Heinrich Gerlach - Breakout at Stalingrad

Colonel von Hermann gestured with his hand to quell the mounting tide of noise.

‘Very well, Meyer,’ he said curtly. ‘Your objection is duly noted… What about you, Steffen?’

The colonel’s piercing gaze swivelled round the room. It met with an icy wall of hostility.

‘Look, if only we could at least give them a chance of success… if only we could tell them…’

He struggled to finish his answer. No one came to his aid. Finally, he gave it up.

‘So, it looks like a heroic last stand is very doubtful, very doubtful indeed. Seems as though there isn’t enough support for it.’

‘Anyone here take a different view?’ Hermann asked finally. No one responded. The colonel gave a sigh and his face relaxed.

‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ he said, a little less formally. ‘I wouldn’t have expected you to do otherwise. If we have to die, then we want to do so as upstanding soldiers – in so far as that’s in our hands.’

He bade farewell with a handshake to each of the officers in turn. The last one to come up was a captain, one of the adjutants.

‘Permission to ask the Colonel a question? Does this… this plan come directly from the Führer’s HQ?’

The colonel grasped straight away what the captain was driving at. ‘No, Winter,’ he replied. ‘Not this time – more’s the pity!

He went over to the window and looked at the sparkling, radiating pattern of the frost on the glass. From outside came the sound of the departing officers talking excitedly among themselves. No, this plan, this crazy mishmash of desperate bravery and criminal wickedness, hadn’t come from Hitler. No one knew in what deranged minds here in the Cauldron this scheme had been hatched. But the army chief of staff had – without the knowledge of the commander-in-chief – latched on to it and, through soliciting his commanders’ input, elevated it into the realms of the feasible. Under his breath, the colonel began murmuring to himself, ‘The times are changing… it’ll be a grisly end. Ah, we’ll need to turn it all on its head, start afresh, wipe the slate completely clean…’ He turned away from the window. His face wore an embarrassed smile that made him look oddly younger. His gaze met that of Dannemeister, who was looking at him stupidly through red-rimmed eyes.

‘It’s so insane,’ he said hoarsely. ‘The crazy things you find yourself thinking… just absurd!’ Saying this, he picked up the receiver and briefly informed the chief of staff that his officers had unanimously rejected the plan for a ‘breakout on all sides’.

‘Very well, I thought as much,’ replied the voice at the other end of the line; it sounded calm, almost indifferent. ‘The other divisions report the same. That means the matter’s settled for us. By the by, my warmest congratulations, dear Hermann! I’ve just spoken with the C-in-C; your promotion to Major General’s been confirmed!

Von Hermann gave the customary bow in front of the telephone and politely expressed his thanks. He slowly replaced the receiver. He was a general! The dream he’d had since he was young had finally come true, much faster than he could ever have expected. Stalingrad was to thank for that, too—

But he took no pleasure in it.

Breuer could only shake his head in bewilderment at the behaviour of the Sonderführer over this period. Fröhlich seemed to be gripped by a zealousness that was impossible to fathom. He spent almost the entire day on the move or having long conversations in Russian with Nasarov. He no longer offered any predictions concerning the military and political situation, but his silence was born of a sly optimism. At his instigation, two Russian volunteers he had picked up somewhere were working in the kitchen. He always made a point of giving them something from his own meagre daily rations. One day Breuer caught him giving the Russian lieutenant colonel a long lecture in front of the intelligence division’s large-scale map of the front. Breuer blew his top about that. The Sonderführer maintained a haughty silence as the first lieutenant tore him off a strip. But when Breuer’s fury refused to abate and he threatened to report him, Fröhlich was moved to speak.

‘I didn’t want to say anything, actually; but it can’t harm, the die is cast now… or pretty much, anyhow. Don’t think for a moment that the Führer’s abandoned us. He’s promised he’ll get us out of here. But even so, he might come too late. And in any event, all we need is to start throwing in the towel now!’

‘Perhaps you’d be so kind as not to beat about the bush!’ the first lieutenant interrupted him.

‘I… I’ve made preparations for a breakout.’

‘Whaaat!?’

Breuer’s face looked quite dumbstruck for a moment. Then he shrugged and turned away.

‘You’ve lost your mind!’ he laughed. His anger had blown over by now. Fröhlich wasn’t fazed in the slightest.

‘Allow me to explain, Lieutenant,’ he continued. ‘The moment may come when the whole shooting match here collapses, agreed? – where no one’s issuing orders any more – and everyone has to fend for himself. Well, I’ve made preparations for just such a case. We’re going to break out to the west under our own steam!’

Breuer had opened the door and called for his batman to bring him his second pair of trousers, which were generally hung up outside throughout the day to try to delouse them in the winter cold; he cast a careful eye over them when they were handed to him. He knew that many people had started to think like the Sonderführer recently. He regarded their ideas as childish notions, the product of fevered imaginations.

‘My dear sir, how do you imagine we’re going to do that, then?’ he said pityingly. ‘The Russians aren’t stupid, you know! Do you think they haven’t anticipated such desperate moves? And even if you did manage to get through their lines, you’re facing a journey of three hundred kilometres through deep snow, at temperatures of minus thirty, on foot, and in the condition we’re in. And where do you suppose we’ll find food for a week’s route march? No, my dear fellow, drop this nonsense and stop putting stupid ideas in our men’s heads!’

Fröhlich was not to be dissuaded, however. He rubbed his hands cheerfully.

‘I’ve thought of all that. I’ve factored in everything like that. All we need is a spot of luck and it simply can’t fail to succeed!’

And so he duly set about outlining his plan. As he proceeded, Breuer put down the trousers he was holding and began to listen attentively. So, the idea was to find a hideaway and let the Russians roll right past. And then, with the help of the Russian officer and the two Russian Hiwis , to pretend first that they were a party of German POWs under escort. Breuer had to hand it to Fröhlich; that wasn’t so stupid after all! He jumped up and started pacing the room. Then, they’d commandeer a lorry somewhere in the depopulated hinterland and drive towards their own lines masquerading as Russian reinforcements. Yes, that could work! It really could! Breuer called to mind the confidential reports on German special forces who had achieved some notable successes behind enemy lines while wearing Russian uniforms. If nothing unforeseen happened, the operation could be wrapped up within twenty-four hours. That meant that there’d be no problems with food supplies or any overtaxing physical hardships. Fröhlich continued laying out his scheme, methodically and carefully. Breuer was amazed at how astutely the Sonderführer had thought through even the minutest details of his plan. He found himself gripped by a feverish excitement.

‘What about fuel?’ he asked, his voice hoarse with emotion.

‘There’ll be bound to be enough for a three-hundred-kilometre drive. Every Russian lorry carries a reserve tank.’ Breuer’s hand was shaking as he traced their route on the map.