Heinrich Gerlach - Breakout at Stalingrad

‘Isn’t it the twenty-second today already?’ asked the man in the fur coat sitting next to the driver.

‘Since a couple of hours or so ago, Chief Paymaster, sir!’

‘Damn, that means we’re going to arrive almost two days late. And then we went and lost another three hours, thanks to that stupid breakdown!’

‘Oh well, Chief Paymaster. If people at Staff have only had to tighten their belts for a couple of days, we like as not won’t hear any complaints,’ replied the driver.

‘Especially not when they see what we’ve brought for them! Ten days’ worth of rations for a hundred and seventy-four men, though since the seventeenth we only have to claim for a hundred and fifty-three,’ the Paymaster chuckled smugly to himself, ‘plus two hundred bars of chocolate, and three pigs and ten geese – I’m looking forward to seeing the look on Captain Fackelmann’s face!’

Chief Paymaster Zimmermann smiled and listened with contentment to the sounds coming from the back of the lorry, clearly audible over the rumble of the diesel engine: the cackling of geese, alarmed by the bumpy ride they were having to endure in their wooden crate. It was a stroke of amazing good fortune that he’d still managed to get hold of the birds from that remote collective farm, particularly at this time of year, when every last German foot soldier was scouring the countryside for any sort of poultry for the Christmas table.

‘Even so, there’d be no harm in stepping on it,’ he said to the corporal at the wheel. ‘Let’s take the direct route to Kletskaya this time. If the road stays as clear as this, we’ll be in Businovka in just under three hours. Let’s hope that’s where Staff HQ still is!’

He sat back and pondered for a moment. In Tchir, there’d been talk of some heavy fighting going on in the north over the past few days.

From the darkness, the headlights picked out an approaching crossroads. This was where their route diverged and descended to the crossing over the Don just below Kalach. A sentry, heavily swaddled against the cold and his rifle slung beneath his arm, stepped forward and waved them down. The driver switched his lights to half-beam, stopped and opened the cab door.

The sentry asked him for his travel papers and driver’s licence.

‘So, you’re heading for Kletskaya, are you?’ he asked. ‘Well, take care! The Russians have broken through! In any event, we’re setting up a defensive position here. It’d be safer to take the road up the eastern bank via Kalach.’

‘Stuff and nonsense, man!’ growled Chief Paymaster Zimmermann. ‘We’re taking the direct route. Let’s get going! Funny thing, isn’t it,’ he added once the lorry was underway again, ‘that the people behind the lines are always the most jumpy. Let’s say a couple of Russian tanks break through somewhere – at the front-line regiment they take emergency action, at divisional Staff HQ they get the wind up, at the Corps they start packing their bags, and a hundred and fifty kilometres behind the lines they’re already razing supply depots to the ground to stop the enemy capturing them!’ Zimmermann was an old squad paymaster who’d won the Iron Cross Second Class for bravery in the face of the enemy.

The new road was in good condition, and they made swift progress. The dashboard clock was showing a few minutes past three when, ahead, a row of headlights came into view from an oncoming column of vehicles.

‘See?’ said the paymaster. ‘Looks like a nice steady flow of traffic! Besides, we can ask them if there are any problems ahead. Slow down a bit!’

The column drew nearer. It appeared to consist of tracked vehicles. The lorry driver changed down to second, and Zimmermann wound down his window. Were they tanks? he wondered fleetingly. Heading north–south? No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than the first colossus was rumbling past; it was a German ‘Panzer IV’ with figures in white winter camouflage sitting on top. So, they really are retreating, thought the paymaster. Things don’t look so good after all!

‘Everything OK up ahead?’ he called out as the second tank loomed up, quite a way behind the first. No answer at first. Then a voice shouted:

‘All goot, yes!’

Zimmermann did a double-take. The man had said ‘goot’. ‘Stupid idiot!’ he muttered.

‘Any Russians up ahead?’ he called out to the men perched on the third tank. No answer. Suddenly a hot flush of terror shot through him. In the hands of one of the soldiers, he thought he caught a glimpse of a Russian machine gun, that all-too-familiar weapon with its wooden stock and big, circular cartridge drum. There was something desperately wrong here.

‘Faster, drive faster!’ he told the corporal. But in the next instant, his alarm gave way to annoyance with himself. Laughable how jittery everyone had become after three years of war! The lorry was almost past the whole column by this time; the final tank was just coming into view. The paymaster breathed a sigh of relief. Even so, he couldn’t rid himself of an eerie feeling… Suddenly there was a flash up ahead, the windscreen shattered and a bullet whistled past Zimmermann’s head.

‘Step on it! Step on it!’ he yelled, ducking down in his seat as far as he could. The driver stepped hard on the accelerator, causing the truck to lurch forward. It sped past the last tank. Thank God, they’d done it! Just then, a sharp crackling sound penetrated the cab from behind, and the corporal slumped forward with a gurgling sound. Out of control, the lorry veered wildly across the road. Zimmermann tore open the passenger door and leaped out. Something slammed heavily into his back as he fell. He tumbled head over heels, blood pouring from his mouth and chest and forming an expanding blackish pool on the icy roadway. The lorry staggered on for a few more metres before slewing round and toppling over with a loud crash, disgorging barrels and crates across the road. The wooden crate was smashed to pieces, and with a loud screeching and a frantic flapping of wings, the geese flew off across the steppe into the darkness.

Lieutenant Wiese had been ordered to report to the chief of staff’s office. He walked over to the hut with very mixed feelings. During the first days in his new role, he had come to realize that the post of Head of Communications at a divisional headquarters was anything but an easy ride. Whenever Unold clapped eyes on him, he laid into him and bawled him out, because this or that line of communication was down yet again, called him ‘the biggest idiot of the century’ and shouted that he’d have him locked up or cashiered for gross incompetence. Although, in the light of the current situation, Wiese could understand to some extent why he was being treated like this, he still tried to avoid the highly strung first lieutenant as far as he was able. Who could say what he was going to find fault with next? And yet miraculously, though he was clearly suffering from exhaustion, Unold was all sweetness and light this morning.

‘Ah, there you are, my dear fellow! Have you got a lot on right now?’

Lieutenant Wiese did not know what to make of this curious greeting. He lapsed into an embarrassed silence.

‘What I mean to say is,’ Unold continued, ‘can you find someone to stand in for you today?’

‘Well, there’s Lieutenant Oster,’ Wiese deliberated, ‘the head of radio communications. Radio communication is virtually all we get nowadays, after all. All the phone lines are out of action again at the moment…’ He cast a guilty look at the first lieutenant but the expected outburst never came.

‘I’m aware that we can’t count on telephone connections in our current situation,’ Unold began. ‘Well, as you know, the new commander of the division has arrived this morning. He wants to go to the front straight away. Gedig is off on a training course, and I can’t spare any of the others. And besides, I can’t just send any old person along on this first tour of inspection, can I? We’ve got to make a good impression!’ His attempted smile at this point turned out, as always, to be more of a sinister leer. ‘And that’s why, my dear Wiese, I thought of you. Get yourself ready to leave and report to the colonel!’