Heinrich Gerlach - Breakout at Stalingrad

And now, it seemed, Private Lakosch would get to wear his Iron Cross.

Some time ago, the sergeant at the Adjutant’s Office had hinted that the application that divisional Staff HQ had submitted for Lakosch to receive his decoration had been approved by the Army High Command. On the day before Christmas Eve, the little driver was ordered to report to Lieutenant Colonel Unold. Before setting off, Lakosch spent quite some time trying to get the worst of the dirt off his battledress tunic, picking off the most obvious lice from his collar and washing his face and hands in the snow outside the bunker. Geibel observed his ablutions with positive reverence.

‘Here, Lanky,’ said Lakosch with good-natured condescension, ‘you know the story about the old dear who asks the soldier on leave: “Where’s your Iron Cross, you young hero?” And he replies: “My platoon leader’s wearing it for me!” That’s the way it is in the army, see. You’ve still got a lot to learn! Chin up, lad! I’ll put the thing on for your benefit soon as I get back! Anyhow, there’s another “Order of the Frost” being awarded this winter, an extra-thick medal with two gilded icicles hanging off it. You’ll get one of those as well, for fearless teeth-chattering in the face of the enemy!’

He slapped Geibel, who was relieved to see the driver in a good mood again, on the shoulder and sauntered over to the chief of staff’s bunker with a spring in his step. One of the principal didactic aims of the Prussian parade ground is to instil respect for more senior ranks. And this respect does not even desert a common soldier who has been at Staff HQ long enough to observe all the human failings of his superiors at close quarters. So it was that Lakosch tiptoed down the steps leading to Unold’s bunker and listened apprehensively outside the wooden door to check that he wasn’t interrupting anyone. The sound of conversation came from within. That cold, impersonal voice was Lieutenant Colonel Unold’s, without a doubt, while the other seemed to belong to Captain Engelhard. Lakosch resolved to go in. He was just raising his hand to knock when something suddenly made him pause.

‘…saving the world from Bolshevism,’ said a voice, clearly audible through the badly fitting slats of the door. ‘Don’t pay any attention to that nonsense, Engelhard! It’s just old wives’ tales told to frighten children. We can tell that sort of thing to our men here. You see, I was here once before, before the war; I was in Lipetsk helping the Russians organize their fledgling air force. I know these people. They’re not after world domination. They’d have been jolly glad to have avoided this war, believe you me!’

Lakosch held his breath. What was going on? He strained to listen. Up above, a sentry’s footsteps clumped past, drowning out the captain’s reply. Now Unold was speaking again.

‘Why us? Simple! We have to conquer land in the east, create Lebensraum ! That was all there already in Mein Kampf . Or do you think big business gave Hitler the money to found his party and churn out propaganda year after year for nothing? Their payoff is factories in southern Russia, and the wheat fields of Ukraine and Kuban.’

Lakosch propped himself with his hand against the damp mud wall of the bunker entrance. Unold’s sharp voice jabbed at him like knives.

The captain’s answer was more impassioned than was customary for him. He spoke of Hitler’s plans, the Nazi Party programme, and German socialism. Lakosch was swept up by Engelhard’s words and found himself unconsciously nodding in agreement with every sentence. ‘Yes, yes! Quite right! Let’s see what he has to say to that!’

‘But Engelhard!’ Unold interrupted, and Lakosch saw in his mind’s eye the lieutenant colonel’s pallid face and the crooked smile that was never reflected in his grey eyes. ‘I do believe Christmas is making you sentimental. You need to take a sober view of these things. “National Socialism” – what is that, exactly? It was a bluff, a propaganda bluff of the kind that only Hitler can pull off. It effectively took the wind out of the Reds’ sails… Sure, after the war, they’ll settle a few farmers here in the east, why not? But it’s other people who’ll be making the big money. Look what’s happened in Dnepropetrovsk, and in Kiev! They’re all there already: Allianz, Deutsche Bank, Krupp, Rheinmetall-Borsig, Reichswerke Hermann Göring, etcetera, etcetera, with all their branches and head offices. Didn’t you read what Goebbels had to say in Gdynia recently… No? Hang on a mo – now, where did I put…? Oh yes, here it is, you really ought to read this! It’s all there in black and white: “We’re fighting for oil and iron, for swaying wheat fields. That’s what inspires our soldiers, and that’s what they give their lives for!” – and he goes on: “Let no one imagine that we Germans have suddenly been gripped by a new morality. No, our first priority is to make a pile!” See, right there! What do you say to that?’

Lakosch could feel little beads of sweat forming on his brow. His breathing was becoming more laboured, preventing him from hearing properly. He was only just able to make out what the captain said in response.

‘So what you’re saying, then, is that we were spoiling for this war and we’re to blame for it!’ was the gist of Engelhard’s reply. ‘I refuse to believe that, it’s simply untrue! Sure, it may well be the case that, during the war, some… Look, appetite comes with eating. But how did it all start? We had an agreement with Russia. Russia broke it and stabbed us in the back by signing a mutual assistance pact with Yugoslavia. That meant war! We couldn’t have done things any differently even if we’d wanted to.’

‘Yugoslavia!’ scoffed Unold. ‘You know, Engelhard, I really rate you. You’ll make a first-rate staff officer one day. But sometimes, and please don’t take this amiss, you’re just like a child. If you go after a particular goal in politics, you can find a thousand ways and means of justifying it. But listen here, will you! What I’m about to say to you is for your ears only, and you must promise never to repeat it to anyone else. Hitler gave the order to prepare for war against Russia way back, on the twenty-second of October 1940! Yes, that’s right, 1940, just a few months after we’d conquered France – in other words, long before the business with Yugoslavia! How do I know that? I was attached to Army High Command at the time. We played a key role in drawing up the plans. We were pretty much the only people in the know. Even the C-in-Cs were out of the loop back then. They were blindsided by that pantomime about “Operation Sealion” – you know, the famous invasion of England that was actually never seriously contemplated at the time.’

A pregnant silence filled the room next to where Lakosch stood waiting. The bunker oven crackled and spat noisily. His heart was thumping away like the piston of a steam engine. Outside, a plane droned past, and somewhere a shot was fired.

Then the lieutenant colonel was speaking again, and this time his cold voice had a metallic edge. ‘Don’t go living in a dream world, Engelhard! That’s no way for people like us to behave. You must learn to see Hitler for what he is. The thing to remember about him is that his urge for power knows no bounds. He’s absolutely ruthless and unerringly consistent in his pursuit of power. He couldn’t give a damn about the “great stupid flock of sheep, the patient but mutton-headed German people” – those are Hitler’s own words. He doesn’t have any compunction about exploiting or discarding his financial backers, his old comrades and friends as it suits him. He’s got no sentimental or moral inhibitions – and that, Engelhard, is what makes him great! There’s something of the Nietzschean “superman” about him; he truly is “beyond good and evil”. That sentimental-sounding stuff he trots out about “national community” and “socialism” and so forth, and if need be shedding the odd tear, are just bait to lure in women and chancers when he needs their support. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have any followers, since your average person couldn’t bear the sight of this genius unfiltered; they’d go insane at the sight of him, in just the same way that Nietzsche’s ideas drove him mad. You really ought to read some Nietzsche, Engelhard! He’s the only philosopher worth reading. Then you’ll understand Hitler. And only then will you be a true National Socialist! Hitler’s the only statesman – in fact the only person full-stop – for whom I have any respect.’