots, enabling them to be found again. A total of 14 bodies were found in the graves, as established by a Lieutenant of the Anti-Tank unit, who then secured the bodies and buried them in the cemetery at the transfer site of Division P. According to his testimony, all bodies exhibited leg wounds, and all the bodies had been tied up at a later time, and were later obviously tortured to death, as shown by the mutilations. Their hands were tied together so tightly that the skin was wrinkled and loose on the flesh. An examination of the Russians’ personal effects showed pictures of Mongols, and postcards from Finland and Poland. According to the testimony of the locals, the Russians had bivouacked there for 3 days, and were then disturbed by the Anti-Tank Division. The latter were ambushed and shot at from 3 sides. At the vehicle parking area at the Fort, a number of bodies were found, also mutilated, but not tied. They were locals captured by the Russians. The personal effects of several soldiers from the regimental staff were found at the locations shown on the sketch. They were buried. The location of the bodies is unknown to me.

Case 012

The bodies of three German fliers were found in the 14th military hospital in Lemberg, after the capture of the city. The former Russian divisional advisor of the same field hospital, by the name of Pilichiewicz, as well as the Russian physician Dr. Sadlinski, testified as follows in the sworn interrogation of 4 July 1941.

the witness Josef Pilichiewicz:
“I am employed as the caretaker of the surgical division. On one of the first days of the war, two wounded German officers were delivered to the surgical division, guarded by several Soviet soldiers. It was at any rate said that these were German officers, they might have been non-commissioned officers or enlisted men. They were no longer wearing a uniform when they were brought in. They were clothed in their shirts. Both were only slightly wounded. I can’t say which type of wounds they had, since I didn’t see the wounds myself. Dr. Sadlinksi will provide information as to the type of wound. A few days later a third wounded German soldier was brought in. It was also said of this one that he was an officer. I am unable to say what type of wound he had. The guards who delivered the soldiers indicated that all three wounded men were fliers. The plane was said to have been shot down and the fliers were said to have bailed out. Whether they were really fliers I do not know from my own observation. The responsible divisional doctor did not take any particular care over the wounds. Dr. Sadlinksi, a civilian physician employed here, took over the wounded men and visited them from time to time. When Dr. Sadlinksi proposed to the divisional physician that the wounded should receive medical help, the other wouldn’t talk about it. At first, the medical personnel were still allowed to talk to the wounded men, but soon afterwards but this was soon forbidden by the divisional commissar. When Lemberg was evacuated by the Russians on Sunday 29 June, the Russian wounded were carried into the courtyard. When the last vehicle was loaded, the medical personnel was released from the hospital and immediately sent home. At this time, I remained in the vicinity of the operating room, which was located on the ground floor. It might have been eleven o’clock German time. When everything had been loaded, I saw commissars Loginow and Moslow enter the hospital through the central door. They both had a Nagan in their hand. They went up to the first floor. After a short time I heard several shots. I hurried up the stairs, to reach the first floor. After a short time, I heard several shots. I hurried up the stairs to reach the first floor. As I came out onto the stairs, both the two above mentioned commissars came out towards me. Besides myself, the administrator, named Litoszewski, was also on the stairs with a pistol in his hand. All three left the hospital without saying a word to me. I then went back into my warehouse. There was no doubt in my mind that the commissars had shot the wounded men. I never went back into the room myself, but rather went straight home, because the Soviets were shouting that they would shoot anybody still in the hospital

Witness Dr.Czeslaw Sadlinski:
“On one of the first days of the war two German fliers were delivered to the local hospital. They were only slightly wounded. I wish to correct that, I can’t say with certainty that they were members of the Luftwaffe. But they talked about it in the hospital. Nor can I say that they were officers. I myself had the opportunity to see both the German soldiers in the hospital. Their wounds were not very serious. One soldier had a wound in the chest, the other only had a skin abrasion the size of a hand on his knee joint. Both wounded men were placed in Room 21. I myself was not the acting physician. A Soviet Russian military doctor was responsible for the treatment. Out of interest I visited the two German soldiers for approximately two days after their delivery to the hospital and kept myself informed as to their state of health. Both explained to me that they were doing well, and that their bandages had even been changed. On the date of the evacuation of the hospital, I went to the room of the German wounded, in the morning, to see how they were. A third wounded man had also been delivered in the hospital. He was also a member of the Luftwaffe. I don’t know his rank. I know he had the following wounds: a dislocation of the left shoulder joint, a fracture of the left upper arm, and a tarsus. I suggested to the acting physician that the shoulder should be manipulated back into its socket, and be placed in a cast. But I received no answer. When I mentioned it a second time, the physician explained to me – it was the Captain (Medical Corps) Sambor – “OK, OK”. I myself had attempted the manipulate the shoulder back into the socket. But it didn’t work, since everything was swollen and this would only have been possible under anesthesia. When I again suggested that the patients be brought into the operating room so as to perform the manipulation under anesthesia, I only received the answer “OK, OK”. After this incident, I didn’t see the wounded men any more. I can give no further factual information. Employees of the hospital later told me that the wounded men had been shot by Russian commissars.”
The nurse, Gryglöwna, also fully confirmed the testimony of the two other witnesses reproduced above. The names of the three murdered German fliers were still visible in the hospital bath book.

Case 020

On 27 or 28 June 1941, at the fortifications of Skomorochi, approximately eight to ten kilometers northeast of Sokal on the Bug, five German officers or Corporals and Gefreiters were cruelly mutilated by Russian troops after being wounded in combat.
Major S’s left eye was put out, in addition to which the bone of the lower jaw was exposed by a smooth cut from ear to ear, exposing the upper and lower jaw bones.
Stabsfeldwebel P’s right eye had been put out, his left eye seriously injured, and the left ear cut off, by a crescent-shaped cut from below, in addition to which the upper arm joint was crushed. Wooden splinters in the right eye socket appear to justify the assumption on the part of the Surgeon Major*,* Dr. Stankeit, that the eye had been put out with a piece of wood. Gefreiter Sch. had also had his left eye put out, while Stabsfeldwebel W had lost the right eye. Corporal L. exhibited smooth-edged cuts around both eye sockets; the interior of the eye socket hung torn to pieces, hanging by a piece of flesh. In the expert opinion of the medical expert, the fact that, in all cases, serious bleeding from the eye sockets was visible, indicated that these mutilations had been inflicted prior to death.

Case 015

For the record: My name is Friedrich Bauer, I am 27 years old, of the Catholic faith, First Lieutenant and Company Chief of the 2nd Company, 90th Anti-Tank Division.
On the facts: I heard by written report from Lieutenant Rolf that he had found the bodies of 5 German soldiers in the vicinity of a house approximately 800 m north of the Rozana-Slonim road, in the section of his platoon, all of whom had obviously been killed by shots to the back of the neck and stab wounds; all the bodies had been plundered.
I went to the location, and found what had been reported. I forwarded the report to my division. Approximately one hour later, my commander appeared. Major Knape, together with First Lieutenant of the General Staff Baierlein, on behalf of the Chief of Staff of the 2nd Panzer Group, and visited the location where the bodies were found, together with myself.
They also became convinced of the correctness of the data of Lieutenant Rolf of the General Staff. First Lieutenant Baielein, in his presence, took several photographs of the bodies, particularly, those which had been tied up.
After returning to my command post, I ordered medical orderly Corporal Schönborn to examine the wounds on the bodies once again, and to gather the personal effects. I sent the personal effects, already gathered by Lieutenant Rolf, to the responsible agencies. The bodies were buried at my order on the same evening.
Read out, approved and signed. Bauer
The witness was legally sworn.
1. Stabsfeldwebel Lützig:

Case 018

During an attack on 26 June 1941, Feldwebel Krieg suffered a gunshot wound to the stomach. Medical orderlies J. and J. attempted to care for him and other wounded men. At this moment, Russians reached them in sudden advance and killed them with cudgel blows to the head, or bayonet wounds to the back of the head, although both medical orderlies were clearly identified as medics by their Red Cross armbands. The Russians had no reason to doubt that the men killed were acting in the line of duty as medics. Feldwebel Krieg, despite his serious wound, received two blows with a cudgel on the head. Many other wounded and defenseless members of the 2nd Police Security Regiment were beaten to death or killed during the same fire-fight.

Case 024

In the fighting near Mosty and Rozanka on 27 June 1941, four German officers and soldiers who fell into Russian hands in a wounded and defenseless condition were also cruelly murdered. Proof of this was provided, not only by members of the German unit involved, but by Russian or Polish civilians who were eyewitnesses to these events. Russian POWs from the 20th Infantry Regiment, opposite the German 7th Infantry Regiment, explained to Lieutenant Radeck that they had received an order to shoot all captured or wounded German soldiers. This order had been obeyed. The farmer Stefan Bawinski, according to his sworn statement, had seen two German soldiers being led to a high-ranking Russian officer with their hands tied and crossed behind their backs, after which the officer shot them at point-blank range, one after another, with three shots each, each time walking away about ten meters, then approaching once again and firing another shot. These torments were witnessed by a great many high and low-ranking officers, including a major and commissar. As the German soldiers fell to the ground, all the Russians nearby, including the officers, stomped on them with their boots.

. Case 025

The tragic death of the four German fliers is reported in the record on the examination of the bodies dated 5 July 1941. The record shows that the four German fliers, most of whom were obviously seriously injured during their emergency landing, but who had succeeded in bandaging each other in a provisional manner, were then captured by the Russians, cruelly mistreated and then shot by the Russians in Drohobycz. One of these four fliers bore a provisional splint on the left leg, while another bore a so-called Kramer splint on the broken upper arm. The field pack bandage wrapped around the arm was German. Both his thighs had been provisionally splinted with box slats, the bandages around his thighs were also German. All four, including the most seriously injured, had had their hands tied behind their backs. All four fliers were killed by the Russians by means of gunshots to the back of the head. Two of them had also suffered other wounds.

Case 028

On the night of 28th - 29th June 1941, an anti-tank platoon was compelled to take evasive action due to overwhelming Russian superiority. In so doing, a severely wounded soldier who, at first could not be found, was left behind. On the next day, he was found in a rifle pit.

The testimonies in this regard are as follows:

There appeared (before the court) Lieutenant Georg Klümpel,1st Company, 111th Anti-Tank Co, born 12 July 1914, and stated as follows:
During the night of 28-29 June 1941 I led the 3rd platoon of the 1st Company, 111st Anti-Tank [Division] near Dubno. We then had to withdraw due to the overwhelming superiority of a Russian tank attack, with the exception of the severely wounded Z, whom we could not find. He was at an artillery emplacement which had received a direct hit. On the evening of the 29 June, we were advancing again to retrieve the artillery gun and, on the morning of 30 June we found Z, in a rifle pit almost as deep as a man. The dead man’s thigh had been torn off by a grenade fragment. A reconnaissance troop which had been sent forward during the afternoon under Feldwebel Buchold was unable to retrieve either Z or the artillery gun. When we found Z in the early hours of the morning of 30 June, in addition to serious wounds to the thigh, the right half of his face had been split in half with an axe other sharp object, and the forehead had been crushed inwards with a blunt object or the heel of a boot. The corpse also exhibited a through-and-through bullet wound to the left hand. It must therefore be assumed that the severely wounded man had lain in the rifle pit and was murdered by the Russians while he was bandaged and unable to defend himself. Z must have been bandaged by third parties, since he would have been unable to bandage himself since the thigh was completely severed. On the other hand, the other wounds were not bandaged. The thigh had been bandaged to keep him from bleeding to death. The Hitler Youth insignia which he wore had been violently torn off of the left breast pocket. The rifle pit was so deep and undamaged that the already seriously wounded man could not have been struck by grenades or rifle or machine gun fire in the rifle pit, but, rather, must have been murdered by the Russians.

Case 021

Near Sobrasl, on 28 June 1941, the bodies of approximately twenty severely mutilated German soldiers were found, after being wounded in combat and attempting to bandage themselves with their field pack bandages, but were then captured by the Russians.
Some of these wounded German soldiers had their eyes poked out, one of them was castrated, and, others were stabbed to death with their own bayonets.

Case 023

On 28 June 1941, north of Bialystok, at least eighteen wounded German soldiers who had been left behind by retreating German troops were murdered by Russian troops by means of gunshot wounds to the head, blows with cudgels, and stab wounds with their own bayonets.

Case 027

Lieutenant Czaplinski of the 206th Anti-Tank Division (Co) reports the following on another case of bestial cruelty of Russian troops against German soldiers:
“On 29 June 1941, a fire-fight occurred between a German advance division, including the third platoon of my Company, under the leadership of the Stabsfeldwebel Marquardt, and a Russian division near the locality of Mitkiskes, south west of Vilna. During the fire-fight, twelve members of the third platoon were found to be missing. In addition, the 206th Reconnaissance Squadron, which also belonged to the advance division, also had two men missing. On 1 July, we found, in searching the battle field, one of our soldiers, whose own bayonet been stuck into his buttock up to the handle.
We also found, on the same day the Leading Aircraftman (Luftwaffe) [Obergefreiter] G. who had been wounded with a shot in the leg, and who had several bayonet stab wounds in the chest.
The body also exhibited cutting wounds to the wrists. Another German soldier, whose identity we were unable to determine, was tied to a tree. The skull had obviously been split open with an axe
Two days later, that is, on 3 July, approximately three kilometers west of Mitkiskes, off the battlefield, we found the bodies of our missing comrades, who had all been covered with earth.
Russian local residents and an official of the Heimat vehicle fleet showed us the place. Based on the pay books and identity tags, we could determine the identity of the dead, who had been mutilated beyond recognition.
Corporal Sch had obviously been buried alive, since the body showed no exterior wounds, but was blue all over.
Corporal K had his entire chest ripped open. Rifleman F. was missing the upper part of his head, while Rifleman W had had his entire head smashed flat, Gefreiter D had part of the head smashed away, and one soldier from the reconnaissance squadron was completely lacking his chin. The bodies of Riflemen K and W also exhibited severe cranial injuries, which were doubtless inflicted with blows with hard objects. Gefreiter H had had obviously had his eye poked out with a sharp object.
Almost all the dead men had bayonet wounds in the chest, some had multiple fractures to the arms. That the comrades might have been honorably killed in battle is impossible, since the horrible mutilations indicate, beyond doubt, that they were bestially murdered. This is revealed, most significantly, by the fact that we didn’t find the bodies on the battlefield, but rather, some distance away. I assume that a higher-ranking staff had been located here, since we found a radio device, telephone lines and writing booth material lying around. Any doubt as to the identity of the dead must be ruled out, since it has been determined with the greatest exactitude based on pay books and identity tags

Case 032

On the Rozana-Slonim road, on 30 June 1941, as a result of treachery, men from a signal squad were captured by Russians who had equipped themselves with German riflemen’s coats and German helmets.
Shortly afterwards, 14 men from a signal squad were found with cruel mutilations: the arms were mutilated, the throats cut, the faces smashed; one severely wounded man had seven bayonet wounds, a crushed skull and a through-and-through bullet wound in the upper thigh.

Case 034

Also in the record of 14 August 1941, that the shooting of a German ambulance, perfectly well marked with the Red Cross, and the killing of the driver and passenger as well as several wounded soldiers being transported in the ambulance, is reported by the witness Lieutenant Hering, who states that he found four bodies whose arteries to the hand had been severed.

Case 035

The Russian POW Petro Jaremynko, as a member of a Russian unit in the vicinity of the small city of Mikolojow, on or about 1 July 1941, during witnessed the manner in which three German soldiers with their hands tied behind their backs were led by two Russian soldiers to the column of his battalion. Behind the soldiers followed the Russian captain Malezki, the Battalion commander of his battalion. In the vicinity of the column stood captain Malezki’s grooms. As the captain passed by the grooms he was given his saber. The captain then had the three prisoners led to one of the depressions in the ground in the vicinity and had them lined up. Then the captain drew the saber and struck at the prisoners’ heads. With every blow one of the prisoners fell down. When the captain had killed the last one, he turned around and went back to his battalion.

Case 036

Pictorial documentation to Case 036
A dead German motorized rifleman, both of whose eyes were put out. His nose and tongue were cut off. In the region of the chin were other severe cutting wounds, exposing the bone; he had a round hole in the forehead.
There appeared Lt. Spengler Walter, 31 years old, Evangelical, 841st Heavy Artillery Division, and declared as follows:
When my division was marching northwards down the road from Dereczyn towards Kozin about 1 o’clock in the afternoon today, an officer from our staff brought my attention to a dead German soldier who appeared to have been mutilated. I viewed the dead man and observed the following injuries on the body:
“The eyes had been put out, his ears and nose had been cut off, in addition to which he exhibited such serious cutting wounds in the area of the chin that they exposed the bones. He had a round hole in his forehead, but I could not tell whether it was a bullet entry wound or some other kind of injury. He must have been wounded in the area of the breast, since his shirt was drenched with blood there. Closer examination of the pockets of the dead man showed that he only had a few screws in his pockets. In the opening of his motorized rifleman’s jacket, was a celluloid envelope with his pay book, the soldier driver’s license, some correspondence and a few photos. Around his neck was a breast bag, still containing two zlotys and 50 pennies and a message with his home address: Gerhard B. Könitz bei S. Bahnhofstrasse 4 Th. These objects are hereby placed on the record. According to the pay book, the dead man was Rifleman Gerhard B. Field Post Number 38125, obviously a member of the 29th Division. I immediately ordered two photos made of the dead man by Gefreiter Eichert and Schmidt, at Unit Field Post Office 18047, and will have the films presented to the division for development and other proceedings. The dead man must have lain there for more than 24 hours when we found him, because an odor of decomposition became perceptible upon further searching. The dead man had neither his steel helmet nor his gas mask nor any weapon, but was completely dressed, in particular, with the motorized rifleman’s coat. I had the dead man buried immediately, and drew a map showing the burial location, hereby made available to you by myself, with the request that it be forwarded to the responsible burial officer.”

Case 037

The shooting of at least nine German POWS by Russian troops in a barracks in Riga on 1 July 1941, is described in the record of interrogation of the local veterinary surgeon, Conrad Apinis, the caretaker, Adolf Zakis, the merchant, Martin Sipols, the construction worker, Janson, and the female witnesses, Anna Lapinsch and Milda Rudsit.

Case 038

The witnesses interrogated according to the following record also describe the murder of three German soldiers on 2 July 1941 in Wielec. The soldiers had surrendered to superior forces, were then tied up and shot and/or stabbed to death.

“As to my person: My name is Kurt Stavenhagen, I am 34 years old, of the Evangelical faith, First Lieutenant (Medical Corps) with the Third Battalion, 51st (Motorized)**Infantry Regiment.
“As to the facts: During the advance of my Battalion on 3 July 1941 in Wielec, we were informed by a German-speaking resident of this village that, on the previous day at around 15 hours, three German soldiers had been taken prisoner and murdered by Russian soldiers. I had these civilians to lead me to the spot where the murdered German soldiers had been found. “We were able to observe the following:
“In the ditch along the road lay a German side car (BMW), bearing the tactical markings of the 18th Reconnaissance CO. I no longer remember the unit to which it belonged. Diagonally across from this sidecar lay a dead German soldier, on his back, his hands tied together with leather straps, whom, based on the pay book found on the body, we identified as Obergefreiter Erhard St. 18th Artillery Division. He bore a bullet entry wound the size of a lentil in the region of the left temple. On the right side of his forehead was an exit wound about the size of the head of a baby, covered with bits of brain. From this discovery, we concluded that this mutilation of the skull had been caused by a bullet fired at point-blank range.
“In the same ditch, at a distance of approximately 10 meters, lay another dead soldier who, as we could see from the pay book found on the body, had also been a member of the 18th Reconnaissance Division, named Herbert W. He lay with his back to the earth. I only took a closer look at this soldier after I had been with Obergefreiter St. and my companion had also examined W. As I came up to the body, his torso had already been laid bare. In the right side of the breast I observed three stab wounds with ragged, sharp-edges, probably caused by a Russian triangular bayonet. The corresponding stab wounds were also found in the front side of the field jacket.
“Near soldier W. lay another dead soldier on his back. We were unable to observe any indication of this unit or his name, apart from a steel helmet with the inscription ‘Henschel 10364’. The only other thing we found on him was a smooth engagement ring on the left ring finger with the engraving ‘LW 1939’. On the exposed right side of the breast, I noticed a bullet entry wound the size of a lentil. I turned him over and was unable to find any exit wound. I don’t know whether this wound entered through the front of the field jacket. “I assume that the last named soldier, had been plundered, since, apart from the ring, there were no personal effects on the body.

“Apart from the first named motorcycle sidecar, in the ditch along the road near the last dead man, lay a second motorcycle with sidecar. Both vehicles had been put out of action by shots to the gas tanks and tires as well as the violent destruction of the ignition. “The civilians who went with us together to this place and then helped us bury the bodies, were very shocked by this incident. The women cried continually and the men indicated by means of signs as well as through the German-speaking civilian, that we were to do the same to the Russians. The civilians also proved themselves very helpful during the erection of grave markers. We noticed especially that the German-speaking civilian, at our request, immediately prepared a beautiful wooden cross with inscription board.” Apart from myself, the following persons were present when these observations were made: Lieutenant Colonel Chrobek (wounded, repatriated to Germany); Lieutenant Schlegel, Adjutant, Third Battalion 51st Infantry Regiment; Lieutenant Wolf, at that time ordinance officer Third Battalion, 51st Infantry Regiment, at the present time platoon leader with the 9th Company, 51st Infantry Regiment; Feldwebel (Medical Corps) Oskar Fuchs, Third Battalion, 51st Infantry Regiment, And a number of soldiers from my battalion, now unknown to me by name. Photographs were taken of the tied up soldiers by Officer Maier, former Staff Third Battalion 51st Infantry Regiment, now wounded and repatriated to Germany).

Case 039

Court of the 4th Mountain Division Divisional Staff Headquarters, 9 July 1941

Interrogation: in response to an order, Dr Erich Koch, Second Lieutenant (Medical Corps) and Divisional Physician with the 94th Artillery Regiment, born on 19 September 1906 in Dillenburg (Hessen-Nassau) presently with Unit Field Post no. 27778, and stated as follows, according to his recollection of the truth, and after being apprised on the seriousness of the oath:
“Shortly before Bryzezeny, on 3 July 1941, the Russians were withdrawing. The Reconnaissance Division was ordered to protect the right flank of the division. Upon carrying out this order our 1st Squadron came into immediate contact with the enemy. The squadron was partly cut off by the Russians. During this mission, a total of 17 members of the same squadron were killed. Of these 17, six were found in terribly mutilated condition. In detail. these six dead men exhibited the following injuries:
“Two dead men had had their hands tied behind their backs. One had had his right eye put out and the face had been smashed in, probably with a rifle butt. The victim had had his tongue cut out and his throat cut at the level of the larynx.
“The other 4 were also mutilated. One had had the right hand the right elbow hacked off, so that the hand and lower arm only hung together by a few pieces of skin. Another had had the right arm stabbed through several times with a bayonet or other stabbing weapon. The arm looked like a sieve. Another 2 soldiers exhibited stab wounds all over their bodies, inflicted with a bayonet. All 6 mutilated soldiers had been completely plundered, for example, even their pay books and identity tag had disappeared. 4 soldiers had also been plundered of their boots. The incident had taken place either during the late morning or afternoon of the. I only saw the bodies in the evening, when they were brought in. As a result of the darkness, no more photographs could be taken. Burial was urgently required. Both the soldiers found with their hands tied had fallen into enemy hands in an unwounded condition. The other 4 soldiers had obviously been wounded before being captured; one of them had even been bandaged by our people. “I will inform the court of the names of the 6 above mentioned mutilated men and provide witnesses to the deed.” The witness was legally sworn, and confirmed his statements under oath.

Case 042

The report of a political commissar of 27 July 1941 to the Chief of the Political Division of the Russian 28th Army contained the following sentence:
“The shooting down of fascist aircraft with 76 mm guns lead to satisfactory results. Especially successful was the shooting of three fascist aircraft at 17:50 hours. Two fliers bailed out of an aircraft near the village of Kubarka. The first parachute didn’t open, and the flier was killed. The parachute of the other flier opened, but the parachute was destroyed by heavy machine gun fire and the flier was killed. All documents found on him were sent to the Army Staff.”
This report proves that a German flier was killed after bailing out in a parachute.

Case 043

The motorcyclist Kiesewetter reports on serious mistreatment and the attempted extortion of information as well as the shooting of approximately thirty German soldiers of all ranks in the courtyard of a prison near Smolensk, as follows:
“In the late afternoon of 8 July 1941 I was instructed to bring the daily orders of the division from the divisional command post to the 52nd Rifle Regiment.
This was said to be bivouacked in a location near Orscha. My way there led through a forest, which I considered free of enemy forces, because German troops had overrun it.
Shortly before a place, where the Rifle Regiment was said to be bivouacked, two trucks crewed by Russians had placed themselves on the paved taxiway, into which I drove into them.

The Russians took me prisoner.
They first took away all the personal articles I had with me, such as my watch, photos, money and my letters. Then my hands were tied and I was placed on the truck on my stomach, on the bed of the truck, while one or two Russians kneeled on top of me. This is how I was brought out of the command post. There I had to get down from the vehicle and take off my uniform. At this point, they made me get into a rifle pit, where I lay in the dark in my shirt under guard. During the night, I was transported further away again. My arms were also tied to my legs, so I was tied up like a bundle.
In this condition, I was thrown onto a truck. I was also blindfolded. In the early morning I came to another command post, where I was interrogated three times during the day. I was questioned about all kinds of military details. Since I made no statement, I was once again transported away during the following night, in the same manner. At the new command post, they offered me something to eat. As I tried to take it, a soldier kicked me in the body and I got nothing to eat.
As the interrogation continued that evening once again without success, I was tied hand and foot and laid in a latrine. My further transport took place in the same manner as above. On this trip, I was struck several times and struck with a rifle butt. On the fifth day of my captivity, I was beaten after an unsuccessful interrogation and put in a dark room. There I was subjected to blinding bright lights and interrogated by two women. During interrogation I was threatened with a pistol, beaten with a riding crop, and received blows with a cudgel on the soles of the feet and blow to the back of the neck. These brutalities were carried out by Russian soldiers. After this interrogation, I was once again taken away during the night and on the sixth day of my captivity I came to a bigger command post located in a suburb of Smolensk.

There I was not interrogated. A lieutenant from the squadron Mölders was loaded on my truck during the further transport. After about one or two hours, I was taken down off the truck and put into a car. The lieutenant was tied to the spare tire and I had to sit in the middle of the car between two soldiers.
After rather lengthy period of time driving around, we stopped in front of a prison or penitentiary and the lieutenant and I were thrown into a cell. We were tied up as before. I was not allowed to talk to the lieutenant, and therefore did not learn his name. We were closely guarded. “While the lieutenant and I were being brought into the cell, we saw about 30 soldiers of all ranks enter the courtyard of the prison, mostly tank crews and fliers. After we had been in the cell for a short time, we heard shooting in the courtyard, which lasted about half an hour. I assumed that the soldiers who had entered the courtyard had been shot. I did not see these shootings. “On the next day, the cells were broken open by the Russian civilian population, and we were let out of jail. While we were hurrying out I saw that the big hole in the courtyard, which had previously been open, had been filled in. Everywhere in the courtyard lay spent cartridges and there traces of fresh blood. “As we reached the street outside the prison, a German tank came up to us, and the lieutenant called to it. Since the tank shot at us, however, we were only wearing shirts, we got separated. I then ran into riflemen from the 29th (Motorized) Infantry Division and made a report. I lost sight of the lieutenant when we took cover during the shooting from the tank. “I had nothing to eat or drink during my captivity.”

Case 047

On 18 July 1941, near Korodonka, five wounded men from a German assault detachment were murdered by the Russians although they had already been bandaged by German medics, and were clearly recognizable as wounded. On 10 August 1941, near Luga, at least eight dead men from a reconnaissance division were found with their eyes gouged out and their skulls smashed in.

Case 050

A high-ranking Russian POW, in a report dated 5 August 1941, reports that, on 25 July 1941, a German soldier was taken out by a Second Lieutenant at about two in the afternoon into the courtyard of the so-called regional committee in Mogilev.
The prisoner was wounded in the thigh. The witness clearly saw that the prisoner’s trousers were torn and bleeding and that the soldier was wearing a bandage underneath. About half an hour after the arrival of the German prisoner, he was interrogated by a Russian Jewess. After abut another half hour, the witness saw that the second lieutenant and a Russian captain went over to the left side of the courtyard with the prisoner. After about two minutes, he heard two shots. In the view of the witness, the two officers had murdered the prisoner.
Both officers wore pistols on their belts, the captain also had a machine pistol. The witness assumed that the German soldier was buried in a ditch previously prepared in the courtyard. The assumption is confirmed by the autopsy performed on the same day, i.e. 5 August 1941.

The Russian POW also had the following to say:
“It is further known to me that – in saying this I must base my statements on conversations with Russian officers – that eleven German fliers were held prisoner in Mogilev, in the house of the “Special Division of the N.K.V.D.” of the 161st Infantry Division in Lenin Street, next to the State Bank.
They were said to have been the crews of several German bombers who had bailed out after being shot down by the Russians. I can say nothing about their whereabouts now. I assume that they were shot as well, since there was no possibility of transport.”

“The proof of the correctness of the information given by the Russian POW is provided in full by further investigations: the bodies of the eleven murdered German soldiers were found in a common grave on the terrain at 72 Lenin Street and furthermore, four more dead soldiers were found also in a garbage ditch on the same piece of land. All the circumstances indicate that these POWs were horribly tortured before being murdered.”

Case 051

On 22 July 1941, Obergefreiter Chubodba, acting as a dispatch carrier, was crossing the Dnieper Bridge during the attack on Mogilev. He and his platoon leader came under heavy machine gun fire and remained under cover. On order of the platoon leader, the platoon gradually withdrew. Suddenly, the witness noticed a wounded soldier, S. He buckled his belt on, in order to help him. At the same time, he saw five or six Russians approach Obergefreiter W, in front of him, and threw him over the railing of the bridge into the Dnieper. At this point, they approached and gave him a kick that laid him on his side. They then turned to the wounded soldier, who lay in a pool of blood, gouged his eyes out with his own bayonet, and likewise threw him into the Dneiper after emptying his pockets. The witness himself was taken by the Russians to an officer who interrogated him. When the witness refused to give the desired information, he was given time to think until the next morning. If he didn’t give information regarding the German light signals, he would be thrown into the Dneiper like his comrades. During the night, they forced him to drag grenade munitions to the bridge, and from the house to the river bank to a cabin on the bridge itself. His Company, successfully liberated him from Russian captivity during the attack on the afternoon of the same day. In the record of 16 September 1941, Lieutenant von Mosch, as witness, confirmed having found the body of Obergefreiter W lying in the Dneiper. Both eyes had been gouged out and the scalp half had been torn off, from the forehead to about the middle of the skull. The body exhibited several injuries to the head, and especially the face.

Case O53

On 8 August 1941, in Hoffungsthal, near Zebrikovo, advancing German troops found a Russian field hospital in which there were no more Russian patients. On the other hand, the medical personnel was still on the spot. Towards evening, a ten year old German-speaking child appeared and reported that a German soldier in the field hospital had been beaten to death and buried by the Russians before their withdrawal. We found a cesspool about 2 to 3 meters deep, from which we were able to recover the buried body. It was only slightly covered with earth. The outer appearance of the body allowed one to conclude that death had occurred about two or three days before. On the right shoulder was an bullet wound, obviously not serious, which had been treated with a bandage. The skull and the back of the head had been completely smashed by serious violence, (blows with axe or entrenching tool). The brain was largely empty, the eye sockets deeply sunken. This was undoubtedly a case of violent murder of a very seriously injured man. The Russian male nurses questioned, in conclusion, reported that the soldier in question had only had a slight wound, and should never have died from it. The Russian soldiers had on the evening before their withdrawal drank a great deal. As the nurses and other hospital members came to the hospital at ten the next morning, the foreign soldier was no more to be seen. In view of the body, the nurses declared that it was the soldier described by them, who had had occupied a bed in the hospital. They also recognized the bandage on his shoulder and declared it possible that the soldier had not been a member of the German army but the Rumanian army, because he had spoken Russian as well as German and his uniform was very similar to the Russian uniform.

Case O54

The Russian POW Theodor Koslow reported a case which took place on 3 August 1941 in the vicinity of Jaswischtsche.
Court of the 26th (Motorized) Infantry Division Divisional Command Post, 14 August 1941
There appeared voluntarily at the location of the court martial, the Russian POW Feodor Koslow, reported to have a knowledge of the facts declared as follows after being warned to tell the truth, and advised of the significance of the oath and being informed of the object of the investigation: “As to my person: My name is Feodoro Koslow, born 25 December 1918 in Rostow on the Don, divorced, employed by the state timber rafting installation, conscripted into the Russian Army since May 1939, now a member of the 94th Artillery Division (Staff Battery).
“As to the facts:
I am Starschina with the 94th Artillery Division and did my service at the Staff Battery. I am responsible for provisions. I defected voluntarily on 10 August 1941 and surrendered because further resistance was hopeless. On 3 August 1941, I can no longer state the exact day, the following event took place at our squad: we were about 2 km from Jaswischtsche, in the forest. The Second Battalion 173rd Infantry Regiment was in position east of us, behind lay the 19th Artillery Division and the 1st Engineer Platoon. There was a surprise alarm, during which it was said that the Germans had penetrated the fortifications of the Second Battalion 173rd Infantry Regiment.

There were dead and wounded and the Germans were said to have surrounded the fortifications. We received orders to hurry and relieve the battalion. With 2 groups with a strength of 25 men, including myself, we approached the position the Germans were said to have penetrated. There we were told that there was a German signal squad there, with a strength of 9 men. An officer and one soldier were said to have been taken prisoner. We were said to have had one killed and two wounded. As I was there, I saw the following: a German officer stood upright on the forest road located in the vicinity of the Redkino-Jaswischtsche road. The witness showed the road on the map. The German officer didn’t speak a single word. Next to him on the grass lay a wounded German soldier, of powerful build, groaning heavily and bleeding heavily from a breast wound.
I was about 4 meters from the two German soldiers. The wounded man had been bandaged by the German soldiers but apparently couldn’t be transported away. The officer was not wounded. Suddenly a lieutenant from the 173rd Infantry Regiment grabbed a rifle, went to the German officer and hit him three times with the rifle but on the shoulder, the right upper arm and the head. The lieutenant approached from behind on the German officer and hit him, mostly in the back of the body. After the beating, the officer was bleeding heavily from the face but still stood upright. The Russian lieutenant drew his pistol revolver and shot the German officer through a shot in the neck. The Russian lieutenant was standing immediately behind the German officer. The German officer fell down from the shot and was dead. Before firing the shot, the Russian lieutenant said “It makes no difference how we kill him. If we take him back with us, he can still get away from us.” The Russian soldiers standing around wanted to steal the German officer’s boots, but they didn’t dare do so in the presence of the lieutenant. The Russian lieutenant himself took the dead man’s watch, pistol, binoculars and machine pistol for himself. The dead officer was dragged away and buried in a hole. The wounded German soldier was also dragged away. I didn’t see him again, and I do not know what happened to him. From hearsay, I know that the German officers were beaten to death or shot when they fell into captivity. I have heard that common German soldiers were taken back to camp and were then sent to Siberia or Turkestan.”

Today, the court, in the presence of the Russian interpreter Special Officer Favre and the Russian POW Feodor Koslow to the location designated by the POW Koslow at which the unknown German officer was shot and plundered by a Russian Lieutenant of the 173rd Infantry Regiment following capture.
The court, with the above named persons, went on foot through the southeast of Jasciwschtesche forest on the other side of the Peleda river. Koslow showed the way. After a march of 2 to 3 km through disassembled and abandoned and, in some cases, mined Russian forest positions, the location described by the POW Feodor Koslow was reached. He declared there, “Here lies the dead German officer”.
The dead German officer was found on the narrow forest path approximately 2m wide, surrounded by pines and forest foliage. The body was covered by two pine trees, which had been cut down. The trees were removed. The dead man was about 1.70 m high and of powerful build. He was already badly decomposed and lay long stretched out on his stomach with his face to the earth. The arms lay along the body, the backs of the hands were pressed into the ground. The body was clothed only in white underclothing, short linen underclothing and an undershirt. It was his own underclothing. There were no monograms
Pictorial documentation to Case 054 Body of the German officer clad only in his underclothing, beaten with three rifle butt blows from behind, then shot in the neck. The same Soviet lieutenant plundered the body of watch and binoculars. on his underclothing. Furthermore a camouflaged suspender lay over the upper body. It was recognizable that his uniform had been pulled off him. No other personal effects were found, either on the body or in the vicinity of the location of the body. The head, which still exhibited recognizable dark blond hair, was only loosely connected to the torso. The skull was of medium size, the back of the head was strongly developed. The legs were also strongly developed. No observations could be made on the ventral side of the body as a result of decomposition. There were no bullet wounds on the body. There was no exit wound in the brain-pan. There was no identification tag. The body was photographed after the examination in the presence of legal persons.

Case 055

Feldwebel Mothes, together with another member of his company, in the vicinity northeast of Uman near Kamenetschje on 6 August 1941, found four cruelly murdered German soldiers. One of them lay on his back with his arms extended and his eyes gouged out, the tongue cut out, and the mouth on the right side torn open, so that the teeth hung loose in the mouth. Furthermore, the dead man had several stabs wounds in the naked breast and another stab wound in the abdomen, as well as stab and cutting wounds on both hands. Another dead man, a corporal, like the first described body, lay with his arms extended and on his back. His eyes had also been gouged out. In the region of the abdomen was a wound about the size of a man’s hand. His stomach lay open and the stomach content protruded. In the region of the abdomen was a triangular wound about the size of a man’s hand. He also had stab wounds and cutting wounds on the hands. At a distance of about 200 meters from the above described body, Feldwebel Mothes and his companion found another two mutilated German soldiers in the same position, lying with the arms extended and on their backs, as described above. They had also had their breasts exposed. Both had had their eyes gouged out. The bodies also showed stab wounds in the breast and stab and cutting wounds in the hands. The mop of hair, together with the scalp, had been torn backwards on one of the dead men, and lay exposed towards the back of his head. The dead man had been scalped, so to speak. Obviously the four dead men had been plundered.

Case 056

On 4 August 1941, in the vicinity of the Catschinki-Bachani road, about a kilometer south of Catschinki, the pulled off skins of human hands and/or feet were found in, or next to, a disabled Russian tank.
The medical experts called upon First Lieutenant (Medical Corps) Krayer, who established that the skin had been removed from one left and two right human hands, as well as one left human foot.
The nails were almost completely retained and corresponded to those of an adult man. The cut had in the case of the hands and been made circular in the vicinity of the wrist. The cut ran rather straight, indicating the use of a knife. The skin of the foot was also cut in a circular manner, below the ankle. In the opinion of the experts, the possibility exists that the two members were held in boiling water beforehand, to facilitate pulling off of the skin. It was impossible to determine the identify of the victims of this Russia brutality. The following annex proves that brutal mistreatment and mutilation of German POWs through methods of the above describe manner were also established in other places along the combat front.

Court of the 112th Infantry Division
Local Bivouac, 10 August1941
Present Judge Advocate Dr. Reutter

The witness, Gefreiter Peter Schmitt appeared and testified as follows after being warned to tell the truth and informed of the significance of the oath. He declared:
“As to my person: my name is Peter Schmitt, born 6 January1908 in Mulben Amt [?] Mossbach, now with the 2nd Company, 112th (Motorized) Medical Corps.
“As to the facts: Our Company, is at the present time in the forest position about 1.5 km south of Catschinki. On 4 August 1941, I observed a Russian tank in a flax field about 1 km south of the Catschinki-Bachani road. I also inspected the tank on the inside. To the left, and next to the on-board cannon, is a niche in the tank tower. Right in the corner, pushed into this niche, lay something with little white worms crawling on it. I took a stick and took the object out. I then observed that it was the pulled off skin of a human foot and hand. The flayed skins of a human foot and hand also lay on the earth in front of the tank. Whether the skin lying on the earth had previously also laid in the niche, I don’t know. I packed the 4 skins in a wooden box and brought it to the First Lieutenant (Medical Corps) Dr. Vieten of my Company.
The witness First Lieutenant (Medical Corps) Gerhard Krayer appeared.
He was shown the objects as forwarded by First Lieutenant (Medical Corps) Dr. Vieten, 2nd Company, 112th (Motorized) Medical Corps to the Third General Staff Officer of the Division, and made the following declaration in this regard:
“a) As to my person: My name is Gerard Krayer, I was born on 28 December 1914 in Mainz. I am a First Lieutenant (Medical Corps) and Adjutant with the Divisional physician 112th Infantry Division. “b) As to the facts: The skin consists of the epidermis pulled off one left and two right human hands, and one left human foot, mostly blackish colored.
“The nails are almost completely retained and correspond to an adult man. The rest of the musculature or fat tissue is not present. The skin of the foot and one of the left hands is quite complete in their connection with a major defect contained in contrast to the two other hands. The cut must have been made in a circular manner in the region of the wrist. The cut runs rather straight (knife). The skin of the foot is also cut in a circular manner below the both ankles. The heel, with strong callouses, is completely retained.
“Diagnosis: The skin consists of the skinned cuticle of one left and two right hands and one left foot of an adult man. It is possible that the limbs were first held in boiling water in order to facilitate pulling off the skin.”
Read out, approved and signed. Signed: Krayer, Signed: Dr. Reutter, Judge Advocate. Certified: Secretary.
Field report of the commanding generals and commanders in chief Vienna, 21 October 1941 Present: Judge Advocate of the Luftwaffe for the duration Dr. Büttner, acting Judge. R.A. Hiller, Recording Secretary
In the investigation relating to violations of international law by Russian troops the following witness appeared in answer to a summons. He was informed of the significance of the oath and warned to tell the truth. Having been informed of the object of the interrogation, the witness stated as follows:
“As to my person: My name is Horst Kuchler, Feldwebel of the Luftwaffe, staff of the 4th Luftflottenkommando, presently Air force Hospital of Vienna, Vienna XIX, Peter Jordanstrasse, 82, born 4 October 1914 in Lissa, Posen. I am of the Evangelical faith, married to Berta Kuchler, maiden name George, last peacetime residence Vienna IV, Mühlgasse 8/15.
“As to the facts: I arrived on 6 July 1941, with the advance guard of the staff of the 4th Air Fleet at Krzemieniecz. I was Feldwebel at the Staff Headquarters. On 20 July 1941, the Staff Headquarters of members was informed of the discovery, by the 5th Company, 62nd Army Cavalry Hospital, as far as I know, of the body of a dead Feldwebel of the Air Force in the vicinity of the Titykewce estate. I was then ordered by the commander of the Staff Headquarters, Lieutenant Sklomeit, to undertake the burial of the dead man, together with a commando. Other members of the commando included, among others, Feldwebel Spiller, Feldwebel Kalisch, one officer, and another 20 men. Regimental Inspector Klamet joined the commando voluntarily. We carried out the order on the afternoon of 21 July 1941.

“We arrived at the indicated location by lorry in the vicinity of the Titzkewce estate, which lay about 8 km from Krzemieniecz. We found the body in a corn field. The body was clothed in a flight suit, lying on its back. Under the flight suit, the dead man wore the uniform of an Oberfeldwebel of the Air Force. We did not remove the flight suit. The dead man was naturally searched, but we found nothing enabling us to identify him, with the exception of a note book containing his name. Based on the hand writing of the note book, we established that his name was Oberfeldwebel M, who, as we later established, was an Army scout. The front sides of the note book also bore data relating to the dead man’s relatives, but we could not read any of it since it was all wet. We could only make out the place Frankfurt am Main, but no street, nothing else. We also found a weekly street car ticket for the Weimar-Nora (airport) run to Weimar. The belt lay next to the dead man. We found no weapon. The dead man’s pistol was later brought to us by a Russian civilian. with ammunition and holster. It was an 08. The Russian replied to our questions in this regard that he had taken the pistol with ammunition from the dead man, to keep it for safekeeping. The Russian brought us the pistol next to the ammunition of their own free will.
“From the surroundings of the place, from which the dead man lay, we could establish that a greater number of men had already been there before us, since the corn, which was almost ripe, was trampled under foot. “From the condition of the body, we had to conclude that Oberfeldwebel M. had been tortured.
The skin on both hands had been pulled off, up to the wrist. The fingernails were torn away. On both hands were the raw flesh up to the bones was visible. The face was distorted and the teeth smashed in. We found the dead man’s teeth next to the body. We found no bullet wound on the body. On the belt, which we found next to the dead man, we could see hair, however, which originated from the dead man, so we concluded that the dead man had been beaten with his own belt. We immediately took photographs of the dead man. I will present the photographs, which have not yet been developed.
“No identification tag was found on the dead man. I assume that it has been taken way. We didn’t find the pay book either. We found nothing, apart from the above mentioned note book and map. “Russian civilians, whom I have mentioned by name in my report, told us at the time that they had seen a German aircraft make an emergency landing, after which the two men on board escaped. One of them ran towards the German lines, while the dead man had run away to the Titykewce estate. Both were killed, however. The civilians did not see how the two men were killed. I assume the “red glove”, a typical method of Russian torture, consisted of holding the prisoner’s hand in boiling water to facilitate pulling off the skin. After that, a circular cut was made on the lower arm, and the skin came away like a glove.

Case 057

The sworn record of 4 September 1941 on the interrogation of nine members of a German Infantry Regiment proves the murder of four members of German signal squad after being captured by the Russians on 5 August 1941. All four were obviously seriously mistreated first, especially beaten, then all bodies show blue spots on the head and body, which could only have been caused by beating. One of the dead men had his cheeks completely pierced through with a bayonet, another had had his left eye gouged out. Furthermore, all of them had had their fingers broken, since all the individual fingers could be moved in all directions. Lastly, the dead men must have bee shot to death by bullets in the back of neck, since all the dead man show a small bullet entry wound in the neck and a small exit wound in the face. They lay thickly piled up next to each other, or on top of each other, and were all had been plundered.

TO BE CONTINUED

Well known fact among the reporters and photographers who have to cover this panty-wearing imbecile-whenever little Al get an ache in his anus from all the paparazzi following him he always goes after the short, fat photographers with cameras in their hands. Anyone his size or bigger he pretends they're invisible. I really believe Alex was picked on mercilessly at school by the cooking class and this is his way of coping.

I walk around Manhattan quite a bit in his neighborhood and would love to meet him!

My favorite is still that ed guy. he is a nut job of the highest order. he reminds me of a tourette’s patient on crack

Look for old ed to be his usual snot dangling, vomit-stained, fly opened, gin-reeking drunk for the balance of the Rat convention.
In fact there's a rumor Big Ed was so drunk after leaving his neighborhood NBC bar last week that he ran into that little four-eyed fruitcake Chris Hayes and knocked him off his two-wheeler in front of NBC.

The fighting now focused on the central railroad station. On the morning of 17 September the Soviet defenders subjected to a heavy attack by infantry and 20 tanks and assault guns. Here,a Schutzengruppe,supported by a StuG III Ausf. F assault gun armed with a long 7.5cm gun, also known as a SturmgeschOtze 40, awaits orders to advance through the railway sidings and shattered rolling stock. In the center of the picture there is a Soviet prisoner. Frontkameraden.

An MG-34-armed Maschinengewehrtrupp trudges through the rubble strewn streets to a new position. A machine gun troop normally carried one or two spare barrels, which were changed after about 250 rounds of continuous firing to allow one to cool before it was again used. By now all the infantry inside Stalingrad could be referred to as Alte Hasen (Old hares (rabbits). old hands, combat veterans. One who has managed to stay alive.

Frontkameraden. Kameradschaft (comradeship)had a deep and serious meaning within the Heer forming a strong bond between men who fought together. The Frontgemeinschaft (front community) signified solidarity between Frontkameraden. among whom advancement was determined by proven skill and bullets saw no distinction between classes. It was a factor needed to maintain Kampfgeist (battle spirit). meaning absolute duty and obedience, which were deemed necessary for a high degree of morale.

A leichter Maschinengewehrtrupp cautiously advances as a second machine gun and riflemen cover them. By this time many rifle groups were armed with two machine guns for increased firepower. A Funker (radio operator-"Sparks") operates a Torn.Fu. bl backpack radio is set-up on the parapet of a slit trench. The battery case is to the left. This radio could not be operated on the move. This is probably a company command post.

A schwerer Maschinengewehrtrupp advances through the wasteland of the northern suburbs. They carry ammunition containers and multiple spare barrel containers. The tail man in the background group in the upper right carries the heavy machine gun tripod on his back for which two shoulder straps and pads were provided. This unit has smeared mud on their helmets for camouflage.

A Landser takes aim at a target near a block of destroyed apartments. He is armed with a 7.92mm G.41(W)semi-automatic rifle. It had a 10-round fixed magazine and was loaded with the same five-round stripper slips as used with the Kar.98k bolt-action carbine. The demand for these rifles was made after the Germans had encountered Soviet semi-automatic rifles, but the Selbstladegewehr saw only very limited distribution.

A machine gun nest firing down a street on the outskirts of the city. The machine gunner to the right carries standard infantryman's equipment to include support straps ("Y" straps), gas mask case with his gas sheet pouch strapped to it, rolled Zeltbahn camouflage shelter-quarter, bread bag, field flask (water bottle), entrenching tool, and 8tg.24 stick hand grenade. Contrasting him is his assistant gunner who has shed his equipment. The two metal belt support hook integral to his tunic can be seen.

On the outskirts of the city the crew of a 5cm Pak 38 antitank gun is manhandled forward. Marginally effective against T-34 tanks, it was effective against lighter tanks, field fortifications, and defended buildings. The gun's spaced armor shield is visible. This provided better protection from small arms rounds and fragments while keeping the weight down as opposed to a solid thick shield. This gun has camouflage materials fastened to its barrel shield. The Pak 38 was provided with armor-piercing, improved armor-piercing, and high explosive rounds. The crew wears cloth helmet camouflage covers.

This 5cm Pak 38 antitank gun crew is partly composed of Luftwaffe personnel, what the Landser called Ersatz-Landser (substitute soldiers). This type of camouflage disguised the gun sufficiently to give it an edge on an approaching tank that might not detect its position in time to survive.

A Leutnant gives orders to his men. He wears standard 6x30 binoculars with a leather eyepiece protective cover fitted (normally attached to the neck strap,)and enlisted men's "Y" belt support straps. Officers were directed to wear such straps in November 1939. His Blech (tin-wear) or Lametta (tinsel)include das Kreuz (the nickname for the Eisernes Kreuz-Iron Cross), Wound Badge with much of the black paint worn off, and the Infantry Assault Badge with part of the wreath broken off. A soldier wearing a large number of ribbons and other decorations was said to be a Bandhandler (ribbon-dealer). Standing to his left is a Hauptmann, Hauptmann Friedrich Winkler (Friedrich Konrad Winkler) of the 305th Infantry Division in the area of a Stalingrad factory. Winkler was taken prisoner and died shortly thereafter in a POW camp in Beketovka. He carries a Soviet PPSh-41 submachine gun. These soldiers wear a variety of helmet camouflage means to include Gummibander, a cloth cover on the center man, and the Oberleutnant has a scarce camouflage-painted helmet.

This same Hauptmann, with the lower pip (stern) missing from his right shoulder board, is armed with a 7.62mm PPSh-41 submachine gun with a 71-round magazine. The Soviets referred to it as the Finka, a Finnish nickname for a woman and the Germans sometimes used the term. They also referred to it as an MP.717(r). It was widely used by the Germans as they assumed it superior to their own machine pistols. It was rugged, reliable, and had a large magazine capacity, but offered poor penetration and knockdown power. The main reason for its use was simply to increase automatic weapons fire.

Another photo of Captain with PPSh-41 submachine gun near the Volga ferry landing. Nearby Panzer troops had just surprised supply train loaded with trucks and American Jeeps.

A Panzergrenadier takes cover behind a tank as his unit comes under heavy fire. Beyond him a Pz.Kpfw.III has also been brought to a halt. He carries a Klappspaten (folding spade) first issued in 1938, but it never did completely replace the rigid kleines Schanzzeug (small entrenching tool). The waterproof TragbOchse for Gasmaske (carrying case for gas mask) was often used to stow cigarettes and matches resulting in it being called a Zigarettenbuchse (cigarette container). Socks, foot wraps, and writing materials were also carried in the container. This was a prohibited, but nonetheless widespread practice.

A rifleman rushes forward carrying extra machine gun ammunition. Running to evade fire was known as hinrotzen (literally "evading snot"). He is outfitted with typical infantry equipment, two 30-round cartridge pouches, S.84/98 sidearm (bayonet), entrenching tool, and Stg.24 stick hand grenade. Stick grenades were referred to as a Torklopfer (doorknocker), the same nickname the Soviets used, kolotushka. He carries a slung rifle, probably taken from a fallen Kamerad to prevent its recovery by the Soviets who were short of weapons. Spare weapons were also carried to replace damaged or malfunctioning weapons.

A MG-34 heavy machine gun pours fire Into a distant factory building to suppress snipers, Klotzen-firing everything at a target. Snipers were a constant worry for the Germans as they inflicted significant casualties, forced all round security, tied down troops attempting to clear them, and effected morale. Lause und ScharfschOtzen (lice and snipers) was a common phrase used by Landser to characterize Russia and was a general phrase for anything that was a nuisance. The gunner wears a crude sack-like rucksack.

Two photographs taken in sequence showing a 8cm (actually 81 mm) SGrw'34 heavy mortar group advances behind the rifle company they support. One of the men carries a 5cm leGrw'36 light mortar on his shoulder. An infantry battalion's machine gun company possessed a platoon of six 8cm mortars. Mortars were close behind the lead assault platoons to rapidly place fire on Soviet strongpoints and sudden counterattacks. They carried grenades to mop-up bypassed holdouts.

Supported by a StuG III 7.5cm assault gun, infantry of the 389th Infanterie Division advance into the factory district, a main center of resistance. On 3 October the Germans attacked the Red October Tractor Factory with three infantry and two Panzer divisions on a three-mile front. The following day the tractor factory was attacked by elements of the 15th Panzer Division, 60. Infanterie-Division (mot), and 389th Infanterie Division.

"Ich hatt'einen Kameraden" (I had a Comrade) is a song dating from 1809 and sung at soldiers' funerals and still sung to this day within the German armed forces. Scattered field dressings by his boots indicate the efforts made to save a Kamerad ...dran sein (his time is up). A group of 389th Infantry Division troops await word to move out. By late September the 6th Army had lost 7,700 soldiers killed and 31,000 wounded. Ten-percent of von Paulus's army had been lost, and still he was nowhere closer to clearing the city. The worst was still to come, the struggle for the Industrial district.