The End

(Source)

Oberfeldwebel Tryb shook his head as the remnants of the 2nd Battalion were falling back to the Seelow Heights, to the east of the capital.

"Did you see that, Sir? An old man and a kid, how are they supposed to stop Ivan?"

Oberleutnant Krausse had indeed seen the two uniformed figures in the slit trench by the road. Old men and boys, no rifles, no machine guns, just that one shot Panzerfaust to try and stop the Red Army.

If they survived the initial artillery bombardment, something the Soviets were fond of, then maybe, just maybe, they might kill a single tank. After that they would be slaughtered by the Soviet infantry, they didn't stand a chance.

"Sir?"

"What is it, Manfred?"

"Why are we still fighting?"

"Do you think we should just lay down our arms? Do you think the Allies, especially the Russians, will just let us go home? Perhaps if we said we were heartily sorry, maybe then we'd be all right?"

Tryb blushed, "You know damned well what I mean."

Krausse didn't answer for a moment, he looked back over his shoulder at his battalion. Three hundred men, give or take, many of the men were draftees, the average age was 19. There were one or two veterans in each company, those were less than platoon strength now.

"We're fighting for our homes now. Germany is lost, perhaps the enemy will break the country up like Goebbels claims.¹ Maybe we'll go back to the way things were before the Kaisers. Saxony, Bavaria, Hesse and the like, but there won't be any Prussia, you can bet on that. No doubt we'll be occupied for decades, if not forever. We have everything to lose."

"What is there to gain?" Tryb asked.

"I don't know, Manfred. We fight until we're ordered to stop."

"Or until we are killed."

"There is that, yes."

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"What is that sound, Opa?"

The old man listened for a moment, his hearing wasn't as good as it used to be. Then he heard it, well, he felt the ground shaking first. "Red Army armor, Junge. They'll be here soon enough, I'm surprised we weren't shelled first."

Even as he said that, the first artillery rounds began to impact around their positions.

The sound was unbelievable, no single explosion could be distinguished, it was a constant roar of high explosives detonating. The ground shook as if it were alive and in agony. It felt like the earth wished to throw them into the air where the hot steel fragments would then eviscerate them.

The old man remembered his own youth, the Western Front in 1918. The artillery had given him nightmares for years. He was almost deaf in one ear from a nearby explosion in those days. He was shaking with terror, his nightmares had come back to fill his waking moments.

The artillery stopped, the old man's ears were ringing and everything seemed muffled. He remembered where he was and poked his head up out of the trench. Russian T-34s and infantry, a lot of both from what he could see.

"Okay, Junge, remember what you were taught, you take the T-34 on the right, I'll take the one to the left of that. Okay?"

He got no answer, well, maybe he couldn't hear the answer, so he turned to his young companion.

Willi Möller was laying at the bottom of the trench, his eyes glassy and unfocused. The old man leaned down and grabbed him by the front of his tunic.

"Willi! Willi!"

The boy didn't have a mark on him, but the old man had seen it before, no doubt the boy had been killed by concussion. That nearby blast that had almost thrown him out of the trench but had left him unharmed. The boy had absorbed the entire blast.

"Damn it."

The T-34 sounded very close now, the old man took a deep breath, then flipped the sight up on his Panzerfaust. He then stood up, the weapon tucked under his arm.

He aligned the sight with the top of the warhead, lining it up on the Soviet tank not 30 meters away. He pressed the lever down and heard the whoosh of the propellent as the warhead sped on its way.

It was the last thing he heard as the Soviet infantry escorting the T-34 immediately opened fire on the old man.

(Source)

The war would end in less than a month.

¹ A plan proposed by Secretary of the Treasury Henry Morgenthau to eliminate the possibility of Germany ever rising again. The Nazis heard of it and Joseph Goebbels, Nazi Minister of Propaganda used it to convince the country to fight to the last.

Author's Note: Okay Scott, so it wasn't a "one off," more of a mini-series outside the main novel.

General Mud, the Rasputitsa¹

(Source)

"See Manfred, stop complaining about your boots getting pulled off by the mud, even the f**king SS can't move in this crap." Stabsfeldwebel Krausse said to the man next to him, Feldwebel Manfred Tryb.

Tryb shot his sergeant a look, "I'd think those Tigers could handle this mud, all that power, wide tracks ..."

"Nah, even a tank will sink into this morass if the driver's not careful."

He noticed that the SS men were busy unloading the stuck LKW. Which appeared to him as if it were a torpedoed ship, slowly capsizing. No doubt they intended to lighten the load so they could get it up on more solid ground.

Off the road, where his company was marching, wasn't much more solid than the road. But it hadn't been cut up by vehicles. Once they started running vehicles beside the road, you wouldn't see the difference.

Krausse remembered the fall of 1941, the men had expected to be in Moscow before the snow fell. No doubt the French had thought the same in 1812, his lieutenant had said. Some of the younger troops had scoffed at that.

"What, the French? How could they get to Moscow, they couldn't even stop us in just a month. They're not fighters!" Gefreiter Georg Hartmann had said that, Krausse couldn't even remember the man's face, he'd been killed outside Moscow when the Siberians had come out of the night and snow.

The lieutenant had told the man, "Don't mistake poor politicians and bad officers for bad soldiers. F**kers knew how to fight under Napoléon. In the last war they killed my grandfather at the Somme. They know how to fight. 1940 was an outlier, never forget that."

Some of the men had survived the winter of '41, many had not. Krausse shivered and thought again of the "Frozen Meat Medal," the Ostmedaille, which those who had been in Russia from November of '41 to April of '42 were awarded. Of all the men of his company, only twenty-seven survived to actually wear that ribbon in the second button hole of their tunics.

Medaille Winterschlacht im Osten 1941/42
(Source)

Krausse was acting company commander at the moment, a company more the size of two reinforced platoons, ninety seven men versus an authorized strength of one hundred and ninety men.

Their original commander had been killed in action in October of '41. His old platoon commander, Leutnant Herbert Krupinski, had then taken command. He'd been badly wounded in December, in the same attack which had killed Hartmann and many others.

Another lieutenant, Krausse couldn't remember his name, he'd been killed in action the same day he reported for duty, had taken command. After that, Krausse had the company, "temporarily" the battalion commander, Major Walter Kruger, had said.

Kruger had died that spring, now the battalion was commanded by a lieutenant, most of the companies by sergeants, there was one platoon commanded by a senior private. It seemed to Krausse that the Wehrmacht was slowly bleeding to death on the Russian steppes.

"You there! Feldwebel! Where is your officer?"

Krausse looked up into the face of a rather agitated SS-man, an SS-Unterscharführer. A damned junior sergeant!

"It's Stabsfeldwebel² to you, Kleiner³. My officer is in a grave near Kharkov. Want to go see him?" Krausse had fingered the trigger of his MP 40 which left the SS-man in no doubt that Krausse would use it. If he had to.

The man bristled momentarily, then said, "Sorry, long f**king day. But could you lot help us get our LKW out of the muck? The Tiger platoon commander doesn't want to leave the road, he feels like the road is his best bet."

Krausse sighed, he didn't want to help these SS bastards, he had seen their handiwork outside Kyiv last September. But it would set a bad example to the men, if these guys had been army, he would help, so ...

"Tryb, let's help these fellows move that LKW, those Tigers need to be up front, not back here in the rear!"

(Source)⁴

Once the LKW had been pushed off the road, the five Tigers had roared past without even a wave. They'd helped the SS reload their LKW, which had then driven off without a "thank you" of any sort.

"Arrogant bastards." Tryb had said, spitting into the mud in their direction.

"Yes, and what they've done in this war, we'll all pay for some day. Mark my words, Manfred."

Tryb shook his head, "I know."

¹ Sometimes translated as "thaw." Colloquially it means the "season of bad roads." Rasputitsa: "распу́тица" in Russian.

² A Stabsfeldwebel is the equivalent of a Sergeant Major, an SS-Unterscharführer is a very junior sergeant, one step above a corporal.

³ Kiddo.

⁴ Yes, I know it's a different truck type than in the first photo.

The Rain

Bundesarchiv

"Hartmann! Tryb! Get that machine gun to the front! A little rain isn't going to kill you!"

Feldwebel Krausse was enjoying himself. The day had dawned hot and dusty, as hot and dusty as the two weeks leading up to today. Krausse was tired of eating dust, tired of feeling as if his brain was cooking inside his skull. This rain, this blessed rain.

He looked to the sky and let the rain wash his face of the dust and grit which seemed to fill every pore. He shook his head, remembering his dog doing something similar when she would run out of the small lake near his home. Of course, his military haircut precluded water spraying from his head as it sprayed from her long hair.

She had been a great dog. His parents had brought her home as a small puppy when they had moved to the countryside. Father no longer was a policeman in the big city, now he was responsible for a small rural county where the only crime ever committed was someone being late with his taxes.

But his dog, he had named her Schatzi,¹ was his boon companion, she was more of a friend to him than any of his human acquaintances. He grew up with her, from the age of seven she had been with him.

She had lived a long and happy life, the day he had received his draft notice to report to the labor corps, to be followed by two years in the army had been the day after his dear Schatzi had died of old age.

His parents were distraught at his having to report for national service, he didn't care. His beloved dog was gone, what did it matter what he did from this day forth?

Now here it was, nine years later, he and his comrades were marching into the Soviet Union in the largest land invasion of all time. So he liked to think.

"Krausse! Halt the platoon, tell the men to prepare rations, we're going to be here a while!"

"Jawohl, Herr Leutnant!"

As the men moved off the road, Krausse got them organized, had the squad leaders take charge as he went with the lieutenant to see the company commander.

"How about this rain, Feldwebel? Feels good after the heat and the dust, ja?"

"Yes Sir, though the dust in my uniform seems to be turning to mud now, it still feels good."

When they arrived at the company CP, the lieutenant said, "Take a break Hermann, be back here in 30 minutes. Go for a walk, enjoy the scenery."

Having been given the liberty to roam, Krausse, of course, found a spot under a tree and sat down. Pulling his notebook and pencil out, he decided to write a letter home.

As his pencil was poised over the paper, he reconsidered. Putting the notebook and pencil away, he just sat there, watching it rain. He let his memories fill his mind ...

He thought about home for a moment, his mother and father, his sister, and his late brother, killed in action in France. He missed them. Then he thought of his old dog Schatzi, God how he missed her.

As a tear slid down his weather-beaten cheek, he stood abruptly and stepped out from under the tree and into the rain. Looking heavenward once more, he let the rain wash his tears away. A moment of weakness he wouldn't let his men see. But he allowed himself to remember, just for a moment.

Then he heard what sounded like thunder, then he realized, the rain had stopped, that was artillery. He sighed, he'd best collect his officer and get back to the men.

For a moment he looked to the sky and whispered, "I miss you, you lovely old dog you."

"Krausse!"

"I'm right here, Herr Leutnant."

"Let's go, sounds like Ivan is trying to make a stand."

"Right Sir, the Panzers take ground, we kill the guys they bypassed."

"No glory for the infantry, eh Feldwebel?"

"No Sir, no glory."

Just blood, he thought.

Eventually the rain would wash that away as well.

¹ Honey, or darling. A diminutive form of the word Schatz.

Author's Note: I felt the need to exercise my imagination, and to perhaps let some painful memories be washed away in the process. No, it didn't work.

The Past

Niedersachsenhaus
Baujahr 1779¹
(Source)

Sauer and Schwertfeger found Ziegler, stuffing his face with food the other companies had brought up. Both men stopped and looked on with amused grins.

"Diese Jugendlichen,² I swear Manfred, they can eat their own weight in a day." Schwertfeger said, looking at Sauer.

Ziegler had stopped eating long enough to swallow and reply, "What? I was hungry."

"Do you have siblings, Oskar?" Sauer asked, he did not. Though his father and mother both came from large families, he had many cousins, he had no siblings of his own.

"Two brothers, three sisters, how about you Horst?" Schwertfeger snatched a heel of army bread from Ziegler as he asked that.

"Three brothers, one sister, all younger than me."

"Sauer, have you no siblings?" Ziegler asked.

"None."

The men settled in for the night, though it was snowing on and off, the temperature had risen some. Not quite above freezing, but enough so that they were relatively comfortable. Sauer had moved off on his own, closer to the Soviet lines. He had told the others that he would take the first watch.

In reality the talk of family had depressed him more than he cared to think about.

Manfred Sauer was born in July of 1918. His father and his mother had managed to produce their sole offspring when Sauer the Elder was home on leave from the Saxon Army. Young Manfred grew up with his father's father, Wolfgang Sauer, and his mother, Hilda.

He had no siblings as his father had gone missing in action before Manfred had been born. His mother had never remarried, though she had many suitors. Which would cause problems for the family in later years.

Manfred's childhood was one of hard work and study. His father had wanted to go to university as a young man, his grandfather had told him that as soon as they could find someone to work the farm with them, then young Oswald could go off to school.

"Maybe then we can move to town and not raise pigs anymore! Live the soft life in the city!" old Wolfgang had said.

But the war had come along and ended all such dreams.

Though Manfred spent much of his day tending to the pigs with his grandfather, his mother had insisted he hit the books at night. The boy became a voracious reader.

Then in 1933, the Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei, the Nazis, had come to power and things went to hell, as Manfred remembered.

He had been almost 15 years of age at the time. Though he considered himself well educated, he had had very little formal schooling. He kept to himself, worked the farm with his grandfather and mother and read at night. History and philosophy were his favorites.

When the "New Order" had started to assert its power in Saxony, one local family, the Gottschalls, had risen to power in local politics, one of the sons, Wolf Gottschall, became Kreisleiter³.

Gottschall was single, his wife had died of influenza in 1919, and he was well known for being something of a womanizer. One thing he was also known for was being a coward. Somehow he had managed to stay out of the army during World War I. His family had always had connections, now those connections went all the way to Berlin.

The Sauer farm was very prosperous by 1936. Old Wolfgang had the means to hire men to work the farm, now he mostly managed the business side of things. He had help from his daughter-in-law who had a good eye for figures. She often lamented Manfred's lack of interest in mathematics.

The Kreisleiter had suggested to the Sauer's that it would be in their best interests to make certain payments to the Gottschall family in order to make things run "smoother."

Old Wolfgang had been incensed, "The bastards want our money without having to earn it!" he had said to Hilda.

"Opa, we can afford it, why make trouble?"

"Because they won't be content with this, it seems reasonable now, doesn't it? But it won't stop there, will it?"

"But Wolf told me that he can keep Manfred out of the army as well. He has connections."

"Mutti, I don't mind going into the Reichsarbeitsdienst,⁴ I'll meet other boys my age, maybe travel ..." Manfred had protested.

"And maybe go off to war and never come home once Hitler gets his war!" old Wolfgang said as he stormed from the room. "I swear boy, you are as stubborn as our pigs!"

Manfred had noticed that his mother's eyes were very wet, that was when he understood. He kept quiet and did as his grandfather and mother wished.

War had broken out in 1939, while other men his age were in the Wehrmacht, fighting and dying in Poland, Manfred was still raising pigs. He was now running the farm but things were getting tougher as many of their laborers were now in the military. The farm's profits were getting smaller.

And of course, the Gottschall's demands for payments had increased, as old Wolfgang had predicted. Which the Sauers were still managing to pay, somehow.

After the war with France, Hitler sought to deal with the Soviet Union which, of course, required a further expansion of the German armed forces, which Manfred had been exempt from, thanks to the manipulations of the Kreisleiter's family.

The day had come when old Wolfgang had decided that enough was enough and he had reported the Gottschalls to the police for "war profiteering." That had backfired however.

The payments to the Gottschalls were ended, as Wolf Gottschall was sent to prison and his family no longer held the office of Kreisleiter. Which was good, it was also bad as not long after Wolf Gottschall was hauled off by the Kripo, Manfred's draft notice had arrived in the post.

So at the age of 22, Manfred Sauer became a soldier. While the farm was still in business, the Wehrmacht consumed a lot of pork, Manfred was sitting in a hole near Leningrad, watching the horizon as it was lit by artillery.

Sauer heard footsteps behind him, he turned, it was Schwertfeger and Ziegler.

"Manfred, ready to go back and get some sleep?" Schwertfeger murmured.

"Ja, it's quiet out there, I think the Ivans are licking their wounds. They're getting pounded by artillery as well. I almost pity them. Why did you bring Ziegler?" Sauer whispered.

"Boy's gotta learn sometime, yes?"

Sauer nodded then slid out of the hole and made his way back to the lines. He realized then, that if the Russians had been active this night, he'd probably be dead by now. Daydreaming about the past wasn't a good idea while on sentry duty.

Thinking about the past at all was a bad idea.

"Live in the moment, in war it's the only safe thing." Sauer thought.

As he went to sleep, he saw his mother's face as he had boarded the train taking him away to the army. It startled him that he couldn't clearly picture her face any more.

His dreams were very troubled that night.

¹ Low Saxony House, built in 1779, (Photo taken in 1895)

² These young people

³ A Kreis in Germany is roughly equivalent to a county, a Kreisleiter was a district leader, responsible for running one of these counties.

⁴ Reich Labor Service, 18 years old boys were conscripted into this at 18, then went into the Army at 19 for a two year period. (Prewar, of course.)

Night

(Source)

Jäger was restless, the sun had gone down at least an hour ago. The snow had stopped and the moon was appearing fitfully between the scudding clouds. Visibility was very good, which was very bad for them. Anything moving across that snowy landscape would stand out like a sore thumb, white camouflage or no.

"Oberfeldwebel Kroemer," he whispered to his sleeping platoon sergeant, nudging him with the toe of his boot at the same time.

"Huh, what ..." Kroemer snapped awake, momentarily disoriented.

Kroemer crawled closer to his lieutenant, something was off. Then he realized what it was, the firing to their south had died down to a few desultory rifle shots and the occasional burst of machine gun fire into no-man's-land. Kroemer realized that he could actually see the tracers in the air.

"Things have changed, Herr Oberleutnant. Do we wait until later, if we go now ..."

"Ja, going now seems like a bad idea."

It was getting closer to midnight and the men were starting to wonder what was going on. Although it wasn't as cold as the past few days had been, it was still below freezing. Sitting still in a frozen trench wasn't conducive to good morale. Jäger was aware of that and had been around to the positions to let the squad leaders know what was going on.

Upon his return to where the platoon CP¹ was set up (really just a wider section of trench) he noticed that one of the runners² was keeping an eye on the terrain between them and the German lines. That man saw something, or thought he saw something.

"Herr Oberfeldwebel, there's someone, or something out there. I saw movement. There, by that low ridge."

Kroemer looked in the direction Schütze Karl-Heinz Berger had indicated. Not much to be seen with the naked eye. He pulled out his field glasses. Yes, there was someone out there!

"Good eyes, Karl-Heinz."

Noticing that the lieutenant had returned, he reported, "Herr Oberleutnant, there's a man working his way in our direction. It's hard to see him clearly but I caught a glimpse of a helmet."

Jäger glassed the area, just in time to see a man rise up out of the ground and work his way to a pile of junk near one of the abandoned shacks. "He's one of ours, or a Russian wearing one of our helmets. I'd bet my life it's a messenger from company, maybe even battalion."

Kroemer passed the word down the line for the men to hold their fire, a single man posed no threat. But he had one of the machine gun teams track the man all the way in.

Gefreiter Wolfgang Brandt was still shaking, he had thought he was close to where the 3rd platoon was supposed to be, but when Kroemer had seemingly risen up from the earth, MP 40 leveled at Brandt's midsection, he had nearly died of fright. Two men had quickly pulled him down into the trench when they had recognized him.

"Jesus, Wolf. You look like you've seen a ghost." Sauer had managed to find his way to the platoon CP when word had reached him what was going on. As he and Schwertfeger were providing security nearby, it wasn't far. Jäger had given him an annoyed look, but had said nothing.

Brandt shook his head, "I thought you guys were further south, when Kroemer came up out of nowhere he scared the shit out of me."

The two men looked over to where Jäger was conferring with his squad leaders. Sauer had a feeling they were going to be out here a bit longer than the plan had called for.

Portion of Oberleutnant Jäger's map
The blue line to the left is old German line, the red is the Soviet line, the blue line to the
right is the proposed new German line. "X" marks 3rd Platoon's position.

"So you see where I've marked it on the map, this slight bulge, battalion wants us to hold here, the remainder of the company will be moving up shortly to join us."

"Uh, what about the Ivans, Sir?" 1st Squad's Feldwebel Brückner wanted to know. The other squad leaders all nodded.

"According to Brandt, the Russians who were attacking  to our south fell back in some disorder. 6th Company is already moving out to take the trench lines which the Reds abandoned. 4th Company will be moving up to our north. It moves Ivan back a ways. Apparently they lost heavily in their attack. Regiment actually managed to bring an Acht-acht³ into the line, the Ivans weren't expecting that. Supposedly that one gun destroyed seventeen T-34s."

"Won't this little salient near our position attract some unwanted attention from Ivan?" Kroemer asked.

"Which is why the rest of 5th Company is moving up to reinforce this section of the line." Jäger told the group. "We need to let the men know that we've got friendly company coming up and to hold their fire if they see something to our rear."

"Brandt!"

"Sir?"

"You can head back now, let Oberleutnant Busch know that we're expecting him."

"Jawohl, Herr Oberleutnant! Oh, before I forget, the password is Balken, the countersign is Kreuz⁴."

As Brandt scrambled out of the trench, the snow was starting up again. Jäger commented, "Excellent, at least the battalion won't be moving up in the moonlight."

The he turned to where he had seen Sauer and Schwertfeger eavesdropping, "Schütze Sauer, a word."

"Heh, you're in trouble Manfred." Schwertfeger muttered.

"Halt die Klappe, go babysit Ziegler or something." Sauer countered as he moved to join the lieutenant, who had moved a short distance away from the CP.

"Sir?"

"I've been watching you Sauer, how long have you been in the army?"

Sauer thought for a moment, "Since May of last year."

That answer surprised Jäger, "Really, you seem old for a new recruit."

"Older than most, yes. It's a long story, Sir. I'd rather not get into it." Sauer looked off into the distance.

"It involves the Party, doesn't it?"

"I really can't say, Sir."

"I see. You are a very good soldier, Sauer. I would like to see you promoted and ..."

"With all due respect, Herr Oberleutnant, I've already turned down a promotion, the Iron Cross as well. There are reasons, but ..."

"You don't want the responsibility, is that it?"

"No Sir, well, yes. My goal is to survive, I know I can't do that alone. I just want to be part of this platoon. We have some good men, if I can help them stay alive ..."

"Your chance of surviving increases, yes?"

"I hope so. I just want to go home to my farm."

Jäger abruptly changed the subject, "How is Ziegler doing. You and Schwertfeger seemed to have taken an interest in him. Is he a mascot of some kind, being so young?"

"No Sir, absolutely not. Ziegler is a good kid, very bright. If we can keep him alive, he might make a good officer."

"What would you know about good officers, Schütze?" Jäger's voice took on a colder, more formal form.

"I have two very good examples here in the battalion, Sir. Oberleutnant Busch and Major Hassel. They give me hope that we might get out of this alive."

"You have no interest in defeating Communism?" Jäger asked, pressing Sauer.

"Not really, Sir. If defeating the Reds gets me home, yes. If not?" Sauer waved a hand in dismissal, seemingly of all politics.

Jäger grinned. "Thank you for being honest with me, Sauer. Let's keep an eye on each other and all of our platoon, Ja?"

Sauer returned the grin, Jäger seemed like a decent sort. "Aber natürlich, Herr Oberleutnant."

They were interrupted by Oberfeldwebel Kroemer, "2nd Platoon coming in, Sir. 1st has already tied in on our left."

"Danke, Oberfeldwebel, see to the MG teams placement. When the Russians wake up to what has happened, they may crash this little party." Jäger got up to speak with his counterparts in the other two platoons. He could see them both waiting at his CP.

"Oh, Sauer, you may return to your squad. And thank you again."

Sauer simply nodded before joining Schwertfeger, who had been waiting not too far away. From the look on Schwertfeger's face, he knew he'd be taking crap for spending time chatting with the platoon commander.

He wasn't disappointed.

¹ Command post

² Each platoon was assigned three Melder, these men were used as runners to carry messages for the platoon commander.

³ Literally "eight-eight" in German, which is what German troops called the 8.8 cm Flak gun which excelled in both antiaircraft and antitank roles in WWII. (There ya go Beans, it was an 88!)

⁴ The pronunciation of "Balken" is similar in Russian and German, though the Russians tend to draw out the "l" and the "k," in German it's more abrupt. "Kreuz" however is very different between the two languages. In Russian it sounds like "cruise" in German it is  roughly "Kroyts" the finial "z" sounding like "ts" as in "its." Also a German would think of the insignia painted on most German vehicles, including aircraft, the "Balkenkreuz."

The Tank

(Source)

"Chto vy zdes' delayete, muzhchiny?¹" Mládshiy serzhánt Petr Semyonovich Shulga thought it odd to see infantry coming from that direction. He had supposed that there was no one left in that section of trench save for a couple of listening posts. This appeared to be an entire platoon.

The man in the lead looked up and said "Privet, tovarishch. Kak vy?²"

Shulga's last thought was, "Something isn't right here."

Sauer opened up on the man sitting atop the T-34, the rounds from his PPSh-41 sweeping the man from the tank. The rest of the squad scrambled out of the trench to go around the vehicle to attack the crew, which they figured had to be on the side opposite to them.

Two screams, a fusillade of rifle shots and it was over.

Jäger came up quickly to assess things, "How many men in a T-34 crew?" He turned to look at Sauer, who clearly didn't know.

Unterfeldwebel Groß spoke up, "Four. Commander, loader, bow machine gunner, and the driver. Looks like we got them all."

Jäger looked in the direction of the fighting. The snow was easing up and visibility was improving. He noticed that his hands were shaking, badly.

He started when Oberfeldwebel Kroemer touched his arm. "We can't stay here, Sir." Jäger turned to look at his platoon sergeant, then he heard something. Tank engines, to their rear.

"More Russian Panzers?"

"Afraid so, Herr Oberleutnant."

Schwertfeger looked at Sauer, "I think we're f**ked. Sounds like more Ivans are on their way to the party."

Sauer nodded, "Yes. By the way, where did you learn to speak Russian?"

Schwertfeger grinned, "I don't, not really. I picked up enough working on the docks unloading Russian ships before the war. The crews on those ships love to trade for things. They don't have shit to offer, other than vodka, but occasionally you'll find a guy with an icon to sell. Sometimes furs."

"Icon?" Sauer asked.

"It's a religious picture." Schwertfeger answered.

"They can be very valuable," Ziegler spoke up. "Some of them are very old."

Groß came running up, "If this university class is over, we need to be moving. More Russian Panzers are moving up."

Kroemer had gone inside the tank, looking for any useful intelligence. He grabbed some papers, not being able to read Russian he wasn't sure if they meant anything, but someone at battalion could figure that out.

As he looked around the turret, an idea struck him. Quickly he scrambled up and out of the vehicle.

"Herr Oberleutnant!" he called to his officer.

"What is it Kroemer? We need to get moving. Those Soviet Panzers will be here in just a few minutes." Jäger was close to panic, but Kroemer didn't notice.

"Why don't we use the Panzer? The gun doesn't look much different from a rifle, well, except that it's single shot. It has a breech, you just push the shell in and point the turret. We could ..."

Feldwebel Hans Brückner, leader of 1st Squad looked at Kroemer for a moment, then spoke, "No disrespect Herr Oberfeldwebel, but do we have anyone who knows how to work the gun, and the turret? Not to mention, there are at least ten Russian Panzers coming this way."

Jäger spoke up, "Let's not be hasty, Brückner, after all we'd have surprise on our side. The Russians wouldn't expect to be fired on by one of their own."

Before he could continue, Sauer and Schwertfeger ran past, they were headed back to their initial entry point into the Russian trench system. As they went past Sauer shouted out, "At least fifteen T-34s and at least a battalion of infantry are coming this way. If you want to die, this is a good place to do it."

Before anyone could respond, Jäger ordered the men to follow Sauer. There was no time to play with the T-34. "Kroemer, give me your grenades."

"Sir?"

"Now, damn it!"

Brückner saw what Jäger had in mind, "I'll take care of the T-34, you get the platoon to safety." Jäger hesitated for just an instant, then handed his grenades to Brückner.

"Be quick about it." Then he was gone with the rest of the platoon.

Brückner scrambled up onto the tank, he thought for a moment about going into the turret. He could place the grenades next to the ammunition rack, but he was not suicidal. He quickly unscrewed the caps on all five grenades and let the beads fall free of the handles.³ Taking a deep breath, he pulled hard on the beads, dumped the grenades into the tank, then slid down to the ground.

He hit the ground running, he heard four thumps, very close together, from inside the tank, then a fifth as the grenades all went off. Not quite together, but close enough. As he ran, he heard a voice cry out, "STOY!⁴" Followed by a fusillade of shots, none of which were close.

As he ran down the trench line, he heard footsteps behind him, then a German voice screamed, "Get down!"

He hit the floor of the trench hard, winding himself. He heard the sound of an MG 34 firing, with attendant screams from behind him as the gun hit several of his pursuers. He was desperately trying to regain his breath when he felt hands grabbing his shoulder straps and load bearing gear.

"Jesus, you need to lose some weight, Herr Feldwebel," he recognized Schwertfeger's voice as the big man pulled him upright and began half-carrying, half-dragging him down the trench.

As they passed 3rd Squad's MG team, Schwertfeger yelled at them, "Let's get the f**k out of here!"

Groß had his MG team, Dietrich and Lang, move up to where the Russians had been stopped cold. There were only five bodies, he'd expected more. Maybe one or two got away? But he figured that the Russian officers would be focused on attacking to their front, not with the presence of German stragglers to their right rear.

"Set up here, ah gut, you brought the spare ammo, Ziegler. Sauer, Schwertfeger, move up towards that small copse of trees." He gestured to his right front.

Sauer and Schwertfeger moved off without a word. Ziegler started to follow.

"Stay here, lad. Just two men are needed to take a peek at the Ivans. They'll be back shortly. As indeed they were.

Groß began to ask for their report when Oberleutnant Jäger spoke from behind him, "Report."

Sauer spoke, "The Ivans are getting their asses kicked, I saw at least six burning T-34s. I bet they'll hold their ground as long as it's daylight, then fall back after dark."

"Why not now, Schütze Sauer?"

"They've gone to ground, a Russian with an entrenching tool can dig himself in like a burrowing badger. If they move in daylight, they'll be exposed."

Jäger nodded, "Makes sense."

"So Herr Oberleutnant, do you know how to use one of these?" he asked as he handed Jäger a weapon.

Jäger looked at it for a moment, then looked at Sauer, "PPD-40, where'd you get it?"

"Let's just say that one of the Ivans brought down by Dietrich and Lang doesn't need it anymore. It's a box magazine, I think the guy was an officer. Take these as well, spare magazines." Sauer pulled a bag from his shoulder and handed it to the lieutenant.

"Thanks. I'll ..."

"Keep yourself alive, Herr Oberleutnant, waving that pistol around makes you a target, and it's useless unless Ivan is close enough to dance with, and he won't be carrying a pistol. Unless he's an idiot."

Jäger's face turned beet red, then he looked down at the snow on the bottom of the trench. "I'll try and live up to your expectations, Sauer."

Schwertfeger chuckled, "You'll be fine Sir, Sauer's expectations of everyone are pretty low."

Jäger flushed again, "Does some Berlin nightclub know that their comedians are missing?"

Sauer guffawed, "You're all right, Sir. You're all right. But what do we do now? We're kind of out on a limb here."

Kroemer spoke up, "Dig in, wait for nightfall ourselves, then head back to our own lines?"

Jäger thought for a moment, "For now that sounds good, get the men positioned for all-round defense. If Ivan sends Panzers we're screwed, but I think they're busy trying to break through our lines. Squad leaders to me, Kroemer, get the men set-up."

"Jawohl, Herr Oberleutnant."

As Sauer and Schwertfeger rejoined their squad, Schwertfeger hissed at Sauer, so that no one could overhear, "Jäger's not a complete ass after all."

Sauer shook his head, "We've got a long way to go before sundown. Ask me what I think of him when we get back to our lines."

Schwertfeger grinned and said, "You said 'when,' not 'if.' You're becoming an optimist Manfred."

¹ What are you men doing here? (Что вы здесь делаете, мужчины?)

² Hello, Comrade. How are you? (Привет, товарищ. Как вы?)

³ Watch this video for details on the German stick grenade.

⁴ Russian for "Stop!" (Стой!)

Morning

(Source)

"URRAAAAAAAAH!!!"

Sauer lifted his head when he heard the Russian battle cry in the near distance. He had the sense that something was wrong, very wrong. He looked over at Ziegler, the kid was fast asleep.

"Kid, wake up. It's beginning." Sauer had to shake the kid a couple of times before he opened his eyes.

"What ... what is happening?" Ziegler was confused, he had been dreaming about home, wondering why his father had turned off the heat on such a cold winter's day.

"The Russians are attacking, but they're too far away. We can't even see them from here."

As Ziegler looked around, clearly frightened, Schwertfeger came down the trench, in a hurry.

"We're in the shit now, Männer. Do you hear that?" Sauer listened, he heard nothing at first. Then there it was, tank engines, Russian tank engines.

Oberleutnant Jäger was momentarily stunned. The intel about this section of trench being deserted was good, the location of the Russian attack was bad, very bad. The Russian infantry seemed to be about 500 meters to the south of what he had been told. Now the men were reporting vehicle noises, to their rear!

"Kroemer!"

His platoon sergeant turned, "Herr Oberleutnant?"

"Get everyone in, this position, we need to move, quickly!"

As Kroemer headed off to get the left flank men in, Jäger sent his senior runner, Gefreiter Willi Manfredi to bring in the men on the right flank. He began to wish he had something more than a pistol to fight with. He had been offered an MP 40 but had turned it down, "My job is to lead, not fight."

The Spieß had shaken his head and muttered, "Your funeral, Sir."

Now he understood.

Unbeknownst to the Germans, the intel regarding the location of the Russian attack had been good. The commanders on the ground had changed the plan, worried that their missing political officer may have spilled his guts.

The Russians had jumped off 750 meters to the south of the original jump off point. Unfortunately the tanks supporting the attack were adhering to the original plan. They were also a good 30 minutes behind schedule.

Jäger looked behind Kroemer and went pale as a sheet, "Where the hell is Groß and his squad?"

"They'll be along shortly, Bernd wanted to check out those Soviet Panzers. Schütze Sauer said they 'sounded funny'." Kroemer explained.

Kroemer, angry with Groß, had asked him if he had any control over his squad at all. Groß had simply replied, "If Sauer says something is off, it pays to listen, the man has instincts."

Jäger was looking at him, pointedly.

"Groß says he trusts Sauer."

Before Jäger could say anything, Groß and his men arrived.

"The Russian Panzers are moving off to our left. Looks like their whole attack is out of kilter." Groß reported to his platoon leader.

"Which one of you is Sauer?" Jäger asked with a certain amount of anger in his voice.

"Herr Oberleutnant?"

The man who stepped forward seemed completely ordinary, until you looked at his eyes. Jäger was reminded of a lion he had seen in the Berlin Zoo. Calm, but ready to do violence at the drop of a hat. Jäger shivered.

"Report man, don't make us all stand here in the f**king cold longer than we have to!"

Sauer grinned, "Schwertfeger, Ziegler, and I went out on a reconnaissance mission. The Panzers were getting closer, but the way the sound seemed to be moving, from left to right as we faced in their direction, it felt like they weren't coming our way. We advanced until we could spot them. They are moving to the south, to support the Russian attack. They are no threat to us, but we're doing no good in this position. We're out of range and we have nothing to stop a Panzer."

Jäger looked at Kroemer, "The man has a point, Herr Oberleutnant, if what he says is true."

Schwertfeger started to bristle, was the platoon sergeant calling Sauer, and by extension him, a liar?

"Would you like to see for yourself, Herr Oberfeldwebel?" Sauer asked, his voice sounding rather ominous, Jäger thought.

"There is no time for that, Sauer. Do we head back and reinforce the line?" Jäger snapped at Sauer, he was getting frazzled and it showed.

Before anyone could speak, Ziegler spoke up. "We're behind the Russians. Once the Panzers pass by, we can still hit the infantry in the rear. Can't we?"

All of the NCOs nodded, Feldwebel Jens Voormann, 2nd Squad leader, spoke up, 'He's right you know. If we head back to our lines, we'll be in the open most of the way. How will our boys know who we are if we head back the way we came? We're in white camo, just like the Ivans. If we do as the kid says, we're in trenches most of the way. We stand a fair chance of carrying out the original plan, just in a different spot."

Jäger nodded, looking at Sauer he said, "Apologies Sauer, things are getting a bit out of hand."

Sauer nodded and said, "I'll follow where you lead, Herr Oberleutnant, no apology necessary."

"Gut." Looking at the other squad leaders he said, "Well then, let's get behind the Ivans and see what sort of mischief we can create. Unteroffizier Richter, I want your squad on point."

Richter nodded and said, "Jawohl, Herr Oberleutnant."

Everyone could see that Richter would much rather be anywhere but on point. But he was a soldier, and a good one at that, so he turned to his squad and said, "Let's go lads, nice and easy now."

4th Squad made good time, they were getting closer to the fighting. They saw where the Russian tanks had crossed the trench line. They could hear the tank cannon barking not that far away. They also heard the deeper bark of a German 88.

It sounded like their line was holding, the platoon's intervention in the Soviet rear might turn the tide.

Richter saw the remains of a village ahead, though the buildings were mostly intact, it was obvious that the original inhabitants were long gone. No doubt the Russian infantry would have taken up residence if the village wasn't right on the line.

"Hold up lads." he signaled for the squad to go to ground. Something up ahead seemed out of place. It was man-made, but the snow was kicking up again and he couldn't really see what it was, but it was straddling the trench. So it wasn't a building.

Jäger came up, wondering what the hold-up was, before he could ask, Richter turned to send someone back to tell the lieutenant what was blocking their way. He nearly jumped out of his skin to see his platoon commander right behind him.

"Was is los?" Jäger hissed as quietly as he could.

Richter shook his head and motioned for silence. He leaned in close to Jäger's ear and whispered, "T-34, looks like it threw a track. I can see one of the crew up on the turret. The others might be inside that shack."

"What do we do now, Herr Oberleutnant?"

All Jäger could say was, "Scheiße."

(Source)

Questions

Bundesarchiv

"Well?"

Gefreiter Hans Schreiber set the barrel of the MG 34 down on the wooden crate in front of him and sighed, "You ask too many questions, Manfred."

Sauer shook his head, he expected more from his squad's assistant squad leader. Schreiber was an old hand, he had been with the division since Poland, surely he saw a bad plan when one was presented to him.

"Look, maybe we're not supposed to ask questions, maybe we're just supposed to do as we are told. I'm sure the brass know what they're doing." Schreiber spoke heatedly. He liked Sauer, thought the man a good soldier for such a Neuling,¹ but there were times he pushed a little too hard.

"Like the Light Brigade at Balaclava, eh Hans?"

"Precisely!" Schreiber picked up the MG barrel and began remounting it.

Sauer raised an eyebrow, "I'm not sure what you mean, Hans. Wasn't that a huge f**k up?"

Schreiber sighed and shook his head, "Yes, it was. But there are times that die Bonzen² do know what they're doing and just don't have time to explain it to every Hinz und Kunz³ who might want to know. Maybe they don't know what comes next. But we're out here on the line, things are tough and you know it, if the Ivans punch through to Leningrad things will go to shit in a hurry."

"I get that but ..."

"I don't think you do, Manfred. So the Russians appear to be making ready for a serious push, they've thinned out their line, leaving an inviting soft spot. Maybe they hope we don't notice, maybe they think we'll be too busy fighting off their attack to notice it. But notice it we did. The chiefs want to put a platoon in there, quietly, hoping the Ivans don't notice, and when the Ivans attack, we shoot them in the back."

Schreiber took his helmet off, straightened out his toque, then resettled his helmet. He then turned to look at Sauer.

"It's possible they don't know what they're doing, that's always a possibility. But what if this works, breaks up the Russian attack?"

"What happens to us, Hans? What happens to we Frontschwein up on the line if it doesn't work? Or if the Ivans fall back and overrun us."

Schreiber looked away, his eyes staring into a distant place only he could see, "Then we die, Manfred. We die. We're soldiers, that's our lot."

"So that's it then? We're just f**king pawns?" Schwertfeger was incensed.

"You play chess, Oskar?" Ziegler was amazed, Schwertfeger seemed like such a brute, perhaps he had misjudged the man.

"Perhaps I do, perhaps it's just an expression, it doesn't matter. We're to be sacrificed, maybe, maybe not. But I don't like it."

Sauer looked around, none of the squad's leadership was around, so he felt he needed to calm the men down. "Look guys, I get it. It feels like we're getting thrown away, but what if it works?"

König spoke up, "I don't like the idea that they shove us out there, in the middle of the Russian position, and just sort of hope everything works out. Where's the rest of the plan? This all seems pretty half-ass to me."

König's buddy Schmidt seconded that, "It's bullshit, Manfred. I don't see the point of the entire exercise."

Sauer let the men grumble for a bit, then he spoke.

"Look. we've been sitting here in these freezing f**king trenches for weeks now, we kill a couple of Ivans, take a prisoner here and there, they do the same. We're in a siege, trying to starve out Leningrad. It's classical shit, Männer,⁴ we can't punch into the city, we don't have the strength. They can't punch out, for the same reason. The Russians have to try and break the siege. We get back there, behind them, and when they attack, we bite them in the ass!"

Ziegler spoke up, "It could work."

The squad all looked at him, Schütze Volker Lang, the assistant machine gunner, scoffed, "Kindermund tut Wahrheit kund.⁵"

Sauer stood up, "Ziegler's right, it might work, but not if we go into it doubting everything. You guys know the drill, you've been around, together since France, right?"

Schwertfeger nodded, "You and Ziegler are the newbies, but ..."

"But what?" König snarled.

Schwertfeger stood up, he was big enough that he had to stoop over to stand up in the confined space, reminding everyone again just how big the man was. "But they're right. Ziegler and Sauer. Sauer's the toughest bastard in this squad. If he's willing to give it a shot, then so am I!"

At that very moment, Groß and Schreiber stepped into the dugout, "Give what a shot, Schwertfeger?" Groß demanded. Schreiber stood behind Groß wondering what mischief the men were up to.

"The plan, Herr Unterfeldwebel, some of the guys have doubts, we were discussing ..."

Groß shook his head, "Scheiß egal⁶ what you idiots think. We're moving out an hour after sunset, when the artillery starts. Get your gear together, it's going to be a long night!"

The night was cold and the snow was starting up again. The men had all whitewashed their helmets and all were wearing various items of white cloth, mostly bedsheets, over their greatcoats. In the swirling snow they were hard to see from even a few meters away.

Groß had Sauer and Schwertfeger bring up the rear. His squad was the last in the platoon column as they snaked their way through the trenches towards no-man's-land.

When they reached the jump-off point, Oberfeldwebel Kroemer was there to direct the squads to their positions. He pointed to his left, Groß' right, indicating that his squad was to be on the right flank of the advance.

Groß held his hand up, making the men wait as Sauer and Schwertfeger made their way to the front of the column.

He hissed at the two men, "You guys are on the flank, nearest the Russians, Manfred you go out first, Oskar, you keep an eye on the rest of the squad. Slow and easy, the artillery should be starting ..."

He was interrupted by the sound of German artillery projectiles overhead. When the first shots exploded, Groß gestured at the men to deploy. Moments later, the platoon was over the lip of the trench and moving into no-man's-land.

Oberleutnant Albert Jäger had a clear picture of where they were supposed to be in his head. Now if he could only match what he had seen on the map to what he was seeing in the dark. Kroemer hissed in his ear.

"Sir, bear slightly right."

Jäger paused briefly, then he saw it, the rusted out hulk of a Panzerkampfwagen III, knocked out by the Russians in the late fall. That and the small depression next to it, a pond in warmer times, and he recognized where he was. Just another two hundred meters and they'd be there.

Hopefully the intel from regiment was good and the Russian position ahead of them was empty.

 

Schwertfeger stumbled and fell into a hole, two startled Russians were staring back at him. He could barely see them, but their eyes shown in the dim light from a nearby fire lit by the barrage.

One of the Russians muttered, "Kakogo cherta?⁷"

The Russian who spoke began to gasp and writhe in pain as he was grabbed from behind, his mouth covered as a fighting knife slid into his brain.

Schwertfeger had already kicked the other Russian in the crotch, hard. That man rolled into the fetal position as the pain of his crushed testicles overwhelmed him. Schwertfeger's knife ended his agony in short order.

"What the f**k, Oskar?" Sauer hissed at the big man.

"Listening post I guess, stupid f**ks were half-asleep when I dropped in on them."

"You scared the shit out of me, watch your step."

After that brief exchange, the two men were on the move once more. Slipping like wraiths through no-man's-land.

Jäger saw the trench at the last minute, barely escaping from tumbling into it head over heels. Kroemer was right behind him. The trench was deserted. The intel had proven correct!

"Oberfeldwebel Kroemer, get the men set-up, make sure the machine guns have good fields of fire. I want to sweep the area to our left front. I also don't want any stray bursts going into our own lines."

"Jawohl, Herr Oberleutnant, may I suggest we use the runners and the Pferdehalter⁸ to cover our rear? I'll take charge of them."

"Excellent idea, Erwin. Do it!"

Jäger's platoon was set up and ready as they could possibly be. There was still the chance of Russian reserves further to the rear which might come up and hit them from behind. But so far the intelligence gleaned from a captured Russian political officer had proven good.

Now they waited for daylight, when the reported Russian attack would commence.

Then they would discover if there was any hope of coming out of this alive.

¹ Newbie.

² Fat cats, big shots, generic term for "the brass"

³ Hinz and Kunz (short forms of the names Heinrich and Konrad) is a German idiom and synonym for everyone. (Source) The English equivalent is "every Tom, Dick, and Harry."

⁴ Men.

⁵ Out of the mouths of babes, i.e. children tell the truth.

⁶ Don't give a shit.

⁷ What the heck? (Какого черта?)

⁸ Horse holder. Each platoon had one or more horses for the carts they were issued to carry extra ammunition and gear. Remember, the German Army wasn't all Panzers and Halftracks!

Editor's Note: Sorry for the excessive footnotes, but I like throwing German idioms into the mix. Makes it more authentic, I think.