Bob Carruthers - Into the Gates of Hell - Stug Command '41

“I’d like to think so. It’s been hell here. We’ve lost more than half the battalion. So, Moscow is von Bock’s target?” asked von Schroif, changing the subject.

“My sources tell me that is the case,” replied Rossheim, pouring a generous couple of measures. Over the years, von Schroif had come to know that ‘my sources’ was Rossheim’s code for his unexplained, but amazingly accurate, flow of information. It was a fact of life which von Schroif never once questioned. He had never even hinted that he might like to know who Rossheim’s ‘sources’ were, perhaps that was why Rossheim continued to confide in him.

“However,” added Rossheim, lowering his voice somewhat, “I am told there may be◦— how shall we say◦— differences of strategic emphasis at the very top.”

“How so?” asked von Schroif.

“Well,” said Rossheim, draining his glass, “as you know, the Führer has always been at the forefront, keeping himself informed of the role of technology◦— particularly motorization◦— in the waging of modern war. Plainly, he knows that energy is the key to modern warfare, particularly oil. Power does not just come from the barrel of a gun anymore; it also comes from a barrel of oil.”

“I would not disagree with that,” replied von Schroif, sipping appreciatively at his glass of vodka.

“Now, let us postulate, SS-Hauptsturmführer,” continued Rossheim, “that there may be… err… let’s say… differences of strategic emphasis at the very top. Let’s perhaps suggest that these two camps may be crudely described as modern and…. old fashioned.”

“Go on, my friend,” said von Schroif.

“Whereas an old-fashioned commander might seek to win a war by the traditional means of decisively defeating the enemy on the battlefield, driving on to Moscow and fighting a traditional campaign, a more modern view would be to look to securing the source of power…”

“Would you by any chance be referring to the Soviet oil fields in the Caucasus?”

“Got it in one! I have always thought you one of our most perceptive commanders, SS-Hauptsturmführer! He who controls the oil controls the world!” At which both men clinked their glasses and drank heartily.

“So, what brings you here today, my old friend?” asked von Schroif, who was sufficiently astute to realise that Rossheim usually had a plan in mind; generally involving drink, debauchery, disputed bills and late night mayhem.

“I was invited along by our mutual friend, Captain Grunewald. I understand they are preparing to bring the Karl-Geräte into action today. I am told they are the biggest guns on the face of God’s earth. I thought it would be fun to see them go off.”

“You are remarkably well informed, as always. Everybody I have spoken to has been intrigued to see what happens.”

The Karl-Gerät was a huge self-propelled piece of artillery which rolled along from the railhead on its own colossal self-propelled platform, the size of two railway carriages side by side. It was enormous and fired the biggest artillery shells on the planet. It was the ultimate siege weapon and it was now being readied for the closing stages of the siege. This was naturally a huge source of interest for bored soldiers. Everyone who was not on duty turned out to see the two guns which had been seconded to the siege of Brest-Litovsk. They watched in fascination as two of the gigantic self-propelled howitzers lumbered along the specially prepared road surface to take up their firing positions in the field behind the StuG battalion workshops.

“Ah, here comes the ever impressive Captain Grunewald,” exclaimed Rossheim as the immaculate figure approached the table. “Welcome, Captain. Pull up a chair and have a drink. You are just in time to explain the mysteries of the Karl-Gerät to the Hauptsturmführer.”

“Certainly, Oberleutnant, I’ve been following its progress for years,” said Grunewald with obvious enthusiasm. “I’m addicted to technology. The Karl-Gerät is the biggest howitzer in the world. It has been constructed by German engineers on a monumental scale. It makes me so proud to be a German soldier.”

“You have the advantage on us,” replied von Schroif. “Please, do enlighten us further.”

“Certainly, Hauptsturmführer,” replied Grunewald, as eager to please as ever. “It all began in March 1936. I became aware that Rheinmetall had made a proposal for a super-heavy howitzer to attack the Maginot Line. Their initial concept was for a weapon that would be transported by several tracked vehicles and assembled on site, but the lengthy preparation time drove them to change it to a self-propelled weapon. I learned that extensive driving trials took place in 1938 and 1939 using the first Neubaufahrzeug tank prototype to investigate the extremely high ground pressure and steering of such an enormous vehicle. I was aware that firing trials had taken place in June 1939, although I was unable to gain access to the test.

“The full-scale driving trials were held at Unterlüss in May 1940. General Karl Becker of the artillery was involved in the development, from whom the huge weapon gained its nickname. In total, six Karl-Geräte howitzers have been manufactured. The nicknames give you a sense of the power they pack. They are known as Adam, Eva, Thor, Odin, Loki, and Ziu. In our sector, we are lucky to have Thor and Odin.

“The shells these guns fire are so massive that Panzer IV tank chassis have had to be modified as munitionsschlepper with a superstructure capable of carrying four shells replacing the turret and each has had to be fitted with a crane just to be able to lift the things! Amazing! Two or three of these munitionsschlepper are assigned to each weapon. You’ll see them in action shortly.”

Grunewald’s enthusiasm was real, but not wholly infectious. During his long explanation, Rossheim’s attention wandered to the radio truck, a door of which now opened. Obersturmführer Sanger emerged, followed by Otto Wohl.

“Ach! Here comes trouble!” said Rossheim to von Schroif, who was also thankful for the diversion. “I see Sanger is still with you. Is that your young Bavarian artist he is mentoring?”

“It’s my attempt to instil some radio discipline before he gets us all killed. He is on fatigue. Obersturmführer Sanger is supposedly refreshing him on the rudiments of radio-telegraphy. He is an excellent loader, but he has virtually no conception of Morse code. It may be an unwinnable struggle.”

“Greetings, Obersturmführer Sanger,” called Rossheim cheerily. He had an uncanny ability to remember names and faces that never ceased to amaze von Schroif. “Still trying to achieve the impossible?” continued Rossheim in his characteristically friendly manner. “Why do you waste your wonderful tutoring skills on Bavarian idiots? Wouldn’t it be easier to teach cows to do the polka?”

“I think you might have a point there, but I’m not really much of a dancer,” said Sanger, who seemed to have got the point.

“Tell me, SS-Kannonier, do you like music?” asked Rossheim, turning his attention to Otto Wohl.

“Only if it’s American!” replied Otto Wohl, much to von Schroif’s consternation.

“I am in full agreement!” replied Rossheim before von Schroif could intercede. “If I am going to listen to St Louis Blues, it had better be Louis Armstrong and not Goebbels’ ersatz monstrosity Charlie and his fucking Orchestra! Come over to the squadron one afternoon and I will explain to you how to listen to Morse. You must learn to feel the rhythm! It is an art◦— not a science!”

“I would be delighted to debate the relative merits of each in the art versus science debate, Oberleutnant,” interjected Sanger, always ready for an academic discussion, “but we have received an urgent message for Hauptsturmführer von Schroif. It would appear that a good friend of ours is trapped inside the fortress.”