Hitler Moves East, 1941-1943 (21 page)

"Tanks forward!" On they went. Through the ravine and up the far bank.

Infantry in field grey were scrambling up the slope in battle order. "White Very lights!" Wartmann ordered for the second time that day. At once the reply came—also in white. The men shouted with joy and flung up their arms. They were the 2nd Company of the Engineers Battalion, 16th Panzer Division, under First Lieutenant Rinschen. The two officers shook hands among scenes of enthusiasm. Their handshake meant that the trap 130 miles to the east of Kiev had now been closed, even though so far only symbolically.

At Model's headquarters the radio suddenly sprang into life again. "Connection re-established!" the operator shouted. Then he listened. Five minutes later the chief of operations dictated to his map draftsman the following entry, to be placed next to a tiny blue lake: "14th September 1941, 1820 hours: link-up of First and Second Panzer Groups."

In the orchard outside the headquarters of 2nd Panzer Regiment the tanks and troop-carriers with the white G and the white K were standing next to each other, well camouflaged under trees and hedges. The sky was alive with the flashes of the artillery and the howling of mortar salvos. The curtain was being rung up on the last act of the greatest battle of encirclement in military history.

The very next day the 9th Panzer Division with units of 33rd Panzer Regiment, having moved north on the road east of the Sula river after the capture of Mirgorod, linked up with the most forward parts of 3rd Panzer Division by the bridge of Sencha. Now the ring was properly closed and the trap shut behind fifty enemy divisions.

There was more fierce fighting to come with the encircled armies, as well as with the forces employed by the Soviet High Command from outside with the intention of saving Budennyy. There were some critical situations, especially along Guderian's extended eastern flank. Near Romny on 18th September an attack from the flank launched with four divisions against the German 10th Motorized Infantry Division and a few AA batteries got within 900 yards of Guderian's observation post up on the tower of the town gaol, and was halted only with great difficulty.

At Putivl the cadets of Kharkov stormed singing against the positions of 17th Panzer Division and the "Grossdeutsch- land" Motorized Infantry Regiment. They were killed to the last man. Near Novgorod Severskiy six Soviet divisions, supported by armoured formations, pounced on the combat-hardened 29th Motorized Infantry Division.

But it was all in vain. The Russian attacks were not aimed at a single focus. They caused some critical situations, but they did not turn the tide. The Russians did not succeed in denting Guderian's 155-miles-deep flank even at a single point.

On 19th September Sixth Army Infantry—more particularly, divisions of XXIX Army Corps—took Kiev. By 26th

September the great battle was over. Five Soviet Armies had been smashed completely, and two more badly battered. One million men had been killed, wounded, scattered, or taken prisoner. Marshal Budennyy, Stalin's old comrade-in- arms and once a sergeant in the Tsarist Army, had been flown out of the pocket on top-level orders. Stalin did not want this hero of the Revolution to fall into German hands or to be killed. Budennyy's command was taken over again by Colonel-General Kirponos. He was killed in action, together with his Chief of Staff, Lieutenant-Général Tupikov, while trying to break out of the ring.

In figures the balance of the battle was as follows: 665,000 prisoners, 3718 guns, 884 armoured fighting vehicles, and a vast quantity of other war material. One single Panzer Corps, General Kempf's XLVHI Corps, which had its three divisions engaged right at the centre of this vast battle of annihilation, alone took 109,097 prisoners—more than the total number of prisoners taken in the battle of Tannenberg in the First World War.

The numerical scale of the battle was unprecedented in history. Five Armies had been destroyed. The reason for this victory was superior direction of operations on the German side, the daring mobility of German units, and the toughness of the troops.

It was a tremendous defeat for Stalin. When Guderian questioned Potapov, the forty-year-old Commander-in-Chief of the Soviet Fifth Army, who had been taken prisoner by Model's Panzerjagers, why he had not evacuated the Dnieper bend in good time, the Rusisan general replied, "Army Group had issued orders for the evacuation. We were, in fact, withdrawing towards the east when an order from the highest quarters—this means Stalin—instructed us to turn back and fight, in accordance with the slogan: 'Stand fast, hold out, and if need be die.' "

Potapov spoke the truth. On 9th September Budennyy had issued orders for preparations to be made for a withdrawal and requested Stalin to agree to his abandoning Kiev and the Dnieper bend. But the dictator had thrown a fit of temper and had issued his famous Stand-fast-and-die order.

Stand fast and die! That order had cost a million men. It had cost the whole of the Ukraine. Now the road to the Crimea and the Donets basin was open. Stalin's mistake and stubbornness had terrible consequences—all but fatal consequences. Yet, in retrospect, it may well be that this mistake resulted in Russia's victory. The rapid progress of the campaign and his belief in the accomplished strategic surprise and in the invincibility of German arms produced in Hitler that spiritual pride which was to lead presently to a string of fateful mistaken decisions.

The first great mistake that sprang from the victory at Kiev was Hitler's conclusion that the Russians in the south were no longer able to build up a serious line of defence. He therefore ordered: "The Donets basin and the Don are to be reached before the onset of winter. The blow at the Soviet Union's industrial heart must be struck swiftly."

Hitler was anxious to gain the Soviet Union's industrial heart as soon as possible in order to make it beat for the German war effort.

But if Stalin's power was indeed reeling after the crushing blows of the summer campaign, then why not strike at its political heart as well? Why not exploit the demoralization in the enemy camp and deliver the coup de grâce by the capture of Moscow? Why not lay low the
dizzy,
reeling colossus by one last furious assault?

On the final day of the battle of Kiev Hitler therefore ordered the opening of the battle of Moscow. Its code name was "Typhoon."' D-Day was 2nd October. The objective was Moscow itself. With bated breath the officers and men of the Eastern Front heard the Order of the Day from Hitler's headquarters being read out to them: "The last great decisive battle of this year will mean the annihilation of the enemy."

Caviare for Churchill—The mysterious town of Bryansk-Moscow's first line of defence over-run-Looting in Sadovaya Street—Stopped by the mud—Fighting for Tula and Kalinin— The diary of a Russian lieutenant—Secret conference at Orsha —Marshal Zhukov reveals a Soviet bluff.

MR COLVILLE had scarcely shut his boss's bedroom door behind him when he heard him yell out in rage. He turned

back. Mr Churchill was sitting up in bed. Spread out around him were the morning papers. Opened before him lay the

Daily Express.

Angrily Mr Churchill brought his hand down flat on the paper. "Have a look at this." He pointed to a dispatch from Moscow. Churchill's secretary, too, was speechless when he read the report. Lord Beaverbrook, it said, who had been in Moscow with a mixed British-American delegation since 28th September in order to sign an agreement about military and economic aid to the Soviet Union in its war with Germany, had instructed a man in his entourage to spend a considerable sum of money on caviare—for Mr Churchill.

"That's a dirty trick," Churchill fulminated. Colville knew that no such request had ever come from Mr Churchill.

Britain, after all, had more serious things to worry about in September 1941. In North Africa Rommel had surrounded Tobruk; he had pushed far east to the Halfaya Pass and was threatening to strike at Cairo.

But that was not the worst of it. Hitler's U-boat campaign was making life difficult for Britain. The new German tactics of operating in packs and the employment of larger U-boats had again begun to offset what defensive successes the British had achieved during the summer. The battle in the Atlantic continued to rage with unabated fury. In September alone Dônitz's "grey wolves" had sunk 683,400 tons. Thus the total tonnage sunk since the beginning of the war had risen to 13,700,000—more than half the British merchant fleet. And new building could replace no more than 10 per cent. Britain's supplies were in a critical position. Most Britons considered themselves lucky if they got one egg for their Sunday breakfast. And just then Beaverbrook's mass-circulation paper must announce that the Prime Minister, who daily demanded sweat and tears from his nation, would receive from Moscow a present of caviare by the pound— that very symbol of luxury and good living.

Still in bed, Churchill dictated a furious telegram for transmission by the Foreign Office to his lordship in Moscow. It was handed to Beaverbrook by an Embassy secretary just as he was in conference with Molotov and Harriman.

The Press lord's interview with his Moscow correspondent, summoned to the presence, was noisy but unsuccessful. The correspondent was stubborn. He had got hold of the story, and he maintained it was true. Why shouldn't he report it? Was this not in line with his lordship's principles? Beaver-brook surrendered. Churchill did not get any caviare.

This happened in Moscow on 30th September 1941—the very day when the fate of Stalin's capital seemed already to have been sealed by a thousand action and marching orders. For on that day the entire force of Field-Marshal von Bock's Army Group Centre was set into motion to capture Moscow.

The Muscovites had no suspicion of all this. Since the German Blitzkrieg against the Soviet metropolis had been stopped behind Smolensk in the Yelnya bend and on the Vop about the middle of July, the inhabitants of the city had got used to the idea that the enemy was less than 200 miles away. After a while 200 miles seemed quite a healthy distance. Moscow had been spared. The war had swung to the south. True, something had happened at Kiev, but the Soviet High Command communiqué of 30th September reported laconically: "Our troops are engaged in fierce defensive fighting along the entire front." This was followed by fantastic figures about some 560 German aircraft shot down and destroyed during the preceding six days. It looked as if the Germans were being defeated in the air and were unable to make progress on the ground.

"What does the communiqué say about the situation up at Leningrad?" Ivan Ivanovich asked his father as he returned home on the morning of 30th September from helping to dig an anti-tank ditch far to the north of Moscow. "It doesn't say a thing," said the concierge of No. 5 Kaluga Street. "And what are those liars on the radio saying about the situation in the south, where Grandfather lives?" "They say that we have destroyed many tanks on our South-western Front. And that we have taken up new defensive positions according to plan." "And outside the city here? What's the situation there? Did they say anything on the radio?" "Yes." Ivan's father nodded proudly. "Near Vitebsk our partisans blew up a great many fascists. And they blasted the road. The Hitlerites can't get any further."

Ivan Ivanovich nodded. He went out to the kitchen to look for a piece of bread. His father could hear him grumble. The slice that was left did not seem large enough to his son. "There's some cabbage soup," he called out.

While Ivan Ivanovich Krylenkov was eating his watery cabbage soup on that morning of 30th September in the basement of Moscow's Kaluga Street, some 300 miles away, near Glukhov, in the Northern Ukraine, Second Lieutenant Lohse, commanding 1st Company, 3rd Rifle Regiment, raised his hand in his armoured car: "Forward!" And just as the spearhead of the 3rd Panzer Division moved off towards the east at Glukhov, along with it the 4th Panzer Division, the 10th Motorized Infantry Division, and the whole XXIV Panzer Corps moved into action. To the left was General Lemelsen's XLVII Panzer Corps with 17th and 18th Panzer Divisions and 29th Motorized Infantry Division. Behind was General Kempf's XLVIII Panzer Corps, another two Infantry Corps with six divisions, and the 1st Cavalry Division for subsequent flank protection. Thus the Second Panzer Group was moving towards the north again in a broad wedge aimed at Moscow. Operation Typhoon had begun—"the last battle of the year for the annihilation of the enemy," as Hitler had put it.

Colonel-General Guderian had been given a three-day lead so that he could play his part in the great offensive at the right moment and at the right spot. It was a bold and carefully calculated plan, designed to outmanoeuvre Stalin's strong defensive forces before Moscow. It was perhaps the coolest and most precise battle plan of the whole war, and was now running like clockwork.

This modern battle of Cannae was intended to unroll in two phases. Phase one was to open with a break-through along the Soviet "Western Front" where it was held by the Ninth and Fourth Armies, to the north and south of the Smolensk- Moscow motor highway. Two Panzer groups were to race through the gap—Third Panzer Group forming the northern and Fourth Panzer Group the southern jaw of the pincer movement. These jaws were to close on the highway near Vyazma, thereby surrounding the enemy forces outside the immediate defences of the city. Simultaneously, Guderian's Panzer Corps was to strike towards Orel from the south-west, from the Glukhov area in the Northern Ukraine. After driving deep into the rear of Yeremenko's forces the Corps would wheel towards Bryansk. Three Soviet Armies would thus be encircled. Phase two of the operation then envisaged the pursuit
OL
escaping enemy forces along a broad front by all three Panzer Groups; this to be followed by a drive to Moscow, with either the capture or the encirclement of the city.

It was a considerable force that was moving into battle under Field-Marshal von Bock—three infantry Armies (the Ninth, the Fourth, and the Second), the two Panzer Groups of the Central Front (Guderian's Second and Hoth's Third), to which was now added Hoepner's Fourth Panzer Group, which had been switched down from the Leningrad front and was now in charge of the right jaw of the pincers along the Smolensk-Moscow highway, while its LVI Panzer Corps was stiffening the left wing of Hoth's Panzer Group. In this manner fourteen Panzer divisions, eight motorized divisions, and two motorized brigades, as well as forty-six infantry divisions, had been brought together for the operation. The offensive was supported by two Air Fleets. Strong anti-aircraft units had been assigned to the Armies.

Everything was magnificently planned. Only the weather could not be foreseen. Would it hold? Or would the autumn mud set in before the troops reached Moscow? Moltke had written in 1864: "An operation cannot be based on the weather, but it can be based on the season." But the favourable season on which the operation should have been based was over. Winter was around the corner. Nevertheless Hitler risked the venture. On the morning of 30th September the crash of tank cannon and anti-tank guns ushered in the double battle of Vyazma and Bryansk, the Cannae of the Second World War, the most perfect battle of encirclement in military history.

The infantrymen of 3rd Company, brought right up to the front as reinforcements, were riding on top of the armoured troop carriers of 1st Company, 3rd Rifle Regiment, commanded by Colonel von Manteuffel. Why walk if you could ride?

Second Lieutenant Lohse was in front, in the command car of 1st Company. "Watch out for dogs, Eikmeier," he said to his driver. "Dogs, sir?" the lance-corporal asked in surprise. "Why dogs, Herr Leutnant?" Corporal Ostarek, the machine-gunner, also regarded the lieutenant doubtfully. Lohse shrugged his shoulders. "Three Russian prisoners were brought in at Regiment yesterday, each with a dog. Under interrogation they said they belonged to a special Moscow unit which used dogs with primed demolition charges against tanks." Ostarek giggled. "That's the craziest story I've heard for a long time." Lohse raised his hands apologetically. "I wouldn't have mentioned it if the regimental commander had not personally warned Captain Peschke and myself. Anyway, don't say I didn't tell you."

The vehicles were crossing a vast field. From the left came the stutter of Russian machine-guns: the first Soviet positions were along the edge of a village. The crash of 3-7-cm. antitank guns mingled with the rattle of machine- guns. The infantrymen of 3rd Company had jumped down from the vehicles and were now advancing on foot between the armoured troop carriers. Hand-grenades were flung into the peasants' shacks. A wooden fence was steamrollered by a vehicle. They kept going. Near the church there were more Soviet positions among the houses, well camouflaged.

They advanced cautiously.

Sergeant Dreger with his machine-gun made the Russians in their dug-out keep their heads down. Suddenly Eikmeier shouted: "A dog!" A Dobermann came loping up. On its back was a curious saddle. Before Ostarek could even swing his machine-gun round Captain Peschke in a vehicle 30 yards away had snatched up his carbine. The dog made another leap and then collapsed.

Just then Corporal Millier shouted: "Watch out, there's another!" A sheepdog, a beautiful animal, was approaching at a careful trot. Ostarek fired. Too high. The dog pulled in its tail and was about to turn back. Russian voices were heard shouting at it, and the animal once more headed straight for Lohse's vehicle. Everybody fired, but the only one to hit the animal was Corporal Seidinger with his captured Russian rapid-fire rifle, an automatic operated by gas pressure.

"Put out a warning over the radio telephone, Millier, about those dogs," Lohse commanded. And now they heard it in all the vehicles: "Dora 101 to all. Watch out for mine dogs. . . ."

Mine dogs—a term coined on the spur of the moment. A new term for a new and much disputed Soviet weapon. On their backs these dogs carried two linen saddlebags containing high-explosive or anti-tank mines. A wooden rod, about four inches long, acted as a mechanical detonator. The dogs had been trained to run under the tanks. If the rod was bent over or snapped the charge went off.

The 3rd Panzer Division was lucky in its encounter with the four-legged mines of the "Moscow Infantry Company." The Soviet weapon was similarly unsuccessful in the sector of 7th Panzer Division. But two days later General Nehring's 18th Panzer Division was less fortunate. Tanks had over-run Soviet field positions and anti-tank strongpoints on the eastern edge of Karachev. The motorized infantry units broke into the town. The 9th Company, 18th Panzer Regiment, pushed through to the northern edge and then traversed a huge field of maize. A few more anti- tank guns were silenced. There was no more firing.

The tank commanders were leaning in their turrets. The company commander had just given the signal: "Close up on me on the right. Halt. Switch off engines." Hatches were flung open. At that same moment two sheepdogs came racing through the maize. The flat saddles on their backs were plainly visible. "What on earth is that?" the radio operator asked in amazement. "Messenger dogs, I suppose; or maybe medical-corps dogs," suggested the gunner.

The first dog headed straight for the leading tank. It dived under its tracks. A flash of lightning, a deafening crash, fountains of dirt, clouds of smoke, a blinding blaze. Sergeant Vogel was the first to understand. "The dog," he shouted; "the dog!" Already the gunner had whipped out his 8-mm. pistol. He fired at the second dog. He missed. He fired again. Another miss. A machine pistol spluttered from tank No. 914. Now the animal stumbled and its forelegs folded up. When the men reached it the dog was still alive. A pistol bullet put an end to its sufferings.

Soviet writings are silent about this diabolical weapon— the mine dog. But there can be no doubt about its employment, especially as it is mentioned also by the war diaries of other formations, as, for instance, 1st and 7th Panzer Divisions. From the interrogation of dog-handlers captured by 3rd Panzer Division it was learned that the Moscow Light Infantry Company had 108 such dogs. They had been trained with tractors. They had been given their food only underneath tractors with their engines running. If they did not get it from there they had to go hungry. They were also led into action hungry, in the hope that hunger would drive them under the tanks. But instead of food they found death. The Moscow Light Infantry Company was not very successful with its new weapon. Only very few dogs could be trained to stand up to the noise made by a real tank. That, presumably, was the reason why mine dogs were hardly ever used in the later stages of the war, except occasionally by partisan units.