Ominous Signs - South of Leningrad, USSR, October 1941

(Source)

During the night the snow had switched over to rain, the temperature was much warmer than it had been the day before. The men of 3rd Platoon awakened to fog, drizzle, and unfrozen ground. Which all knew would soon turn to mud on the roads and paths of northern Russia.

"This is going to really slow things down, Herr Leutnant." said Unterfeldwebel Georg Hansen through a mouthful of stale ration bread.

Von Lüttwitz looked at his platoon sergeant, he wondered who the man knew at battalion to have secured this particular post, usually held by a more senior sergeant. He seemed competent enough, but he wondered.

"Yes, it is Georg. Note how soft the ground has gotten, we're going to get our boots dirty today."

Von Lüttwitz waited a bit, letting Hansen finish his breakfast, before asking him, "So Georg, what was your job at battalion?"

"Supply sergeant, in charge of the 2nd Echelon. I was placed there during my recovery."

It was after Hansen had mentioned that, that von Lüttwitz remembered that Hansen did have a wound badge. "France?"

"No, Herr Leutnant, Poland. Left arm was broken in three places. I was in hospital until July of this year."

"Who ..." before von Lüttwitz could continue, Hansen spoke again.

"Major Hassel was my company commander in Poland, I was one of his runners. When he heard that I had been cleared for a return to active duty, he asked for me."

Von Lüttwitz wouldn't ask Hansen about the entire story, he had enough respect for his battalion commander to be confident that Hansen had been given to him for a reason. Hassell may have been disliked by the more traditional officers, but he was very popular in the battalion as a tough, but fair leader.

"Danke Georg, I like to know about my men, especially those with whom I'm in close contact every day."

"I understand Herr Leutnant, thank you for asking."

The three lost Russians had stopped, Sukhanov really had no choice in the matter as he had lost consciousness.

While Schastlivtsev was looking around, trying to figure out what to do next, Fedoseyev noticed that their injured comrade was no longer awake, and he had a fever. When Schastlivtsev rejoined them, Fedoseyev hissed at him.

"Sukhanov is burning up, Bogdan Ilyich, I think he's hurt worse than he let on."

Schastlivtsev looked around in an exaggerated manner, whispering, "Then let us drop him off at the first field hospital we see. What can we do about this, Yulian Valerianovich? We cannot carry him all the way to Leningrad. We must leave him."

Both men jumped when a voice behind them said, "You two idiots make enough noise to wake the dead." As Schastlivtsev and Fedoseyev reached for their rifles, the voice continued, "I would not do that comrades, or surely we will kill you where you stand."

The two men then noticed that they were surrounded, a number of men and two women, all armed, surrounded them in the dim light. The voice spoke again.

"What is your unit?"

Both men answered nearly simultaneously, "70th Rifle Division, Comrade."

"48th Army then."

Schastlivtsev answered, "That army was just being formed when we were cut off by a German attack and driven into the forest with most of our company. If the 70th was attached to them, I wouldn't know."

"An honest answer." turning to three of the men nearby he gestured for them to pick up Sukhanov. "We have a doctor, your comrade will be treated. As for you two, welcome to the Leningrad Oblast Militia, my name is Stárshiy leytenánt Pavel Yurievich Chekhov. I command this ragtag little army."

The platoon's horse and two Infanteriekarren¹ (aka IF.8) can be seen in the photo.
Bundesarchiv

Hansen was making sure that the company's two IF.8 carts were loaded and ready for the move forward when he saw one of the battalion runners approaching.

"Hey, Siegfried, new orders?"

Schütze Siegfried Oberholzer nodded as he caught his breath, "Where's your Leutnant?"

Hansen pointed and said, "He's over with 3rd Squad. Are we moving?"

"Can't talk!" Oberholzer ran off towards 3rd Squad.

Schastlivtsev and Fedoseyev watched as the doctor examined Sukhanov's leg. The man didn't seem overly concerned, which gave them hope that Sukhanov would be all right. But when he spoke, they were stunned by his words.

"The leg is badly infected, Comrade Lieutenant. If we had medicine I might be able to save the leg, but we don't. The leg has to come off today, or this man will surely die."

Chekhov looked at the men who had brought Sukhanov in, both looked shaken. Only Fedoseyev spoke.

"Lose the leg or die, seems a harsh choice, Comrade Doctor."

"What is his occupation?"

"I have no idea."

Chekhov decided for them all, "Amputate if that's what it takes to keep him alive. The rest of us have an attack to launch."

Looking at Schastlivtsev and Fedoseyev, Chekhov said, "How about you two? You can stay with your comrade or you can join us in the attack. I'll let you choose, looks like you've been sleeping rough the past few weeks."

This time it was Schastlivtsev who spoke, "We'll fight the Fascists with you. When?"

"Tomorrow at first light, you have time to eat and get some rest. Go with the doctor, he'll show you where the rations are kept."

Von Lüttwitz was nervous, the runner from battalion had stopped at Busch's command post first. The captain had directed him to continue on and brief von Lüttwitz.

The Luftwaffe had detected a large number of men off to the northwest. They were not moving towards Leningrad, they were moving towards the battalion's position. The report had said upwards of five-hundred Soviets could be involved.

"Was there anything else, Herr Leutnant?" Oberholzer asked, obviously anxious to return to battalion.

"No, thank you, Schütze, you can head back."

Turning to the men with him, he said, "Start preparing defensive positions, make sure your MGs have good fields of fire. I'll have more ammunition brought up. They might come tonight, but I suspect tomorrow morning more likely. First light, hope to catch us sleeping."

Von Lüttwitz had a very long night, getting everyone positioned and dug in. He had moved 4th Squad's machine gun crew out to the left, to support 3rd Squad. He had a feeling that the Russians would hit that flank, it's what he would do.

He managed to get an hour or so of very fitful sleep at the platoon command post. He was sure that he had done as much as he could.

But was it enough?

¹ Infantry carts (German)