William Craig - Enemy at the Gates

The Germans were monitoring the conversation and concentrated their fire on the holocaust. Mortar shells killed men in the doorway to Chuikov’s dugout, and he moved quickly, this time up the shore line, closer to the tractor factory, the complex that the Germans were preparing to attack from three sides.

In the midst of preparations by both armies for the final struggle, a sinister personal combat reached its climax in no-man’s-land. The two adversaries knew each other only by reputation. Major Konings had arrived from Germany to duel Vassili Zaitsev.

The Russians first heard of Konings’s presence when a prisoner revealed the major was wandering the front lines, familiarizing himself with the terrain. Upon hearing the news, Col. Nikolai Batyuk, the commander of the 284th Division, called a meeting of his sniper group to brief them on the danger.

“I think that the German supersniper from Berlin will be easy meat for us. Is that right, Zaitsev?”

“That’s right, Comrade colonel,” Zaitsev agreed. But first, he had “to find him, study his habits and methods and… wait the right moment for one, and only one well-aimed shot.”

Zaitsev had no idea how his antagonist worked. He had killed many German sharpshooters, but only after watching their habits for days. In Konings’s case, his camouflage, firing patterns, ruses, all these pieces of the mosaic were missing.

On the other hand, German intelligence had studied Russian leaflets describing Soviet sniper techniques, and Zaitsev’s mannerisms had been bountifully illustrated by Russian propagandists. Major Konings must have absorbed this information; Zaitsev had no idea when he would strike.

For several days, Russian marksmen searched the ruins of Stalingrad through their field glasses. They came to Zaitsev with strategies, novel and fresh, but the grim Siberian rejected their advice. He had to wait until Konings made the first move.

During this period nothing unusual occurred. Then, in rapid succession, two Soviet snipers fell victim to single rifle shots. To Zaitsev it was obvious that Major Konings had announced the beginning of their personal duel. So the Russian went looking for his foe.

He crawled to the edge of no-man’s-land between Mamaev Hill and the Red October Plant and surveyed the chosen field of battle. Studying the enemy lines through binoculars, he saw no irregularity: The terrain was familiar, with trenches and bunkers in the same patterns he had memorized in past weeks.

Throughout the afternoon, Zaitsev and a friend, Nikolai Kulikov, lay behind cover, running the glasses back and forth, back and forth, searching for a clue. In the midst of the constant daily bombardment, they ignored the big war and looked for just one man.

As the sun began to set, a helmet bobbed unevenly along a German trench. Zaitsev thought of shooting, but his instincts warned him it might be a ruse, that Konings had a partner out to trap him. Exasperated, Kulikov asked: “Where can he be hiding?” But Konings had not offered a single clue as to his own position. When darkness came, the two Russians crept back to their own bunker, where they argued for a long time about the German’s strategy.

Before dawn, the snipers went back to their hole at the edge of no-man’s-land and studied the battlefield again; Konings remained silent. Marveling at the German’s patience, Zaitsev began to admire his adversary’s professional skill. Fascinated with the intensity of the drama, Kulikov talked animatedly while the sun rose to the meridian and then set behind Mamaev. As another night came suddenly, the combatants went back through their own lines to get some sleep.

The third morning, Zaitsev had a new visitor, a political agitator named Danilov, who came along to witness the contest. At first light, the heavy guns began their normal barrage and while shells whistled over their heads, the Russians eyed the landscape for a telltale presence.

Danilov suddenly raised himself up, shouting: “There he is. I’ll point him out to you.” Konings shot him in the shoulder. As stretcher bearers took Danilov to the hospital, Vassili Zaitsev stayed very low.

When he put his glasses back on the battlefield, he concentrated on the sector in front of him. On the left was a disabled tank, to the right a pillbox. He ignored the tank because he felt no experienced sniper would use such an exposed target. And the firing slit in the pillbox had been sealed up.

Zaitsev’s glasses continued to roam. They passed over a sheet of iron and a pile of bricks lying between the tank and the pillbox. The glasses moved on, and then came back to this odd combination. For minutes Zaitsev lingered over the metal. Trying to read Konings’s thoughts, he decided the innocuous rubble was a perfect hiding place.

To test his theory, Zaitsev hung a glove on the end of a piece of wood and slowly raised it above the parapet. A rifle cracked and he pulled the glove down hurriedly. The bullet had bored a hole straight through the cloth from the front. Zaitsev had been correct; Konings was under the sheet of iron.

His friend Nikolai Kulikov agreed. “There’s our viper,” he whispered.

The Russians backed out of their trench to find another position. Anxious to put the German sniper in a maximum amount of blinding sunlight, they followed the irregularly curving front line until they found a spot where the afternoon sun would be at their backs.

The next morning they were settled into their new nest. To their left, to the east, the Volga ferries again struggled through enemy mortar fire. To the southeast, under the piece of iron sheeting lurked their antagonist, and Kulikov fired a blind shot to arouse the German’s curiosity. Then the Russians sat back contentedly.. Aware that the sun would reflect on their scopes, they waited patiently for it to go down behind them. By late afternoon, now wrapped in shade, they had Konings at a disadvantage. Zaitsev focused his telescopic sight on the German’s hiding place.

A piece of glass suddenly glinted at the edge of the sheet. Zaitsev motioned to Kulikov, who slowly raised his helmet over the top of the parapet. Konings fired once and Kulikov rose, screaming convincingly. Sensing triumph, the German lifted his head slightly to see his victim. Vassili Zaitsev shot him between the eyes. Konings’s head snapped back and his rifle dropped from his hands. Until the sun went down, the telescopic sight glittered and gleamed. At dusk, it winked out.

Before assaulting the factory district, Paulus insisted on eliminating a Russian salient around the town of Orlovka, three miles west of the tractor works.

The order to attack that town was sent to the 60th Motorized Division, and some of its officers complained bitterly. One of them, Lt. Heinrich Klotz, thought it absurd. At forty-three, he commanded the oldest group of men on the battlefield. One-third of them had fought in World War I in which Klotz himself had been wounded.

At a briefing, when he had asked whether tanks would support the assault, his superior answered that there were none to spare. Incensed, the aging lieutenant predicted the failure of the mission. The commanding officer angrily rebuked Klotz and told him to keep his mouth shut. Sourly, he continued, “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but we have to take Orlovka.”

In the gray predawn mist, Lieutenant Klotz sat in a hole and thought: This is going to end in slaughter. But when the time came to advance, he wearily waved his arm and led the old men up a hill.

Russian planes suddenly roared over the crest and trapped Klotz’s company in the open. Sticks of bombs exploded and right in front of Klotz, two stretcher-bearers simply disappeared. Lying on the ground, he stared at the huge hole where they had been, but he could not see any trace of them. Meanwhile, his troops died under bombs and machine-gun strafings. When the planes left, he shouted at his men to retreat and ran back to his own lines.