Bloody Citadel Read online

  Bloody Citadel

  By Andrew McGregor

  Bloodied Wehrmacht Series

  Book 6:

  The Road to Kursk

  Prologue: Early April 1943: The Missing Man

  Major Zoran Dmitriyev stared through high powered binoculars towards the German defensive line, the bushes and netting placed recently before the rough cement aperture ensuring he could not be seen unless viewed from almost in front of the defensive position. At fifty two years old, his sector of the front had sat in relative silence for most of the morning, the activities of a deadly accurate enemy sniper the day before ensuring most of his men were keen to keep their heads down and remain in their bunkers. On his instruction, two Russian snipers were now themselves working the line, one behind his bunker and to the south, the other further to the north and in a thicket, both hunting the cunning fascist…the experienced Austrian having moved to another position to the south.

  The Russian camouflaged cement system was relatively small, two sturdy and cratered pillboxes linked by a narrow fortified and covered walkway with a small observation room between them, the two entrances to the purpose built fortification hidden beyond the hill and covered with bracken and undergrowth. The emplacement sat just below the brow of a gradual slope, overlooking the morass of mud that made up the hastily dug trench system leading down to the fast flowing river, nearly a kilometre from the German line.

  Log supports had had been hastily brought up in the last few days as the downpour had continued, rain rapidly drenching the emplacements and slit trenches, filling the hollows with a muddied slop or deep puddles. The trees had been felled from forests further back from the front, one corduroy track and the main mud trench systems lined with the wood logs to offer some traction and relief for the infantrymen and a route for supplies. The sympathetic local commander was keen to avoid trench foot and to limit the swarms of mosquitoes that would happily infest the soldiers, even attack the weakened inhabitants of the forward medical tent a short distance to the rear of the concrete bunker system.

  Torn roots and an abandoned blackened Gaz truck littered the landscape before him, several bodies lying in the glutinous mud, living comrades reluctant to expose themselves to possible fire to retrieve the corpses. Behind the rise, the scene was repeated with numerous vehicles stuck away from the corduroy track and simply abandoned by frustrated drivers awaiting the ground to become firmer, occasional patrols attempting in vain to free the nearest to the thoroughfare. Artillery fire would sometimes smash the single track, tossing splintered logs into the air, the Germans keen to target any supplies or reinforcements approaching the front, a designated patrol then assigned to repair the damaged section.

  The major gritted his teeth as he glimpsed wisps of steam rising from the barren and broken terrain below, a low late afternoon spring sun beginning to warm the land. The barely comforting heat would invariably encourage swarms of flies to venture from forests and undergrowth to the irritation of all soldiers, especially when food was brought forward from the rear field kitchens, the hungry troops engulfed as they attempted to protect their steaming rations.

  Zoran had personally arranged for the rear corduroy track and emplacements to be hastily camouflaged with torn branches and in some places, high netting. This meagre comfort to travel had attracted the German Luftwaffe and then subsequent artillery once the spotters or pilots had reported back the coordinates, the major keen to protect his men once anti-aircraft guns had been positioned in trees behind the rise. The bogged terrain that led down to the swollen Donetz River was shelled sporadically, the Red Army in the rear returning the gesture with heavy mortars or occasionally high powered artillery, both sides ordered to deter the other from any offensive operations. The front had now fallen into virtual inactivity due to heavy mud.

  Glancing round, he nodded to the seated forward radio operator, the cement observation post between the two pillboxes damp and dripping with condensation, droplets of moisture able to seep through the dugout roof and small cracks in the thick masonry. Slowly he turned in curiosity as he observed the young communications soldier listening intently to his headphones, the man scribbling notes furiously onto a soggy notepad next to the tarpaulin covered set.

  He took two steps across the puddled floor towards the young soldier as the man looked up and removed the right earphone, clearing his throat to report, ‘Comrade Major...the evening update from across the front on the Donetz.’ Zoran nodded for the radio operator to continue, the younger soldier scrutinising his notes, ‘The front is relatively quiet with sniper engagements reported to the north and south. The enemy has been shelling further south and Luftwaffe planes have been driven off by the Red Air Force Sir....’

  The young soldier leant further forward, collecting another notebook, water dripping onto it from above as he strained his eyes, his young face grimy and mud smeared, the padded grey uniform also covered in dirt, ‘...enemy movement seem to have moved to defensive operations whilst the fascists sit out Rasputitsa.’ He flipped a wet page over, ‘There are reports of some soldiers, mostly isolated sentries being found dead to the rear...this seems to be the work of this ‘rebel’ we have been seeking. There are rumours of him being a Cossack, others that he is dressed as a regular soldier...’ The young man looked up curiously, ‘What do you think, comrade Major?’

  Zoran Dmitriyev stroked his stubbled chin, reaching to his breast pocket for a cigarette and placing it between his lips, his other hand rising to ignite it with a ‘liberated' German silver lighter, ‘This wanted ‘rebel’ has killed quite a few men now...initially I considered he would be caught very quickly, but now it has been a couple of weeks and the casualties are mounting.’ The major hesitated, his eyes narrowing in thought, ‘Where are the latest reports from?’

  The radio operator glanced back down at his notebook, the grimy pages difficult to read, ‘About five kilometres to the rear comrade Major. The local commissar is very distressed, as is his commander.’

  Zoran smiled thoughtfully at the political officer’s discomfort, then grinned, tossing the half smoked cigarette away, the blueish haze extending across the bunker ceiling, ‘He was further away two days ago and is heading south east...the ‘rebel’ was to the north before...he strikes and then moves on. He is a German soldier, not a Cossack, this man is trying to get back across the lines.’ He strode forward with increased confidence, shouting through the narrow doorway into the corridor, knowing a sentry was there, ‘Double rear area guards of food and ammunition stores...no man to be out on his own. I want patrols sweeping our rear areas and any soldier that is acting suspiciously or unknown to us to be apprehended...brought to me. Do you understand?’

  A muffled response came from the damp corridor, the soldier shaken abruptly from nodding off, his body stiffening and boots scraping on the wet cement, ‘Y-yes...comrade Major. It will be done immediately.’

  The major’s eyes narrowed once more thoughtfully, glancing down at his radio operator, ‘There could be a medal in the capture and hanging of this man...for both of us…’ His arms folded as he pinched his chin confidently, ‘...then we will find out who has helped him...hunt them down. There will be no mercy for such traitors...’

  The Story So Far

  The announcement that Stalingrad had fallen swept across the world. Jubilation and hope spread through the hearts of the British, Americans and their allies with the potential turn of fortune on the Eastern Front, a warzone that was fundamental in announcing victory after victory for the Germans. Doubt and deep concern began to dwell and grow in the minds of the Axis allies of Berlin, the future beginning to darken menacingly.

  In North Africa, the British and Americans were driving back the German Afrika Corps, buoyed by news of vi
ctory in the most inhospitable of climates on the furthest side of the Mediterranean, polarised from their own experience with exception of some of only the most extreme night temperatures in the desert.

  The most powerful army believed to be in existence had simply ceased to exist, destroyed by tactical incompetence in the High Command, unimaginably merciless weather and a cunningly superior enemy. Some of the most experienced fighting soldiers of the Wehrmacht had been killed, wounded or taken prisoner in the greatest defeat inflicted upon the German nation to date.

  The 76th Infantry Division at Stalingrad…along with many others…was ultimately destroyed. Leutnant Hausser and the remains of his small squad surviving through sheer luck and a last minute intervention by a now lost friend and comrade, Oberleutnant Baumann.

  Having been with the unit since at least the breakthrough with the Sixth Army from Kharkov the year before, the young officer is a natural choice to be involved in any follow up campaign. Speaking fluent Russian and Romanian as well as his native German and with knowledge of the terrain, he is selected from the survivor muster stations after Stalingrad by intelligence officers. Impressed by his existing military profile and alleged exploits of survival in the city before the Russian counter offensive, his small squad is moved back to active duty.

  First approached in the city of Stalino by superior officers, he was noted as being ‘exhausted’ on reports, but soon to be recommended for further combat duties with his undernourished unit, albeit in reserve duties as two were suffering from minor wounds…the shortage of manpower in the southern sector of the front removing the likelihood of any respite. His potential involvement in the forthcoming planned ‘Charkow Operation’ soon escalated as further reports were read and disseminated from the Sixth Army despatches. His small unit eventually becoming designated as ‘recognised’ in a liaison support role due to their loyalty and specialist uses. Being assigned a limited number of new personnel, they were to be attached to a division to be involved in the forthcoming offensive…temporarily utilised in rear security duties in the interim.

  With a chance encounter in the south, Major Wolff of the Grossdeutschland Division took a liking to the unconventional squad, arranging their deployment as liaison for the SS and his northern forces, their progress from the south with the Wehrmacht to be reported to him by radio.

  With the successful recapture of Kharkov and Belgorod by German forces, the front falls silent, Rasputitsa or the Spring ‘muddy season’ (known as ‘General Mud’ to the troops) spreading across Russia two weeks earlier than expected in 1943. With all but the few tarmacked roads becoming quagmires or glutinous mud, the movement of virtually all armour and wheeled vehicles grinding to a halt, the two opposing armies unable to move supplies by even the most robust horses and carts.

  The German hope that the advance would continue into the Russian lines falls into disarray, Army Group Centre unwilling to support the offensive ambitions of Von Manstein’s Army Group South. With the ‘muddy season’, the Russians are given a respite to reinforce the line, ‘General Mud’ as the troops referred to the season, once again coming to the assistance of the Red Army as it had in 1812 when Napoleon advanced.

  The choice is clear to the Axis powers...adopt Von Manstein’s ‘backhand’ technique once the ground becomes firmer, or go over onto a full offensive footing. The ‘backhand’ method allows for the Russians to attack, extending themselves before an aggressive counterthrust eliminates and surrounds weakened units, ‘grinding’ the Russian Bear down.

  Hitler, however, is not inclined towards this technique, his imagination eager to recapture the aggressive advances and victories of previous years. The changes in fortune have weakened the Axis forces considerably, the Allies now sitting on the borders of the Reich in England and North Africa, strong American forces now facing the Germans alongside Goebbel’s so-named, ‘allies of convenience’, Russia. With the Kursk bulge or salient formed as a result of the Kharkov victory, there was an opportunity to shorten the German front line, freeing up divisions for use in other theatres or even forming for new advances. The High Command is ordered to plan for a new operation in spring or early summer to once and for all crush the Red Army.

  The leader of Army Group South (Von Manstein) actually formulated the plan for Operation Citadel, but proposed that it be adopted as soon as the ground became firmer after Rasputitsa, not delaying operations until later in the spring or even the summer. The plan was initially devised to continue into the Russian hinterland, driving the momentum and providing a decisive victory or at least willing the Russians to perhaps consider peace. Von Manstein even attempted desperately to convince Gunther Von Kluge, commander of Army Group Centre, to attack the Russians in coordination with Army Group South in early to late April. The commander to his north refusing due to concerns the forces available were not strong enough to initiate offensive operations…Rhzev had been a sober and grim warning to him as to Russian power.

  Hitler then ordered the offensive to begin on May 3rd 1943. Further meetings concluded the defending Red Army were digging heavy defences on the Kursk salient, a number of Generals advising that the planned offensive should be abandoned altogether, that they preserve strength of tanks and manpower…Albert Speer (now in charge of all armaments production) adding to this view. The Russians continue building and digging defences...the offensive now delayed until 12th June.

  With the German war machine now in full production, new tanks and assault guns are becoming more available, the Panzerkampfwagen V (Panther) and Ferdinand (Elefant) guns now able to be fielded with Tigers and long barrelled Panzer IVs. Further aircraft design has upgraded not only the fighters, but produced a Stuka ‘tank killing’ machine, armed with wing mounted 37mm cannon...other designs are also being produced in larger numbers, namely the HS129.

  But England’s Bletchley Park has broken German enigma codes...the mistakes of just one man in contacting his girlfriend in the Reich allowing for code breakers to formulate a way to read the enemy signals...the allies now fully aware of the planned summer offensive. Interestingly, had the stubborn Germans adopted the Italian secure network, it is envisaged covert signals would never have been broken. The Russians begin further to prepare defences...designed to be some of the greatest depth of obstacles and tank killing rounds ever faced by an attacking army.

  Hitler procrastinates, delaying the attack again to 20th June, then later to 3rd and then 5th July to enable more and more tanks to become available. The Russian defensive line in the offensive sector now becoming some of the most formidable of the war…if not history…stretching several kilometres deep, an ominous sign.

  The Russians also increase partisan activity behind the German lines dramatically, with over 1,092 attacks on railways behind Army Group Centre in June alone...thus hampering fuel and ammunition for not only forward units, but also the Luftwaffe, now only able to secure a local supremacy of the sky with enemy rear area operations almost abandoned completely due to the evident rising strength of the Red Air Force.

  On May 12th 1943, the Deutsches Afrika Corps (DAK) surrendered to allied forces in Tunisia, 230,000 Italian and German soldiers removed from the war as prisoners, a devastating blow to the Axis powers only surpassed by the disaster at Stalingrad…American and British concentration now moving to the ‘soft underbelly of Europe’ as Winston Churchill called it. The clouds of a vicious storm are forming…now the beleaguered Axis forces have to defend a coastline from western France to Greece in the east.

  Precious time is running short and has been wasted...shadows of doom beginning to become clearly evident. Just how short the time is may now no longer be an initiative in German hands as it had been before, for the first time, it may now be up to the Americans and British...unexpectantly coordinating efforts with the Soviet Union…a world of war has now arrived at the borders of the Reich.

  Leutnant Hausser returns with a depleted squad, one man killed, another missing and two recently wounded. Still attached to G
rossdeutschland Division, they will join Army Group South for the forthcoming offensive...once again proclaimed, ‘the battle that would decide it all.’

  Character Overview.

  Leutnant Hausser

  A serving officer in the now annihilated 76th Infantry Division, Leutnant Hausser has had a varied military career for his 27 years of age. Having been born in Dusseldorf, his parents moved to Potsdam, a suburb of Berlin when he was a teenager. His father served in the previous war, also fighting in Russia and unknown to the young officer was also stationed on the southern part of the front. Leutnant Hausser has seen action in the Crimea and central Russia before the unit’s participation in the drive on Stalingrad. Due to his language skills…speaking Romanian and Russian as well as his native German, he has been deployed across Army Group South during the ongoing months of Operation Barbarossa, with a brief spell assigned to Army Group Centre. Hausser has been decorated with the Iron Cross, but as yet it is unclear what actions lead to this recognition.

  Quartermaster Sergeant Tatu

  Tatu is in his early forties and originates from Bucharest. He has been close friends with Petru and his family for some considerable time and they used to work together in a furniture business in their home city before the war. Enlisting in the army, he was deployed to the Romanian 20th Infantry Division, a unit destroyed in the Russian offensives around southern Stalingrad.

  Corporal Petru

  Petru is in his mid-forties and also originates from Bucharest where he worked making furniture with his close friend, Tatu. He is a family man and has three children…one of which, the youngest boy, has experienced some medical problems. Joining up with his friend, Tatu, he also enlisted in the Romanian 20th Infantry Division.