Heinrich Gerlach - Breakout at Stalingrad

Unold and Engelhard had found themselves caught up in this hustle and bustle for some days now. The collapse of the Cauldron fronts in the west and the south had, among other things, prompted the army to find out exactly how many tanks it still had at its disposal. To perform this task, Captain Engelhard found himself going around day after day searching – mostly in vain – for tank workshops that still existed on paper. It was also understandable that the army, after eight weeks of encirclement, which it had endured trusting in an ultimate liberation, should now hit upon the idea of expanding the network of rearward defensive lines within the Cauldron. This plan was to blame for a marked deterioration in the state of Unold’s nerves.

When Breuer and Siebel walked into the room they’d been told to go to, Unold’s seat was empty. A soldier was busy mending the shattered window with a sheet of cellophane, evidently having realized that glass wasn’t a suitable material to use given the constant air raids. The only other person present was an elderly artillery officer, a lieutenant colonel, who was standing around waiting. A narrow, heavily lined face with a brush-like moustache and a pince-nez peered out from above a green wool scarf, while on his head he wore a peaked officer’s cap customized to the requirements of the winter with makeshift black earmuffs. Beside him was a grained leather suitcase. The man struck Breuer as somehow familiar.

After a few minutes, Unold burst in, carrying several large map rolls under his arm. He nodded curtly to Breuer and Siebel and, after sitting down, began nervously rooting around among his papers. The artillery officer approached and casually tipped his cap in salute.

‘I’m trying to find out the whereabouts of my columns at the moment. I last saw them in Karpovka ten weeks ago. I was on leave in the meantime, you see, and I only just got back here by plane early this morning, and because we’re an unattached unit, well, as you can imagine, that makes for certain…’

Unold looked up briefly from his papers.

‘So… flew in this morning, did you? Very good. Right, as of now you’re under the command of the major here. You can stay and listen to the orders I’m about to issue. So, Siebel—’

‘Excuse me,’ the artillery officer butted in, ‘there’s clearly been some misunderstanding here. I’m a first lieutenant, in charge of an autonomous division located somewhere in the Cauldron. The only thing I’m concerned with is trying to ascertain where my—’

‘Yes, yes, you’ve explained. I’m perfectly aware of that!’ Unold interrupted him. ‘Your columns have doubtless been redeployed as infantry, and they’ve probably long since gone to hell in a handcart, rest assured! So, you see, Siebel…’

The lieutenant colonel took a deep breath.

‘Look here… I really must protest in the strongest possible ter—’

‘How dare you?’ barked Unold, leaping up from his chair. ‘Do you know what an order is, sir? We have martial law here!’

Under this onslaught, the old artilleryman’s composure dissolved completely. He took his pince-nez from his nose with trembling hands and began polishing it, as though it was at fault for his incomprehension. His shortsighted eyes looked helplessly at his interlocutor and his lips moved, though no sound emerged. Unold paid him no further attention, but called the major – who had enjoyed the whole incident with a malicious smirk on his face – to come over and look at the map with him.

‘So, Siebel,’ he began, ‘you need to prepare this area here on the railway line west of Yeshovka right down to the station at Voroponovo as a holding position for the retreating Fourteenth Panzer Corps. You have the Army High Command’s full authority in this matter. It’s essential that all the troops streaming in from the west are intercepted here and grouped into work parties that can start digging foxholes without delay. And make sure you include the drivers, too. All vehicles must be left parked off the road – those carrying the wounded and senior staff officers excepted, of course. Primarily, make sure you winkle out some officers with real drive to assist you. You’ve already got the lieutenant here; Breuer will accompany you as your adjutant. On top of that, the Fifty-First Corps of the military police will be under your direct command. You’ll be based at the Talovoy Gorge. Quarters have been prepared for you there. Any questions?

The major bit his lip. Now it was his turn to seethe with fury.

‘That’s not going to work, Lieutenant Colonel, sir,’ he announced with great determination. ‘Even assuming we manage to intercept some of the troops there, where am I supposed to find food, accommodation for the men and above all any kind of materials for building defences from?’

Unold’s face started to twitch.

‘Siebel, please,’ he answered, ‘don’t go asking such stupid questions now! The very reason I’m sending you there is so you can bring some kind of order to the situation on the ground!’

Major Siebel was renowned as someone who always spoke his mind without fear or favour. And that was exactly what he did now.

‘Can’t be done, sir! It’s easy enough resolving impossible situations in a war room. You issue various orders, and if things go pear-shaped later the shit sticks to those who are charged with implementing them. I know all about that… but I’m not prepared to play along with this sham, Lieutenant Colonel, sir!’

The colour drained from Unold’s features. For a while, the two officers stood silently, sizing one another up, and even Siebel’s face slowly began to blanch. Then the lieutenant colonel spoke quietly through gritted teeth.

‘Siebel – you know me. I’m warning you.’

Ssssss – Woom! The bunker reverberated and shook. The cellophane panel was torn from the window as if by some invisible hand. A cloud of snow, chalk and fine soil enveloped everything. In a single bound, Unold had leaped to the wall and pressed himself flat against it. Now he dashed back to the table, pulled the map with the new positions on it from under a heap of rubble and pressed it into the major’s hand.

‘Go on, get on with it – now! No time to lose!’

And with that, he ushered the three officers from the room.

Anyone stepping into the sweeping Talovoy Gorge, which sliced through the flat land west of Yeshovka, found themselves quite unexpectedly in a valley of peace. The bunkers and sheds there nestled between trees and bushes (a curious miracle of survival) like the huts and chalets on an allotment. Field kitchens steamed away, well-fed horses grazed on long yellow stalks of grass, and fresh laundry fluttered on washing lines strung between lorries and trees. Pink and blood-red cuts of juicy meat could be glimpsed through the flaps of a butchery unit’s tent.

While Siebel, with the lieutenant colonel from the artillery in tow, went to announce his arrival to the Corps commander, Breuer sought out the resident intelligence officer.

He found two elegantly dressed officers, who greeted their dishevelled guest with somewhat perturbed civility. Breuer took in the desk and chairs here, the thick-pile carpet and the pictures on the walls. He started to recount his experiences. He talked about the ferocious rearguard actions, the destruction of the division and the miserable hunger they’d endured… His hosts listened to him with the kind of polite interest with which a neurologist listens to the stammerings of a deranged patient. ‘Yes, we heard about that… It’s been quiet for weeks here on the Volga front… Oh yes, it must have been really bad for you back there.’ ‘Back there’! They made it sound like he was talking about China. How was it possible that there were still people here in the Cauldron whom the whole Dance of Death of the last two months had left totally unscathed?