William Craig - Enemy at the Gates

His mind in a ferment, the doctor wandered away from the crackling flames. Only hours before he had been prepared to leave for a Christmas furlough in Italy. Now he walked through a nightmare of dead and dying—and the living, who jostled past him with curses on their lips.

The Italian Eighth Army had broken and run.

Unaware of this new disaster, the 6th Panzer Division speeding toward the Kessel entered a village on the south side of the Mishkova River. In the predawn light of December 20, someone spied a Russian staff car racing toward the still-undamaged bridge leading to Vassilevska on the northern bank. A helmeted Russian officer was crouching low in the back seat of the automobile, and before anyone could stop him, the car sped over the river to safety.

But the Russians had made a grievous error. They failed to blow the span, and the German panzers rumbled into Vassilevska just before first light. They immediately formed a hedgehog defense, to wait for supply trucks with ammunition and gasoline to catch up with them.

To their front, the entire Soviet Second Guards Army was deployed across the route to Stalingrad. And while scouts of the 6th Panzer Division watched the rear for some sign of the desperately needed supplies, the Russians began to push them back. A pessimistic German officer approved the morning’s report:

War Diary Tank Regiment 11–Vassilevska

December 20th-0600 hours

The gradually increasing resistance is becoming stronger every hour….Our weak troops—twenty-one tanks without gasoline and two weak assault gun companies—are insufficient to widen the bridgehead….

Along the upper Don, the sun rose on a ghastly scene. The bitter cold had claimed thousands of Italian soldiers who paused to sleep during the night. These victims now sat by the roads in what appeared to be comfortable positions, like bored spectators at a Roman arena, as their countrymen scurried by. Giant snowflakes began to collect on their coats and faces; soon they were covered completely. The corpses became road markers for the living.

Cristoforo Capone walked past them in a daze. Still numbed by the thought that he had barely missed his flight to freedom, he tried to grapple with the reality of the situation. The cries of a wounded soldier stopped him. Without any medical supplies, the doctor cupped the boy’s head in his hands and looked sorrowfully into his eyes.

“My son, I can do nothing for you,” he said softly. “You must be brave.”

As the boy stared back, a shell splinter cut off the top of his head, spraying brains and blood over the doctor’s face and uniform. For several long seconds, Capone held tightly to the crimson gray mask in his hands. Then the boy sagged onto the ground. Capone collapsed beside him and threw up.

When the nausea passed, the doctor rose weakly. Grazing a solid object with his hand, he grasped a bag of sugar that somehow had been hidden in the snow. Suddenly, ravenously hungry, he began to stuff handfuls of the delicacy into his mouth.

While the Italian Eighth Army collapsed, the teleprinter at Gumrak produced another frenzy of words.

20 Dec 42, afternoon.

+++ Here is General Schulz.

+++ Here is General Schmidt. Hello, Schultz.

1. As a result of the casualties of the recent days, the troop situation on the west front and in the city of Stalingrad has become extremely tense. Penetrations can only be repulsed by those forces which are to be committed for operation Winter Storm [linkup]. In case of major breakthroughs we must have the Army reserves and in particular the tanks at our disposal….So far the Army tanks had to be committed on the west front every second or third day, as a fire brigade, so-to-speak. This means—as was reported yesterday—that, if stronger forces of the Army advance too far away from the fortress, it becomes doubtful whether the fortress itself can be held…. The start of the attack will therefore depend on how far [6th Panzer Division] will presumably advance…. However, the Army Group may rest assured that we shall not take a one-sided view of the situation and that we shall not act selfishly. Still, we again request that we may not be ordered to form up until it is certain that Hoth’s operational units will reach the area around Businovka…. In this connection more detailed and continual information on the situation with Hoth would be particularly important to us.

2. The situation would be somewhat different, if it were certain that Winter Storm would be immediately followed by Thunderclap [total withdrawal]. In this case we might put up with local penetrations on the other fronts, provided they do not endanger the retreat of the Army as a whole. We would then be much stronger for the breakthrough toward the south, because we could concentrate numerous local reserves from all fronts in the south.

It would therefore be essential for the Army to learn in time whether Thunderclap is still intended….

3. In case Operation Thunderclap is put into practice, it is necessary that

(a) part of the 8,000 wounded men who are still here at present, are taken out by air. We have an additional 500 to 600 casualties per day, so that if 1,000 wounded men were taken out daily… 6 to 8 days would suffice to evacuate about half of them. The balance might be evacuated by truck or by air, during the operation….

4. If we form up for Winter Storm, it must also be kept in mind, that Thunderclap can follow immediately afterwards, if we have a 5- to 6-day preparatory period. Otherwise, we are compelled to leave much material behind or destroy it….

6….On this side everything has been prepared in accordance with your order of yesterday, so that movements for both operations can start at short notice. Ending.

Maj. Eugen Rettenmaier left his 576th Regiment at the Barrikady Gun Factory to go on detached duty at the Gorodische Balka, just west of the city. It was thirty degrees below zero. Rettenmaier’s nose was running and the snot froze on his lips. Walking with his orderly along a plowed road, he noticed a man sitting in the snow. It was a soldier from one of his companies.

“Are you tired?” Rettenmaier asked. The soldier nodded apathetically.

“Get up, comrade, we’ll help you,” and they pulled him along.

At the balka, a surgeon examined the man, but he died an hour later. The doctor’s first comment was that he had starved to death. Then he hurriedly hedged his diagnosis to include “exhaustion or even circulatory trouble.”

Rettenmaier knew better. It had been starvation, nothing else.

At the upper Don, west of Serafimovich, Lt. Felice Bracci, who had come to Russia because he wanted to see the wondrous steppe country, now ran across it to save his life. He had been rudely awakened the day before by an aide shouting that most of his 3rd Bersaglieri Regiment had scattered to the south. Bracci thought he was dreaming, that the orderly was playing a joke on him, but the man’s terrified eyes quickly brought him to his senses.

Grabbing a rifle, he ran to the command post, where a bewildered officer ordered him to retreat thirty miles south to a place called Kalmikoff. The officer insisted that all heavy equipment except Bracci’s two antitank guns must be destroyed prior to departure.

The 5th Company of Bersaglieri moved out shortly and, after several hours, other nondescript units joined the column. Marching at the rear, Bracci personally commanded the two heavy guns. Behind him there was no one—nothing but snow and wind that cut into his back. When night came, with the temperature well below zero, Bracci’s guns became harder to move. The men hauling them had deep red creases on their hands and Bracci himself felt terribly weary. But he continued to shout encouragement and helped haul, lift, or push the cannon through the drifting snow.