Heinrich Gerlach - Breakout at Stalingrad

‘What’s that you’re saying?’

The men around the speaker nudged him and he turned round. Shocked at the sight of an officer, he snapped to attention and saluted. ‘Begging your pardon, Lieutenant Colonel, sir!’ he stammered. ‘I didn’t see you—’

‘Who told you this nonsense about tanks, I’d like to know!’

‘The tanks? Um, our CO announced it. This morning, in front of the whole battery!’

‘Well, it’s rubbish!’ barked the lieutenant colonel. ‘Complete drivel! Don’t you dare go spreading rumours like that here!’ As he went on his way, the officer cursed under his breath: ‘Brilliant! Another bloody leak!’

‘Yes, sir, Lieutenant Colonel!’ the gunner shouted after him. Then, with a sly grin, he turned to the men around him and whispered: ‘Hear that? There you have it – “another leak”! See, the whole thing’s still top secret!’

In the divisional CO’s bunker the lieutenant colonel found the regimental commanders and leaders of the independent units already gathered, around ten officers in all. They were standing around, murmuring and whispering to one another. Colonel von Hermann had only been waiting for the arrival of his adjutant to begin proceedings. His clean-shaven face and crisp uniform stood out among the stubble beards and the grubby fur jackets, in an underground space that reeked of sweat and damp leather.

‘Gentlemen,’ began the colonel, ‘you’re all aware of the current situation. Pitomnik is lost, and we’ll only be able to hold Gumrak for a few more days. That’s the end of the Cauldron. In these circumstances the High Command is toying with the idea of a “breakout on all sides”. In other words: each of the divisions that are still capable of fighting needs to muster its entire operational strength and use it to achieve a surprise breakthrough of the enemy sector facing it, and then drive deep into their heartland. For our division, that would mean breaking out east across the Volga, then swinging round to the south to attack the Russian artillery positions from the rear before crossing the Volga again south of Stalingrad. Somewhere around there we can expect to link up with the Fourth Corps.’ The colonel shot a swift glance at the uncomprehending faces of his officers. His pale-blue eyes had a dusty look. Then he went on. Restrained tension resonated alongside the cool objectivity of his voice.

‘The military purpose of this operation is to sow confusion behind enemy lines. In addition, the hope is that large numbers of their forces will be tied down in giving pursuit.’

The officers looked at one another and then at the colonel. His face was impassive. A wave of indignation and derision arose.

‘What’s the meaning of this?’ – ‘To the east of all places, across the Volga… why don’t we just keep going until we get to Japan?’ – ‘What utter nonsense!’

The colonel raised his hand.

‘Gentlemen, please! The first thing we must do is to find out how the men will react to such a plan.’

The CO of the artillery regiment, a major in the reserves, who was a small, bustling man with a florid alcoholic complexion, took out of his mouth the cigar stub he’d been busily sucking on throughout the meeting.

‘Well, I reckon the plan isn’t at all bad,’ he announced. ‘Only trouble is, it’s come far too late! We’ve already spiked our guns and our ammunition’s all gone. But if there’s a real chance of breaking through to our lines, even if only some of the units make it, then that’s a pretty good plan to my mind.’

He looked around the room, waiting in vain for agreement from his fellow officers, and lapsed into silence. Colonel von Hermann closed his eyes for a moment.

‘I’m afraid that’s out of the question,’ he said. ‘The front is almost three hundred kilometres from here. Our troops are half-starved and exhausted, and our transport units are dispersed. We can’t now undo the mistakes that were made when the Cauldron was first created; that’s not the intention anyhow. The whole operation is meant to be a kind of suicide mission – nothing more, nothing less. It’s a way of short-circuiting the business of “fighting on to the last bullet”, speeding up our annihilation while inflicting as much damage on the enemy as we possibly can. That’s its sole purpose. There’s no longer any question of saving the Sixth Army.’

Colonel Steffen nodded in agreement. Downy hair grew profusely from the back of his neck at the base of his bald head, like a cockatoo’s crest. He was a General Staff officer. Differences of opinion with his CO had led to his transfer to the regular forces. In the hope of being reappointed to a staff soon, he led his infantry regiment with élan, strict discipline and ambition.

‘A heroic death – good idea!’ he said huskily; his Adam’s apple bounced up and down above the collar of his camouflage jacket. ‘It’s the only proper way to go now that the game’s up. In any event, far better than sitting around here waiting to be cut down. The Sixth Army’ll go out in one last blaze of glory!’

The hubbub of dissent in the room grew louder. A clear voice suddenly rang out from the back.

‘What’s going to happen to the wounded?’

Colonel von Hermann looked intently at the speaker’s gaunt face, framed in a soft Christ-like beard. He had a lot of time for the young major, who had taken command of an infantry regiment just a fortnight previously. He repeated his question, this time with even greater urgency.

‘What will happen to the wounded? We’ve got thousands of untended wounded and sick here in the Cauldron. It’s a state of affairs that casts a shadow over the “glory” of the Sixth Army, if you ask me.’

‘The plan doesn’t say anything about the severely wounded,’ replied the colonel, laying out his words carefully like coins on a table. ‘We’re going to have to abandon them to their fate. For men with less severe wounds, or those suffering from battle fatigue or frostbite – in short, for anyone who’s no longer capable of marching, the following is envisaged: the rapid Russian advance from the west could put the plan in jeopardy. So the idea is to set up a defensive line on the railway embankment between Gumrak and Voroponovo, comprising all those wounded and sick men who can still fight…’

The colonel took a single deep breath before continuing with his address in a rapid and almost offhand delivery.

‘There’s a worry that those concerned won’t be able to summon up enough enthusiasm for the task. As a result, it’s been recommended that they be told that… that a thousand German tanks are en route from the west to liberate us, that they have already reached the high road above the Don, and that until they arrive the position must be held at all costs. While they’re busy fighting in this expectation, the rest will effect a breakthrough at another location.’

Only the busy ticking of the pocket alarm clock on the table broke the silence that followed. Colonel Steffen gasped for air a couple of times, but after looking at the frozen faces of his colleagues refrained from voicing his thoughts on the matter. Without warning, the major who had spoken up before pushed his way to the front. He took two paces forward, composed himself and raised his hand to speak. His voice cut through the air like a sword.

‘In the name of my regiment, I hereby declare that the men would not be prepared to go along with… with a “plan” like that!’

That broke the spell of silence. The room erupted in shouts of agreement and indignation.

‘Quite right!’ – ‘Yes, it’s out of the question!’ – ‘Sheer impertinence!’ – ‘It’s a disgrace!’

Even the little artillery officer became animated. ‘The whole thing’s a fool’s errand, in my view. To try to bamboozle those poor blokes who are at death’s door by building castles in the air like that and use them to try to win glory for yourself – I say it’s a fool’s errand!’