Frozen Meat - Leningrad Front, December 1941

(Source)

Oberschütze Harald Toman and his assistant gunner Schütze Torben Krukenberg were manning their MG 34 in a cramped dugout facing the Russian lines. They had overhead cover and the sides of the position extended back into the trench, which at least kept the wind out. Mostly.

Toman could not remember ever being this cold in his entire life. He was from an area in Germany which seldom got below 0° C and here the temperature had been below zero for the better part of the last week. He had to remember to stomp his feet frequently to keep the blood flowing. Two men from 2nd Company over in 1st Battalion had been evacuated for frostbite two days ago.

Word had come back from the rear that one of the men had lost the tip of his nose and one earlobe, the other man had had to have all the toes on his right foot amputated. No one had died of the cold but the squad leaders and the platoon commanders had to check frequently to make sure that the men took care of themselves. It was far too easy to get complacent.

"Dear Lord, I am so cold, Harald. When do we get relieved?" Krukenberg groaned.

Toman looked at the man, "Rub your cheeks man, they're starting to look white. Pull your toque up. I know it's cold, but we've got at least another 30 minutes out here."

As Krukenberg pulled his gloves off then rubbed his cheeks vigorously, Toman leaned back and looked down the trench towards the squad's bunker. It looked like it was starting to snow again, the wind was picking up as well. He could barely see ten meters.

When Krukenberg had his gloves back on, Toman took his own gloves off and tried to warm his fingers. As he tugged them back on, he heard something, out towards the Russian lines.

"Dear God, that's a tank engine." he then started bellowing "STAND TO! STAND TO!"

(Source)

As Mládshiy serzhánt¹ Ustin Rodionovich Kazankov jogged behind the rattling T-34 he looked around, his squad mates were with him, though it was cold, bitter cold, they were dressed for it. He raised a hand and waved at his corporal, leading the other half of the squad.

Efréĭtor Nazar Danylovych Petrenko waved back, then pushed one of the new man back into position. Kazankov was still bewildered how quickly they had gone from the frying pan into the fire.

They had been cut off behind the lines and they had been settling into their new life as partisans. It was a harsh existence, but free of Moscow and the Party. Even the Commissar who had been parachuted in to them, Kapitán Lavrentiy Alesnarovich Rabrenovich, was a decent sort, rather than fill the men's heads with political slogans, he worked hard to keep their morale up.

Then one day they had been on a raid led by Majór Ivan Filippovich Telitsyn and his ever present orderly Efréĭtor Vitaliy Afanasievich Kolobkov. Things were going well, the German lines were thin there.

As they ransacked a German supply convoy, a column of SS men in armored cars and trucks had come down the road. Sadly Comrade Rabrenovich had gone down in the first volleys. But his death had enraged the men.

When the SS retreated, the erstwhile partisans found themselves close to the Soviet lines. So the Major led them home. Back to the regular army, but the rations, though poor, were regular and they didn't have to sleep in the forest.

A train had taken them north, they were supposed to go to Moscow where they would join a new unit. But fate, and a fascist bombing raid on the rail line, diverted them to Leningrad. Just before the Germans had wrapped the city in a ring of steel.

Now they were trying to break that ring.

Leutnant Jürgen von Lüttwitz was watching the Russians advancing, tanks and infantry, lots and lots of infantry, but so far, no artillery. Perhaps the rumors of ammunition shortages in the city were true. But as of yet, the Germans suffered no such shortages.

Von Lüttwitz nodded to one of his runners and the man fired a green flare towards the advancing Russians. Moments later the sound of incoming artillery filled the air.

Blossoms of smoke and flame began blooming among the Russians. He saw one T-34 take a direct hit which caused it to roll to a stop, then begin to burn. No one got out.

Though the artillery round didn't penetrate the vehicle's thick skin, the shock of the explosion killed the crew instantly. It also set the fuel drums the Russians were so fond of strapping to the backs of their Panzers on fire.

As he watched, he could see the infantry were being slaughtered in droves. The Panzers wavered, then began to back up, the T-34 crews had no desire to advance without infantry support. And those infantrymen were starting to run back to their own lines.

For now, another Soviet attempt to break the encirclement had been driven back.

"How many, Ustin Rodionovich?" Telitsyn asked as he surveyed the survivors.

"All of the new men, they don't know enough to keep their heads down. Kyrylo Ihorovych has a minor shrapnel wound but he'll survive. Those Ukrainians are tough little bastards." Kazankov shook his head, the high command must have thought the Germans would run when they saw the size of the attack.

But with artillery ammunition rationed on the Soviet side of the lines, and not on the German side, the attack was doomed to failure. For once it was the Germans dug in and inflicting casualties with their artillery and those damned machine guns of theirs.

"What were the bosses thinking, Comrade Major?" Kazankov asked in frustration.

"Ah Ustin Rodionovich, what makes you believe there was any thought behind this attack? It should have been coordinated with other attacks, but we throw the men in piecemeal, hoping for a miracle perhaps. But if Saint Barbara² has no ammo to throw at the fascists, what hope do we have?"

"What of this rumor that the lake might be frozen enough to bring in supplies?"

"Ah, it's no rumor Ustin Rodionovich, perhaps tonight."

"Food for the people?"

Telitsyn shook his head, "Food for the guns, which we'll feed to the fascists. The people will have to survive on what little they have until we can break this siege."

Kazankov should have realized that, without ammunition they had no hope. So they would tighten their belts and try again within the week. Perhaps the Germans would all freeze to death before then.

Even Russians were beginning to die from this brutal cold.

¹ Junior sergeant (Russian)

² St. Barbara is the patron saint of artillery.