War Without Garlands: Operation Barbarossa 1941-1942 - читать бесплатно онлайн полную версию книги автора Robert Kershaw (Chapter 8 Smolensk) #10

^{Chapter 8} Smolensk

‘We wished that the Russians would make a stand – anything, a battle even, to relieve the monotony of this ceaseless, timeless tramping.’

German infantry officer

The infantry

On 8 July 1941 the Fourth (Panzer) Army staff had established their headquarters at Borisov on the River Berezina. Problems lay ahead. It was vital, in order to avoid the catastrophic implications of the developing gap between Panzers and infantry formations, to hurry the foot soldiers forward. General Günther Blumentritt declared:

‘A vivid picture which remains of these weeks is the great clouds of yellow dust kicked up by the Russian columns attempting to retreat and by our infantry hastening in pursuit.’⁽¹⁾

The Smolensk pocket offered the tantalising prize of effecting much of the destruction of the western group of Soviet Armies originally planned, as well as securing the vital ‘land bridge’ for the eventual advance on Moscow. At Borisov there were traces of Napoleon. A few kilometres north, almost 130 years before, Napoleon’s Grande Armée had been compelled to cross the frozen River Berezina during the winter of 1812, and suffered appalling casualties doing so. It was not an auspicious omen. General Blumentritt, the Fourth Army Chief of Staff, noticed, ‘when the water is clear the remains of the props driven into the river bed to support the bridges built by the French engineers are still visible’.⁽²⁾ The German bridges had been built. They awaited the arrival of the infantry.

Further to the rear, Harald Henry, a 22-year-old foot soldier, was marching forward with an Army Group Centre infantry regiment ‘in scorching heat with rest stops whereby one slept like the dead’.⁽³⁾ Leutnant Heinrich Haape, a doctor with Infantry Regiment 18, recalled the briefest of rests by night during early campaign days:

‘The hour and a half’s sleep had done more harm than good. It had not been easy to awaken the dog-tired men. Our bones were cold, muscles stiff and painful and our feet were swollen. We pulled on our field boots only with great difficulty.’⁽⁴⁾

German infantry equipment had altered little since the turn of the century. Each soldier still wore traditional calf-high jackboots and fought with a modified 1898 rifle. He carried in excess of 30kg of gear, on top of which might be added rations, reserve ammunition and components for machine guns and mortars. Harald Henry complained:

‘I don’t know exactly how heavy our equipment is, but in addition to all of it there was a thick woollen blanket, an ammunition box that could drive one crazy and that lamentable packet with the books in it I should have sent back.’⁽⁵⁾

Soldiers on the march quickly discarded extraneous items or left them in regimental transport. The pack, usually transported separately, would hold a blanket, stove, tent poles, rope, spare underwear and clothes, toiletries, a ‘fat’ box (for cooking) and personal effects. Standard marching equipment weights would be about 14kg. The leather harness would hold together pouches for 60 rifle rounds, a spade, gas mask (often discarded, but its carrier utilised to carry other effects), water bottle, bread basket containing some bread and meat or sausage, a small fat tin and bayonet. The helmet, weighing 1.5kg, was not worn marching, but would be attached by its chin strap to the harness equipment. The rifle, another 4kg weight, would be slung on or across the shoulder.

Every soldier carried an aluminium identity disc around his neck pressed into two halves, which were snapped off if he became a casualty. One half would go to the unit chaplain if the soldier were killed, or to the administrative unit. Small bread bags and tunic pockets bulged with all the other necessities and comforts each soldier felt he needed to carry. These items became fewer as march distances increased. ‘All the roads in this land are uphill,’ declared one veteran. ‘The countryside is flat, but all roads go up regardless of which horizon they are leading to.’ This phenomenon ‘represents little more than the earth curvature with its constantly disappointing “false crests”.’⁽⁶⁾ A typical infantry regiment’s march routine would be to wake the soldiers at 02.45 hours in order to be on the march by 03.15, when it was becoming light. Morale so early in the morning, with the prospect of a further brutal day of forced marching, was rarely good. Harald Henry lamented:

‘We only had a little sleep. Once, when we finally managed to secure accommodation in a barn, our section [squad] was assigned to sentry duty, and we spent yet another night in a soaking meadow.’⁽⁷⁾

Sleep was a precious and often elusive commodity. Personal equipment was pulled on and all straps and accoutrements secured. Unnecessary clothing would be placed in packs and handed across to be ferried by the regiment’s logistic transport (the Trost). Some companies marched as many as 50km in one day. One veteran calculated a single step covered 60cm – ‘one took shorter or longer paces, but this was the average’ – so 50km meant an estimated 84,000 paces.⁽⁸⁾

Breakfast was a hasty affair, perhaps a cup of tea or ersatz coffee with bread, butter and some jam or a can of liver-sausage. After the order ‘prepare to move’, there was still time to crack and drink a raw egg. Companies would then begin to form up on the road in the half-light of dawn. At first, soldiers strode energetically along the route, with rifles properly slung as the sun slowly rose. Within an hour or two rifles and weapons were festooned haphazardly about the body. Fingers began to worry absent-mindedly at swinging helmet rims fastened to belts or dangling from rifles. Artillery Oberleutnant Siegfried Knappe said:

‘Our feet sank into the sand and dirt puffing dust into the air so that it rose and clung to us. The horses coughing in the dust produced a pungent odour. The loose sand was nearly as tiring for the horses as deep mud would have been. The men marched in silence, coated with dust, with dry throats and lips.’⁽⁹⁾

Feet already bruised by rutted roads began inexorably to rub on boots. Friction with each step produced blisters and calf-high boots became excruciatingly hot. Such discomfort stymies interest in all but the most immediate issues. Leutnant Heinrich Haape with Infantry Regiment 18 observed white puffs of smoke in the sky – Flak – as Russian aircraft flew overhead.

‘But the marching men had no eyes for something which was not their war. Each man’s war at this stage was circumscribed by the next few steps he would take, the hardness of the road, the soreness of his feet, the dryness of his tongue and the weight of his equipment. Beckoning him on was the thought of the next halt. Just to stop, to have no need to put one foot in front of the other for a few hours, was the dream of every man. There was no singing, no joking, no talking that was not strictly necessary’⁽¹⁰⁾

After five hours of such exertion, one observer remarked:

‘the repetitious rhythm of the march had produced a mask of monotony on every face; a cigarette would dangle in the corner of the mouth. Smoke would not be inhaled, the aroma would simply waft around the marching soldier.’⁽¹¹⁾

During brief halts stabbing pains from disconcertingly soft and malleable blisters now swelling and bursting were apparent. Stiffening limbs began to ache. Friction burns in the crutch of the trouser might necessitate readjustments of equipment and rearrangement of clothing. This left less time to relax or drink. Sweat was everywhere, soaking between arms and legs, streaming down backs and faces, making leather harnesses pinch and rub skin. Shoulders burdened by heavy weapons or containers ached with constant pressure of applied weight. Sticky wet hair caused a clammy itching and irritation if the helmet had to be worn.

Harald Henry declared, ‘the dust covered us all uniformly; blond men had dull-white brilliant hair, black hair made the men look like Frederick the Great’s soldiers with light powdered wigs, others had their hair tousled like negroes.’ Soaking wet uniforms took on a cardboard consistency as they became impregnated with rising dust. Fluid did not come only from sweat, there were ‘sometimes even tears’, Henry confessed. ‘Tears of helpless rage, of doubt and pain over these unbelievable demands placed upon us.’⁽¹²⁾ Bayonets irritatingly slapped the hip with each step. The day, even by late morning, was unbelievably long.

With luck, the main company meal appeared at midday, carried on so-called Goulash-kanonen (soup cannon). These horse-drawn mobile kitchens on wagons were the most important company support vehicles in the battalion Trost. It would rumble forward. The cauldron, filled with vegetables and available meat early in the morning, stewed as they marched, with a capacity of either 175 litres of fluid or two smaller 60-litre containers. A glycerine lining prevented the contents from burning. This simple but very functional vehicle developed an unforeseen morale role during long campaigns. It became the accepted collection point for infantry companies, a rallying area where psychological bonding took place. Units which had suffered considerable casualties in retreat or failed attacks were pulled together with difficulty by officers of the Feldgendarmerie (military police). Field cookers provided focal points where fragmented units or dejected survivors would gather for mutual comfort. Letters were handed out here and news or announcements given in its vicinity. Most importantly it catered for the soldiers’ fundamental need to confide in each other, proving a haven in an otherwise hostile environment and one of the few locations offering respite from the normal day’s pressures. The midday meal on the march, invariably the main meal and often the only sustenance, provided the essential respite that kept tired columns moving for yet another half day. An hour’s rest was generally ordered.

‘And then everyone sank into a sleep of total exhaustion. Motorcycles racing by do not disturb the sleepers, one of whom has made a pillow of his helmet, lying so comfortably up on it that it seemed like an eiderdown. Sleeping, even within the background sound of the guns, is a soldierly virtue, because he knows the day is yet long.’⁽¹³⁾

Bodies would have to be reluctantly coaxed to get working again. Company commanders forced columns along in these conditions by the power of their personalities. Pressure was applied to encourage soldiers to close the inevitable gaps that appeared between company columns. Although a young man’s profession, many infantry battalion and company commanders were ex-World War 1 veterans. Despite this, feet reduced to burning raw flesh were kept moving between clenched teeth and wan faces. Oberleutnant Knappe continued to force the pace toward Minsk:

‘As we marched, low hills would emerge from the horizon ahead of us and then slowly sink back into the horizon behind us. It almost seemed that the same hill kept appearing in front of us. Kilometre after kilometre. Everything seemed to blur into uniform grey because of the vastness and sameness of everything… Fields of sunflowers stretched for kilometre after kilometre after weary kilometre.’⁽¹⁴⁾

An officer with the Potsdam 9th Infantry Regiment recalled that the next days ‘meant marching, marching and again marching and the heat was always unbearable’. They plodded forward in columns of threes.

‘“Come on men, grit your teeth, the gap to the next company is much too big,” announced one company commander, whereupon conversations that had just started died and were replaced by the monotonous clatter of gas mask cases, field spades, hip bayonets and ammunition belts. The view of the marchers sank and remained on the back of the man ahead.’⁽¹⁵⁾

Few of the fatigued soldiers took much notice of their immediate surroundings. They focused haphazardly on feet, the end of a rifle, swinging equipment and on the back of the man ahead. Losing themselves in personal thoughts or maintaining a psychological vacuum enabled them to endure pain and discomfort more easily. Leutnant Haape remembered how ‘the sun sank slowly through the dense clouds of dust that we left in our wake. And into the darkness our march continued.’

Skirmishes with the enemy might almost be welcomed as a release from the monotony. Adrenaline would surge and after an outpouring of fear and nervous energy there would be a strength-sapping relapse as the steady eastward slog was resumed.

‘We wished that the Russians would make a stand – anything, a battle even, to relieve the painful monotony of this ceaseless, timeless tramping. It was 11p.m. before a halt was called at a big farmhouse. We had covered close on 65km that day!’⁽¹⁶⁾

There was only about three hours’ sleep before preparation for the next day’s march began. Personal administration or letter-writing could occur only during this period. Some soldiers would have to stand sentry. There was never enough time to rest properly. All along the three army group fronts the infantry strove to catch up with the Panzers. By 1 July the 6th Infantry Division had covered a 260km stretch in Army Group North’s sector from Memel to Riga – 10 days traversing bad roads and fighting en route. The 98th Infantry Division marched 40–50km each day between 9 and 30 July in the central sector.⁽¹⁷⁾ Its official history described the Rollbahn as ‘seemingly endless, no wayside trees and totally devoid of shade. Wide and dead straight, it stretched ahead to the horizon disappearing way into the distance.’⁽¹⁸⁾ Harald Henry wrote home:

‘Nobody can convince me that any non-infantryman can imagine what is taking place here. Think of the most brutal exhaustion you have ever experienced, direct burning sunlight, weeping sores on your feet – and you have my condition not at the end but at the beginning of a 45km march. It takes hours before your feet become insensitive to the painful wounds at each step on these roads which are either gravel or sand at the edges.’⁽¹⁹⁾

Numerous factors accounted for this remarkable stamina. Service in the Hitler Youth and Arbeitsdienst often included long route marches. This was also an age when everybody walked. Boys walked to school and adults to work. The transport and communications revolutions of the late 20th century had yet to come; people were fitter and psychologically disposed to walk long distances to work or for pleasure. None the less, this does not prepare the body for the brutal forced-marching required in war. Some motivation would have come from stoic veterans of the previous French campaign. It was clear that sabre-like Panzer slashes across the Low Countries could be blunted by prolonged heavy resistance or indeed snapped off if over-extended.

One such event had occurred at Arras on 21 May 1940 when a determined British flank attack had taken advantage of a developing Panzer-infantry gap. Panzer advances were dangerous because they unhinged the defence after plunging into the depth of the enemy hinterland. They ignored threats to the flanks because the enemy was more concerned with the vulnerability of their own and the rear. Terminal lethality in German Blitzkrieg terms was conferred by marching infantry. It was their fighting power which ensured eventual annihilation and a decisive outcome. Veterans sensibly assumed casualties might be reduced if the momentum of the advance convinced the enemy further resistance was pointless and surrender. Infantry following close on Panzers sensed that the nearer they were to the Panzers the less fighting would be required. With luck, the tanks would do it for them. This was motivation indeed. ‘A powerful and shocking impression was left by our Panzers and Stukas from the destroyed armies on the follow-on march routes,’ declared Harald Henry, marching toward Mogilev in the central sector.

‘Huge craters were left by Stuka bombers always precisely accurate along the edges of roads. Their air pressure had lifted the biggest and heaviest tanks in the air and turned them over. Our Panzers had settled the rest after the surprise bombing attacks, and we marched for 25km along a scene of unbelievable destruction.’⁽²⁰⁾

‘As we march the enemy continues to withdraw eastwards,’ observed Leutnant Heinrich Haape with Infantry Regiment 18. ‘It seems as if our battalion is never to catch up with him.’ The monotony of the march transcended everything, even the approaching horror of combat. So far as Haape was concerned, it appeared ‘as if our war is to be an uninterrupted marathon march to the Urals, perhaps even further’.⁽²¹⁾

‘These marching hours were endless,’ declared Harald Henry, marching on to the Dnieper river, ‘25 or 30km alongside smashed and burned out tanks, vehicle after vehicle, onward past skeletons of totally shot-up and fire blackened villages’. He had a sensitive eye for the incongruous picture of tiger-lilies blooming in the gardens of gutted buildings within ‘black and ghostly surrounding walls’. These forced marches were no victory parade. They were a remorseless brutal and physical ordeal required of the infantry to keep up with the Panzers. Casualties apart, they exerted their own psychological toll. ‘One breathed in the distinctive characteristic smell this campaign had already permanently etched on my mind,’ admitted Henry, ‘a mixture from burning, sweat and horse carcasses.’ Strong sunlight swiftly transformed bodies into grotesque black shapes.

‘The most dreadful [sight] was the horses completely bloated and eviscerated, with their intestines spilled out and muzzles bloodily torn off. Overall there hung the stench of destruction: a disturbing mixture of the abattoir and putrefaction pervading the air with a stagnant decadence over our column. The worst was a pig gnawing with noisy relish at a horse carcass, because we realised the logic of the food chain meant we would one day taste some of this horse flesh ourselves.’⁽²²⁾

Slowly but surely the massed German infantry formations closed up on the Panzer advance. ‘We are happy, we can laugh at the dust, the heat, the thirst – for only another 30km marching lies ahead,’ declared Leutnant Haape. ‘Our vanguard and the Panzer units are already involved in heavy fighting.’ There was to be a battle. Resistance on the east bank of the Dvina river was stiffening by the hour. ‘At last the war is waiting for us!’ proclaimed Haape exuberantly.

‘The column swings cheerfully along the road. There is point to the marching, and the objective is only a few kilometres away.’⁽²³⁾

Closing with the enemy, the realisation that one must kill or be killed was a different and more emotive experience for the infantryman. ‘As a soldier in action,’ remarked Leutnant Hubert Becker after the war, ‘I know that others will die, that I might die – might get killed at any moment.’ Individuals mastered pre-battle fears in their own intensely private way. ‘Killing,’ Becker explained, ‘that word, was never used; it was never a topic for us.’ Nevertheless it had to be faced.

‘During attacks, when the Russians charged or when we advanced, we would be extremely fearful and uneasy. One didn’t know whether one would survive the next minute.’⁽²⁴⁾

The physical burden was part of this psychological pressure. Infantry soldier Harald Henry’s experience was typical. Having marched 25km by day, he spent the night standing guard with other members of his infantry section in a soaking meadow. His following day was ‘also very demanding’. There was a few hours’ rest during the afternoon before marching resumed to an objective 44km distant. When at midnight a halt was declared, they were fired upon as they rested. This resulted in a series of manoeuvres and countermarching for two and three-quarter hours, having discarded packs, so as to attack the enemy. ‘But for me,’ said Henry, ‘that meant carrying a 30lb ammunition box.’ A largely uneventful night action ensued, following the collateral damage produced by fighting up ahead with an occasional burning tank lighting up the night. They did not close with the enemy, but did expend a lot of nervous energy at the prospect of doing so. Henry complained:

‘The effort required for this attack with its rapid advances was immense, and now, with dawn coming up, the second part of our 44km long stretch lay before us. I was totally drained and worn out with absolutely no reserves of strength remaining.’⁽²⁵⁾

The burden on motorised infantry units, far ahead with the Panzers, was no less unremitting. They had to drive constantly, fight a containment battle, then continue the advance with the same bleak prospect of relentless meeting engagements. These produced a steady, but increasingly apparent, casualty toll. Haupt-sturmführer Klinter, commanding a motorised 3rd SS Division ‘Totenkopf’ platoon near Daugavpils, recalled Russian infantry attacks at 05.00 hours, following an eventful night. Countless figures in earth-brown uniforms surged toward their position ‘like an avalanche – or more accurately like an unstoppable stream of molten lava’. Artillery support was not available; there had been no resupply of shells.

‘Ever closer came the earth-brown flood. Even closer and uglier was the rifle and machine gun fire whining about our ears. Enemy artillery fire grew even heavier. And then, they were 100m – 60m – 30m away. A shrill and, until then, unprecedented nerve-racking “Hurrah!” rang out like a thunderclap. And then they began to fall here and there as our machine guns began their work. They were into my sector on the right… Dull thuds from hand-grenade explosions rang out and then they all ran back.’

Casualties among Klinter’s men were heavy; a section commander was down.

‘Totally exhausted, we fell back from the parapets and into the trenches. We lay on the ground as if we were dead, from the physical and psychological pressure.’

Having hardly gathered their composure, three hours later a further massive assault began. Ammunition this time sputtered to a desultory halt. There was nothing left. Onward came the earth-brown wall of Russian soldiery with barely 50m to go. ‘We clutched our spades and hand-grenades tighter,’ said Klinter, at the prospect of close hand-to-hand fighting. Suddenly a loud ‘whooshing’ sound sped over their heads. Anxious faces glanced skyward, attempting to follow the sound of this invisible displacement of air, in time to see high fountains of earth shooting up in the ranks of the Russians just ahead.

‘Again and again, howling rushes passed just over us. The enemy attacking waves were flayed, lacerated and smashed. Bodies and weapons were spun high into the air. Crushed people and pulverised equipments produced terror, panic – and then flight.’

The German supporting artillery had conserved what little ammunition it had for just such emergencies and delayed to the last possible moment. The line was held. Klinter said:

‘Half dead with exhaustion, we squatted down in our trenches, semi-intoxicated with feverish nerves. Slowly, very slowly we quietened down. Hunger and thirst afflicted us again.’

The enemy retired. After a short interval Klinter’s men received a brief break and some water. Later that afternoon, after an ammunition resupply the company was committed to an attack. There had been neither food nor rest.

The pursuit was carried out on foot in temperatures of 28°C, even in the shade. Before long the company was pinned down by fire behind a railway embankment. The men were at the end of their physical and psychological resources. Pressing bodies into the ground and intimidated by the sights and sounds of battle, ‘tongues were glued to palates swollen thick from dust, heat and thirst’. The realisation that they were trapped inside a strawberry patch dawned only slowly. At first one or two figures, and in time the entire company, were crawling around the embankment seeking out and hungrily devouring ripe strawberries. ‘And now,’ Klinter recalled, ‘the first laughter began to cackle out.’ Such an incongruous scene, even in such a bizarre setting, was not without a certain ribald appeal.

Their suffering was still not over. By 22.00 hours that night, the objective had been secured. As if by prearranged signal the thunderstorm, which had threatened throughout the sweltering humid day, burst upon them. ‘There was no cover and no tents; sweat-soaked, exhausted and now without rations for 72 hours,’ Klinter said, ‘the men stood in streaming rain throughout the pitch-black night.’ Defensive positions laboriously dug in this mud and slime were not completed until 03.00 hours. At dawn, having dried out, they marched back 14km to the village of Kraslawa, where their motorised transport had waited. The pursuit continued in lorries. Exhausted soldiers piled into the back of lurching and bumping transports and tried to sleep. Officers and drivers had to stay awake. At every halt the officers had to get out and scan the skies for Soviet aircraft;⁽²⁶⁾ and with good reason.

Obergefreiter Jaeschke from the 18th Panzer Division recalled watching a dogfight from his Panzer column on the Rollbahn (the main road). The aircraft were ‘flying in such a wild mêlée,’ he said, ‘that one could not work out which side one was watching.’ Soon fat-bellied Russian biplanes began falling from the sky, burning and exploding in the fields on both sides of the column. At this point ‘they received an icy shock’. A German fighter exploded in the air while another, fully ablaze, crashed into the ground a few metres away from the Rollbahn.

‘The burning fuel gushed out in a fiery flood across the road and caught an armoured half-track. The crewmen, poor devils, jumped out like living flaming torches onto the road. Another Messerschmitt lined up for an emergency landing ahead of us, but one of the thick-bellied beasts with a red star got behind the Me. and shot it into pieces just as it approached the ground.’⁽²⁷⁾

Russian air attacks were a constant irritant. Leutnant Hubert Becker, an artillery officer with Army Group North and a keen amateur cine cameraman, filmed one such raid. ‘We were seriously harassed by Russian fighter-bombers,’ he complained, ‘which attacked our emplacement and shot us up.’ His men managed to shoot down an aircraft with small arms because they had no antiaircraft guns in support.

‘Immediately cheering burst out. We were overjoyed to have got this villain. It had not even been possible to go to the “John” – terrible eh! Sitting in your foxhole all the time [enduring the strafing] is hardly a bed of roses, so we fired by volleys, hoping to hit him.’

He filmed the blazing aircraft wreckage afterwards, including the mangled remains of the pilot. Screening the incident to postwar audiences raised a level of pathos inconsequent to those who had actually beaten off the air attack. ‘I looked at that scene feeling well pleased,’ Becker admitted, ‘at having managed to destroy a hornet… You see,’ he stated blandly, ‘it had been pestering us. He might have killed five men – really.’⁽²⁸⁾

Hauptsturmführer Klinter’s SS ‘Totenkopf’ unit, meanwhile, still exhausted, spent the next night preparing a position in swampy woodland. There was little peace during the night because they received a warning order, requiring battle preparation, to conduct an attack which was to last the entire day. It finally succeeded when two Sturmgeschütz assault guns shot them onto the objective at dusk. Having endured three days of intense combat, there was at last an opportunity to rest. But as Klinter laconically pointed out, ‘if one wants sleep, and further, has managed to procure a quiet post in order to get it, then you can bet that position will most certainly be relieved’; and so it transpired. Elements of the 290th Infantry Division moved up to occupy the line the very night they could practically have achieved some sleep. A 10km return march ensued, stumbling over poor Russian roads in pitch darkness. There was still no food. After all their efforts over the previous few days the SS platoon commander complained: ‘what was the point of belonging to a fully motorised unit when one always had to march, and almost invariably when the vehicles were most needed?’ His was the sarcasm of a typical Panzergrenadier veteran:

‘Motorised transport is only there to make certain we poor Panzergrenadiers are brought up against the enemy more often than our fellows in the infantry divisions. Before and after battle we always have to march just as far and of course fight, so that we have the dubious advantage of being in action more often.’

At 03.00 hours they reached their trucks and half-tracks and set off, within the hour, to continue the pursuit in the direction of Opotschka. They were in action again by daylight.⁽²⁹⁾ The cumulative grind of this physical and psychological toll had the same impact, marking the steady deterioration of the marching infantry formations. Klinter’s experience encapsulated the remorseless killing power of the German infantry. It was now to be applied against the Smolensk pocket.

The Smolensk pocket

As the motorised vanguards of Panzer divisions struck substantial Russian resistance, meeting engagements ensued. Infantry or Panzers would move up in combination while artillery and Luftwaffe air support was called forward to break up the crust of the opposition. Areas of stubborn resistance were simply bypassed and subsequently encircled to maintain the momentum of the advance. Armoured advance guards would wheel left and right of the discerned threat and attempt to come together at an identified point further east to close the pocket. The area enclosed was termed der Kessel (the cauldron), an apt description. Closing the pocket was a complicated and dangerous manoeuvre requiring the need to recognise and co-ordinate firepower with fast-moving Panzer units which were directed onto virtual collision courses. Timing and communication was all important. Coloured Very flares were often fired into the air as a crude verification of friend or foe. Confused fighting led to clashes between units on the same side – something that the fast-moving pace of battle made almost inevitable.

The formation of the Smolensk pocket, and the subsequent battles that were fought between 11 July and 11 August 1941 to close it, typified and illustrate the nature of the fighting being conducted at this point in the Russian campaign. The Bialystok and Minsk encirclement battles that started on 24 June ended only three days before the ring around the massive Smolensk Kessel coalesced. They had been tying down 50% of Army Group Centre’s fighting assets, 23 infantry divisions as well as Panzer and motorised formations. These units, mopping up final resistance, had to be pushed eastward in sufficient strength to embrace and crush the new enclave containing the largest Soviet force entrapped to date. On 18 July only seven German divisions were holding down 12 surrounded Soviet equivalents. The Russians not only sought to break out. They were also being reinforced by fresh units from the east, which sought to break in to extricate their own men.

Keil und Kessel tactics were applied to achieve the German encirclement and destroy the Red Army in western Russia. The Keil (wedge) was the penetration hammered into the Soviet front by four Panzergruppen, one each to the north and south and two in the centre. Enemy forces were encircled within concentric rings to form der Kessel The first outer ring achieved by Panzer vanguards isolated the enemy before the Panzers then turning inward to establish dispersed security pickets (see pp.226–7). These were in effect ‘buffers’, whose role was to beat back enemy forays into the pocket. Heat was applied in a terminal sense to bring the cauldron to the boil by the foot infantry divisions marching up. On arrival they formed a second inner circle around the trapped Soviet units and squeezed. German infantry supported by artillery faced inwards, containing repeated Soviet attempts to break out, until the trapped units were inexorably worn down and liquidated. Motorised and Panzer formations meanwhile held the outer ring, simultaneously parrying enemy relief attacks while preparing to continue the advance east once the fate of the pocket was sealed.

^{Four stages in the destruction of a Soviet pocket are shown overleaf diagrammatically.}

^{1. Panzer spearheads first encircle and cut off Soviet forces.}

^{2. The perimeter, once formed, faces inwards and outwards to prevent break-out attempts and block external Russian counter-attacks seeking to free or reinforce encircled forces.}

^{3. The arrival of the foot infantry divisions with their heavy artillery would herald the subsequent annihilation of resistance. Concentric attacks are mounted to harrass the pocket as the perimeter is hermetically sealed. The Panzer screen is meanwhile withdrawn and continues its eastward advance.}

^{4. Infantry attacks supported by artillery break the pocket into digestible fragments which are reduced in turn.}

Tactics, which had proved successful during the earlier western campaigns, proved inappropriate when applied to this fiercely stubborn and less compliant adversary in the east. Inadequacies in German defence doctrine, already identified by senior commanders after the victorious Polish and French campaigns, became apparent again. Although Blitzkrieg doctrine depended on ‘lightning’ advances supported by close Luftwaffe air support, ultimate success depended on how fast the marching infantry could cover ground before they closed with the enemy, and how effectively the Panzers could defend while waiting for them. Much of the fighting, apart from the skirmishing involved establishing pocket perimeters, became a matter of sheer infantry will-power to contain and destroy increasingly desperate cut-off Russian units inside. Robert Rupp, a motorised infantry soldier serving with Army Group Centre, encapsulated the nature of pocket fighting in a diary entry of 31 July. ‘One is concurrently defending during every attack,’ he wrote, ‘perhaps even more than when defending.’⁽¹⁾

German Panzer divisions may have been fearsome in the attack but they were less formidable when tied to static defensive tasks because they were short of infantry. An up-to-date Panzer operations manual, published just six months before the campaign, devoted 26 pages to the ‘Attack’, but only two paragraphs covered ‘Defence’.⁽²⁾ Units not only lacked time when hastily organising defensive pickets, but also lacked the expertise needed to produce the sort of co-ordinated defence in depth recommended in infantry training manuals. Motorised units skilled in the art of mobile warfare did not have the eye for ground that experience conferred when selecting defensive positions. A young infantry Leutnant with the Ist Battalion of Panzergrenadier Regiment ‘Grossdeutschland’ explained the dilemma of having to create a defensive position near Smolensk by night:

‘The battalion had taken up a so-called security line spread improbably far apart. This was something new for us; we had never practised it. There was no defence, only security. But what if the enemy launched a strong attack?’⁽³⁾

In France or Poland motorised units had generally superimposed a hasty and ad hoc screen consisting of primarily security pickets around an encircled enemy force. It did not work in Russia. Generalfeldmarschall Fedor von Bock, commanding Army Group Centre, wrote with exasperation at the inevitable consequence on 20 July as the battles around Smolensk gathered momentum:

‘Hell was let loose today! In the morning it was reported that the enemy had broken through the Kuntzen corps at Nevel. Against my wishes, Kuntzen had sent his main fighting force, the 19th Pz Div, to Velikiye Luki, where it was tussling about uselessly. At Smolensk the enemy launched a strong attack during the night. Enemy elements also advanced on Smolensk from the south, but they ran into the 17th Pz Div and were crushed. On the southern wing of the Fourth Army the 10th Motorised Division was attacked from all sides and had to be rescued by the 4th Panzer Division. The gap between the two armoured groups east of Smolensk has still not been closed!’⁽⁴⁾

Hubert Goralla was a Sanitätsgefreiter with the 17th Panzer Division caught up in the desperate fighting alongside the Minsk-Moscow Rollbahn leading into Smolensk. Russian break-out attempts were on the point of collapse.

^{Generalfeldmarschall von Bock was ordered prematurely to close the Army Group Centre armoured pincers on Minsk (300km from Brest-Litovsk) at the end of June, when his preference was to push further east and create an even bigger pocket stretching 500km to Smolensk. His two Panzergruppen came together at Minsk, employing 23 German infantry divisions after the initial encirclement on 29 June. 50% of Army Group Centre’s fighting power was thus tied up until the pocket capitulated on 9 July. Nevertheless, sufficient momentum had been achieved by the remainder of army Group Centre close to the Smolensk pocket on 17 July. The Russians unexpectedly fought on, tying down 60% of the army group’s offensive fighting power until 11 August. Despite staggering Soviet losses, the Blitzkrieg momentum had run out of steam just beyond the Smolensk land bridge’, the jumping-off point for any assault on moscow.}

‘It was absolutely pointless. The [Russian] wounded lay left and right of the Rollbahn. The third attack had crumpled in our fire and the severely injured were howling so dreadfully it made my blood run cold!’

After treating their own wounded, Goralla was ordered forward with two grenadier medics to deal with the Russian casualties ‘lying as thick as herring in a box’ in a hollow off the road. The medics, who were wearing Red Cross armbands, approached to within 20m of the hollow when the Russian wounded began to shoot at them. Two medics collapsed and Gefreiter Goralla waved those following behind to crawl back. As he did so:

‘I saw the Russians coming out of the hollow, crawling and hobbling towards us. They began to throw hand-grenades in our direction. We held them off with pistols we had drawn from our holsters and fought our way back to the road.’

Later that day the same wounded were still persistently firing at the road. A staff captain threatened them back with a pistol and stick. They took no notice. ‘Ten minutes later,’ said Goralla, ‘it was settled.’ A Panzergrenadier platoon went into the attack and cleared the area around the road.

‘Every single wounded man had to be fought to a standstill. One Soviet sergeant, unarmed and with a severely injured shoulder, struck out with a trench spade until he was shot. It was madness, total madness. They fought like wild animals – and died as such.’⁽⁵⁾

Containing the Smolensk pocket, in the face of such pressure, became an obsession for von Bock. ‘At the moment,’ he wrote on 20 July, ‘there is only one pocket on the Army Group’s front! And it has a hole!’⁽⁶⁾ The Panzer ring holding it, lacking strong infantry support, was extremely porous. Without the attached Luftwaffe anti-aircraft batteries, originally configured to protect the Panzers against air attack, the defence situation would have been even more alarming. High-velocity 88mm Flak guns were switched from air defence to the ground role. An example of their effectiveness is revealed by 7th Panzer Division’s defensive battle tally against 60–80 attacking Russian tanks on 7 July. Just under half – 27 of 59 enemy tanks – were knocked out by Flak Abteilung 84. Of the remaining 29 kills, 14 were knocked out by five other infantry units and 15 by the division’s Panzerjäger Abteilung (also equipped with Flak guns).⁽⁷⁾

On 21 July von Bock grudgingly acknowledged the pressure the enemy was applying to his closing ring, ‘a quite remarkable success for such a badly battered opponent!’ he admitted. The encirclement was not quite absolute. Two days later Bock complained, ‘we have still not succeeded in closing the hole at the east end of the Smolensk pocket.’⁽⁸⁾ Five Soviet divisions made good their escape that night, through the lightly defended Dnieper valley. Another three divisions broke out the following day. Unteroffizier Eduard Kister, a Panzergrenadier section commander, fought with the 17th Panzer Division near Senno and Tolodschino against break-out attempts mounted by the Sixteenth Soviet Army.

‘They came in thick crowds, without fire support and with officers in front. They bellowed from high-pitched throats and the ground reverberated with the sound of their running boots. We let them get to within 50m and then started firing. They collapsed in rows and covered the ground with mounds of bodies. They fell in groups, despite the fact the ground being undulating offered good protection from fire, but they did not take cover. The wounded cried out in the hollows, but still continued to shoot from them. Fresh attack waves stormed forward behind the dead and pressed up against the wall of bodies.’

Schütze Menk, serving in a 20mm Flak company with the ‘Grossdeutschland’ Regiment, described the desperate need to keep all weapons firing in the face of such suicidal mass assaults.

‘Our cannon had to be fed continually; flying hands refilled empty ammunition clips. A barrel change, a job that had to be done outside the protection of the armour plate, was carried out in no time. The hot cannon barrel raised blisters on the hands of those involved. Hands were in motion here and there, calls for full clips of ammunition, half deaf from the ceaseless pounding of the gun… there was no time to feed hidden fears by looking beyond one’s task, the Russians were unmistakably gaining ground.’⁽⁹⁾

Kister maintained it was a totally unnerving experience. ‘It was as if they wanted to use up our ammunition holdings with their lives alone.’ His sector was attacked 17 times in one day.

‘Even during the night they attempted to work their way up to our position utilising mounds of dead in order to get close. The air stank dreadfully of putrefaction because the dead start to decompose quickly in the heat. The screams and whimpering of the wounded in addition grated on our nerves.’

Kister’s unit repelled another two attacks in the morning. ‘Then we received the order to move back to prepared positions in the rear.’⁽¹⁰⁾

Pockets were not only porous, they moved. As Red Army units continually sought to escape, German Panzers had frequently to adjust positions to maintain concentric pressure or bend as they soaked up attacks. ‘Wandering pockets’ complicated the co-ordination of hasty defence and especially the reception of march-weary reinforcing infantry units moving up to form the inner ring. Infantry divisions moving behind Panzergruppen fared particularly badly. They were often obliged to change direction at little notice onto secondary routes to avoid Panzer countermeasures rapidly manoeuvring along the primary or supply arteries. Movement in such fluid situations was perilous, as described by Feldwebel Mirsewa travelling with one 18th Panzer Division convoy:

‘Suddenly they were there. Even as we heard the engine noises it was already too late. Soviet T-26 and T-34 tanks rolled, firing uninterruptedly, parallel to our supply convoy. Within seconds all hell had broken loose. Three lorries loaded with ammunition driving in the middle of the column blew up into the air with a tremendous din. Pieces of vehicle sped over us, propelled on their way by the force of the explosions.’

Men cried out and horses stampeded in all directions, running down anything that stood in their way. Suddenly the Russian tanks changed direction and swept through the column, firing as they went.

‘I will never forget the dreadful screams of the horses that went under the tracks of the tanks. A tanker lorry completely full with tank fuel burst apart into orange-red flames. One of the manoeuvring T-26 tanks came too close and disappeared into the blaze and was glowing incandescently within minutes. It was total chaos.’

A 50mm PAK was rolled up from the rear and quickly immobilised two of the heavier T-34 tanks, hitting their tracks. Both began to revolve wildly, completely out of control in the surreal battle now developing. Meanwhile, the lighter and faster T-26 types had shot every vehicle in the column into flames. Bodies of men who had attempted to flee their vehicles were strewn across the road. ‘I heard the wounded cry out,’ recalled Mirsewa, ‘but not for long, as the Russian tank clattered up and down over the dead and injured.’ A platoon of Panzergrenadiers with additional anti-tank guns drove up and swiftly set to work. At first the unmanoeuvrable T-34s were despatched. The scene began to resemble Dante’s ‘Inferno’ as the T-26s still engaging the burning vehicles were attacked.

‘The crack of detonations mixed with the tearing sound of huge tongues of flame. Metal parts whirled through the air. In between, machine guns hammered out as the grenadiers first engaged tank vision slits before their destructive high explosive charges were brought to bear. The chaos intensified into an inferno. Everywhere tanks were exploding into the air. Burning steel colossuses melted alongside our blazing supply column forming a long wall of flame.

‘The heat radiating across the road and reaching our position was hardly bearable. Worse of all, though, was the sight of numerous dead from our column lying in the road. Just as well our people back home will never get to know how their boys met their deaths.’⁽¹¹⁾

Containing ‘wandering pockets’ appeared an insurmountable problem. Von Bock reacted belligerently to the ‘Führer’s ideas on the subject, the gist of which was that for the moment we should encircle the Russians tactically wherever we meet them, rather than with strategic movements, and then destroy them in small pockets’.⁽¹²⁾ This implied Blitzkrieg sweeps should be subordinated to minor tactical actions. With it came the realisation that the increasing gap developing between Panzers and infantry was annulling the previously proven benefits of a combined arms advance. Panzers were not robust in defence while infantry were insufficiently protected on the move.

The Soviets, sensing this weakness, attacked the outside of the Smolensk ring to exploit the vulnerability. The attempts, however, were unco-ordinated and lacked tactical sophistication. But in terms of naked aggression and totally uncompromising resistance, the Panzer divisions were sustaining punishment far beyond that meted out by any foe thus far in the war. Von Bock lamented the appearance of new Russian build-ups, ‘in many places they have tried to go over to the attack’ even as he closed the Smolensk pocket. ‘Astonishing for an opponent who is so beaten,’ he admitted, ‘they must have unbelievable masses of material, for even now the field units still complain about the powerful effect of the enemy artillery.’⁽¹³⁾ The next day the Smolensk pocket was sealed.

The battle continued for another 14 days. At its height the Wehrmacht fielded elements of 32 divisions consisting of two Panzergruppen with 16 Panzer and motorised (and one cavalry) divisions and 16 infantry divisions. This was 60% of the fighting power of Army Group Centre. Some 50% of its strength had been Bialystok-Minsk encirclement perimeters between 24 June and 8 July. The same troops had then to march further eastward to embrace the even greater Kessel at Smolensk and participate in the battle that raged between 11 July and 10 August. Trapped inside were the Soviet Sixteenth, Nineteenth and Twentieth Armies. By 8 July OKH calculated it had destroyed 89 of 164 Russian divisions identified.⁽¹⁴⁾ At this point Blitzkrieg momentum had petered out. There were no further German formations of appreciable operational size available to continue eastward until this pocket was annihilated. Breathtaking though the victories were, the price was now becoming apparent, even to the highest commanders at the front.

Two days after the closure of the Smolensk pocket, von Bock noted in his diary that ‘powerful Russian attacks are in progress on almost the entire front of Ninth Army’ and that ‘40 batteries [of artillery] have been counted at one place opposite its eastern front’. A Soviet penetration was even reported south of Beloye. ‘The fact is,’ concluded von Bock, ‘that our troops are tired and are also not exhibiting the required steadiness because of heavy officer casualties.’⁽¹⁵⁾ The German Army at the end of July was beginning to conclude the vast battles of encirclement that had been designed to destroy Soviet forces in western Russia. Only now was the Pyrrhic nature of this achievement becoming apparent, hidden within sensational Sondermeldungen at home.

On 21 July, 7th Panzer Division reported a strength of 118 tanks, which indicated 166 had been knocked out (although 96 of these were under repair).⁽¹⁶⁾ One battalion of Panzer Regiment 25 was temporarily broken up to keep the other two at effective strength. Most of the tank crews survived. It is interesting to compare the lot of Panzers and infantry fighting in the same formation.

Panzer gunner Karl Fuchs was exuberant prior to the battle of Smolensk. ‘Our losses have been minimal and our success great,’ he wrote to his wife Madi. ‘This war will be over soon, because already we are fighting against only fragmented opposition.’⁽¹⁷⁾ Six days later he wrote:

‘For the time being I am in a safe spot. If only I had some water to wash myself! The dirt and the dust cause my skin to itch and my beard is growing longer and longer. Wouldn’t you like to kiss me now! I am sure you can see the dirt on the paper on which I write.’

On 15 July he anticipated, ‘I would imagine that within eight to ten days this campaign will be over.’ Soldiers often prefer to offer a sanitised version of experiences writing to their families. They confirm they are alive and in good health and generally like to predict future prospects with some optimism. Karl Fuchs was typical of the soldiers of his generation. Two days later he exuberantly described how:

‘Yesterday I participated in my 12th attack. Some of these attacks were more difficult than others. With 12 attacks under my belt, I have now caught up with the boys who had a head start in France! You can imagine that I’m very proud of this achievement.’⁽¹⁸⁾

Fuchs wrote what he thought his wife would expect to read. The rotation of tank crews for rest referred to ‘in a safe spot’ was likely the result of tank casualties and battle fatigue. Diary entries, expressed in private and only selectively released, are often more frank. An infantry officer serving in Fuch’s division wrote more candidly the following week:

‘The faces of the youngsters exude the same image as First World War veterans. Long beards and the filth of these days make many of them look older than is the case in reality. Despite the pleasure at sudden Russian withdrawals, one notices this change in the faces of the soldiers. Even after washing again and shaving the chin – something difficult to describe is from now on different! The first days at Yartsevo have certainly left an impression.’⁽¹⁹⁾

Panzer Regiment 7 was deployed at the eastern end of the Smolensk pocket, directly in the path of Russian divisions attempting to escape. General Halder caustically commented in his diary:

‘Four [German] divisions are advancing eastward from the west, pushing the enemy against the eastern block formed by only four battalions of the 7th Panzer Division which is also being attacked by the enemy from the east. We need hardly be surprised if 7th Panzer Division eventually gets badly hurt.’⁽²⁰⁾

The Panzergrenadier Regiment ‘Grossdeutschland’ was under similar pressure. Repeated surprise encounters in confused situations caused a steady drain of casualties. Commanders had to react to swift situation changes with no clear information about the enemy. It produced a cumulative toll.

‘No one could say during the advance whether one would see heavy fighting within the next hour, or whether Russian troops would be on the roads during the hours of darkness. This constant tension strained men’s nerves to breaking point. The resulting over-exertion left them somewhat indifferent, almost resigned to accept everything as it arose. It also explains the losses among officers and NCOs, which were dreadfully high at the outset of the campaign.’⁽²¹⁾

It was to get worse. From 23 July the Ist Battalion ‘Grossdeutsch-land’ Regiment fought defensive battles near Yelnya and Smolensk along the Kruglowka railway embankment. For five days the unit was attacked by masses of Russian infantry desperate to flee the pocket. ‘GD’ grenadiers were generally paired to each foxhole. The official historian relates how ‘many spent the day next to a dead comrade. No one could help the wounded while it was still daylight.’ At night the dead were laid out behind a shack wall to the rear of the position.

‘They had all died from head or chest wounds. That meant all were standing in their holes and firing at the enemy when they were hit. In so doing they had to expose their upper torsos or at least their heads. They knew the likely consequence of this. Can a man do more, or be stronger?’

At night they heard calls, shouts and the clatter of vehicles as the enemy manoeuvred in preparation for fresh assaults. During the fourth night of the defence the battalion was informed it could not be relieved. They had to hold on for longer, because infantry units earmarked to relieve them were needed elsewhere.

‘Now what were we going to do? Several Grenadiers overheard the message. Their reaction was “Man, that’s totally impossible.” The tension mounted. It spread through the position like poison. Several men wept, others immediately fell asleep. Most sat still in their holes. Our eyes were red from the heat, smoke and lack of sleep.’

The relief delay resulted in a number of Russian penetrations during the heavy fighting that continued in all company sectors. Russians shared holes with dead grenadiers in trenches often only 20m away from the surviving German outposts. Eventually during the night of 26/27 July, after five days of uninterrupted fighting, the remnants of the battalion were withdrawn behind a German machine gun battalion that set up a new line 1,000m behind them. One company, the second, lost 16 dead and 24 wounded. Elements from three Russian divisions had been attacking in their sector. Despite this temporary reprieve the regiment was kept in the line a further 23 days.

On 5 August 1941 Generalfeldmarschall von Bock announced the conclusion of the battle at the Dnieper, Dvina and Smolensk. The trapped Russian divisions were destroyed. Booty, he announced, included 309,110 prisoners, 3,205 captured or destroyed tanks, 3,000 guns and 341 aircraft, and the count was still going on.⁽²²⁾ The announcement was of scant interest to the remaining soldiers of the ‘Grossdeutschland’, finally pulled out of the line for a much needed, albeit brief, rest.

‘We lay in the meadow dozing in sunshine and relishing every breath… Within eight days we would be in a hole again in combat and perhaps in 14 days already dead. But nobody was crippled by such thoughts. Instead we lived life more consciously, also more simply. We just lived. In contrast, in peacetime one merely passed the days.’⁽²³⁾

For the German infantry, these weeks and days were becoming increasingly short.

‘Do not cry’… Soviet defeat in the West

‘A terrible misfortune has befallen this country,’ announced Ina Konstantinova to her diary in mid-July. ‘The Germans are already so near… They are bombing Leningrad and Mozhaisk. They are advancing toward Moscow.’ A sense of foreboding was now beginning to erode the initial popular emotion and outraged patriotism that had accompanied the invasion. ‘How troubled our life has become!’ wrote Konstantinova. Aircraft were constantly taking-off from the nearby Kashin airfield north-east of Moscow. Military detachments of tanks and anti-aircraft guns were observed moving through the streets. Things were different. ‘Even the atmosphere has changed somehow,’ she lamented. ‘What does the future hold in store for us?’⁽¹⁾ Her concern was echoed by Soviet staff officer Ivan Krylov:

‘Smolensk! Smolensk in danger. The way to Moscow, the great highway followed by the army of Napoleon, was once again the invasion artery. But it was only 10 July, hardly three weeks from the beginning of hostilities. I began to think that the fighting abilities of our forces must be lower than… imagined.’⁽²⁾

Russian units were retreating in front of an apparently inexorable German advance. Common to any examination of Soviet military staff documents covering this early period is recognition of the stultifying impact of Luftwaffe air attacks, a dearth of knowledge of the actual limit of German advances and confusion following on from a total breakdown of communications with alarming reports of appalling losses. Commander Fourth Army reported to the commander of the Western Front as early as 30 June that:

‘All my resources are exhausted. I ordered to hold to the last, but there is no certainty that the line will be held.’

As his XXXXVIIth Rifle Corps attempted to withdraw to the River Ola, the general declared 10 hours later:

‘The only means of fighting is the medium tank detachment. Manpower has lost its meaning on the given route. We have no means of support at our disposal… It is necessary to cover the Mogilev, Bobruisk Highway using front forces, since there are no units at all on this direction.’⁽³⁾

In by far the worst situation were hapless Soviet units cut off in ever-shrinking pockets. Kesselschlacht – the German term for pocket fighting – was apt. A Kessel (cauldron) was quite literally boiled until life within was extinguished. It was a methodical, slow operation causing terrible casualties to both sides. Tank soldier Alexander Golikow wrote to his wife, while he was engaged in fighting around Rowno against German Army Group North units:

‘Dear Tonetschka!

I don’t know whether you will be able to read these lines, but I do know, for certain, this will be my last letter to you. A bitter and deadly battle is being fought at this very moment. Our tank has been knocked out and all around us are the Fascists. We have tried to beat off their attacks the whole day. The road to Ostrov is covered with bodies in green uniforms… Two of us – Pawel Abramow and I, remain. You will know him, I have written about him. We do not expect to be rescued. We are soldiers and have no fear of dying for our homeland.’⁽⁴⁾

Once the initial Panzer screen was thrown around an intended pocket, Soviet units would march and counter-march within, attempting to get out. Lack of intelligence and nothing to brief to soldiers made this phase seem particularly aimless to those trapped inside. J. Jewtuchewitsch’s unit was moved from Leningrad to engage the German Army Group North advance in July.

‘They put us on lorries and propelled us in a completely different direction… We have been moving for a few days now from place to place. Sometimes we look for the battalion, they on occasion us… During one such move we covered a 94km stretch.’

Uncertainty was all-pervasive. Jewtuchewitsch remembered driving through the streets of Leningrad with civilians dolefully following their passage, ‘uncertainty in all eyes, unease about us and we also about ourselves’.⁽⁵⁾ Major Jurij Krymov serving on the Soviet West Front confessed similar reservations to his wife. ‘It is now 19 days since I have heard anything from you or the others’. Newspapers were unavailable, only radio. He had no idea how his wife was living in Moscow and was not optimistic. ‘Due to the war and the need for women to work (because here there seem to be a lot) I am beginning to be concerned for your welfare,’ he wrote. Conditions inside cut-off pockets quickly deteriorated. Alexander Golikow continued the letter to his wife:

‘I am sitting in a misshapen tank shot through with holes. The heat is unbearable and I am thirsty. There is not a single drop of water. Your picture is lying on my lap. As I look into your blue eyes I feel better – you are with me… I have thought of you since the first day of the war. When will I return to you and press your head to my breast? Perhaps never.’⁽⁶⁾

Krymov complained, ‘it is not so much the danger or the risk of losing one’s life, rather the absence of the most elementary things’. Everyday life was burdensome:

‘We go without water for days and eat badly and irregularly, having to sleep in defensive positions that one previously would have thought unthinkable. It was all down to filth, heat and the strain.’⁽⁷⁾

Soldiers completely unaware of the real situation had no option but to follow orders. German soldiers dismissed this as a ‘herd mentality’, which often led to mass suicide attacks against their positions. Confusion bred doubt feeding on fear. Russian officers offering a course of action, a solution, or order from chaos would appeal to soldiers faced with no visible alternatives. Survival drove men to attempt the bizarre. They were simply human beings worn out by tension and physical exertion. Konstantin Simonov, a Russian war correspondent, described the difficulties officers had to band men together into companies and battalions after they had first been disorientated by the shock of the German invasion and then under constant air attack since it began. ‘Nobody knew one another,’ he said, ‘and with the best will in the world, it was difficult for people either to give or take orders’. He had not eaten or drunk for two days. ‘My eyes were drooping from tiredness and hunger,’ and his face ‘was burned to a shining iridescence by the sun’.⁽⁸⁾ Dimitrij Wolkogonow, a Soviet Lieutenant, described how:

‘On the radio it was given out that our army was resisting bitterly in some region, and then suddenly a day later we heard that the German Army had already penetrated 50–70km further eastward. And I must further say that it was not only the simple soldier who had no clear impression of what was going on in these pockets, characterising the war at this stage, because there was no clear picture in the STAVKA High Command. Stalin constantly demanded new situation reports, but nothing could be usefully reported.’⁽⁹⁾

The outcome was predictable. Soviet Engineer Colonel Il’ya Starinov believed early offensives taken against the German attack were counter-productive and ‘produced negligible results. But the losses inflicted on our troops were extraordinarily heavy’. He concluded, ‘the unjustifiable attempts to go over to the offensive at a time when we should have been organising our defences only exacerbated a situation that was already bad.’⁽¹⁰⁾ All available news was negative. 17-year-old Sinauda Lischakowa was living in at Vitebsk when the Germans marched in. As a fledgling partisan she had access to a radio. The radio news from Moscow was most distressing at that time,’ she stated. ‘The Germans were already saying then, in 1941, repeatedly: “Moscow Kaputt. Stalin Kaputt. The war will soon be over,” but naturally we did not believe it.’⁽¹¹⁾

Desperate measures were ordered by officers to try and escape encirclement, because they were acutely aware of the consequences of failure. Commissar ‘dual authority’ was restored to Red Army units on 16 July. On 27 July an order sentencing nine senior officers to death was read out to all officers and men. The condemned included the Signals Officer of the Western Front, blamed for the catastrophic breakdown of communications, and the commanders of the hapless Third and Fourth Armies as also the commanders of the 30th and 60th Rifle Divisions. Engineer Colonel Starinov himself was briefly placed under arrest while he was supervising a bridge demolition across the River Dnieper on the Minsk highway. He was not surprised. Mistakes were not tolerated. Despair and confusion reigned among Western Front staff as, he said, ‘the arrests took the ground right out from beneath people’s feet. No one could be sure of living to see the next day.’ The nihilistic ordeal of the 1937 state-conducted purges remained all-pervasive. ‘Even strong-willed experienced officers,’ Starinov explained, ‘who had never cracked in the toughest situations, completely lost their self-control, at the appearance of people in the green garrison caps of the NKVD (Secret Police).’⁽¹²⁾ Men fought on in hopeless circumstances as a consequence. Alexander Golikow further wrote to his wife:

‘Our tank shook with the impact of enemy shots, but we were still alive. We have no more shells and are short of bullets. Pawel is shooting at the enemy with the turret machine gun while I “take a breather” and chat with you [ie to a photograph]. I know this will be the last time. I would like a long chat but time is too short… It is good to die when you know somewhere there is a person who will think “It is good to have been loved”.’⁽¹³⁾

It became quickly apparent to the Russian population, reeling from the surprise of the invasion, that the war was going badly. German correspondent Paul Kohl retraced the invasion route to Moscow 40 years after the attack. During his investigative historical tour in 1985 he was questioned by a 70-year-old woman in Gross Prussy, south-west of Minsk: ‘Why did the Germans do this? We had a non-aggression pact with you. Why did you invade us?’⁽¹⁴⁾ Surprise characterised the responses of the Russian people he met who had experienced the war, along the former invasion route. Alevtina Michailowna Burdenko heard war had been declared in a radio broadcast. Thereafter she had enormous difficulties returning to her home town at Baranowa, some 210km east of Brest-Litovsk. Every train was attacked from the air, and any still running were reserved for military transport. She managed to board a train three days later but the locomotive and a number of carriages were destroyed during a strafing attack, and ‘many passengers were killed’. The only remaining option was to walk home to her village, which she did, ‘constantly shot at by low-flying aircraft’. The village, however, had been overrun by the Wehrmacht on 25 June.

‘When I arrived in Baranowa in the evening, the town was full of German soldiers – the jack-boots, the sentry posts – all over there were control points. My husband was no longer there when I got home! Taken away! I never saw him again!’⁽¹⁵⁾

The town of Sluzk, further east, was occupied the following day. Sonja Davidowna declared:

‘On the same day they marched in they announced strict laws. All Communists and Komsomol members were to report without delay in order to be registered. Whoever went in could naturally bid life “Adieu”. Anyone supplying provisions to Soviet soldiers or partisans was immediately shot. A curfew was imposed. Anyone found on the streets after 18.00 without an identity pass was immediately executed.’⁽¹⁶⁾

Minsk, the capital of Belorussia, was occupied on 28 June, seven days after the invasion. Its fall was preceded by savage air raids. When W. F. Romanowskij emerged from his cellar shelter he was confronted with a horrific scene.

‘What a sight! Burning houses, debris and ruins. Bodies lay in the streets all around. People tried to flee the town during the bombardment but were not able to get out quickly enough, because the streets had been blocked with debris. Those caught in the open were annihilated by low-flying German aircraft.’

When the Germans marched in, the city had 245,000 inhabitants. Three years later only 40,000 remained and the town was 80% destroyed. A strict curfew was imposed from the start, as also were measures against supporting ‘political commissars’, the ‘Red Army’ and ‘saboteurs’. Romanowskij described how life in the occupied city took on a totally different hue.

‘There were SS and police patrols day and night with sudden house searches. People were arrested on the slightest pretext, disappearing into Gestapo cellars and then whisked off to be shot. An atmosphere of constant fear reigned in the city.’⁽¹⁷⁾

The Jewish Minsk ghetto was established in a district to the west of the city on 19 July, encapsulating the area where most Jews had been living at the time of the invasion. Two days before, the Germans had driven into the settlement of Kirowski, south-west of Mogilev on the Smolensk road. ‘It was very interesting for us children,’ remarked Georgia Terenkerwa – 10 years old at the time – who saw ‘sparkling helmets and the uniform shoulder straps’ and ‘officers in their open saloon cars’. Within two hours the initial wave of soldiers had passed through. ‘At midday they came again.’ These newly arrived soldiers were of a totally different type.

‘We had six children in the family. There was a hollow disbelief in the village as they began to shoot people. Nobody took it on board to flee. Everyone was surprised. I remember it all precisely. I was in front of the school as the Fascists started killing our neighbours. Shortly before it began, I had even seen in front of our house – it was about 100m away – my mother was standing gossiping with our neighbour’s wife. Then the soldiers came, forced their way into the house and then I heard the shots. I do not know how it was I managed to survive.’⁽¹⁸⁾

Surprise at the stunning extent of early German advances was universal. Panzer vanguards entered Russian towns while trams still ran. German motorised units were even cheered by civilians as they drove through, mistakenly believed to be their own troops. Wera Kulagina visited Vitebsk, which was occupied by Panzergruppe 3 on 9 July, coming from a neighbouring village accompanied by her elder sister. ‘As we arrived,’ she said, we ‘noticed the mood in the town was a lot more oppressive and uneasy than that before in the village.’ They looked around. ‘The town was blazing and the streets empty of people.’ The reason soon became apparent. ‘Only the Germans moved about undisturbed and freely through the town, like conquerors.’ Fear was all-pervasive. ‘We felt something was not right here.’ As the bridge across the River Dvina had been blown up, Wera Kulagina’s sister would not be able to go back to work. They quickly retraced their steps to the village. The inhabitants were totally oblivious to what had been going on nearby.

‘When we got back to the village and reached my mother, the Germans had yet to pass through. She did not believe us. As we told her we had already seen the Germans on the Dvina she would not take it in. She could not comprehend that the town was occupied.’⁽¹⁹⁾

Stalin began to emerge from the apparent initial paralysis imposed by the shock of the attack on his country and populace. He addressed the nation by radio on 3 July. His listeners found the speech to be extraordinary. Stalin spoke in an entirely unprecedented tone and manner, precisely encapsulating the atmosphere and emotional appeal needed to explain this crisis. One civilian, Boris Preobazhensky, recalled its dramatic impact long after the war.

‘The first thing we heard was the clinking of a glass against the jug, and then water was poured into the glass. You could hear it so clearly. The water poured out. Stalin took a gulp and then he began to speak: “Comrades, citizens, brothers and sisters,” those first few words brought us so close to him, as though it were our own father speaking.’⁽²⁰⁾

This paternal appeal struck a sentimental chord with the Soviet people, unused to being addressed in such a manner by their leader. Stalin, while understating territorial losses, admitted the gravity of the situation, declaring: ‘a serious threat hangs over our country’. Advantage had been lost to the Germans because the Non-Aggression Pact had been ‘perfidiously violated’. The enemy was ‘cruel and merciless’, Stalin claimed, but there could ‘be for whimperers and cowards’. State production would be put on a war footing. ‘The Red Army and Navy and the whole Soviet people must fight for every inch of Soviet soil, fight to the last drop of blood for our towns and villages.’

The famous ‘scorched-earth’ instruction was issued alongside an order to prosecute ‘partisan war’ in the rear of the enemy.⁽²¹⁾ Measures described included the State Defence Committee set up to deal with the rapid mobilisation of all the country’s resources. It was realised that the existing state machinery was inappropriate to prosecute the war effectively. On 10 July Stalin combined the formal title of Head of Government with the post of Supreme Commander, which the Supreme Soviet formalised on 7 August. The State Defence Committee (GKO) included Stalin, Voroshilov, Beria, Molotov (Foreign Affairs) and Stalin’s party deputy, Malenkow The STAVKA (High Command) was subordinated to it, having also been reorganised to include Stalin, Molotov and Voroshilov from the party and an army element including Timoshenko, Budenny, Shaposhnikov and Zhukov. The General Staff, extended to oversee all branches of the armed forces, was subordinated to the STAVKA on 8 August. Stalin, in so doing, elevated himself to all the highest appointments in the Soviet state, party and army. Victory or defeat rested on his shoulders alone.

Similarly on the same date three Soviet Fronts were established: North-west, nominally under Voroshilov, West under Timoshenko and South-west under Budenny. These corresponded to the three German Army Groups attacking them. The measure further rationalised the command of reinforcements and supplies that GKO was mobilising for defence.

This defence was already in a parlous state. German OKH assessed on 8 July that it had eliminated 89 of 164 identified Russian rifle divisions and 20 of 29 tank divisions. It concluded, ‘the enemy is no longer in a position to organise a continuous front, not even behind strong terrain features.’⁽²²⁾ The Soviet plan appeared to be to counterattack incessantly to keep the German advance as far to the west as possible and thereby slow progress by inflicting heavy casualties.

Stalin’s toneless admittance of great but not insurmountable problems to his population on 3 July suggested not weakness but great strength. The bitter truth, though understated, was out. At least the Soviet people felt that their feet, despite apparent imbalances, were firmly on the ground. The resolve of the Soviet population was stiffened. ‘Every night Moscow is subjected to air raids,’ wrote Ina Konstantinova on 5 August. ‘The enemy troops are coming closer and closer. How awful! But never mind, they will soon be stopped.’⁽²³⁾

The grandiose heroism that permeates the official Soviet ‘Great Patriotic War’ version of events is out of place to students of history at the beginning of the 21st century, accustomed to the grainy realism of immediate on-the-spot TV news reportage. There was then a strong perception of duty reinforced by nationalism which could be drawn upon – a feature still evident in European conflict today. Soviet infantry machine gunner Timofei Dombrowski explained, ‘yes, it was our duty to defend the Motherland… there was also patriotism, and we were in a very serious position.’ His view as a soldier was uncomplicated. Russia had not started the war, and up until this moment his battles had been fought to stay alive. ‘We had to defend ourselves,’ he said. ‘We had not been the attackers, and we were permanently surrounded.’⁽²⁴⁾

Tank crewman Alexander Golikow’s last letter to his wife was found next to his corpse inside a knocked-out Russian tank on the Ostrov road.

‘I can see the road, green trees and colourful flowers in the garden through the holes in the tank.

‘Life after the war will be just as colourful as these flowers, and happy… I am not afraid to lay down my life for this… do not cry. You will likely not be able to visit my grave. Will there indeed be a grave?’⁽²⁵⁾

Nobody knows. The only certainty is that the letter was recovered by German soldiers searching the shell-scarred hulk.