What is not customary to talk about, recalling the Battle of Stalingrad. February 5th, 2018

Hello dear.
We continue with you a series of posts within the framework of the project: #slovovolgograd
But today I decided to make a post that stands out from the orderly series of praising (and deservedly!) Heroes of Stalingrad and a fortress of a national character. For I decided to recall some of the things that, as it were, are not very customary to recall in a discussion about the Battle of Stalingrad. But you have to remember....
So..
1) And how did the Germans end up near Stalingrad.
After the Soviet command left the groggy and with great difficulty not only stopped the Nazi offensive near Moscow, but also pushed the German troops far from the capital with a powerful blow, the front seemed to have stabilized. The positional struggle was to the benefit of the Soviet Union, which potentially had much more resources and powerful allies. Moreover, passive defense did not correlate well with the German doctrine then in force.


The parties used the small respite in different ways. The Germans regrouped and started a new company, but we .... Without removing responsibility from the GKO and Marshal's chief of staff personally Soviet Union Shaposhnikov (despite the fact that he was already a deeply ill person at that time), comrades on the ground allowed 2 huge catastrophes, which, I believe, are one of the biggest defeats in the history of our country in general. Manstein in the Crimea rolled us into a nut, and, as they say, "in one gate." Thanks for this to Mekhlis, Kozlov, Kulik, Oktyabrsky, Petrov and partly to Budyonny. Bustard Hunting is one of the brightest German operations, and accordingly, as I said, our shameful defeat.

And then, first, the future Marshal Bagramyan created an operational plan, and then Marshal Timoshenko could not implement it, and the future Marshal Malinovsky simply did nothing, because the plan was peculiar. Thus began the so-called Second Battle of Kharkov, which became no less epic fail than the battle in the Crimea.
Despite the success of the first days, it brought nothing but failure. The Germans simply regrouped and hit the unprotected rear. As a result, the Germans carried out “Operation Fredericus” and a huge part of our troops was surrounded near Lozova. This could have been avoided if it were not for the great strategist N. Khrushchev, then the Member of the Military Council of the front did not mislead the Headquarters about the real state of affairs. And so, the environment and almost complete defeat. Loss of many forces and experienced generals like Podlas.
As a result of such "brilliant" attempts to seize the strategic initiative, the road to Rostov, Voronezh and the Caucasus remained practically unprotected.

Only by the heroic self-sacrifice of ordinary soldiers, junior commanders and individual representatives the high command managed to stop the German offensive in the Caucasus. The headquarters also continued to mow .... The appointment of Eremenko alone is worth something. And despite the heroism, the Germans got to Stalingrad quickly enough. And now the struggle began not for life, but to death ...

2) Why were so many civilians present in the city at the time of the fighting.

The huge fault of the Stalingrad City Defense Committee, which is generally incomprehensible what it thought and what it did. Of course, throwing almost the entire able-bodied population into the construction of fortifications was a beautiful gesture in order to show Moscow that they say we are working. But by the start of the fighting in the city itself, fewer than 100,000 people had been evacuated. Less than a quarter of the population. As a result, panic, crush and unorganized flight from the city of people with huge losses. In the same crossing over the Volga, under raids and shelling, how many civilians died .... And those who remained ...


Already on August 23, the forces of the 4th Air Force of the Luftwaffe carried out the longest and most destructive bombardment of the city. The Nazis went in 4 waves. The first 2 carried high-explosive bombs, the remaining 2 were incendiary. Our air defense and fighter aircraft were not enough to repel this strike. As a result, as a result of the bombing, a huge fiery whirlwind formed, which completely burned the central part of the city and many other areas of Stalingrad, since most of the buildings in the city were built of wood or had wooden elements. The temperature in many parts of the city, especially in its center, reached up to 1000 °C. More than 90,000 (!) People died ..... In one day ....


Those who remained after that experienced daily battles, cold, and hunger. And I don't know the exact victims, how many civilians died. And no one probably knows...

3) Fighting in the ranks of the Nazis, Russians.
The Battle of Stalingrad is surprisingly multinational. Everyone remembers the large contingents of the German satellites of Italy, Hungary and Romania, several regiments of Croats and even a certain number of Finnish volunteers. But some other military men are often not mentioned either. Namely, our compatriots. Hereinafter I will speak of them as Russians, although this is formal. This is the term for general definition citizens of the former Russian Empire, as well as those residents of the USSR who went over to the side of the Nazis. As you can imagine, they were of different nationalities. Just like the soldiers of the Red Army. Whether they want it now in some neighboring states or not, our common victory in the war, in which all the peoples of the USSR (and not only) took part. But I digress - back to the collaborators.

And these are not only the so-called "Khivi" (as the Germans called voluntary assistants among the locals), but also regular troops. Moreover, there were a lot of them.
According to the historian Aleksandrov K.M. in his work "The generals and officer cadres of the armed formations of the KONR 1943-1946":
"In December 1942, 30,364 citizens of the USSR served in the troops of Army Group Center in various positions, including combatant (the share in personnel was 1.5-2%). In parts of the 6th Army (Army Group B ”), surrounded in Stalingrad, their number was estimated in the range from 51,780 to 77,193 people (a share of 25-30%)".

That's it. And this is not an exaggeration. Especially known is the so-called division "Von Stumpfeld", named after the commander - Lieutenant General Hans Joachim von Stumpfeld. The division actively participated in the battles, replenished with former Red Army soldiers, gradually grew in numbers, officer positions were filled by volunteers from former officers of the Red Army.
On February 2, General Strecker's Northern Group capitulated. But the volunteer units did not capitulate, and neither did von Stumpfeld's division. Someone decided to break through and died, someone still made his way, such as the Cossack unit of Yesaul Nesterenko. The "Von Stumfeld" division took up a dense defense and held out from several days to a week (counting from February 2), the last units stood to the death at the Tractor Plant.
In addition to this division, more can be distinguished.

213th cavalry (Cossack) battalion, 403rd cavalry (Cossack) battalion, 553rd separate Cossack battery, 6th Ukrainian battalion (aka 551st eastern battalion), 448th separate eastern company, Ukrainian construction company at the headquarters of the 8th infantry corps (176th eastern company), the 113th Cossack squadron and the 113th volunteer eastern company - as part of the 113th infantry division, the Ukrainian 194th and 295th eastern construction companies, 76- I am a volunteer eastern company (179th eastern company), a volunteer Ukrainian company (552nd eastern company), 404th Cossack company, 1st and 2nd Kalmyk squadrons (as part of the 16th motorized division).
Such people were practically not taken prisoner, and knowing this, they fought fanatically, even more insanely than parts of the Waffen-SS. Few of them survived.
Here are the things.

4) The unenviable fate of the prisoners.

This, of course, is a topic for a separate discussion, but no one likes to talk about it. For the worst thing that happened in this battle was to be captured. As a result of the actions of the summer and autumn of 1942, the Germans accumulated several tens of thousands of captured Red Army soldiers. In view of the complete lack of food for their own soldiers, they were no longer fed at the beginning of December 1942. You can imagine how many people could survive in such conditions under such conditions for liberation ....


Well, another example. As a result of the defeat of the 6th army and their allies, more than 90,000 people were taken prisoner by our troops. How many of them were able to return home in the late 40s? The numbers vary, but most say 6,000.....
So captivity in this battle was tantamount to death.

5) The most important role of the NKVD troops
In our country, especially against the backdrop of post-perestroika frenzy and under the influence of many inadequate militant ignoramuses, an image of an NKVD worker was created as an executioner and murderer, fattening at the expense of his victims, and ready to fulfill any whim of extravagant leaders.
With all this, for some reason, such people have never been torn by the glorification of the same border guards who took upon themselves the first blow of the enemy. Well, how did the border guards treat the NKVD troops :-)

Personally, I want to say that in the battle for the Caucasus, and the battle for Stalingrad, the NKVD formations played the most important, and sometimes decisive role. Suffice it to recall the combat path of the 10th Infantry Stalingrad Order of Lenin Division internal troops NKVD USSR.


Whether some like it or not, but pouring dirt on honored officers and soldiers, even if they wore not green, but cornflower blue cap bands, no one should be allowed to. Chekists, like all our people, fought the enemy honestly and skillfully.

And the points I have listed above are only a part of those uncomfortable topics that they try to either "forget" or not mention at all when remembering Stalingrad and everything that was connected with it.
I hope you were interested.
Have a nice time of the day.

Mikhailov Ivan

Memories of the Battle of Stalingrad

my great-grandfather

I am Mikhailov Ivan, a student of the 3rd grade. I care about the history of the Great Patriotic War, especially, the contribution of my great-grandfather Ivan Stanislavovich Gunko - a participant in those terrible bloody events. Great-grandfather said that the Battle of Stalingrad was the turning point of the Great Patriotic War. On the slopes of the Volga, the Red Army blocked the way for the advance of German troops to the east. Whoever was in this battle and survived, the century will not forget those terrible days. He was honored to participate in these battles from the beginning to the end of events.

In the summer of 1942, the Nazi command sent all its forces to the Eastern Front. The Nazis had more equipment and hoped to reach the Volga River in a short time. Heavy fighting unfolded on the outskirts of Stalingrad. 13 divisions attacked the city, with air support.

Great-grandfather's 7th Infantry Division was part of the 64th Army and held the defense to the approach to Stalingrad. He served in the 6th PTR company in the area of ​​the Gzeta station in the Kalmyk steppe. His division was defeated in September. Under a strong blow from the Germans in 2-3 days, the division was almost completely defeated, the division headquarters was destroyed. The chief of staff, lieutenant colonel Molofitkin, was cut by a tank. The fate of the division commander is unknown, he disappeared without a trace. The division lost its banner and never recovered.

German motorized infantry and armored tanks began to roam freely in this section of the steppe, destroy equipment and manpower. Great-grandfather Vanya, with sorrow and pain, recalled the message of the command: “Whoever survived, get out yourself, as best you can, towards Stalingrad closer to the Volga, to the right of the village of Sandy.” The question arose: either be captured, or lay down your head on your own land. His chances of surviving were very slim.

The path from the front line to Stalingrad was 50-60 km. At night, together with the lieutenant, he began to move towards the village of Tsebinka. They had local maps, moved through the fields, without a road, where it was safer. Reaching the target was not easy. Open steppe, not a single bush or grass, nowhere to hide. Three times they were fired upon by the Messerschmitts. It's a miracle it didn't kill anyone. German motor vehicles and motorized infantry passed in the distance, great-grandfather and the lieutenant often had to crawl in a plastun way so that they would not be noticed.

There was no bread, no food, only weapons: machine guns, one pistol and a clip of cartridges. Despite everything, they still managed to get to the village of Tsebinka, near which a river flowed, and there was a bridge. Met others Soviet soldiers, but they didn’t have time to cross the bridge, they fell under a terrible bombardment. The Nazis sought to bomb the bridge in order to delay the advance of the Soviet army and equipment. The bombing lasted 2-3 hours without a break. One echelon of planes left after dropping bombs, the other was already starting to bomb. Great-grandfather cannot forget how it was impossible to raise one's head from the ground. The place is open, there is no vegetation, only yellow clay, intense heat. The body was flooded with sweat, my mouth was dry, I was very thirsty, I was tormented by thirst and fear. Earth clods flew around. The whole body was beaten. A blow to the ground almost broke his spine and leg. There are deep bomb craters all around. The only thing they did was shout to each other: “Are you alive?” That was the whole conversation...

The bombing ended in the evening. A lot of equipment and soldiers were destroyed. Those who remained alive crossed the river. 40 - 50 soldiers and officers gathered on the other side. At night they moved towards the village of Peschanka, then turned to the right, closer to the Volga. Exhausted and tired, they decided to have a little rest in the morning, setting up a watch. As soon as you lay down on the ground, you instantly fell asleep. Somewhere in the afternoon, a soldier rode up on a horse, woke them up, sent everyone to the formation point - Lapshin Sad.

Without water and food, without sleep, many were exhausted on the road. Not everyone was able to reach their destination. 10 people fell behind my great-grandfather's group. Some went to other parts, someone was taken prisoner. At the formation point from the 7th Division, only 186 soldiers and 10 officers gathered. All were transferred to the 15th Rifle Division. The division took up defense on the south side of the city of Stalingrad. Two days later, the Nazi troops were at the walls of the city. Continuous and fierce fighting went on for several days. The German troops either advanced or retreated, resulting in complete confusion with the front line. The battlefields were covered with the corpses of German and Russian soldiers. There was nowhere to retreat: either drown in the Volga, or fight to the death. Reinforcements were constantly coming from behind the Volga. Stalin's order was given on September 3: "Not one step back!" The combat mission was set: to stop the enemy, to ensure the supply of food and manpower. Nazi planes bombed Stalingrad continuously. A terrible glow hung from the explosions over Stalingrad. Almost the entire city was burned and destroyed by bombing. The German command, feeling great resistance, was forced to build up forces.

The defense of the city was entrusted to the 62nd Army, which was led by Lieutenant General Chuikov. Strong blows from the flanks managed to close the breakthrough of the German troops. The battlefield was littered with iron from burnt equipment. Many of our shells from the Katyushas did not explode, but stuck into the ground and remained standing. It seemed that a forest had been cut down on the field, and stumps were left sticking out everywhere. In early January 1943, Ivan's great-grandfather was wounded in the head and concussed, he ended up in the medical unit, where he was treated for a month. In February, he got into a newly formed army convoy, located in the village of Biketovka, in the suburbs of Stalingrad. He performed an important combat mission: he evacuated with fellow soldiers any running equipment of the front line, restored it and immediately handed it over to the troops. Everyone clearly understood that there were not enough cars to transport shells, food, and take out the wounded. Operations could only be carried out in conjunction with sappers, because the battlefields were mined in many places.

On March 17, 1945, my great-grandfather, Gunko Ivan Stanislavovich, sergeant, head of the fuel and lubricants warehouse and spare parts of the 430th Field Automobile Repair Base 252BK for participation in the hostilities to defend the USSR in the Patriotic War on the Stalingrad and 2 Ukrainian fronts was presented to the Government award - the Order of the Red Star.

I, Mikhailov Ivan Ivanovich, a student of the 3rd grade, named Ivan in honor of my heroic great-grandfather Gunko Ivan Stanislavovich. I am very proud that I have such a wonderful, brave and kind great-grandfather! I will try to bear the name of my great-grandfather with dignity and benefit my family and Motherland.

Memoirs of Wehrmacht Veterans

Wiegand Wüster

"In the hell of Stalingrad. The bloody nightmare of the Wehrmacht""

Edition - Moscow: Yauza-press, 2010

(abridged edition)

Second World War. Battle on the Volga. 6th Army of the Wehrmacht. 1942

The farther our train went east, the more spring turned its back on us. It was rainy and cool in Kyiv. We met a lot of Italian military transports. The Italians, with feathers on their hats, did not make a good impression either. They were freezing. In Kharkov, in some places, there was even snow. The city was abandoned and gray. Our apartments on the collective farm were nondescript. Belgium and France were remembered as a lost paradise.

Nevertheless, entertainment remained in the city, such as soldiers' cinemas and a theater. The main streets, as elsewhere in Russia, were wide, straight, AND imposing - but rather neglected. Oddly enough, Kharkov theatrical performances were not bad at all. The Ukrainian ensemble (or those who stayed here) gave "Swan Lake" and "Gypsy Baron". The orchestra appeared in woolen coats trimmed with fur, with hats pushed back to the back of the head or pulled down over the nose. Only the conductor, visible from the hall, was dressed in a worn tailcoat. Time has not spared both costumes and scenery. But, using a lot of improvisation, the production went quite well. People tried hard and were talented. In the Soviet Union, culture was given meaning and significance.

Our division had not yet fully arrived in Kharkov when the Russians broke through the German positions north of the city. The infantry regiment, our heavy battalion and the light artillery battalion (211th infantry regiment of Oberst Karl Barnbeck, 1st battalion of the 171st artillery regiment of Major Gerhard Wagner and 4th battalion of the same regiment of Oberst Lieutenant Helmut Balthazar) had to play the fire brigade.

The battery had already suffered losses, moving to the first firing position, when Russian bombs fell into the column. German air supremacy diminished, although it remained. The harassing fire of the Russian artillery fell near our battery, but it seems that the enemy did not detect it, although we repeatedly fired from our position.

I was standing behind the battery, shouting instructions to the guns, when there was a terrible explosion on the third gun. In the heat of the moment, I thought we had taken a direct hit. A large dark object flew past me. I identified it as a pneumatic compensator torn from a howitzer. Everyone ran to the destroyed artillery position. Numbers one and two were on the gun carriage.

The rest seemed intact. The gun looked bad. The barrel in front of the breech was swollen and torn into strips. At the same time, the front part of the trunk did not part. Two spring knurlers on either side of the barrel were knocked off and fell apart. The cradle was bent. It was clearly visible that the pneumatic compensator located above the barrel was torn off. There was a rupture of the trunk, the first in my experience. I have seen cannons with a barrel rupture, but there they burst from the muzzle. In general, barrel breaks were rare.

The two gunners on the carriage stirred. The pressure of the blast covered their faces in dots of broken small blood vessels. They were seriously shell-shocked, they did not hear anything and could not see well, but in all other respects they remained intact. Everything looked scarier than it turned out. This was confirmed by the doctor. With his arrival, their condition began to improve.

They were, of course, hit and stunned, so they were sent to the hospital for a couple of days. When they returned, they did not want to return to the guns. Everyone understood them. But, having dragged shells for some time, they preferred to become artillerymen again. For a long time There were disputes about the reason for the breakup. Someone even tried to blame those who serviced the gun, because the barrel is supposed to be inspected after each shot for foreign objects left in it.

Yes, there was a visual check rule, but it was an empty theory, because it did not allow a high rate of fire and no one remembered it during the hostilities - there were enough other worries. It has also never happened that the remains of a powder cap or a torn off shell belt could do this. Most likely, it was the shells.

Due to the shortage of copper, shells were made with soft iron belts. Problems appeared in some batches of shells, and from time to time there was a rupture of the barrel, as if not in my battalion. Now, before firing, the markings on all shells were checked in case there were shells from those unfortunate batches. These appeared every now and then - they were specially marked and sent back. Just a few days later, the battery received a brand new gun. Kharkov and its supply depots were still very close.

When everything seemed to calm down, the deployed parts of the division were withdrawn to the rear. But before the battery reached the place of quartering on the collective farm, the Russians again broke through in the same place. We turned around and went back to our positions. This time the battery directly collided with the Saxon units. Now the deliberately hostile attitude has changed to the judgment "what could these poor fellows do ...". The Saxons lay all winter near Kharkov in the mud, had poor supplies and were in poor condition, a living picture of poverty.

They were completely exhausted, a laughable combat strength remained in the companies. They couldn't have done more if they wanted to. They burned down, leaving only firebrands. I had never seen a German unit in such a pitiful state before. The Saxons were in a much worse state than our 71st Division was when it was withdrawn from army control last autumn because of losses near Kyiv. We felt only compassion and hoped that our own parts would avoid a similar fate.

The main front line was on a flat hill. In the rear, on the other side of the valley, the battery had to settle on the front slope of the slope between several clay huts. The unusual arrangement of guns was inevitable, because there was simply no other shelter in this threatening situation at the right distance from the Russians. We couldn't even fire far enough into the enemy's depths. If the Russians launch a successful attack and drive our infantry off the crest of the high ground, the position on the forward slope will become dangerous.

It will be almost impossible for vehicles with shells to reach us, and we will have very little chance of changing position. But first, for several days I was a forward observer on the front line under continuous heavy shelling. Our infantry dug in well, but their morale was affected by the non-stop shelling, when during the day no one could move, even could not stick out of their hole. Well, my radio operators and I suffered less from the shelling: we sat quietly in a deep "fox hole" and knew that even a close hit would not affect us.

A direct hit, which would have had a very sad outcome, we did not take into account. Experience has again shown that gunners are more afraid of infantry fire than artillery fire. For the infantry, the exact opposite was true. You are much less afraid of a weapon that you own yourself than of an unknown one. The infantry liaisons, sometimes hiding in our hole, watched nervously as we calmly played cards. Nevertheless, I was glad when they changed me and I returned to the battery. This time the main observation post was far behind the gun emplacements.

It was an unexpected decision, but such was the terrain. The Russians attacked again on 17 and 18 May, with vastly superior numbers. Spring is coming soon with summer warmth. It would be nice if the enemy attacks did not start at this time. Accumulations of enemy tanks were found. We had to open barrage more and more often. The observer who replaced me increasingly demanded fire support. The entire advanced line on the crest disappeared under the clouds of bursts of Russian artillery. It was clear that the enemy would soon launch an attack.

The short distance to the rear made it easier to transport shells. Once a motorized column even drove right up to the guns. Our own horse-drawn columns could not handle the high flow. The barrels and bolts were hot. All free soldiers were busy loading guns and carrying shells. For the first time, barrels and bolts had to be cooled with wet bags or just water, they became so hot that the crews could not shoot.

Some of the barrels, which had already fired thousands of shells, developed severe barrel erosion at the leading edge of the shell chamber - in the smooth part of the barrel - where the leading end of the projectile entered. It took a lot of force to open the lock while ejecting the empty cartridge case. Every now and then, forcing the edge of the cartridge case out of the eroded chamber, a wooden banner was used. Because of the erosion of the barrel, there was a shortage of gunpowder. If, during rapid fire, the lock was opened immediately after the rollback, jets of flame burst out.

In fact, they were safe. But they took some getting used to. Once, when we had infantrymen in position, they wanted to shoot from cannons. Usually they were cautious. The cord had to be pulled with force. The barrel rolled close to the body, the sound of the shot was unfamiliar. For the gunners, this was a good opportunity to show off. There were always tales about a barrel rupture. As for heroism, naturally, the gunners felt embarrassed in front of the poor fellows from the infantry, which they tried to compensate for.

The morning of May 18 was decisive. Russian tanks attacked with infantry support. The forward observer transmitted an urgent call. When we saw the first tank on our own front in front of the artillery position, the observer relayed the request of the infantry to deal with the tanks that had broken through, without thinking about our soldiers. In their opinion, only in this way will it be possible to hold the position. I was glad that I was not in the front line in this mess - but I was worried about our unsuccessful position on the forward slope, which the tanks could at any moment take under direct fire.

The gunners were worried. The tanks went from the opposite slope, firing at the squares, but not at our battery, which they probably did not notice. I ran from cannon to cannon and assigned specific tanks to gun commanders as direct targets. But they will only open fire when the Russian tanks are far enough away from our front line to avoid hitting ours. Our barrage opened at a distance of about 1500 meters. 15 cm howitzers were not really designed for this. It took several shots with correction to hit the tank or finish it off with a close hit of a 15 cm projectile.

When one accurate hit tore off an entire tower from the terrible T-34, the numbness subsided. Although the danger remained clear, hunting excitement rose among the gunners. They faithfully worked at the guns And clearly cheered up. I ran from gun to gun, choosing the best position for distributing targets. Fortunately, the tanks did not shoot at us, which would have ended badly for us. In this sense, the work of artillerymen was simplified, and they could calmly aim and shoot. In this tough situation, I was called to the telephone. The battalion commander, Balthazar, demanded an explanation of how the shortfall from the 10th battery could fall behind the command post of one of the light artillery battalions.

It could only be from 10 batteries, because at that moment no other heavy battery was firing. I cut short this accusation, perhaps too abruptly, and referred to my struggle with tanks. I wanted to go back to guns, which were more important to me to control. Maybe I answered too confidently, caught off guard in the midst of the fight.

When I was again ordered to answer the phone, I was given the coordinates of the allegedly threatened command post, which, fortunately, was not damaged. Now I was completely sure that the 10th battery could not be responsible for this shot, because the barrels would have to be lowered about 45 degrees FOR this, and I would have noticed it. It would be, moreover, completely wrong, because the guns fired at enemy tanks.

I tried to explain the situation to Balthazar. Meanwhile, the battle with tanks continued without stopping. In total, we destroyed five enemy tanks. The rest were dealt with by the infantry in close combat on the main line of defense. The tanks are gone. The enemy's attack failed. Our infantry successfully held their positions. Encouraging messages went from the forward observer, who was again in touch, he began to adjust the fire of the battery on the retreating enemy. I contacted battery commander Kulman by field telephone and made a detailed report, which satisfied him. And yet he continued to talk about the shortfall. I answered in the most disrespectful way. For me, the story was the most idiotic.

When the battle finally died down towards evening, the gunners began to paint rings on the barrels with white oil paint - from where they just got it. I was sure that there were no more than five in total, but together with the tank near Nemirov it was already six. Fortunately, not a single gun was spared by victory, otherwise such a “stink” would have risen. Gunners and gunners with two victories each were naturally the heroes of the day. It was because of the position on the front slope that we could shoot directly at the tanks, but the main thing was that the tanks did not recognize us at our Idiot position on the slope. Not a single enemy shot hit us, and even the Russian artillery did not touch us. Soldier luck!

Because of all this noise around the notorious underflight, I behaved prudently. As a precaution, I insured against all charges. I collected all the records from the gun commanders and even from telephone and radio operators about target designations from our main observation post and from the forward spotter. I compiled and reviewed the documents for any inaccuracies or errors. The more I looked into them, the clearer it became to me that such a miss required an extraordinary change in azimuth. There was an error. We really fired from different angles of elevation, but with the slightest traverse of the barrels. Although this was already a reinsurance, I checked the ammunition consumption and looked through the gun formularies - a work that only added to the overall picture. Among other things, the traverse angle of howitzers deeply bogged down in the ground was not enough. The beds would have to be deployed - serious work that would not have passed unnoticed by me. I calmed down: my position was solid as a rock.

It was a wonderful sunny morning and I planned everything to arrive on time, but not too early. Balthazar seemed to be already waiting for me when I entered. His adjutant, Peter Schmidt, stood to one side behind him. - Arrived at your command. - Where is your helmet? You must wear a helmet when you come to collect,” Balthazar growled. I answered to the point and in the most calm manner that I am absolutely clear on this matter, because I read the regulations and made sure that the cap is enough. It was already too much.

You dare to teach me?! Then followed a hysterical stream of insulting words taken from the repertoire of a barracks non-commissioned officer, a language that had almost disappeared from memory in the field. I think Balthazar knew that his lack of self-control would always call into question his qualities. His outburst came to an end: "And when I order you to wear a helmet, you put on a helmet, okay?!" The adjutant stood motionless behind him, silent, with a stony face - what else was there to do? "Give me your helmet, Peter," I said, turning to him. - I need a helmet, but I don't have it with me.

On the way back, I hesitated, thinking about what to do and in what order everything would happen. On the way back, I decided to call on Ulman to report to him. Surprisingly, he tried to calm me down and dissuade me from filing a complaint: "You won't make friends like that." What kind of friends did I have now? But Kuhlman, it seems, was on my side in one thing. He did not want to do anything with the rings on the barrels, because they were the pride of the battery. I should look for witnesses. Our spotter could help me. However, he seemed to help me grudgingly.

From the "Book of the Wise" I learned that the complaint should be filed through official channels, the report should be filed in a sealed envelope, which in my case can only be opened by the regimental commander. I acted according to this formula. I contested the "lack of supervision" charge and attached evidence. I complained that there was no honest investigation. Finally, I complained about gross insults.

Submitting a complaint made me feel better. In any case, it was clear to me that Balthazar would pursue me relentlessly. He'll get me one way or another. I would have to be on the lookout and hope for a transfer to another battalion, which was common practice in such cases. Oberst Lieutenant Balthazar was confident enough to call me. Complaining - well - I should know that what I did was stupid.

Then he got to the point: the envelope was probably sealed in such a way that any old "pisepampel" (a local Rhinelandic, or rather Brunswick, expression meaning "bad guy", "stupid, ill-mannered guy" or even "bore" or "wet bed"), so he called himself , will not be able to read it, so he will have to open it. He was amazed when I forbade doing this, referring to the "Book of the Wise". The whole matter can be revisited if I let him open it. I declined the offer without further comment, believing that the complaint procedure should proceed on its own.

To get confirmation of our knocked out tanks turned out to be more for me. difficult business. Of course, experts could determine whether the tank was hit by a 15 cm shell or not. But such considerations did not work under certain conditions. The destroyed tanks were located in our zone, but will the infantry not declare them themselves? It's good that other batteries and anti-tank units did not fire at the tanks, otherwise the request for 5 tanks would have turned into 10 or 20. This often happened, like the miracle of the multiplication of loaves by Jesus. Besides us artillerymen, who were firing, who could see anything? The infantry during the Russian breakthrough had other concerns.

If they managed to reorganize, any search would be useless. Question to question. The officer of the artillery and technical service, who ended up on the battery due to problems with barrel erosion, doubted that clear evidence could be found on the wreckage of tanks that they had been destroyed by 15-cm howitzer shells. In some cases, everything is clear and clear, but in general everything is extremely doubtful. I wanted to go and start questioning the infantry myself, fearing that evidence would not be found - and foreseeing new conflicts with Balthazar.

Lieutenant von Medem reported that the infantry was completely encouraged by our battle with the tanks. The battalion commander alone confirmed three victories and put them on the map. There was even one that we did not notice and did not count. Moreover, there were three more confirmed victories from company commanders. So 5 burned tanks became 6 and even 7, because two tanks collided when the first one was knocked over on its side by hitting the tracks. The main thing is that now we could provide our victories in writing. Kuhlman himself was quite proud of his 10th battery. My yesterday's underestimation must have left a good impression. But Hauptmann Kuhlman did not want to interfere in the confrontation between me and Oberst Lieutenant Balthazar, although he patted me approvingly on the shoulder and called the punishment pure trifle.

I kept my thoughts to myself, only noticing along the way the adjutant Peter Schmidt, whom Balthazar had sent to me because he had put the task of proof before the MNCY, but those reports from the spotter were already going to Kuhlman through "official channels". Yes, those 7 tanks were now shouted from the rooftops, making up a glorious page in the history of the battalion, which had little to do with it - as Kuhlman explained - indicating that all this was done exclusively by his battery, although he personally did not participate in this and agreed with Balthazar about my punishment.

The big victories of 1941 before the beginning of winter caused a real stream of medals, later they began to be saved. When Stalingrad came to an end, even the strongest distribution of medals and promotions could not stop the collapse. The legend of the Spartans was remembered, and (dead) heroes were needed for the monument ... The study of wrecked tanks was informative in several ways. T-34 was in 1942 the best and most reliable Russian tank. Its wide tracks gave it better mobility on rough terrain than others, a powerful engine allowed it to develop better speed, a long gun barrel gave it better penetrating power.

The disadvantages were poor observation devices and the lack of all-round visibility, which made the tank half blind. Nevertheless, for all the power of the armor, he could not withstand 15-cm shells; a direct hit was not even necessary for defeat. A hit under a caterpillar or hull turned it over. Close gaps tore caterpillars.

Our combat sector was soon transferred to another division. In the meantime, our 71st was gathered together and replenished again. We passed through Kharkov to the south, in the direction of a new encirclement operation. The Battle of Kharkov ended successfully. The defense against the large-scale Russian offensive turned into a devastating battle to encircle the aggressor. Now we were moving east again, the victorious end of the war was close again. The crossings over Burliuk and Oskol had to be fought in heavy fighting. but after that - as in 1941 - there were long weeks of advancing in exhausting heat, not counting days full of mud when it rained.

Apart from two major offensive maneuvers, our heavy battalion rarely saw action. We had enough worries with one movement forward. The stocky draft horses were frighteningly thin and showed by every appearance that they were not suitable for long marches, especially over rough terrain. Temporary help was needed. We still had a few tanks turned into tractors, but we were also looking for agricultural tractors, mostly caterpillars. Few could be found in the collective farms right by the road. The Russians took as much as they could with them, leaving only faulty equipment. There was a constant need to improvise, and we were always on the lookout for fuel.

For this, we were best served by a random T-34. We sent "prize teams" who hunted to the right and left along the road of our offensive in captured trucks. To maintain mobility, we found a 200-liter barrel of diesel fuel. "Kerosene," the soldiers said - because the word "kerosene" was unfamiliar to us. A 200-liter barrel was transported on a tank without a turret, on which ammunition was brought. And yet we were always short of fuel, because we could not properly satisfy even the needs of motorized units. In the beginning we moved the whole howitzers because it was easier that way. But it soon turned out that the horse-drawn suspension of our limbers was weak and broke for this. This created the greatest difficulties in moving into position. We had to move the barrel separately. New springs were hard to come by, and an officer of the artillery and technical service could hardly supply them in the field. And behind each tractor moved a long caravan of wheeled vehicles.

We, of course, did not look like an organized combat unit. The battery resembled a gypsy camp, because the load was distributed among peasant carts, which were pulled by small hardy horses. From the mass of prisoners flowing towards us, we recruited strong voluntary assistants (Khivi), who, wearing a mixture of civilian clothes, Wehrmacht uniforms and their Russian uniforms, only strengthened the impression of a crowd of gypsies. Horses that got sick or weak were unharnessed and tied to cars so they could trot beside them.

I worked out my punishment "in parts." The place of house arrest was a tent made of cloaked cloaks, which, on quiet days, was set up separately for me. My orderly brought me food. The battery knew what was happening, grinned and continued to treat me well. Kuhlman carefully kept track of the time and announced when it had expired. He gave me a bottle of schnapps to "release". I contacted the regimental adjutant and asked how my complaint was progressing. He acknowledged its receipt, but explained that Oberst Scharenberg had postponed it for the duration of the operation, because he did not have time to complain.

What was I to do? Scharenberg and Balthazar were on good, if not friendly, terms. I had to wait and constantly wait for nasty things from Balthazar, who tried to take out evil on me, which caused the battery to suffer every now and then. Hauptmann Kuhlman was again affected by tension, as last year. Now he was even transferred to the spare part at home. Since there was no other suitable Officer (Dr. Nordmann was no longer in the regiment), I had to take over the battery. With this began the constant nit-picking of Balthazar.

Under Kuhlman, this was held back because he could fight back. Even during short operations, the battery was constantly getting the most frustrating tasks. The rest time was more inconvenient than other batteries. In obscure situations, I was assigned all kinds of special assignments and even though I was a battery commander, I was constantly used as a forward observer. If my lieutenant, who was very inexperienced, encountered difficulties on the battery, because he could not cope with the veterans - spies and foragers - I had to intercede for him. These two tried to make my life difficult from the very beginning. In any case, one of my watch as a forward observer brought us another T-Z4 as a tug. The retreating Red Army units had taken almost all the working vehicles, so the gunners had to repair the ones that were left. I was a bit uneasy because the sound of enemy tank tracks could be heard nearby. I could shoot - but where? Just in the fog? So I began to wait.

On my way back to the radio operator's trench, I had to divert my attention to "morning business," so I went into the bushes and dropped my trousers. I hadn't finished yet when the tank treads clanged~ literally a few steps away from me. I quickly rounded off and saw the tank as a dark shadow in the fog right above the radio operator's post. He stood there, not moving anywhere. I saw the radio operator jump out of the trench, fleeing, but then turned around, probably trying to save the radio station. When he jumped out with a heavy box, the tank turned the turret. Terrified, the radio operator launched an iron box at the tank with a flourish and dived into the first empty trench he came across. I could only watch without being able to do anything.

The foot soldiers came running. The radio operator came to his senses. The tank was safe and sound. The whole incident could only be explained by one thing: the Russians must have seen the man with the box and thought it was a subversive charge. Otherwise, they would not have fled in such a hurry.

There were many loud cheers and the bottle went around. When the fog cleared, there were no Russians to be seen, and certainly no tanks. They fled into the fog, unnoticed by anyone. Offensive, heat and dust! Suddenly, the trailer with the gun barrel fell through to the axle. Although there were no streams nearby, it seemed that a ravine had formed under the road - probably heavy rains had worked. There was a lot of work ahead. We hurriedly took out shovels, and excavations began. Ropes were tied to the wheels and the axle to pull out the trailer, and horses unhooked from the limbers stood nearby as additional draft power. We already knew that we often have to play such games here.

Balthazar drove past, he looked pleased: - How can you be so stupid and get stuck on a flat road. We have no time. Lieutenant Lohman rides with the battery immediately. Wuster, you're on a trailer with a barrel. Eight horses, eight men. The decision was not objective. He could have let me use the T-34 for the dash, which is what I wanted to do. That alone could guarantee the success of the "dig." It was clear to my people that this was one of those little games that Balthazar liked to play with me.

After we seemed to have swung the shovels enough, the attempt with eight weakened horses Failed: the trailer could no longer be pulled out. The soldiers were also exhausted. And I let them have a snack - I was also happy to eat, because nothing useful came to my mind. from time to time they applied to it, drank, but did not get carried away. The heat held back the desire to drink. Already in the evening I reached the battalion, which got up to rest at the collective farm. Balthazar concealed his surprise: he had not expected me so early. I didn't mention the infantry. On another occasion, our division commander, Major General von Hartmann, drove past a dusty, slowly moving battery. I reported to him in the usual manner. - There at the front porridge is brewed. How fast can you get there? he asked, showing me a place on the map. - At normal march speed, it will take 6-7 hours. The horses are doing their best.

The advance continued. Once a long, stretched column was fired upon by Russian encirclement, hiding in a field of swaying sunflowers. This happened all the time, nothing special. Usually only a double-barreled mount on a machine-gun cart answered them, and we didn't even stop. This time, Balthazar - who was there - decided that things would be different. He ordered to unload one turretless T-34, took a machine gun and rushed towards the enemy in a sunflower field, which remained invisible.

I hope our tractor will not be covered, - said the gunners left on the road. And so it happened. Flames and clouds of smoke rose from the tank. They probably hit a 200-liter barrel of fuel standing on the back of the tank. The gunners were able to see where they would have to rescue the tank crew from. A fairly large group ran towards the scene, firing their rifles into the air as a deterrent. The tankers were still alive, having managed to jump out of the burning tank, and took cover nearby. Some of them were seriously injured. Oberst Lieutenant Balthasar suffered serious injuries to his face and both hands. He gritted his teeth. Now he will be in the hospital for a long time.

None of this would have happened - the whole idea was stupid from the very beginning. How can you drive around with a barrel of fuel? I was glad that the destroyed T-34 belonged to the 11th Battery and not to my 10th. It was not easy to find a new tractor. Now Balthazar won't be able to pester me for a while. But I didn't feel malice. I did not withdraw my complaint, even when the regimental commander spoke to me in passing about it, referring to Balthazar's burns. The division approached the Don. Heavy fighting was going on near Nizhnechirskaya and at the Chir station, including for our heavy battalion. Due to the constant change in the place of the main attack, on the orders of the command, we often traveled back and forth behind the front line, as a rule, never firing a shot. We were not new to this mysterious method, these cunning gentlemen never learned anything. further north, the battle at the Don crossing had already begun. The newly formed 384th Infantry Division, which entered the battle for the first time in 1942 near Kharkov - and had already suffered heavy losses there, was bleeding. When the Russians later surrounded Stalingrad, the formation was finally pulled apart and disbanded. Its commander, who had become expendable, must have left in time. In a good six months, the entire division will be destroyed.

When the Russians suddenly bombed my 10th battery, our Heavis - still friendly and reliable - simply disappeared. We should have been more careful with them. So far, it was easy to find a replacement among the new prisoners. Looking back, I can say that we were too careless. We rarely set clocks at night: often only signalmen were awake to receive orders or target designations. With a few reliable soldiers, the enemy could easily take our battery by surprise. Fortunately, this has not happened in our sector. As simple as it seemed to do so, getting through the front lines for such a raid was definitely not easy. In addition to determination, the highest level of preparation was required. Such "Indian games" were suitable only for cinema. So casualties in the heavy artillery battalion were kept to a minimum even in 1942. We thought more about the hardships of the march than about the real dangers.

On the night of August 9, 1942, the battery moved along a wide sandy road along the steep bank of the Don. We were supposed to cross the river somewhere further north. I did not know in what order we were moving, but some parts of the battalion must have been walking ahead. I received movement instructions and carried them out without maps and without knowledge of the general situation. No security measures were ordered, so they seemed unnecessary. By 03.00 in the morning we called for fire on ourselves from the front to the right, from the other side of the Don. It was fought almost exclusively with hand weapons. It didn't bother any of us. This sleepy idyll ended abruptly when a mounted communications delegate galloped up and reported that the Russians had crossed the Don and attacked the 11th battery on the road in front of us.

And where is the headquarters battery and the 12th? Without the slightest idea. What should we do? It was too risky to move on. Should we turn around and run? None of these options made sense. They could lead to fatal consequences, because the Russians could cross the Don and follow us. There were no more troops between the Don and the road. Do I have to wait for the commander's orders? Impossible, because we didn't know where he was. Balthazar has returned from the hospital. I thought, "Let's wait." So I ordered all the transport to take cover in the bushes and prepared four camouflaged howitzers to fire towards the Don. With this decision, I cut off the possibility of a quick retreat, but if the Russians appear, I can let the guns enter.

I sent observers forward along the road and began to equip positions for close defensive combat with all the available people, where I put up two anti-aircraft machine guns taken from the vehicles. Then I sent Lieutenant Lohman and two radio operators ahead so that we could fire on the enemy at dawn. The road remained empty. Nobody came from the front, nobody came from the rear. In the open, we felt alone and forgotten. We heard the growing fire of hand weapons. The fire of hand weapons was approaching, and finally our messenger ran towards us, shouting: "The Russians are coming!" We are in a delicate situation.

I instructed the commanders of the guns to fire directly, distributed the shell carriers and formed a "rifle unit" under the command of two sergeants, which would be able to open fire with rifles as quickly as possible. Only the riders remained in the shelter with the horses. They will be able to run if the danger is too close. When the first figures appeared on the road, silhouetted against the morning sky, I hesitated, wanting to be absolutely sure that they really were Russians, and not our retreating soldiers. And he gave the order, which was heard many times by the commander of the guns in Poland: "To the commanders of the guns - a distance of a thousand meters - fire!"

The numbness subsided; the lump in my throat disappeared. Four shells came out of four barrels tightly, like one shot. Even before they could reload, my riflemen and machine gunners opened fire. The Russians obviously did not expect to stumble upon our battery. They were taken aback and began to retreat, leading a furious return fire. On their right flank, personal weapons were clearly being fired. It must have been the remains of the 11th battery. My riflemen went on the attack, jumping out into the open and firing while standing at full height. Lohman ordered them to return. He spotted the retreating Russians and suppressed them - as well as the crossing - by firing from covered positions.

A little later Oberst Lieutenant Balthazar arrived. I filed a complaint against him for unfair disciplinary action. Now I met him for the first time after he had received burns, however, already completely healed. He was in a cheerful mood. The cars of the 11th battery and the headquarters battery were recaptured. They were still on the road, having received only minor damage, which was not worth mentioning. Thanks to our artillery fire - which also threatened the enemy's crossing - the Russians lost their heads. They even fled from our gunners, who pretended to be infantry.

From the south, a motorized rifle company from the 24th Panzer Division approached for safety. Balthazar thanked them for the offer, but rejected their help as he felt he was in control of the situation. I wasn't so sure, but I kept my mouth shut. I'd love to let the infantry comb this place instead of our improvisations. But the Russians quickly gained confidence once it dawned on them that they were running from "amateur foot soldiers." They quickly regrouped and started the attack again, all we managed to do was to remove some of the cars from the road. While my battery was again preparing for direct fire, friendly infantry appeared from the bushes on the side where we had left our limbers. It turned out to be a whole battalion from our division in a full-fledged attack on the enemy. The feeling of insecurity is gone. Our infantry moved forward in the manner of experienced professional soldiers, deployed mortars and machine guns and were practically invisible in the open, while a little earlier our people were standing here and there in tight groups.

When my "shooters" regained their courage and tried to join the infantry, they were turned back by a friendly wave of the hand of one of the company commanders. Artillery soldiers can handle a rifle without problems, but they do not have any tactical infantry training. As a result, we often there were problems when close combat started, but to be honest, my people have to say that they always worked professionally with guns, even under heavy enemy fire.

Lieutenant Lohman acted impeccably all the time. Once more he intervened in the battle, correcting our fire on the retreating Russians, and especially on their crossing, which they wanted to use for their retreat. The firing positions of the 10th battery became a rallying point for scattered elements of the battalion. The 12th battery, it seems, was bypassed by the battle (but the battery commander, Lieutenant Kozlowski, was wounded). They most likely went ahead when this terrible episode began. In the 11th and headquarters batteries, the losses were heavy, especially during the second phase of the battle, when the Russians resumed their attack. The battery commander and senior battery officer were killed, and the battalion adjutant Schmidt was seriously wounded.

I spoke briefly with Peter Schmidt, who, in great pain, expressed his disappointment with Balthasar. He died at the dressing station. The commander of the rangefinder unit - a young, but long serving in his rank, Lieutenant Warenholz - was also killed. Other officers emerged from this mess with wounds, while non-commissioned officers and enlisted men had relatively few casualties. The main reason for this was that our officers - inexperienced in the combined arms sense of the word - spent too much time running back and forth, leading their soldiers. Nobody really had any idea what to do. At first they ran forward in tight groups, firing while standing, but then they got really scared. The soldiers began to crawl away, and then ran in a panic.

Our 10th also had a few losses. The medic, an Upper Silesian who spoke Polish better than German, surged ahead and was cut down by the Russians as he made his way towards the wounded soldier. This soldier has proven his mettle in many battles. He was sensitive and took offense when others laughed at his slightly stuttering accent.

Now things looked bad for our IV Battalion. Why the hell did Balthazar turn back the mechanized infantry? Isn't it his job to send infantry ahead, even if no one knows the exact number of Russians who crossed? Our losses were mostly due to Balthazar, but no one dared to talk about it. I took command of the 11th battery, since they no longer had officers. The 10th will have to make do with the two remaining lieutenants. The offensive continued towards Kalach and the Don River. It was not easy to regroup a battery in which I did not know the soldiers. Spies and non-commissioned officers were loyal, but remained on their own minds and far from thinking about the functionality of the entire battalion in the first place.

The deceased commander, career officer Oberleutnant Bartels, who was several years older than me, left a very good riding horse, a powerful, black one named Teufel (German for "devil" or "devil"). I finally have a decent horse! After Panther and Petra on the 10th battery, I had to make do with Siegfried. he had a good exterior, but rather weak front legs. There were many things this beast could not do. He was weak for jumping. True, this no longer mattered to me, since since the beginning of the Russian campaign in 1941 I had participated in a few equestrian competitions. Teuffel was not with me for long. For several days I rode him with pleasure, and we would have got used to each other if one day he had not run away. Horses are always lost. But he was never found. Who would turn down a good stray horse? Maybe Teuffel was even stolen. Horse stealing was a popular sport.

Kalach is taken by German troops. The bridgehead on the eastern bank of the Don is also sufficiently fortified. German tank units are already making their way to Stalingrad, and our battery, a little to the south, crosses the river on a ferry under cover of darkness. The crossing was under harassing fire. The so-called sewing machines (low-flying Russian biplanes) threw rockets at us and then bombs. Despite this, the crossing proceeded without delay. There was a slight confusion on the east bank. There were skirmishes on various fronts.

On sandy ground, it was difficult to turn the guns. Then we heard rumors that the German tanks had already reached the Volga north of Stal ingrad. We found several leaflets showing Stalingrad already surrounded by German tanks. We did not notice anything of the kind, as the Russians resisted fiercely. We didn't see any German or Russian tanks. For the first time we encountered a large number of Russian aircraft, even within one day. Their modern single-engine fighters swooped down on us from low altitude, firing machine guns and rockets at our slow-moving column. They also threw bombs.

When the plane attacked us from the side, there was almost no damage. True, once, when two "butchers", firing from cannons, entered the axis of our movement, I expected heavy losses. Rolling off my horse to hug the ground, I felt noise, explosions, clouds of dust and confusion. After a few seconds it was all over, nothing else happened. On some machines there were holes from shrapnel. The firebox of the field kitchen has turned into a sieve. Luckily, no one was hurt and the horses were also safe.

Later that day, during a noon break on a Soviet collective farm, our battery was savagely battered when our own Xe-111 bombers began emergency bombing. No one paid any attention to the slow, low-flying aircraft, when suddenly bombs began to fall, bursting between tightly packed cars and wagons. I saw three pilots jump out of a falling plane, but their parachutes did not open in time. Then the plane crashed into the ground and exploded. No one paid any attention to the burning debris. We couldn't do anything there. All our attention was occupied by the amazed soldiers and horses. Several rounds in the ammunition truck caught fire. Flame shot out of the gunpowder caps like water from a ruptured hose. They had to be thrown out of the truck so that they would burn out calmly and not blow everything up into the air. The most important thing was to get them away from the shells.

Our driver's forearm was torn off, he lost consciousness. Terrible spectacles were so common on the Eastern Front that the soldiers gradually got used to not paying attention to them. But a little later, the German Officer will experience a moral shock from the need to decide the fate of a badly burned Soviet tankman himself: a torn artery with my finger, I stepped on his stump, until someone finally applied a tourniquet and we stopped the bleeding. Several horses had to be shot.

Material losses were comparatively low. We directed all the anger at the pilots. Couldn't they have dropped their bombs sooner or later, if it had to? And was there any point in dropping bombs if their plane was already on the verge of crash? When we examined the crash site, we found nothing but burnt debris. Three pilots lay on the ground in grotesque poses with unopened parachutes. They should have died instantly from hitting the ground. We buried them with our soldiers in the collective farm garden. We took off their name tags, collected watches and other personal belongings and turned them in with a short report. Now I had the unenviable task of writing letters to my relatives. It had to be done, but finding the right words was not easy.

A more objective picture of what had happened only partly dominated me. What can be demanded from pilots in trouble? What were they supposed to do when the plane didn't stay in the air? They could try to make a belly landing, but only get rid of the cocked bombs. The remaining fuel was a threat in itself. Is it fair to expect a cold mind from a person in such a situation? At night we moved forward along a narrow corridor in the direction of Stalingrad, which was pierced by tank divisions. Along the road we saw German columns, broken into pieces, with many still unburied bodies. From the flashes of gun shots to the right and left of us, it was clear that the corridor could not be wide. Explosions of enemy shells did not approach us. It was probably just a harassing fire.

At a close halt, we found a seriously wounded Russian - he was half burned and trembling constantly - in a destroyed tank. He must have come to from the cold of the night, but he didn't make any noise. One glance was enough to understand that it was useless to help him. I turned away, trying to figure out what to do with it. "Someone shoot him," I heard someone's voice. "Get over it!" Then a pistol shot rang out and I felt relieved. I didn't want to know who, out of pity, finished him off. All I know is that I couldn't have done it myself, even though my mind told me it would be more humane to finish him off.

One early morning we were driving through a ravine. These are heavily eroded ravines that suddenly open up in the steppe, usually dry as gunpowder. They are constantly washed away by showers and melting snow. The head of the battery was making its way through these gullies, when suddenly tank shells began to burst around our wagons. I stayed near the "fox holes" of the telephonist and radio operator, and several times I had to look for shelter there. The general situation was confused, and the course of the front line - if it was clearly drawn at all - was unknown to me. I did not even know who was deployed on the right and to our left. From time to time I received conflicting orders to march and to fighting which only exacerbated the confusion. As a precaution, I set up an observation post at the nearest height and ran a telephone line from the battery there.

Since August 10, when we fought on the road near the Don River, events have rushed at breakneck speed. The fighting began to take its toll from the IV battalion. We constantly suffered losses. Strange as it may sound, I was able to sleep peacefully. Despite this, I did not feel as relaxed and confident as others thought. From my school years, I learned not to show my feelings. The bruise on my arm still hurt, Hv I didn't want to get a badge about the wound, because I had a bad feeling that then something really bad would happen to me. We were ordered to change positions. By that time, the front line had regained clarity. All three batteries of the heavy battalion - 12 powerful guns - stood very close. As usual, I was at the main observation post, from where I could see the western edge of Stalingrad, which stretched out in length.

Somewhat closer, in front and to the left, stood a complex of buildings of the city flight school. The division will launch an offensive in the coming days. We had great maps and approved tasks for each day. Will our increasingly thinning division be able to meet these expectations? Observation posts and firing positions were improved, and each gun was surrounded by an earthen rampart to better protect it from enemy fire.

The Russians put their launchers on trucks, which made it possible to quickly change position. This weapon system made a deep impression on us. The terrible noise made during their fire had an acoustic effect comparable to the sirens on our "things". to distinguish on the outskirts of Stalingrad numerous bunkers made of earth and wood.Our infantry slowly and carefully made their way through this line of fortifications.

When they got close enough, assault cannons would appear, driving up to the bunkers and crushing the embrasures with them. "Sturmgeshütz-III", heavily armored at the front, without a turret, so low profile, armed with a powerful 75mm cannon. Assault guns were also successful tank destroyers. Therefore, it was wrong to use them instead of tanks. Assault guns silenced most of the bunkers Where this failed, infantry with flamethrowers and demolition charges completed the work.

From a safe distance from my vantage point, the splitting of the bunkers looked very professional and natural. I only had to think back to the Russian bunkers in the Veta forest that we encountered a year ago to fully appreciate how dangerous this kind of combat is. As soon as one bunker was finished, preparations began for the destruction of the next. The same procedure with assault guns and flamethrowers was repeated over and over again. It was impressive how calmly our infantry went about their hard work, despite losses and stress.

It was an unbreakable fighting spirit, without excessive patriotism with flags. Chauvinism was a rare feeling for us during that war. After all, it was hardly to be expected from us. We firmly believed that we were doing our duty, believed that a fight was inevitable, and did not consider this war to be Hitler's war. Perhaps this is not so historically true when all the blame for that war and its horrors is placed solely on Hitler.

This time, a simple soldier at the front believed in the necessity of this war. Accustomed to the constant risk and mindset of a mercenary, he still believed that the best chance of survival came from a minor wound, because he could hardly expect to remain unharmed for long. Soon I received a request to become a spotter in the forward units, contact the infantry and try to provide them with fire support in street battles. Nothing else was visible from the main observation post. We moved towards the city through the flight school. To the left and right were damaged aircraft hangars and modern country barracks. In front of me, but at a safe distance, endless bursts of "Stalin's organs" flared up.

I somehow managed to get through it all with my radio operators. A horse-drawn telephonist van drove past us towards the city, laying cable to ensure a reliable connection. When we reached the first fences around the small gardens of the houses on the outskirts of the city - often these were primitive wicker fences around the huts - we saw desperate women in white headbands trying to protect their young children as they tried to escape from the city. The men were nowhere to be seen. From the look of the surrounding areas, the city looked abandoned. Ahead, the operator's van pulled up on a broken, bumpy, partially paved street.

A terrible noise forced us to take cover. Then a volley of "Stalin's organs" hit the road. The van disappeared in a cloud of fire. HE was right in the middle of it. "Direct hit," the radio operator said with compassion in his voice, a tone that betrayed relief at having survived the raid. This was reminiscent of the principle of St. Florian - "save my house, burn others." To our absolute surprise, nothing happened. The people, the horses and the wagon remained intact. Taking a breath, the soldier squeezed out a joke to hide his fear: "More dirt and noise than it's worth."

At that time, no one could have known that this same bathhouse would be my last bunker in Stalingrad and that around this building I would fight for Adolf Hitler for the last time, a man who preferred to sacrifice an entire army rather than surrender the city. With the loss of Stalingrad, the world I knew collapsed. I thought more about the world that opened up to me after that, and now I look at it with a critical eye. I've always been a bit of a skeptic. I never considered any of those who had to be unconditionally followed as a “superman”.

Of course, it is much easier and simpler to go with the "zeitgeist", even if it is done out of opportunism. On a ghostly morning lit by fires, our spirits remained cheerful. In the evening, Roske's regiment reached the Volga with the first jerk, right through the center of the city. This position was maintained until the last day. Our losses were comparatively low.

The neighboring divisions did not want to stay on the tail of the retreating Russians, exceeding the tasks of the day. The divisions to the south endured the heaviest fighting before they were finally able to reach the Volga, while the divisions neighboring us to the north never made it to the river despite increasingly violent attacks. To begin with, the 71st Infantry Division held a relatively narrow corridor that reached the Volga, with flanks for the most part unprotected. T-34s drove across the streets, and Russians still occupied various residential buildings.

Early in the morning we followed the messengers, who had already scouted safe enough routes among the ruins. Most importantly, they knew which streets the Russians had under surveillance. These streets had to be run in one breath, one at a time. This was new to the gunners, but not as dangerous as we first thought. Without giving the Russians time to see, aim and shoot at the man running alone, the soldier was already crossing the street and disappearing to a safe place.

Now my battery was ordered to provide assistance - in the form of artillery support - to our northern neighbors so that they too could successfully fight their way to the Volga. I had to move the observation post, and in the area of ​​continuous burnt wooden houses, I was able to find several underground rooms with concrete ceilings, which were reinforced with several layers of sleepers from the nearest depot. Hard physical labor was performed by Khivs (voluntary helpers, mostly Russians). Nearby, desperately trying to survive, lived several Russian families without men of military age.

They suffered terribly from the incessant Russian shelling. It was always hard to see them die or get hurt. We tried to help them in any way we could. Our doctors and nurses tried their best. So gradually they began to trust us. Of course, we were to blame for their fate, because we put them in more danger by occupying their safe cellars. Despite this, some time passed before they accepted the offer of the German side, and they were taken out of the city with supply columns.

We had to equip an observation post in the beams of the destroyed house, which we also tried to strengthen with railway sleepers. It was an uphill climb that was difficult to climb. The dark basement looked strange, and few people liked to go there. The Heavi avoided the basement and suffered casualties. We felt sorry for them, because they were killed by their own fellow citizens, and this after just a little earlier they had escaped death from the fire of the Germans. Of course, they offered us their service voluntarily, but not because they loved us very much. If they took such a risk, they did so only to avoid the grim fate of a prisoner - a fate they had already experienced, at least for a short time - with all the torment and hunger, when they were driven across the steppe, almost like cattle.

As Khiwi they were in a sense "semi-free", received enough food from the field kitchens to fill their stomachs, and were well supplied in other respects. They lived among us not so badly. Some of them must have considered running away. There were many opportunities to do so, but few disappeared from the location. Most were friendly, hardworking and loyal to us beyond any expectation.

Our artillery support on his feet helped the neighboring division. We could not interfere in street fights. There, grenades and machine guns did all the work, from one side of the street to the other, from floor to floor and even from room to room. The Russians fought stubbornly for the ruins of the city - with a tenacity that exceeded their already impressive fighting spirit. They did it so well that we could hardly move forward. It was hardly a matter of their system of political leadership. How would it help them in hand-to-hand combat?

Only now did we understand how lucky we were to penetrate deep into the center of the city and take a wide piece of the Volga coast from the first blow. I was finally able to direct shells at a large industrial complex in the sector of our neighbor. After carefully aiming the shells, our 15-centimeter guns broke through holes in the brick walls. However, the building could not be demolished. With only a few attempts, our neighbors were able to break into the plant - before the Russian defenders counterattacked after artillery preparation. Hand-to-hand combat at the factory complex lasted for days, but artillery support had to be reduced - our troops were already inside.

In other batteries, things went worse. Their positions were on the western outskirts of the city. The Russians suspected they were there and subjected them to continuous shelling. Wood for the construction of dugouts had to be found in the city itself, and then with difficulty delivered to the positions. The 1st Battalion was completely unknown to me. When I came with a report about the arrival to my new commander, I came across a young Hauptmann who had previously served in the 31st Artillery Regiment.

He greeted me warmly. His battalion command post was at the vodka factory. Production was largely destroyed. Aside from empty vodka bottles, mostly fused into ingots of glass, there was no longer any sign of alcohol here. But here, too, there were strong basements that allowed for safe shelter.

The half-batteries facing the Volga were well located in the ruins of high buildings near the steep bank of the river. The team was led by a non-commissioned officer who lived with his people in the basement. The post of the forward observer was not far from us, on the stairwell of a residential building. We had to be extremely careful, because the Russians with sniper rifles or even anti-tank rifles darted around here and there, shooting down many lone soldiers.

Only when you knew which areas were under Russian surveillance did you feel comparatively safe in the ruins. Over time, much has been done to improve security - warning signs appeared, screens were hung that blocked the field of view of snipers. Sometimes even deep trenches were dug for crossing certain streets under surveillance. Nevertheless, it was necessary to move with caution or - even better - to have with you soldiers who knew the terrain well.

Later, a 105-mm howitzer was deployed on my new battery to fire on individual buildings in the city east of the station area. The place where she was located could only be safely approached in the dark. The gun had been in serious business several times, and each time the crew suffered losses. Such tasks could only be performed during the day, otherwise it was impossible to aim the gun at the target. Before the first shot, too much time passed, because the howitzer had to be rolled out of the shelter to the firing position by the forces of calculation. Two gunners each pushed their own wheel, while the other two rested their shoulders on the beds.

The fifth member of the crew and the gun commander also tried their best, pulling and pushing. Before the first round left the barrel, these soldiers were easy targets. The Russians, who had seen what was happening from afar, fired with everything they had. Even when everything seemed to be in order and the Russians had to lie down, they continued to fire mortars. The usual practice was to fire 30-40 rounds at the houses occupied by the Russians as quickly as possible in order to quickly drag the howitzer back into cover.

During the skirmish, the calculation did not hear the enemy, because he himself was pretty noisy. If the enemy mortars fired accurately, the crews noticed it too late. In general, there was little we could do with our light howitzers. When firing at thick brick walls, even our shells with a delayed action fuse did not penetrate them. Shells with a fuse set on impact only knocked plaster off the walls.

We fired half and half - shells of instant detonation and with a delay. When we were lucky, we hit the embrasure or sent a shell through a hole in the wall into the house. We didn't expect to seriously damage the buildings. The enemy had to take cover from the shelling, so that with the last shell, until the defenders returned to their positions, our infantry could enter the building. Be that as it may, we acted according to this theory. In reality, little came of these costly actions.

Understandably, the infantry was asking for artillery support, and we all knew we were safer than they were. I think that's why our superiors agreed to help, even if our help made little difference. Why shouldn't infantry regiments use the much more powerful 15 cm infantry guns, which gave a much greater result, even when firing from indirect positions? In my opinion, the infantry lacked the imagination to properly occupy their heavy artillery.

When I went under the cover of darkness to the forward positions of our guns, I found the soldiers in a depressed mood. The next day, the same actions were planned, and they were afraid that something would happen again. As a "new recruit on the battery," I felt that I should take part in the action, and went to study the target area. I was looking for the safest position for the gun. I found a garage with a concrete roof. From the side, a gun could be rolled up there. Then it was possible to shoot through the hole in place of the door. A lot of rubbish hung and stood on the road, masking our position, but also hindering the flight of shells. And yet the position seemed promising to me.

The next morning, I tried categorically to dissuade my new commander from using guns in battles for every house. He agreed - in principle - but was worried that it would make a bad impression on the infantry. No one wanted to seem like a net or a coward who left all the risky business to the infantry. He too, unsuccessfully, tried to persuade the infantry to use their own heavy guns. But, oddly enough, the infantry tended to use their cannons like a battery of artillery, rather than concentrating it on individual targets. This, in theory, was her main business, to support her regiments during independent actions.

Every now and then getting the nickname " gypsy artillery", infantry artillery did not understand its main purpose - the suppression of point targets. "You don't have to go there if you don't want to," the commander finally said. I was honest and said that I do not go looking for danger if I can do my job from a distance - but especially when I see no chance of success. Of course, I don't have to be there all the time, but in my first operation as a rookie commander, I really want to be seen there, on the front line. I pointed out that the preparations for the future attack had been carried out very well.

Without much seriousness, I said: “Herr Hauptmann, you can evaluate everything yourself. This time all conditions are good, because we can roll the gun into position unnoticed, and you will see how little we can change. He agreed and we agreed on where we would meet. At the battalion command post, I learned that Balthazar had been transferred to an artillery school. I wonder if his good friend Scharenberg had a hand in this translation? It is quite possible - if you remember how slowly my report was considered.

Von Strumpf was promoted to Oberst Lieutenant after Balthazar, which made my assumption less likely. Why did such a respected officer get the production so late? He was a better commander than his predecessor, whose command style was barely visible.

The meeting with the commander worked. We got to the garage. Everything was quiet. All preparations were also made, but now I had an unpleasant feeling in my stomach. The infantry assault group stood ready to take the assigned house. We last discussed everything with their lieutenant. The attack was to begin at sunset. The first shot was aimed calmly and accurately. We did our best to secure the bed openers so that the implement would not roll away on the concrete floor. Otherwise, every shot would have turned into hard labor. Because of the danger of getting a debris collapse on the first shot, we extended the trigger cord with a piece of rope.

"Okay, let's go," I called out. - Fire!" A shot - and an abyss of dust rose, everything else was in order. The gun was in place. While it was being reloaded, I took another look at the panorama. After that, we started shooting quickly. With all the dust and explosions in the building we were shooting at, I couldn't see much. The nose and eyes were clogged with dust. After a few shells, the Russians responded with mortar fire, but for us it was not a threat due to the concrete ceiling. The infernal roar that we created was diluted with dry mine explosions. “Come on, it’s no use,” said the Hauptmann. - Why? asked the gun commander. We have never fired 40 shells faster than today. Our fire actually barely damaged the building. "Let's finish what we came here for," I said. And so we did.

Having fired the last shell, we dragged the howitzer out of the building to another safe position. The Russians now know where we're firing from and will definitely destroy that position tomorrow. We could finally rest, take a sip of vodka and smoke under the protection of the cellar. I hardly smoked, did not enjoy it, in addition, smoking did not help to distract or relax. This time the attack on the house occupied by the Russians failed. A little later, a hastily prepared attack without artillery preparation turned out to be more successful. For us, this was the last time we used a howitzer in street fighting in Stalingrad. Now we had to pull the howitzer back to positions near the bathhouse. At night, a limber will be attached to it, to which six horses are harnessed. The Russians, if possible, will not be allowed to learn anything. First of all, we put the gun behind the houses so that we could attach the limber by the light of flashlights. At first everything went according to plan, but in the depot the gun got stuck on the arrow.

The horses stumbled over the rails. We soon got over this problem, but it cost us precious time. With a much more clumsy heavy howitzer, you would have to mess around a lot more. The experience of all the jams gained during my service in the 10th battery was now justified: now the soldiers saw me as an expert. After the depot, the terrain went uphill sharply, and the horses did not have enough strength. We had to take short breaks, prop up the wheels and start harnessing to the cables. By the first rays of dawn we had finally completed the ascent and left the gun on a hill among the houses out of sight of the Russians, in order to finally put it in position later. If we had not been able to do all this the first time, the gun would have had to be abandoned. At last the limber, the horses and the soldiers left, to come again the following night. Of course, if the Russians do not find our gun in the meantime and destroy it with artillery fire. In war, you have to rely on luck.

My two Russian guns near the Volga earned a clear point in their account. Almost every day, at sunset, the Russians sent a gunboat down the river, equipped with two T-34 turrets, to quickly bombard our positions with shells. Although it did not cause much damage, it was a source of concern. My gunners fired at her many times. This time we aimed at a certain point, through which the “monitor” always passed. On this day, the boat reached the desired point, both guns simultaneously opened fire and hit. The damaged boat stood near the Volga island and was able to return fire. The guns responded instantly. The boat quickly sank.

Because of the noteworthiness of this, in general, an ordinary duel, it was mentioned in the Wehrmachtsbericht on October 10, 1942. Several people from my "coastal defense" received Iron Crosses, which, of course, they were delighted with. A soldier also needs luck - and only success counts. The achievements of the unlucky do not count. While the situation gradually improved in our division's sector as the last buildings and streets with high casualties were taken, things to the north of us looked much more pale.

In particular, for large industrial complexes - the Dzerzhinsky tractor plant, the Red Barricades arms factory and the Red October steel plant and others - the Russians fought ruthlessly, and they could not be taken. Both attackers and defenders were hopelessly locked together in destroyed workshops, where the Russians, who knew the situation better, had an advantage. Even the special sapper units set in motion could not turn the tide.

However, Hitler was already boasting: Stalingrad had been taken. To take the city completely, large fresh forces were needed, but we no longer had such. We bit off more than we could chew. On the Caucasian front, events did not go as we had planned either. Germany had reached the limit of its capabilities, and the enemy had not yet weakened - on the contrary, thanks to American and allied help, he was becoming stronger. The 71st Infantry Division was preparing for trench warfare along the Volga and preparing for the oncoming winter. We hoped that in the coming year we would be replaced by fresh parts. It was obvious that our small divisions needed a breather and reorganization. Everyone who was still alive was cheerful and dreamed of spending the summer in France. The vacation system, which had been suspended for the duration of the campaign, has been reactivated. Why didn't he rise to the big ranks? there was something wrong with it. As for the spy, I wasn't so sure. He was a professional soldier who knew how to deal with superiors of any rank. He knew exactly how to deal with a young lieutenant like me.

His only problem was that I could see right through him. As a lieutenant, I learned something while serving under the command of Kuhlman, whose cunning spy tried to trick me around his finger, and Kuhlman did not interfere with him. I quickly learned that you can only rely on yourself to protect your interests. It's not easy when you're 19-20 years old. Spies on the 2nd battery was clearly disappointed in me from the first meeting. I showed no gratitude for the extra wine and cigars on the dinner table. On the contrary, I rejected all suggested supplements. I lived on the standard ration of an ordinary soldier on a battery. The same applied to groceries. Soldiers at the forefront had the opportunity to supplement their diet - personal or group - whenever they wanted. And this despite the fact that nothing could be found in the steppe around Stalingrad, except for a couple of melons, and even then not at this time of the year.

Many Russian houses had a large brick oven in the center, which ran through several floors, heated adjoining rooms and was used for cooking. The windows, equipped with additional glass for the winter, did not open. Sawdust was poured between layers of glass for thermal insulation. Only weak daylight reached the rooms. There were hygiene issues as well. In extreme cold, there was little water.

Laundry and personal hygiene were reduced to a minimum. Nevertheless, the inhabitants of the house seemed clean to us. They did everything they could for us and were friendly. They made delicious food from our supplies, so they had enough for themselves. They were mainly interested in our "commissar" and canned food. We won the trust of Russian children with chocolate and sweets. When we woke up the next morning, the sun was already shining and the snow was shining brightly, reflecting the light into our room through a small window. Only one of us was bitten by bedbugs - the one who slept on the table. We decided that it was fair - he already took the best place.

The life of soldiers was not the most important thing for Hitler when he thought about the future. Goering was largely to blame for the disaster at Stalingrad. He could not fulfill his promise to airlift as many supplies as needed - and HE knew this even before he promised. He degenerated into a pompous, drugged bastard. Climbing with Bode into the Yu-52 transport aircraft at the Rostov airfield, I was forced to squeeze past a large, securely laced box with a paper sticker "Christmas greetings to the commander of the Stalingrad fortress, Oberst General Paulus." I found the inscription tasteless and inappropriate. For me, a fortress is a carefully built defensive position with safe havens and suitable Defensive weapons, as well as ample supplies. None of this happened in Stalingrad! On the whole, Stalingrad was a mess that needed to be put in order as soon as possible. I think the crate contained booze and snacks for the big guys... for obvious reasons. Now, when the troops in the encirclement were starving, this grand gesture was out of place, was impermissible and even provoked disobedience.

Several hours passed in anticipation, spiced with fearful curiosity. The Junkers flew over the snow-covered fields, slowly gaining altitude, then falling down like an elevator, repeating all this again and again. Can't say my stomach liked it. I'm not used to flying. To the left, I saw burning sheds, houses, and thick smoke from burning oil tanks. “Tatsinskaya,” said the pilot. - The airfield from where Stalingrad is supplied. We call him Taci. The Russians recently rolled us with their damned tanks - the entire airfield and everything around. But now we have recaptured it." Soon we landed at Morozovsky, at another supply airfield. The Russians were close here too. Artillery fire and barking of tank guns could be heard. On the airfield bombers and fighters hung bombs. I heard someone say: "They will quickly jump up and unload over there, on Ivan." Explosions were heard in the distance. Everyone around was nervous

Rumors buzzed around again: “We have already broken through the Encirclement. The Russians are running like they used to...” I wanted to believe it, especially after I saw these self-confident troops. My belief that we will overcome this crisis grew stronger. The truth, unknown to me at that time, would have plunged me into despondency and, most likely, would have kept me from flying to Stalingrad. I expected that the 6th Panzer Division, with its excellent weapons, would join Panzer Group Gotha for the offensive on Stalingrad. But they were soon turned into a "fire brigade" in order to eliminate Russian breakthroughs in the Tatsinskaya area, aimed at Rostov.

Desperate battles were going on along the Chir. The tank corps of Colonel General Hoth, with relatively weak tank units, tried to break through the encirclement around Stalingrad from the south. They were able to approach the "boiler" for 48 kilometers. Then they ran out of momentum. The last hope of the 6th Army for liberation was lost. Death became inevitable. Goth's tanks were all needed on the threatening southwestern front. In fact, Stalingrad would have surrendered before Christmas. My then-confidence may seem naive, and perhaps it was so - but I have always been an optimist. This approach made life easier. He made it possible to cope with the horrors of war, with the fear of being killed or maimed, and even with the terrible years of Soviet captivity.

After lunch we tried to take off again: this time, in three Xe-111s, we flew to the Don under the cover of clouds. Over the river, the clouds suddenly disappeared, and Russian fighters immediately fell upon us. “Back, into the clouds, and - to Morozovskaya, that’s enough for today!” Said the pilot. On that day, another opportunity to fly to Stalingrad was discovered: refueling and reloading of a large group of Xe-111 with supply containers under their belly began. In the meantime, it got dark. "This time the flight went without problems. I could see the Don, here and there flares came up from time to time. Because of the artillery fire, it was perfectly visible where the front line was going on both sides. After that, the plane began to descend, the landing lights turned on, and the landing gear came into contact with "But the plane took off again, picked up speed and turned around. I climbed through the boxes to the pilot. "I thought we were already there," I told him. "And thank God," he replied.

A Russian plane slipped between the descending Heinkels And dropped bombs on the runway. The left wheel of my "Heinkel" fell into a funnel in the frozen ground, and the pilot could hardly get the car back into the air. Now it was about landing on the belly, but not here, at the local airfield Pitomnik inside the encirclement, but in Morozovskaya. Who knows what will happen if you try to land here. Another wheel, or rather its strut, jammed.

It was not released by hand. - Crap! - said the pilot. - It's better to jump with a parachute! They discussed the possibility of skydiving. I, as a passenger, was not happy to hear this, because there was no parachute on me. I started to worry. Should I fly at my own risk or is it easier to shoot myself? Well, the pilots also had no idea how they would jump - because they had never done this before. Maybe there is still a chance to drive safely on the icy strip. I even somewhat calmed down. When we landed at Morozovskaya, it already seemed to me that everything was in order and the precautions were just reinsurance. "Clean the lower gondola, put on the steel helmet, put your back against the outer wall." Then the plane banked to the left. It hit the ground and broke.

I sat in a daze until I felt a blast of cold air coming into the fuselage from the outside and heard a voice say, “Is everything all right? Come out!" The entire port wing, including the engine, was torn off, the lower nacelle was crushed, and the forward glass dome was shattered. I grabbed my things, including a courier bag with mail, and got out. A fire truck and an ambulance flew up, but we were unharmed, and the plane did not catch fire.

As expected, the Heinkel slid across the ice and then broke apart. On soft ground, this would not happen. “Damn lucky again,” I thought, but this time death was very close. Actually, I was surprised that the events of the day did not affect me more strongly. I was just tired and went to bed on the table in the room adjacent to the mission control room. But before that I was offered food and a lot of alcohol - all of the best quality. The pilots were hospitality itself. “When we run out of supplies, the war will end.

With our connections, thirst and hunger do not threaten us ... ”In the middle of the night I was pulled out of sleep. Anxiety, screams, slamming doors, the noise of engines: “Morozovskaya is being evacuated! The Russians are coming! Outside, activity was raging. Everything that could be tied up and thrown into the bodies of trucks. I picked up some delicacies, including French cognac, and began to ask about the next flight to Stalingrad.

Stalingrad? You went with your Stalingrad. No one else will fly from here. We have enough anxiety here already. What the hell do you need in Stalingrad? one officer asked. - And what should I do now? - Either jump in the truck, or look for a plane, but planes are all for pilots, so you probably won't be lucky. Someone else yelled at me: - Where to? No matter where! Get out of here - or do you want to give the Russians a red carpet welcome? I was aimlessly running back and forth, not recognizing anyone and not finding a single clear answer. Then another pilot reported to the control room. - Do you have a place for me? I asked him, not hoping for an answer. - If you are not afraid of the cold, then I fly on the "terminal", it has an open cabin.

We landed in Rostov; again Rostov. How to get to Stalingrad now? Passes were now delivered via Salsk. Where is this Salsk? How to get there? An antique Yu-86 with engines converted from diesel to gasoline was carrying spare parts to Salsk and could have taken me too. Where did Bode go? Did he fly to Stalingrad? Did he return to the battery? Is the battery in the old place? Yu-52 squadrons were based in Salsk. Most still counted on "Aunt Yu". My travel documents began to raise some doubts. I was almost accused of wandering back and forth behind the front lines instead of returning to my people or joining the fire department. Only a bag with courier mail gave credibility to my words.

When I was trying to find a place in a large barracks to keep warm, one pilot informed me that he wanted to take me to the Nursery. A large group of Yu-52s was going to break through into the encirclement after dark. In one of them, full of barrels of fuel, I found a seat behind a transparent cap, on the side of the radio operator's seat. I left my bag of groceries next to me, which also contained a courier bag. The mail has long lost all relation to the latest news. Don appeared below us. We began our descent towards the Pitomnik airfield.

The radio operator was nervous and pointed to a small hole in the fuselage: A two-centimeter anti-aircraft gun, ours. . . damn... DAMN!!! he called to the pilot. - One of these in a barrel of fuel, and we'll fry! he replied. - And now what? I asked, not hoping for an answer. The plane rolled on the ground. Again the Russians slipped through our formation and dropped their bombs on the runway. Our anti-aircraft guns fired into the gaps between us. But in the end everything worked out. I finally "happily arrived" in the Stalingrad "cauldron". The plane ran to the edge of the airfield. The hatches opened, and the crew began to push barrels of fuel out of the plane. I climbed out onto the wing, said goodbye to them and looked around. Ragged, poorly dressed, wounded soldiers stumbled towards us across the strip. They were desperately trying to get on the plane and fly away.

But the pilots had already closed the hatches, and all three engines roared. Shouts, commands, someone’s words “we don’t want to stay here for good!” were the last I heard from the pilots. The engines roared and the plane took off. They took off on their own initiative, without any instructions and without contacting the mission control center. The plane disappeared into the darkness, and the screaming wounded, who had tried more than once to grab onto the plane, also disappeared. Several of them crawled in the snow on all fours, swearing and whimpering. They were dirty, untidy, overgrown with beards, emaciated, in blood-soaked bandages, wrapped in rags like gypsies and completely forgetting about discipline.

I wandered around and finally found a deep dugout with an entrance covered with a cape. There were flashes of anti-aircraft fire and bomb explosions all around. I crawled into the dugout, where I was greeted by the stench of unwashed bodies and leftover food. They met me with hostility. "Where? Where?" When I described my adventures, they laughed at me.

You must be out of your mind, Herr Oberleutnant. Now, like all of us, you are up to your ears in shit - up to your ears. Return tickets are only for the wounded - without a head, without a leg, and so on, and at the same time, you still need to find yourself a plane! - said one staff - corporal. There was no insubordination in his words - more like regret. It was just a disastrous ending to the holiday. As much as everything was good at the beginning, everything was so terrible at the end. At least in the Nursery, absolute chaos reigned. No one gave clear orders to anyone, and helpless, desperate wounded lay and wandered anywhere.

How are our tanks, have they already made their way? - It was early in the morning on December 29, 1942. Our tanks had become firmly in ruts many days earlier. The offensive to break through the Stalingrad encirclement from the south was too weak from the very beginning. Another case when our troops were not strong enough to achieve what they wanted. Despite this, the disillusioned soldiers in the bunker did not expect the fall of the 6th Army. Outside, bombs were constantly exploding.

I asked myself again and again if it was smart to return to Stalingrad. I tried to get rid of the dark thoughts. When I woke up the next morning, the sun was shining on the steppe from a completely clear sky. The glitter of the snow blinded me. Coming out of the dark dugout into the light, I could hardly open my eyes. The terrible night is over. There were German fighters in the sky, but there were no Russian planes to be seen. I said goodbye to the owners and went to the control room. There everything moved the axis running.

Since I was carrying courier mail, a car was called for me to the command post of the 6th Army in Gumrak. The command post was a bunch of log cabins built into the slope. Everything there was filled with the noise of managerial work and the general uproar - heels clicked, hands threw up sharply, saluting. The mail was accepted - but I think it had no value. I was told to wait. Listening to snippets of telephone conversations, I realized that now they are trying to create new “alarmenheiten” out of nothing.

And they needed officers there. If I had such a career, I would have gone to the “fire station” back in Kharkov, where the conditions were much better. I quietly slipped out without attracting anyone's attention. It was stuffy in the overheated dugout. There was snow outside and it was minus twenty. Throwing my satchel over my shoulder, I followed the trail of wheels towards the flight school. The area was familiar to me, even now, when there was snow everywhere. A passing truck picked me up.

I walked almost the same road as on September 14, during my first visit to the city. The gun positions of my 2nd battery were all in the same place. When I appeared in the basement of the bath - naturally, I was greeted with many welcome exclamations. Bode arrived many days before me. He did everything on the first try and told the others that if "Old" did not arrive soon, he would not appear at all. This means he - everything, he got his. Remember - we took off at the same time. Bode was only a few years younger than my twenty-two, but to the soldiers I was "Old". The contents of the satchels that Bode had brought had been divided and eaten long ago. They were divided fairly, but my personal belongings, which remained on the battery when I went on vacation, also parted with them. There was some vague inconvenience in this. Since I "resurrected", everything was returned to me through the orderly. I was grateful to them. In war people think and act more practically. In any case, I was even glad to be in a "familiar environment."

Soon I went to the observation post, taking my satchel with food, because nothing had been received from Bode's satchels there. The reason given for this was that since my absence there had already received special rations, ostensibly for being in greater danger. A lot more is eaten in the limber positions, I thought, before the food reaches the front lines. From the very beginning, I considered this explanation exaggerated and biased, but I did not say anything, because at first I wanted to hear what they would say to me. Actually, my deputy, a lieutenant from another battery, really assigned abundant likes to the observation post - and therefore to himself.

During normal combat operations, soldiers in an observation post are required to do more than in firing positions or even in a wagon train. But here, in Stalingrad, my NP lived more comfortably. To avoid discontent, pets are not allowed, especially when supplies are severely limited. Despite the fact that I got fat during the holidays, from the first day in the environment I sat on the local starvation ration. The soldiers on the battery had been living like this for a month. I did not let go of the bag of food, because I had to think carefully about how to divide it.

My first order was absolutely equal food for all soldiers of the battery. Then I reported on my assumption of duties to the battalion commander and also notified the regimental commander of my engagement. Although I was welcomed with joy, the regimental commander wanted to know why I did not ask him for permission to marry. In the end, I had to go to him for a report, and I was a little puzzled. I apologized, but pointed out that I did not know about it, and besides, going on vacation, I did not know that it would end in an engagement. It was a spontaneous decision that happened because the opportunity presented itself. Lieutenant-Colonel von Strumpf mellowed a little and listened to my story. I told about the family of my future wife and promised that I would apply to him for permission to marry when the wedding day was planned.

The situation on the front of the division along the Volga remained relatively calm. Perhaps the general state of affairs in the environment was better than many thought. If only supplies were better! With the exception of a couple of patients with jaundice, who were immediately evacuated by plane, there were no losses on the battery during my absence. The reason for such a good life on the battery was the fact that it stood far to the east, in safe positions in the city. Most of the horses and riders were not even inside the "cauldron". They were sent far, west of the Don, to the area where horses were kept, because they were not needed for positional warfare. Last winter we had a lot of unpleasant moments connected with horses. Now they were well looked after and fed on the collective farm.

On the western side of the city, in a beam, our convoy was located, with a staff, a field kitchen and a treasurer. Not many of the horses available here were used to carry ammunition or move cannons. After being fed well on vacation, I now suffered from constant hunger - just like everyone else. I donated my bag of food to a spontaneously assembled New Year's celebration, everyone on the battery got a little bit. This gesture was well received, although each received so little. All free from service were invited to a large cozy basement, where the command post was located. There was still enough coffee and alcohol. We hoped that 1943 would be more disposed towards us.

Due to the difference in time, the Russians sent a furious "fireworks" at exactly 23.00 German time, so to speak, congratulating us on the New Year. As a precaution, I sent my gunners into position. Perhaps that's not all. Since there were not enough shells, we did not answer, but the evening was spoiled anyway. On January 1, the battalion commander gave the officers a reception with schnapps. There was no other drink at these festivities. From our battery, only I was at the reception, because after the invitation, the lieutenant received other tasks.

The booze was terrible. At the end I was just drunk in a sausage. Usually I fit a lot. And it was much harder than drinking in the morning to communicate with the adjutant - my soldiers brought me to him in the morning on a hand sled. They never saw me like this. But the first irritation was soon replaced by sadness, when a bomb hit the stairwell at the vodka factory the next evening. The battalion headquarters was there, in the basement. A divisional Catholic priest was invited there. They were just seeing him off when this fate befell him, the battalion commander and adjutant. All three died.

The next day, the battalion was received by a young hauptmann from the divisional motorized artillery, we did not know him. When I was returning back to my command post after the first meeting with him, a shell fragment hit my hand. I was hoping for a heimatschus (a wound that serves as a basis for sending home), but it was only a scratch. I didn't even have to go to the doctor. The new Hauptmann was a pleasant fellow, even-tempered and friendly, if perhaps a little naive. When he visited me shortly at my wonderful CP, he complained that he was hungry and, without embarrassment, asked for something for breakfast along with the vodka I offered him. I was stunned that although this was normal under normal circumstances, in an environment where everyone was starving, this was out of the question.

From a niche near my sleeping place I got him a piece of sausage and a piece of bread and ordered the orderly to set the table for us. It wasn't much. Hauptmann ate it all quickly and with a healthy appetite, and when we had drunk some more vodka, he asked why I had not eaten with him. "You eat my daily ration - and after that what should I eat?" was my rather impolite reply. There were no guest rations on the second battery. For diplomatic reasons, I couldn't eat with him anyway. The soldiers were waiting for the end of the case.

Our new commander was not a brute. He did not react in any way and ate what was in front of him. We talked a little about this and that and parted in a rather good mood. That same night, a messenger brought some food from him - exactly as much as he had eaten in the morning. Since then, he never ate on the batteries, which previously received him with all hospitality. My professional relationship with him was not affected by this incident. He was good guy, I just didn't always think properly.

The post office was still working. I wrote letters a lot and often and received letters from home. Unexpectedly, unrest began on the battery. So far, there has been talk of a breakthrough. This idea was discussed from the very beginning of the environment, when I was still on vacation. Then the breakthrough had a good chance of success, but now we were tired, hungry and exhausted, and we had no fuel and ammunition. Still, there was some incentive. Three Skoda trucks and two three-axle Tatra trucks came to the battery.

These trucks were needed to transport guns, ammunition, a field kitchen and the most necessary communications equipment. We even got some shells with them, so now there were 40 shells per gun. No more deliveries of shells were foreseen. One hundred and sixty shells were better than nothing, but you can't conquer Stalingrad with that many.

We had the following rule: according to practice-tested instructions, 120 shells were needed to suppress an enemy battery, and twice as many for complete destruction. Could a few extra shells justify the existence of our 2nd battery? The first one has already been disbanded and sent to the infantry, deployed along the Volga. From there they took the real infantry and sent them to the steppe. Filling the gaps on the front line began long ago, but mixing different types of troops and different weapons weakened our ability to resist rather than strengthened. When it comes to combat, you need reliable neighbors who won't leave you.

The tense preparations for the breakthrough raised our hopes again. The commander of our corps, General von Seydlitz, was considered the soul of the idea of ​​​​a breakthrough, but Paulus hesitated. There were even those who declared that Paulus was no longer in the boiler. In any case, no one saw him. When trying to break through, everyone agreed on this, the losses would be high. Still, it was better than waiting by the sea for the weather in this damn environment.

Our 71st Infantry Division was offered the enviable role of "deputy heroes", since it was located in relatively calm positions near the Volga and did not show the slightest trace of decay. Improvised "fire departments" had to be transported to the steppe by trucks.

The march on foot was too exhausting for the exhausted people, and they would not last long. And so my trucks disappeared and did not return, although a few survivors returned. They were shell-shocked and frozen to death. Despite the fact that these soldiers - completely inexperienced in the role of infantry - were not taught anything and were not even explained the task, they were taken straight to the steppe. On the way, the lead truck was hit by a Russian attack aircraft. The one following caught a tank cannon shell.

The front was an imaginary line running simply through the snow. It was declared the "main line of defense" on which the advanced infantry units could rely if necessary. Most of the soldiers did not have winter clothes. They wore thin overcoats and leather boots, in which every bone froze through. They dug holes in the snow and, where possible, built snow huts to keep warm.

Officers - helpless and mostly unfired - were rarely assigned to them. The soldiers did not know each other, had no personal relationship with each other, and all confidence in a neighbor disappeared. As soon as the advancing Russian soldiers found serious resistance, they simply called in their T-34s and shot at the hastily built fortified points, blowing them to pieces. Those who remained alive were crushed by tank tracks. The scattered remains painted the Russian steppe red.

Even when the Russians did not attack, our lines of defense sometimes disappeared on their own. The people were starving, they were exposed to the cold, they had no bullets, and - for better or worse - they were at the mercy of superior Russian forces. Morale was as low as ever. These new rabble units disintegrated and suffered huge losses. No one knew the neighbors on the right and left, and some soldiers simply disappeared into the darkness to appear in their old units. Even many infantrymen who had been fired upon succumbed to this temptation and disappeared into the underworld of the ruined city.

The soldiers who had fled from the front did not look out of the city. Scattered soldiers from broken units and fleeing convoys, all without command, in small and large groups, rushed to Stalingrad. They sought salvation in the basements of destroyed houses. There were already hundreds of wounded and sick soldiers there. The military police did not have the opportunity to pull out of this mixed mass fit for combat and send them back to the front. Only in order to find food, these so-called "rats" left their holes.

The commanders of the untouched units - like me - again and again received orders to send people to the infantry. We couldn't refuse. And all we could do was send not the best, but, on the contrary, the weak and undisciplined, which are in any part. Of course, I felt sorry for them - but it was my duty to keep the battery combat-ready as long as possible. A successful breakout from the encirclement was no longer possible. The Russians were constantly squeezing the ring around us. The Russians relentlessly pressed on the city with their fresh divisions. Many thoughts flew through my head - a quick death at the hands of the enemy or, perhaps, from my own hand.

Our units were combed over and over again for people who could be sent to the front. I made sure that no one was sent to these suicide squads twice. There were even two lunatics who volunteered to escape the daily hunger on the battery. They were true mercenaries - they were hard to kill. They were good guys and almost always got it right. They even knew how to make a small profit out of a big disaster.

In the confusion of the retreat, they were often able to find food and drink. They picked up many useful little things from the broken equipment thrown on the roadside. Unlike the "rats", they always returned to their units, because they felt a strong connection with their comrades, and often shared their prey with them. These fighters in our unit gained a lot of experience, thanks to which they lasted longer than others in battles. Our inexperienced soldiers went to the Volga - where nothing happened - for a carefree service. Battle-tested officers and soldiers gathered and went west to meet the Russian onslaught. Thus, our division commander was able to save the division and prevent it from falling apart. All this raised our morale and prevented unnecessary losses, as often happened in the hastily assembled "Alarmenheiten".

We lost the airfield near the Nursery on January 14, 1943. This practically brought an already inadequately meager supply to a halt. There was no longer any escort of transport aircraft by fighters. The sky over Stalingrad was controlled by Russian planes. We were dropped supply containers with ammunition, food and medicines. Naturally, this minuscule was not nearly enough to supply the army with a minimum amount of food so as not to die of hunger. Many of the containers dropped by parachute missed their targets and fell alongside the Russians—not uncommon. Others that could be found did not surrender as ordered, and those who found them kept them.

The Cauldron was now shrinking every day. The army leadership tried to boost our morale with quick promotions and distribution of medals. Despite all the superiority of the enemy, the army in these days of destruction made a simply superhuman effort. Every day we could hear how this or that corner of the boiler came under heavy fire from Russian artillery. This meant that an attack would soon begin there and the encirclement zone would be further reduced.

We learned from the many leaflets dropped on us that the Russians offered to capitulate the army. Depending on von Manstein and Hitler for his decisions, Paulus refused - as expected. What he felt and what he personally thought remained unknown. We did not feel that we were being led in every way by a superior commander of the army, although everyone felt that now we needed energetic leadership.

In the bitter cold of the steppes around Stalingrad, nothing more could be done. The front line became thinner and thinner, and it was necessary to go over to the defense of only the nodal “shverpunkt”. Maybe we ourselves needed to dig in the city ruins in order to get better protection from shelling and from the enemy. In my opinion, too little could have been done to protect our "citadel". the encircled army now had three options: 1) break out as soon as possible; 2) resist with all concentration as much as necessary to weaken the enemy; 3) capitulate as soon as resistance becomes useless.

Paulus did not choose any of these three, although he, as commander of the army, was responsible for his soldiers. The last time I went to visit my semi-battery on the Volga, I looked into the basement of a department store on Red Square, where in September the headquarters of a battalion from our division was located. I was lucky to stumble upon Oberst Roske, who commanded his infantry regiment with great skill and professionalism. I worked with him several times and was impressed by his youthful energy. We chatted a little. He believed that the air in the "hero basement" did not suit us. For me, there was something unreal about running around the department store.

The strangest rumors were still circulating in the remains of the city: a German armored fist was preparing to break through the encirclement from the outside. Such was the reason for the feverish attacks of the Russians and their offer of surrender. All we had to do was hold on for a few more days. Where were these tanks supposed to come from, if in December they could not even open the "cauldron"? Everyone was torn between hope and despair. At this time, the last airfield in Gumrak was lost. FROM the steppe and from Gumrak, endless convoys of defeated divisions poured into the city. Suddenly it became possible to find some fuel. A steady stream of cars rolled into the city.

Gray buses, conveniently equipped inside as mobile command posts or army departments, gave the impression that the city had bus routes. Columns of trucks were carrying food, alcohol, canisters of gasoline and cartridges to the city cellars - obviously some kind of unregistered exchange funds. Well-fed treasurers in clean uniforms vigilantly watched their treasures and disappeared only when a Russian plane appeared over the traffic flow. “Where did they get all this from and why are they only now bringing all this?” - the soldiers asked with a mixture of envy and bitterness, because they had nothing for weeks. Housing in the city was becoming a rarity. there was still room to take a few people.

A few days later, exhausted infantry began to arrive in the city from the west. There were many wounded, and many were frostbitten. The temperature in those days did not rise above minus 20, more often it was much colder. Lame, hollow-cheeked, dirty and infested with lice, the soldiers hobbled slowly through the city. Some did not have weapons with them, although they looked combat-ready. The collapse of the army was clearly not far off. The Russians made their way from the south to the Tsaritsa. Despite the order not to surrender, several local capitulations have already taken place. Mostly frightened headquarters - but there were also enough remnants of combat units that surrendered without resistance. There were cases when divisional commanders surrendered their sectors. Our resistance no longer made sense. Paulus hardly managed anything at all. He stayed in his department store basement, sitting and waiting.

The hopelessness of the army's situation was hardly a secret even to him. Our 71st Infantry was drawn into the maelstrom of events at Tsaritsa. When our commander, General von Hartmann, saw that the end of the division was near, the lines of command were mixed up or even broken, the army and corps were losing control of the situation, and simply because it was becoming more and more useless to continue fighting, he decided to choose a worthy one - perhaps even with honor - a way out of the situation.

South of the Tsaritsa, he climbed a railway embankment and took a loaded rifle from a soldier accompanying him. Standing to his full height, like a target on a shooting range, he fired at the attacking Russians. Von Hartmann continued to shoot for some time until he was overtaken by an enemy bullet. He was lucky that he was not injured, which would have turned captivity into a living hell - and in the end he would have died a painful death anyway.

It happened on January 26, 1943. In desperation, the other officers fired their pistols. No one believed that they would survive in the Russian POW camp. Our divisional commander chose a more honorable way to leave - perhaps inspired by the example of the highly respected Colonel General Fritsch, who left in a similar chivalrous manner during the Polish campaign. News of Hartman's death spread like fire throughout the division. What he did was perceived from two positions. But regardless of the point of view, it was an impressive way to leave. His successor in the past few days can take credit for the fact that the division has not disintegrated from top to bottom like the others. In the short term, he even somehow managed to boost our morale.

Now a flood of replenishments poured into the battery, but it was difficult to feed them. The heavy batteries of the 4th Battalion, primarily the remnants of the 10th Battery, in which I served for a long time, were looking for shelter with us. They were scattered by the Russians as they unsuccessfully tried to defend the western edge of the city. Spies had to climb into the goods raised from our hotel business, a second horse was slaughtered, and God knows where two sacks of grain came from. The troops now had no supplies.

Something could be obtained, but very rarely, at army distribution points. Rare supply containers and sacks of bread that fell from the sky were left with those who found them. We could only get angry when they found toilet paper or even condoms. In the current situation, we clearly did not need either one or the other.

Some special administrator in Berlin came up with a standard set for containers, and it was useless here. Theory and practice often live apart. There were still a few Russian Khivs left in our positions, they were fed the same way as we were. We haven't guarded them for a long time, and they had many opportunities to escape. In the face of the Russian divisions that surrounded us, one of them disappeared from strength to merge with the Red Army.

Maybe they expected a sadder fate for themselves. In the Stalinist army, human life meant practically nothing. Now, in the final stages of the battle, the Russian civilians had come out of their hiding places. The old men, women and children that we tried to evacuate at the beginning of the battle somehow miraculously survived. They roamed the streets and begged without success. We had nothing to give them.

Even our soldiers were on the verge of starvation and starvation. No one else paid attention to the corpses of those who died of hunger or cold, lying on the side of the road. It has become a familiar sight. As much as we could, we tried to alleviate the suffering of the civilian population. Oddly enough, in recent days there have been cases of Russian desertion to our "boiler". What did they expect from the Germans? The fighting was clearly so fierce for them that they did not believe in the inevitable imminent victory or fled from the harsh treatment of their superiors. And vice versa - the German soldiers fled to the Russians, convinced by leaflets and so-called passes. No one expected anything good from Russian captivity.

We have seen too often cases of brutal murder of individuals, small groups or the wounded who fell into their hands. Some deserted out of disillusionment with Hitler, although this in itself was not an "insurance policy". Be that as it may, on the ground more often surrendered - both small units and the remnants of full divisions, since they harbored hope for a more settled life in captivity. These partial surrenders became a nightmare for neighboring units, who fought simply because they were alone and the Russians could not outflank them.

Surrender was strictly forbidden, but who listened to orders in all this confusion? Hardly! The power of the army commander was no longer taken seriously. Probably, this made Paulus make a decision. Nothing happened. Horse meat soup, which was distributed on my battery, drove the "rats" out of their holes. During the night they tried to attack the kitchen staff. We drove them out at gunpoint and since then have posted a sentry at our “goulash cannon” (field kitchen). We ate only part of the second horse, and the third wandered around the first floor of the bathhouse like a ghost.

She often fell from fatigue and hunger. Soldiers who fell behind their own were poured a cup of soup only if they had rifles with them and showed the will to fight. January 29, I again went to the Volga. My "Russian semi-battery" was included in an infantry company. People were in a cheerful mood, the command took care of everything - but they, of course, saw how the inevitable was coming. Someone spoke of escaping across the Volga ice in order to get to the German positions in a roundabout way. But where are they, the German positions? In any case, in some place you will definitely have to cross the Russians. It was quite possible to cross the Volga unnoticed on the ice - but then what? Probably 100 kilometers of walking in deep snow - weakened, without food, without roads.

Nobody would have survived this. Singles didn't stand a chance. A few people have tried, but I haven't heard of anyone who has succeeded. The commander of the 1st battery, Hauptmann Ziveke, and regimental adjutant Schmidt tried and are still missing. They probably froze to death, starved to death, or were killed. I said goodbye to the soldiers on the Volga and thought: will I see any of them again? The way back led me through Red Square, which was a kind of monument to the German "air bridge" - there lay a downed Xe-111. Directly across from him, in the basement of a department store called Univemag, sat Paulus and his staff. There was also the command post of our 71st Infantry Division. What were the generals thinking and doing in that basement? They probably didn't do anything. We just waited. Hitler forbade surrender, and the continued resistance by this hour was becoming more and more futile.

I walked towards the liquor factory where my battalion's command post was still located. I passed the ruins of the theatre, now only slightly reminiscent of the portico of a Greek temple. To protect against the Russians, the old Russian barricades were restored. The final battle was already raging in the city itself. There was a strange atmosphere in the basement of the distillery. There were the regimental commander, the commander of the 11th battalion, Major Neumann and my old friend from the 19th artillery regiment in Hanover, Gerd Hoffman. Gerd was now the regimental adjutant.

There were pitiful remnants of the first battalion, and the "homeless" soldiers found temporary shelter there. The tables were filled with bottles of schnapps. Everyone was obscenely noisy and completely drunk. They discussed in detail who had already shot himself. I felt my moral and physical superiority over them. I could still live on the subcutaneous fat accumulated on vacation. Others have been starving for a month and a half longer than me. I was invited to join the drinking party, and I gladly agreed. - Do you still have a battery or is that all? asked von Strumpf. - Then it was the last battery of my proud regiment, which is now covered ...

I reported on the artillerymen from the broken units, the construction of positions and the fact that I now have 200 soldiers. I even talked about horse meat soup. When I asked for his instructions for my "hedgehog position", I received only drunken remarks: - Well, it's better to salt your surviving battery, then you will have something left. Now it's such a rarity that it should be shown in a museum for posterity, such a nice little battery... - Don't stand there looking stupid, sit on your fat ass and have a drink with us. We need to empty all the remaining bottles...

How is your beautiful Fraulein Bride? Does she know that she is already a widow? Ha ha ha... - Sit down! Everything, to the last drop - to the bottom, and the triple "Sieg Heil" in honor of Adolf the Magnificent, the doer of widows and orphans, the greatest commander of all time! Head up! Let's drink, we won't see this youngster again...

I was beginning to wonder why their pistols were on the table next to the glasses. - As soon as we all drink, and - bang, - the commander of the second battalion pointed his right index finger to the forehead. Bach - and the end of a great thirst. Oberleutnant Nantes Wüster, in a white camouflage suit, enters the command post of the 1st Battalion in the basement of the distillery and sees that most of the senior officers of the artillery regiment are drunk and ready to commit suicide

/

I didn't think about shooting myself - I never thought about that. The smell of alcohol in the stale stench of the basement made me sick. The room was too hot.

The candles had eaten all the oxygen, and the basement stank of sweat. I wanted to eat. I wanted to get out of this hole! Gerd Hoffman intercepted me at the exit: - Come on, Wuster, stay. We're not going to give up. We're going to die anyway, even if the Russians don't kick us out of here. We promised each other that we would end everything ourselves.

I tried to dissuade him and suggested that he come to my battery. The drunks in the cellar won't notice he's gone. As long as my battery could fight, I didn't make any decisions about the future. I didn't know yet what I would do when the last shot was fired...if I lived to see it. Then everything will be clear..

I don't think it's particularly heroic to blow your brains out, I told him, but Gerd stayed with his company. Unlike me, the opinion and behavior of superiors has always been a holy revelation to him. Stepping out into the fresh air, I finally felt better. On the way to the battery, a thought flashed through my head: they would soon be too drunk to shoot themselves. But still they were able to end their lives (Oberst von Strumpf shot himself on January 27, 1943, the rest of the officers were missing since January).

We were told about this by a telephone operator who was filming a telephone line to the battalion. This shocked me, and I had a very depressed conversation with the guard on this subject. Gradually my thoughts began to revolve around the idea of ​​using a gun to commit suicide. But then I returned in my thoughts to Ruth and to the fact that I had not yet seen life. I was still young and still depended on others. I had plans, goals, ideas, and I wanted to finally stand on my own two feet after the war. However, in this situation, much spoke in favor of an independent decision to end this once and for all.

One artilleryman received a shrapnel in the stomach, and he was carried into the bathhouse. The doctors gave him painkillers. he had no chance of surviving, not under these conditions. He would have died at the dressing station, with normal medical care. If only my gunner could die quickly and without suffering, I thought to myself. After lunch, the Russian shelling ended. Russian tanks came towards us from the west. To our right was an embankment over one of the city ponds; an infantry unit, which I did not know, settled there. There was no one to our left. They have already capitulated. The Russian cannon rode out and took up position directly in front of us. We drove them off with several shells. A tank drove up and fired from a cannon, the shell hit somewhere near the bathhouse. Having received no order, Sergeant Fritze and his men jumped to the howitzer and opened fire on the tank.

Even the Russian Khiva worked as a loader. In the duel, the tank had an advantage in the rate of fire, but it was never able to achieve a direct hit. An earthen rampart around the gun protected it from close hits. Finally, Fritz was lucky to hit the T-34 turret with a 10.5 cm projectile. I observed a direct hit through binoculars and ordered the crew to take cover, but, to everyone's surprise, the tank began to move again and fire its cannon. Our direct hit did not penetrate the armor. Armor-piercing shells ran out, and conventional high-explosive shells did not penetrate armor. Only the third hit brought the long-awaited victory. The shell hit the T-34 in the stern, and the engine of the colossus caught fire. I was completely struck by the naturalness with which my men had hitherto fought.

The victorious gunners rejoiced almost like children and briefly forgot about their desperate situation. When another tank soon appeared - a heavier one, of the KV class - I aimed two guns at it. This KV was also destroyed without loss on our part. Unfortunately, our infantry was driven away from the pond. We were pressed to the ground by the dense machine-gun fire of the Russians who had reached there. The situation became more and more hopeless, even though a battery of ancient LFH-16 light howitzers was in position to our left. they also had a few shells left. I offered them to the soldiers, not engaged in combat, a refuge in the bathhouse. Night fell and the fighting subsided. During the day we barely managed to survive. Only 19 shells remained, and as a precaution, I ordered the destruction of two guns. One was already damaged, although it could fire. We had 1kg demolition charges for each gun, they had to be put into the barrel from the breech. They were blown up by inserting fuses, and the guns were rendered unusable. With such an explosion, the barrel, breech and cradle are destroyed.

Suddenly, an unfamiliar infantry officer showed up at the position, intending to stop the second explosion. He was worried that the Russians would notice the destruction of the materiel and might take out their anger on the German prisoners. He said a lot more. In any case, the second weapon was blown up. Soon I was ordered to report to the commander of my battle group. Why not? If it is necessary to confirm my independent status, I will refer to General Roske. I met with a pompous lieutenant colonel who no longer cared that the guns had blown up.

He ordered me to recapture the embankment at the pond that same night. This hill dominated the entire region. So he took control of my battery so he could control everything. When I reminded of my autonomy, he pointed to his higher rank and tried to put pressure on me. He also paid no attention when I pointed out that it was useless to send untrained gunners to beat back what the infantry could not hold in battle. So I indifferently promised that we would deal with it. I gathered about 60 people, looked for suitable non-commissioned officers and started.

“Nothing will come of this,” said spies, but did not refuse to volunteer. A full moon shone brightly from a cloudless sky. The snow, left where there were no traces of Russian shells, creaked under the boots and illuminated the area brightly, as during the day. At first we managed to pass under the cover of the folds of the terrain, but then, on the way to the height, we had to cross an open place. Before leaving the hideout, we decided to split into two groups to deceive the Russians. So far, they haven't paid any attention, though they've obviously noticed something. Or were they not up to par? "Let's go!" - I whispered, and moved up the slope. I was already scared. Nothing happened. Not a shot. When I looked around, there were only two people next to me. One of them was spy. When no one else followed us, we returned to the shelter. The whole crowd was standing there, no one moved. Everyone was silent. - What the... spirit was not enough? I asked them. - Not enough, - said someone from the back rows. If they were knocked off this hill, let them return it themselves. We do not want.

This is a riot, right? Don't want to fight? And what do you want? There was no need for us to knock out Ivan's tanks this morning,” I objected. At that very moment, I felt that my authority was beginning to dwindle. Even threats could not convince anyone to crawl out from behind the bushes. - We will stay with the guns and even shoot back, but we will no longer play infantry. Well, it's enough.

It was clear to everyone that January 31 would be the last day of “freedom” in the encirclement. After talking with the guard, I distributed all the remaining food to the soldiers and said that there would be nothing more. Everyone could do with his share what he saw fit. The last horse was still tottering around the room above the cellar, falling and getting back up again. It was too late to beat her. The sound of hooves on the floor made him feel uneasy. I have ordered the destruction of all equipment, except for weapons and radios. Our wounded man was moaning and screaming in pain because the medic had run out of painkillers. It would be better if this poor fellow died, it would be better if he was silent. Compassion dies when you feel helpless. The uncertainty was unbearable. Sleep was out of the question. We half-heartedly tried to play skat, but it didn't help. Then I did the same as the others - I sat down and ate as much as possible of the food I got. This calmed me down. It seemed useless to allocate the rest of the food for the future.

At some point, the sentry brought three Russian officers. One of them, the captain, spoke decent German. Nobody knew where they came from. I was called to stop hostilities. Before dawn we must collect food, provide ourselves with water and mark positions with white flags. The offer was reasonable, but we didn't make a decision. It was obviously useless to continue resistance. I had to report to the lieutenant colonel and to an unfamiliar battery next door. The Lieutenant Colonel had apparently heard rumors of a Russian visit. He put on a real show: "Treason, court martial, firing squad ..." and so on.

I could no longer take him seriously and pointed out that the Russians had come to me, and not vice versa. I made it clear to him that I would have put the Russians out without salt if his infantry had shown themselves properly in the last battle. Then my people would have fought on the 31st, although they can do little. - Don't destroy anything else. This will only anger the Russians, and then they will not take anyone prisoner, - the choleric lieutenant colonel shouted at me. I didn't want to listen to him anymore. He clearly didn't want to die.

I sent the Russians away, referring to the orders of the command, which, "unfortunately", left me no other choice. This version also helped me save face in front of the soldiers. As usual, we tuned the radio to the news from Germany, and in addition to them, we heard Goering's speech on January 30 on the tenth anniversary of the National Socialist takeover.

It was all the same exaggerated theatrical pouting with pompous phrases that hadn't seemed so vulgar before. We took this speech as a mockery of us, who were dying here because of the wrong decisions of the high command. Thermopylae, Leonidas, the Spartans - we were not going to end up like those ancient Greeks! Stalingrad was turned into a myth even before the "heroes" died safely. “The general stands shoulder to shoulder with a simple soldier, both with rifles in their hands. They fight to the last bullet. They die so that Germany may live."

Turn off! This asshole left us to die, and he's going to spout cardboard phrases and fill his belly. He can't do anything himself, a fat, pompous parrot. In a rage, a lot more abuse was expressed, some even against Hitler. Yes - victims of irresponsible and thoughtless decisions, now we had to listen to funeral speeches addressed to us. It was impossible to imagine a greater faux pas. Goering's promise to supply the "cauldron" by air led to the failure of the breakthrough. The whole army was sacrificed because of his stupid ignorance.

“Where the German soldier stands, nothing can shake him!” This had already been refuted last winter, and now we were too weak to stand - empty words, exaggerated phrases, empty chatter. The German Reich was supposed to stand for a thousand years, and it staggered in just ten. At first we all fell under the spell of Hitler. He wanted to unite all the lands where German was spoken into one German state.

In the basement, an old non-commissioned officer quietly and seriously asked me if everything was over for us and if there was even the slightest hope left. I could not give him, and myself, not the slightest hope. The coming day will be the end of everything. This soldier was a well-bred reservist with a serious education. Many were irritated by his curiosity. Now, quiet and self-absorbed, he simply walked out of the dugout back to the gun.

We smashed radios, telephones and other equipment with picks. All documents were burned. Our wounded man finally died. I put on boots that were a little big so I could put on some more socks underneath. Reluctantly, I parted with my felt boots, but it made it easier to move. Then I fell asleep on the sheepskin under the leather coat that my parents had sent me to the front. The coat fit the general, but here, in Stalingrad, it was not suitable for a front-line officer.

How I wish I had it with me on vacation. Now it will surely fall into the hands of the Russians, like the Leica camera. It's strange what trivial things you think about while fighting for survival. Ruth - well, nothing will come of it. I could be killed at any moment. Let only death be as quick and painless as possible. My spy helped to get rid of suicidal thoughts. In any case, I was too afraid of it - although suicide itself is considered a form of cowardice. I did not blame the Lord for Stalingrad. What could he do about it?

Sunday. I was awakened by a cry: “Russians! Still half asleep, I ran up the steps with a pistol in my hand, shouting: “Whoever shoots first will live longer!” A Russian ran out to meet him, I hit him. Jump out of the basement and run to the embrasures on the first floor, I thought. Several gunners were already standing there and firing. I grabbed my rifle and moved to the side window so I could see better in the morning light. The Russians were running through our lines and I opened fire. Now gunners with raised hands began to run out of the dugouts near the firing positions. The old non-commissioned officer fired his pistol aimlessly into the air. A short burst from a Soviet machine gun finished him off. Was it courage or desperation? Who will say now.

Gun positions were lost. My gunners have been taken prisoner. The bath, like a "fortress", will last a little longer. All she could offer now was safety. The battery to the left of us was also seized. The battery commander, a fat man who had risen from recruit to hauptmann, with several soldiers made his way to our bathhouse. The embrasures turned out to be very handy. We continuously fired at any movement outside. Some shooters made notches on the butts for each Russian killed. What were they thinking? Or is it necessary to flatter your ego, then remembering long-standing victories? Why all this? It didn't make any sense.

For a moment, out of respect for our rebuff, the Russians pulled back. One of the machine guns failed in the cold. The oil froze, and we gunners did not know what to do with it. The rifle was the most reliable weapon. I fired mine at everything I could think of as a target, but I didn't hit as often as I'd hoped. The ammo was plentiful. Open boxes of ammunition were almost everywhere. The firefight distracted me, and I even calmed down a bit. Suddenly I was seized with a strange feeling that I was the spectator of this unreal scene. I looked at everything from inside my body. It was alien and surreal. To our right, where the infantry was with that choleric lieutenant colonel, no more shooting was heard.

There they waved pieces of white cloth tied to sticks and rifles. They came out in a column one at a time, they formed columns and took them away. - Just look at these freaks, - someone shouted and wanted to shoot at them. - Why? Leave them, I said, though I didn't care.

It was minus twenty, but the frost was not felt. In the basement, warm machine guns and machine guns came to life for a short while, then cooled down and failed again. The infantry, according to rumors, lubricated the weapons with gasoline. It was a little quiet outside. So what's now? The bathhouse was an island in the midst of a red flood - a completely unimportant island, the flood now poured past us into the city. As everything calmed down, the cold began to pester again. I removed people from the loopholes so that everyone could go down to the heated basement and warm themselves with strong coffee.

I still had some crumbs left for breakfast. I looked at the Khivs at some of the gun slits, firing at their fellow citizens. We no longer paid attention to them. Heavi could have disappeared at night. What is going on inside them? There are plenty of weapons and ammo around. And yet they remained loyal to us, knowing full well that they had no chance of surviving if we were taken prisoner.

Their attempt to escape the war by deserting to us failed. They had nothing more to lose. The hauptmann who arrived began to show off, although he was only a guest in our bunker. He gave the impression of a man who wants to win the war. He wanted to break out of the bathhouse to join other German troops who were still fighting. I accepted his offer indifferently, although the resisting units were worth looking for no closer than the city limits.

Entering from the bathhouse, we immediately came under machine-gun and mortar fire. Shards of ice and bricks hit his face painfully. We climbed back into the building, but not everyone was able to get back. Several people lay outside dead and wounded. Then several Russian tanks approached and began to hammer on the bathhouse. Thick walls withstood shelling. How much longer will they last? Time passed frighteningly slowly. The T-34s had come closer and were now firing their machine guns right at the embrasures. It was the end. Whoever approached the loophole, instantly died from a bullet in the head. Many died. In all this confusion, Russian parliamentarians unexpectedly appeared at the building. In front of us stood a lieutenant, a bugler and a soldier with a small white flag on a pole, which reminded me of the Jungvolk flag in the Hitler Youth.

We were lucky none of the guests were hurt, I thought. Hauptmann was ready to drive the Russians away, but the soldiers had had enough of the war. They laid down their rifles and began to search for satchels. The shooting gradually stopped, but I did not believe this silence. Most importantly, the Hauptmann was unpredictable. I wanted to get out from under his seniority and talked to two gunners who were standing nearby, as if to get through the trenches going from the building. Maybe we could sneak into the city center and find the German positions.

Probably the Hauptmann wanted to die a hero's death. But he would drag us all with him. Crouching down, the three of us jumped out and disappeared among the ruins. We needed time to catch our breath. I didn't even forget my leather coat. "Leica" was in the tablet. I filmed until the very end. The photographs would be of great documentary value. We looked at the bath. The fight is over there. The defenders went out in a chain through the Russian cordon. No one went to Valhalla just before the finale. It would be better for us to stay with the rest - because, despite the heavy losses, there was no trace of Russian cruelty to be seen.

We carefully made our way through the garbage heaps to the city center. Time passed towards evening, and we did not know that at that time Field Marshal Paulus had already got into the car that would take him prisoner - without once sticking his nose out, without picking up a rifle. "Kotel" In the center of Stalingrad ceased to exist.

In the northern pocket, the massacre continued for two more days under the command of General Strecker. Running from house to house and crawling through the cellars, we, the three fugitives, could not get far. We were still in the area of ​​my convenient command post when, looking out from the basement, we came across two Russians with machine guns at the ready. Before I knew anything, the leather coat had changed hands. I dropped the gun and raised my hands. They were not interested in any of our things. When, while searching, they opened my white camouflage jacket, the Officer's buttonholes on the collar became visible. A short curse was followed by a blow to the face.

They cornered us back and several Russians pointed their machine guns at us. I haven't caught my breath yet. The main feeling that gripped me was apathy, not fear. The road to captivity, as Wüster and his brush recall it. Only a few Soviet soldiers are enough to escort a long column of captured Germans "Well, that's all," a thought flashed. the great unknown is coming in. I didn't know what to expect.

The question whether the Russians would shoot us remained unanswered - a T-34 passing by stopped and distracted the soldiers. They talked. The junior lieutenant, smeared in oil, climbed out of the tower and searched us again. He found my Leica, but did not know what to do with it, turned it in his hands until he threw it against a brick wall. The lens is broken. He threw the film he had shot into the snow. I felt sorry for my photos. All of them were filmed in vain, I thought. we, of course, were taken away from the very beginning of the watch. Despite my protests, the second lieutenant took the leather coat.

He was not interested in my leather tablet, nor the paper and watercolors in it. He, however, liked my warm leather gloves, and, smiling, he removed them from me. Climbing into the tan, he tossed me a pair of oil-stained fur mittens and a bag of dried Russian bread. 20-30 German prisoners passed by us. With laughter, we were pushed into their group. We were now heading west, along a narrow path leading out of the city. We were in captivity and did not feel anything bad about it. The dangerous phase of the transition from a free soldier to a disenfranchised prisoner - including our dangerous flight - was behind us.

With rare exceptions, I did not meet anyone from our bathhouse for a long time. Although the sun shone from a clear sky, the temperature was extremely low. The desire to live returned to my body. I decided to do everything I could to get through what was ahead of me and come back. I expected that we would be loaded onto transport and taken to the camp - primitive, like everything else in Russia, but quite tolerable. First of all, crackers, which I shared with two fellow escapees - this was the most important. Soon there will be nothing more to share - hunger leads to selfishness and banishes humanity. Little remains of camaraderie and brotherly love. Only the strongest friendships were maintained.

The fact that I had been robbed so horribly was no longer a tragedy for me. I even felt some gratitude towards the smiling tank commander who "paid" for the loot. Bread was more valuable than a rather useless leather coat or a camera that would not last long. Large and small groups of prisoners were led through the ruins of the city. These groups merged into one large column of prisoners, first from hundreds, then from thousands.

We walked past the taken German positions. Wrecked and burnt-out vehicles, tanks and cannons of all kinds lined our road, trodden in hard snow. Dead bodies lay everywhere, frozen to a hardness, completely emaciated, unshaven, often twisted in agony. In some places, the corpses lay piled up in large heaps, as if the standing crowd had been cut down by automatic weapons. Other corpses were mutilated to the point that they could not be identified. These former comrades were run over by Russian tanks, whether they were alive or dead at the time. Parts of their bodies lay here and there like chunks of crushed ice. I noticed all this as we passed, but they merged into each other like in a nightmare, without causing horror. During the years of the war, I have lost many comrades, I have seen death and suffering, but I have never seen so many fallen soldiers in one small place.

I walked light. All I have left is an empty satchel, a raincoat, a blanket picked up along the way, a bowler hat and a tablet. I had a can of canned meat and a bag of hardened crackers from the emergency supply. My stomach was full after yesterday's gluttony and Russian bread. Walking in leather boots was easy, and I stayed at the head of the column.

Portraits and memories of those who survived the largest battle of the Second World War - in the TASS material

Every year the events of World War II get further, and it becomes more and more difficult for us to remember that there are very specific people behind the general phrases from the textbooks. The more valuable material evidence and documents acquire. On the eve of the 75th anniversary of the Battle of Stalingrad, TASS presents a material where you can see portraits of the participants in this battle and read their memoirs.

The faces of war

Photo on the left. Alexander Rodimtsev, commander of the 13th Guards Rifle Division. Stalingrad. September 15, 1942.© ME AND. Ryumkin

Right photo: Submachine gunners of the 13th Guards Division of the 62nd Army are fighting for the workshops of the Barrikady plant, Stalingrad. October 1942.© ME AND. Ryumkin

The 13th Guards Rifle Division, which participated in the battles for Stalingrad, is one of the most famous formations of the Red Army. This glory is inextricably linked with the first commander of the division, Alexander Rodimtsev. The division itself was often called that - the Rodimtsev division, and the name of General Rodimtsev is mentioned in many literary works about war. For example, in Mikhail Sholokhov’s novel “They Fought for the Motherland”: “Rodimtsev, being a platoon commander, knocked out his name and surname from a machine gun on targets. I would not like to be under fire from a machine gun, behind which Rodimtsev lay down. , sweet, modest guy, of which there are many in his native Russia.

Submachine gunners of the 13th Guards Division of the 62nd Army are fighting in the street near the station. Stalingrad. September 1942.© Ya. I. Ryumkin

In September 1942, the division became part of the 62nd Army and received the task of crossing the Volga to Stalingrad in order to dislodge the German army from the coastal strip. In October, the fighters of the division created a powerful defense on Kievskaya Street and were able to stop the enemy. For courage and valor during the defense, the 13th Guards Rifle Division was awarded the Order of the Red Banner.

Fighter pilot sergeant Ilya Chumbarev at the remains of a German Focke-Wulf plane he rammed. September 1942.© ME AND. Ryumkin

In this photo - fighter pilot of the 237th Fighter Aviation Regiment of the 220th Fighter Aviation Division of the 16th Air Army of the Stalingrad Front, Sergeant Ilya Chumbarev.

In the background are the wreckage of a German Focke-Wulf reconnaissance plane shot down by him a few minutes ago. In the presentation of the sergeant for the Order of Lenin, it is said that on September 14, 1942, he flew out of an ambush to intercept an enemy Focke-Wulf bomber. “Being precisely aimed at the enemy by radio, he approached him closely from below and rammed him, repulsing the tail with the blades of his Yak-1 aircraft. The enemy aircraft crumbled in the air, its crew was captured in the M. Ivanovka area. own airfield with bent propeller blades".

In total, the Stalingrad Front was supported by 454 aircraft of the 8th Air Army and 150–200 long-range bombers.

Left photo: Commander of the 51st Army, Major General Nikolai Trufanov. Stalingrad. November 1942.© ME AND. Ryumkin

Photo on the right: Guardsmen of the company of senior lieutenant A. Sergeev conduct reconnaissance during a street battle in one of the districts of the city.Stalingrad. October 1942.
© E.N. Evzerikhin

Commander Nikolai Trufanov was appointed commander of the 51st Army in mid-1942. From August 1942 to February 1943, the troops of the 51st Army first participated in defensive battles to defeat and encircle the Nazi troops in the Stalingrad region. During the war, he took part in the battle of Stalingrad, the battle for the Caucasus, Rostov offensive operation 1943 and a number of other battles. Nikolai Trufanov met the victory in Berlin.

Photo on the left: The Red Navy of the Volga military flotilla heroically fight for the city and with swift attacks drive the Germans out of their positions. Stalingrad. October 1942.© A.P. Sophia

Right photo: Sergeant-sniper Maxim Passar. Stalingrad. October 1942.
© E. Podshivalov

In the picture - sergeant-sniper Maxim Passar. He volunteered for the front in February 1942, when he was 19 years old. Passar was trained in hunting from childhood, and shooting skills were useful at the front. Passar took part in the defense of Stalingrad from July 1942 as part of the 117th Infantry Regiment.

During the battles for Stalingrad, the sniper destroyed 127 Nazis. The fame of the Nanai hunter thundered all over the front. Soldiers of the German army hunted for the shooter, a reward of 100 thousand marks was assigned to Passar's head. By the beginning of 1943, Maxim Passar had about 240 killed Nazis on his combat account. Passar died in January 1943 in a battle in the Stalingrad region. In 2010, Passar was awarded the title of Hero Russian Federation(posthumously).

Guards Sergeant Nikolai Zakharov. Stalingrad. November 1942.© L. Leonidov

In this photo of Guards Sergeant Nikolai Zakharov hauling away an enemy anti-tank mine recovered from the German trenches. Soviet miners neutralized mines, opening approaches to enemy bunkers for Soviet tanks.

Fight on one of the outskirts of the city. Stalingrad. November 1942.© E.N. Evzerikhin

Guards foreman of the medical service G.P. Ivanyutin during the battles for Stalingrad, he carried 56 wounded from the battlefield.

The hospitals were in the thick of the battles for Stalingrad. One of them was arranged in a sewer pipe of large diameter. In his report, Vasily Shumilin, Colonel of the Medical Service of the 198th Infantry Division, wrote about the methods of organizing the training of everyone possible (the local population, soldiers, children), the rules for first aid to the wounded and self-help.

Guards foreman of the medical service G.P. Ivanyutin. Stalingrad. October 1942.
© L.Leonidov

eyewitness memories

“The defensive battles in Stalingrad fixed in my mind an unshakable conviction that moral forces ultimately decide the outcome of any battle. To reinforce this conclusion, one does not need to go far for examples.

Submachine gunners are fighting on the outskirts of Stalingrad. Stalingrad. September 1942.
© IN AND. Orlyankin and Z.M. Rogozovsky

“The pre-war Stalingrad with its wide streets, squares and boulevards buried in the shade of chestnut trees, the beautiful Volga ... The steppe near Stalingrad ... How beautiful it was in early spring, when tulips were blooming! Mamaev Kurgan to the world... It is difficult to convey the impression that Stalingrad made in June 1943. It seemed that the city was still shrouded in the powder smoke of a recent battle.The first thing I saw, leaving the car, was a miraculously surviving fountain with sculptures of children dancing in a round dance.

Station Square. Fountain "Children's round dance". September 1942.

© E.N. Evzerikhin

“There was one terrible day when German tanks and infantry went on the attack twenty-three times. And twenty-three attacks were repulsed. The Germans believed that they had blocked the limit of resistance of human hearts and nerves.

Residents of the city, left homeless after another bombing, in the city square. Stalingrad. August 27, 1942.© ME AND. Ryumkin

“I remember how the workers, foremen, and engineers of the plant helped our units navigate the complex maze of workshops, passageways, ground and underground communications. Together with the Red Army soldiers, they climbed through the sewer channels to reach advantageous positions and beat the enemy.

Scout Guards. Stalingrad. September 1942.

© K. Lishko

Marshal Chuikov wrote that the battles on September 13, 14 and 15 in the city itself showed that the extermination of the invaders in the ruins of the city was much more successful than in the steppes between the Volga and the Don.

Soldiers repel a tank attack. Stalingrad. August 1942.

© E.N. Evzerikhin

Immediately after the liberation of Stalingrad from Nazi troops, researchers from the State Historical Museum arrived in the city to collect documentary materials - authentic evidence of the battle for the city on the Volga. Among the monuments that came to the museum's funds are shot-through signs with the names of Stalingrad streets: "January 9 Square", "Lomonosovskaya Street", household items that belonged to the inhabitants of the besieged city - everything that helps to preserve a living memory of the events of those years and the people who survived them.

The material uses photographs from the TASS Newsreel and the State Historical Museum.
We express our gratitude to the State Historical Museum for assistance in preparing the material.

Zhukov is the greatest commander .... And no one knows how he should be in relation to his subordinates. The commander must win, and Zhukov won always and everywhere. He won from the first days of the war. Zhukov exhausted the enemy in all three directions North, Center, South and near Moscow inflicted a defeat that forever buried the Wehrmacht.
It doesn't matter to me what Eremenko said about Zhukov - this yap. The results of commander Zhukov are important to me ...

On November 24, 1941, in a conversation with the chief of staff of the ground forces, Halder, the commander of the reserve army, Colonel-General Fromm, concluded that "a truce is necessary" ...
On November 29, 1941, the Minister for Armaments and Ammunition, F. Todt, told Hitler that "in military and military-economic terms, the war has already been lost" and a political settlement is needed.

General G. Blumentritt "... we were opposed by an army that, in its fighting qualities, far exceeded all other armies that we had ever encountered on the battlefield."
You can see what the Army General Zhukov did with the German generals in half a year of the war ...

♦Field Marshal von Brauchitsch, Commander-in-Chief of the Wehrmacht Ground Forces - was removed and retired on December 6, 1941 - no longer took part in the war.
♦Field Marshal von Leeb, commander of Army Group North - was removed and retired on January 16, 1942 - no longer took part in the war.
♦Field Marshal von Bock, commander of Army Group Center - was removed and retired in July 1942 and no longer took part in the war.
♦Field Marshal von Rundstedt, commander of Army Group South - was removed from his post on December 12, 1941 - no longer took part on the Eastern Front.
♦ Colonel General Guderian, commander of the 2nd Panzer Group, was removed and sent on December 26, 1941 to the OKH reserve, where he stayed until 1943.
♦Colonel-General Geppner, commander of the 4th Panzer Group, was stripped of his military rank on January 8, 1942, dismissed from the army without the right to wear a uniform - he no longer took part in the war.

These are the main figures of the Wehrmacht, another 35 German generals, corps and division commanders were dismissed. When they asked the head of the Wehrmacht's supreme command, Field Marshal Keitel, what was happening to Hitler? ... He answered: “I don’t know, he doesn’t tell me anything, he just spits on me. He declares that "... anyone can master these operational arts of yours."
Hitler's phrase, "... anyone can master these operational arts of yours" - was Zhukov's most important victory.

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If you try to take any book on the history of the Great Patriotic War, which describes the deeds of Georgy Konstantinovich Zhukov, the battles he led, the methods of his leadership and the circumstances of the battles, then you will find that there are practically no numbers anywhere. Instead of the language of numbers and maps, that is, facts, there are epithets: "difficult", "superior", "difficult conditions", "gaining experience", "inflicting heavy losses", and so on. That is, instead of history, which is the systematization and analysis of facts, we are dealing with a kind of retrospective propaganda, that is, propaganda turned deep into history, where instead of facts we are given an attitude without the specifics of these facts.

If you show patience, perseverance, tediousness, and start rummaging through libraries and the Internet, then you will find that Georgy Konstantinovich Zhukov has not won a single battle in his life, having less strength, means, soldiers, equipment, ammunition, fuel, or an equal amount of forces and means with the enemy, and only when he had many times more of everything. And his losses were always greater than those of the enemy, at times.

It is necessary to fight not by numbers, but by skill, ”Alexander Vasilyevich Suvorov repeated after Frederick the Second the Great. In Zhukov, this very art, that is, the ability to fight not by number, but by skill, could not be found.
Zhukov, who killed more of his own soldiers than any commander in world history, was artificially made a hero, for there must be a great commander in the great war in which we won ..

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and what specific books, give references ...
Well, if yours is understandable, but there are orders in which Zhukov taught the same Eremenko to take care of the soldiers ...
Here is one such command
"..." Failure to fulfill the tasks of the 49th Army, large losses in personnel are explained by the exceptional personal guilt of the division commanders, who still grossly violate the instructions of Comrade Stalin and<требование>the order of the front on the massing of artillery for a breakthrough, on the tactics and technique of attacking the defense in populated areas. Units of the 49th Army have been criminally conducting frontal attacks on the settlements of Kostino, Ostrozhnoye, Bogdanovo, and Potapovo for many days, and, suffering enormous losses, have no success.
It should be clear to every elementary military literate person that the above villages represent a very advantageous and warm defensive position. The area in front of the villages is under full shelling, and despite this, criminally carried out attacks continue in the same place, and as a result of the stupidity and indiscipline of the unfortunate organizers, people pay with thousands of lives without bringing any benefit to the Motherland.
If you want to be left in your positions, I demand:
Stop criminal attacks in the forehead of the settlement;
Cease frontal attacks on heights with good shelling;
Advance only along ravines, forests and low-fired terrain; "..."
or maybe it was not necessary to demand, but to shoot a couple of generals or put them themselves in front of the chains ....
And then the books of the book of what kind of rubbish you just don’t invent the links

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I wrote because I know that in every operation where Zhukov was the commander, minimal losses were ensured with the complete achievement of victory.
From the first days of the war, Zhukov went to the Southwestern Front from the very borders of Lvov. Halder wrote in his diary on the third day of the war that the Russian counterattacks in the south created a dangerous situation and were backed up by skillful and energetic commanders. Zhukov commanded these counterattacks. Halder said that such Russian tactics forced the Wehrmacht to bring the 11th Reserve Army into battle in order to succeed in this direction.
Chief of Staff Halder wrote in his diary: June 26 (5th day): Morning reports: “Army Group South is slowly advancing, unfortunately suffering significant losses. The enemy acting against Army Group South has a firm and energetic leadership. The enemy is constantly pulling up new fresh forces from the depths against our tank wedge.
Halder is echoed by the commander of the 3rd German Panzer Group, General Goth:
“The South group had the hardest time of all. The enemy troops, defending in front of the formations of the northern wing, were thrown back from the border, but they quickly recovered from the unexpected blow and counterattacked their reserves to stop the advance of the German troops. The operational breakthrough of the 1st Panzer Group, attached to the 6th Army, was not achieved until June 28.
All attempts by Guderian and Goth to break through to Moscow were thwarted by Zhukov near Yelnya ...
Here is what the German military historian Paul Karel writes about the significance of the battles near Yelnya: “From the end of July to the beginning of September, Army Group Center had to fight the first major defensive battle. During this month, 10 divisions passed through the Elninsk hell (10 tank, motorized Reich, reinforced motorized regiment Great Germany, 17 tank, 15pd, 268pd, 78pd, 137pd, 263pd, 292pd).
As a result, it became clear to everyone that hopes for Blitzkrieg were buried near Smolensk and Yelnya. Already on August 30, the troops of Army Group Center began to prepare for winter.

Now, according to the number of troops on the Elninsky ledge against Zhukov ..
The Yelninsky ledge was occupied by Vietinghoff's 46th tank corps in early August. It was the best tank corps of the Wehrmacht, in its composition divisions were commanded by lieutenant generals. The German command could not allow the death of the 46th tank corps and was forced to remove it and replace it with three army corps (7th, 9th, 20th). Losses of tanks in the 46th TC reached 55-60% of the regular strength.
Guderian himself assessed the position of the 46th TC as follows: “If these troops are defeated, there will be a great political resonance. Such a catastrophe cannot be averted with a guarantee by the forces of a panzer group alone. It is possible that the 10th Panzer and SS Reich Division, the Grossdeutschland Regiment and the 268th Infantry Division will be defeated.

As a result of the withdrawal to the rear of 46 TC, three German army corps (7th, 9th, 20th) operated against Zhukov's troops, in which there were 6 infantry and one tank division.

From Zhukov's side, 24A of the Reserve Front participated in the offensive, consisting of one tank, two mechanized and 5 rifle divisions.

As a result, 8 Soviet divisions attacked 7 German ones. Moreover, the strength of the Russian divisions in the state had about 9,000 fighters, and the German divisions had 14,000.
It is obvious that on both sides the divisions were not at full strength. This shows that Zhukov attacked with smaller forces, and won.
In early September, Zhukov liberated Yelnya and "cut off" the Yelnya ledge.

Hitler lost five weeks on the Elninsk ledge and was forced to withdraw his troops and take up a strong defense in this direction. But that's not all…
The tank group of Guderian was turned south towards Kyiv, as a result, the round trip was about 1000 km. Which greatly reduced the motor resource of Guderian's tank army. As a result, in the battle near Moscow, Guderian simply did not have enough tanks and he "bogged down" near Tula.