Chapter 3 The Soviet frontier

‘It was the very picture of tranquillity.’

Soviet officer

‘There was no information…’

Within the Soviet hinterland the Russian Army was on the move. Lines and lines of tanks stood motionless on railway flatcars waiting in open fields near the frontier area. Some 4,216 wagons loaded with ammunition were threading their way towards the frontier network; 1,320 trainloads of lorries puffed and hissed their way towards border objectives. The LXIIIrd Rifle Corps, 200th and 48th Rifle Divisions were still in transit as were many other units in the middle of June. A huge consignment of maps alone filled 200 railway wagons in the Baltic, Western and Kiev Special Military Districts. Possibly the largest-scale train movement in Russian history was under way, much of it unnoticed by German reconnaissance, all of it moving westward.(1)

About 170 Soviet divisions were within operational distance of western Russia, from a total of perhaps 230–240 divisions under arms, but not all at war strength.(2) These belonged to the First Strategic Echelon; 56 were already deployed directly on the frontier and 114 further back. Ten Soviet armies were located within four Military Districts running north to south (see p.55). To the north was the Baltic Special Military District with the 26 divisions of Eighth and Eleventh Armies, which included six armoured divisions. Next in line south were Third, Tenth and Fourth Armies, belonging to the Western Special Military District. It had 36 divisions, of which 10 were armoured. The Kiev Special Military District with Fifth, Sixth, Twenty-sixth and Twelfth Armies had 56 divisions, of which 26 were armoured. To the south was the Odessa Special Military District with a further 14 divisions including two armoured. Behind these forces to the north lay the Leningrad Military District with the Fourteenth, Seventh and Twenty-third Armies. They faced a proposed new German front of 1,800km stretching from the Baltic to the Black Sea.

On Friday, 13 June 1941, Moscow radio broadcast an unusual and incongruous TASS report which was printed in the Communist Party organ the next day. It stated:

‘The rumours of Germany’s intentions to tear up the [Russo-German Non-Aggression] pact and to undertake an attack on the USSR are without any foundation [and are] clumsy propaganda by forces hostile to the USSR and Germany and interested in an extension of the war.’(3)

On the day this communiqué was issued, 183 Soviet divisions were in transit. Between 12 and 15 June orders were given to the western military districts to move all divisions stationed within their interiors closer to the state frontier. The entire First Strategic Echelon of 114 divisions began to concentrate directly in the border belt; an additional 69 divisions belonging to the Second Strategic Echelon began preparations and movement in secrecy and under cover towards the western frontier. Maj-Gen N. I. Biryukov, the commander of the 186th Rifle Division stationed in the Ural Military District, recalled:

‘On 13 June 1941 we received a directive of special importance from District Staff according to which the division must move to “a new camp”. The address of the new quarters was not communicated even to me, the division commander. Only when passing through Moscow did I learn that our division was to be concentrated in woods to the west of Idritsa.’(4)

All the divisions of the Ural Military District received similar orders. The first elements of the 112th Rifle Division began moving by rail. Then the 98th, 153rd and 186th Divisions started to move. All troop movements were conducted in secret. Similar redeployments simultaneously took place within all the internal military districts of the Soviet Union, inside the Kharkov, North Caucasian, Orel, Volga, Siberian and Archangel Military Districts. A total of eight complete armies was thereby formed.(5) Five immediately and secretly moved to the Ukraine and Belorussia. The operation took up the entire spare capacity of the national rail system to achieve it and even this was insufficient for a concurrent simultaneous move of all armies. Soon some 860,000 reservists were crammed inside railway wagons on the move. Colonel I. Kh. Bagramyan, the head of the Kiev Military District operational department, recalled the frantic activity required to take the XXIst Rifle Corps under command. Its one mountain and four rifle divisions numbered 48,000 men. They undertook a gruelling 16,000km rail journey from the Far East. ‘We had to provide quarters for almost a whole army in a short time,’ he said. ‘At the end of May echelon after echelon started to arrive.’ Resources were stretched to the uppermost.

The whole of the First Strategic Echelon of the Soviet Army was being secretly reinforced. Activity on the frontier zone was not concerned solely with digesting the arrival of these large reinforcing formations; much regrouping along frontier districts also took place. Under the guise of changing summer camps, units drew closer to the frontier. The 78th Rifle Division in the Kiev Special Military District ‘on the pretext of training exercises’ according to the district official history ‘was moved out to the state frontier’. Colonel Bagramyan recalls the instruction to move all five of his district’s rifle corps to the border on 15 June, stating ‘they took with them everything necessary for active operations.’ In the Odessa District, Maj-Gen M. V. Zakharov, the Ninth Army Chief of Staff, oversaw the movement of the 30th and 74th Rifle Divisions on the same day. They ‘assembled in woods to the east of Bel’tsy under the pretext of training exercises’.(6)

There is some controversy over possible Soviet offensive intentions in the summer of 1941. One view, based upon the massive rail deployment of troops under way, totally absorbing the rail network and to the possible detriment of the harvest, was that Stalin foresaw a full concentration of Soviet troops on the frontier by 10 July. Prior to the Russo-German Non-Aggression Pact, only divisions and corps had existed in Soviet frontier districts. Between August 1939 when it was signed and April 1941, the number of armies on the Soviet western border increased from none to 11. Three more arrived during May together with five airborne corps. Stalin could have assembled 23 armies and more than 20 independent corps if Hitler had not invaded on 22 June.(7)

Whatever the outcome of the debate, what is clear is that the Soviet build-up of forces on the western frontier by June 1941 was following a distinct and planned development. Third Soviet Army in the Grodno region, following reinforcement by the XXIst Soviet Rifle Corps, had an army boundary only 80km wide, with seven rifle divisions with an average divisional frontage of only 6.6km, when 10km might be considered normal. Apart from being the strongest unit compared to its sister formations along the western border, it had, unusually, a self-sufficient independent tank brigade in addition to its mechanised corps.

This army was clearly configured in an offensive stance. In essence Third, Tenth and Fourth Soviet Armies, numbering 36 divisions with 10 armoured, did present a possible offensive threat to East Prussia. Tenth Army’s air force units were located near the border, while all the logistic bases and camps of the entire Western Special Military District were located well forward. Ten million litres of petrol were cached forward in Brest-Litovsk alone,(8) directly on the new German/Russian demarcation line.

Part of this apparent Soviet offensive stance is explainable by the practicalities and difficulties of deploying Soviet forces from the interior to the west, compared to the German build-up, capable of more rapid achievement because of the denser road and rail network on their side of the border. Soviet military doctrine from the 1930s considered that future conflict would involve armies numbering millions of men. Offensives need not necessarily await the complete mobilisation of these millions. There should be troops on the frontier, able to enter enemy territory on the first day of war. These would disrupt enemy mobilisations while covering their own. Marshal of the Soviet Union M. W. Tukhachevski, instrumental in formulating this doctrine before his execution during the Stalinist purges, advocated ‘invasion armies’ stationed near the frontier. These forces should cross the border immediately following mobilisation. Mechanised formations ought to be deployed within 50–60km of the belt to enable this. Factors such as these were influencing the form-up and deployment of the First Strategic Echelon near the border, well under way by June 1941.

Stalin’s personal experience serving with a military district during the German advance into southern Russia in 1918 suggested to him that any future German blow would be delivered in the same region. A number of indicators supported such a premise, encouraging and probably accounting for much of the intense military activity between the Russian interior and the frontier in May–June 1941. It appeared unlikely to the Russians that Germany was sufficiently equipped at this time to attack the Soviet Union along her entire western border. Germany would be dependent upon and desire the economic resources of southern Russia. To seize them would require the capability to engage in deep operations maximising space, and penetrating with massive forces. Russia would need to block this move and attack elsewhere. A particularly favourable jump-off point might be the Bialystok salient in the Western Military District in Belorussia and possibly from Lithuania. Occupying such option areas in force would enable the pursuit of Russian realpolitik, applying the politics of pressure in future relations with Germany.(9)

As the Red Army deployed towards the western frontier in June 1941, it did not dig trenches and anti-tank ditches, neither were obstacles and barbed wire barricades erected. There was no perception of immediate threat. Divisions secreted themselves in woods near the frontier, exactly as the German units were doing on the opposite side. The crucial difference was that the massive force the Germans had assembled was ready for action. The Soviet force was not.

Even now German units positioned in woods across the frontier were striving to assess and gauge their future opponents. Officer observation posts were set up to observe the border area using scissor telescopes. Hauptmann Heinz-Georg Lemm, a company commander in the 12th Infantry Division, poised to advance with Army Group North, scanned Soviet positions near Gumbinnen in East Prussia. He commented:

‘We received only poor information on the enemy and terrain in the area of attack… we had been able to recognize that the Russians had high wooden guard-towers, and had been able to observe the relief of the sentries and their supply procedures.’

Trenches were visible 800–1,000m behind the border. Information was sketchy. Aerial photographs revealed some Russian field artillery. The German assessment was they could anticipate a delaying action from two Soviet regiments from prepared positions. ‘The maps we received,’ Lemm complained, ‘were poorly printed and provided hardly any information on altitudes, road conditions and forest vegetation.’(10) Likewise, Hauptmann H. J. von Hoffgarten, training in east Poland with a motorcycle infantry company from 11th Panzer Division, recalled that, even when training ceased on 19 June, ‘there was no information on the Russian Army or on the impending campaign’.(11)

Despite the apparent lack of information available to troops at the front, the Wehrmacht’s appreciation of Soviet strength facing it, two days before the offensive, was reasonably accurate in outline. Abteilung Fremde Heer Ost des Generalstabes des Heeres [the General Staff section analysing eastern theatre enemy forces] had identified a total of 154 rifle divisions, 25.5 cavalry, 10 tank and 37 motorised divisions in Europe. There were, in addition, seven or eight parachute brigades. In Asia it identified a further 25 rifle divisions, eight cavalry, and five tank or motorised brigades.(12) The location of staff headquarters and, in particular, mechanised units was generally known. The assessment, however, lacked depth, and rough assumptions concerning the potential effectiveness of German unit organisations versus Red Army formations were wide of the mark. Figures were broadly accurate, perceptions were not.

The Wehrmacht was to assault with a strength of 3.6 million men – just over three million German soldiers, the remainder Romanians, Finns and Hungarians. In support were 3,648 tanks and self-propelled guns, 7,146 artillery pieces and 2,510 aircraft. Opposing them in the Western Military District were 2.9 million Soviet soldiers with 14,000–15,000 tanks with at least 34,695 artillery pieces and 8,000–9,000 combat aircraft. Of the German Panzers, 1,700 were completely inferior to Russian tank technology. Only 1,880 German tanks within the armoured spearheads were capable of combating the mass of even the older types of the 14,000–15,000 Russian tanks they expected to meet. Soviet industrial potential to make good losses was also grossly underestimated by Wehrmacht planners. Innate superiority in qualitative, racial (ie belief in racial superiority), combat experience, military organisational and technological terms was deemed to be sufficient to deal the required crushing blow in a short campaign. So confident was the Wehrmacht that after September, based upon a reckoning of anticipated casualty levels, there would be no reserves of manpower available in October.(13) Serious consideration of possible withdrawals or the likelihood of a winter campaign was not contemplated or assessed. The Wehrmacht was about to attack its most heavily armed opponent to date with fewer misgivings than when it had launched its western offensive, then with some trepidation.

Strength ratios on the eve of ‘Barbarossa’ on 21 June 1941, showing the direction of likely points of main effort by both sides. Two Army Groups, North and Centre, were physically separated from Army Group South by the Pripet Marshes. The Russian stance of ‘Invasion Armies’ excercised a degree of realpolitik against Romania, which had allied itself to the Axis. This was the finest and technically most proficient force Germany had ever committed to battle. Blitzkrieg was to be tested against its most determined and best-equipped opponent to date.

Lack of knowledge was feeding a false bravado. In the 20th Panzer Division sector it was remarked that, contrary to the plethora of information available prior to the western campaign, ‘not once were briefings received over troop strengths, to say nothing of enemy organisation tables or their equipment’. All that was issued were out of date reports or ‘rough estimates’. Observation of forward Soviet positions revealed sentries stripped to the waist who had laid down their weapons and taken off boots and socks. ‘This was taken as an indication of slack discipline within the Red Army.’(14)

General Heinz Guderian’s Panzergruppe waited either side of the Soviet fortress of Brest-Litovsk on the River Bug. Following a visit to his forward units on 20 and 21 June, Guderian concluded:

‘Detailed study of the behaviour of the Russians convinced me that they knew nothing of our intentions. We had observation of the courtyard of the Brest-Litovsk citadel and could see them drilling by platoons to the music of a military band. The strongpoints along their bank of the Bug were unoccupied. They had made scarcely any noticeable progress in strengthening their fortified positions during the past few weeks. So the prospects of our attack achieving surprise were good and the question therefore arose whether the one-hour artillery preparation which had been planned was now necessary after all.’(15)

The General decided not to cancel it.

Heinrich Eikmeier’s artillery unit situated next to the River Bug continued to monitor the far bank. They were in position to observe the rail traffic that crossed the Bug to the west of the Brest-Litovsk citadel. Flowing across this bridge was much of the economic rail traffic agreed within one of the protocols of the Russo-German Non-Aggression Pact. ‘On 21 June,’ Eikmeier recalls, ‘we were told that the next morning the war with the Soviet Union would go ahead.’ But to their amazement they observed:

‘Despite this, at six o’clock a goods train loaded with either wheat or coal passed over the Bug river to Russia. We could not understand the point of delivering up these locomotive crews as victims. Actually we were somewhat uncertain over whether it was right or wrong. Was it going to be war or not?’(16)

Nothing had changed. Within a few hours the war would begin.

‘We’ve never had such a situation… Will there be any instructions?’

Across the river in Brest, life went on much as before. It was a stiflingly hot summer. Colonel Il’ya Grigoryevich Starinov, a mine specialist and a military engineer department head, arrived in Brest on 19 June. He was due to attend manoeuvres with the troops of the Soviet Western Border District. Starinov saw that:

‘The streets were blossoming with young girls and women in bright dresses. Ice-cream vendors screeched at passers by. “It’s going to be very hot here!” At a trolley stop on Mayakovsky Square, a young fellow dressed in an Apache shirt was trying to pick up a leggy girl, but she had just turned up her sweaty nose and kept a haughty silence. A trolley sailed majestically along past beautifully decorated windows, flower stalls, and carefree crowds on the evening sidewalks… ’(1)

Following famine, forced collectivisation and civil war, there had been peace in Russia for a few years. Some rebuilding was taking place. In a closed totalitarian society, the population had no idea of the momentous events about to unfold. An increase of military strength in border areas had simply resulted in the appearance of more uniformed soldiers. This was not so unusual. There were now no food shortages and in Minsk the shops were full. Milk and bread were plentiful. These were the ‘good times’ that some were to later recall. Natalie Shirowa recalled the prevailing atmosphere. People were relaxed and enjoying the weather:

‘I remember the hot summer. We lived in wooden houses then, today they are of stone. But in those days we had two-storey houses, and when the weather was so hot, the people simply went out into the open. They fetched their mattresses and feather beds with them and slept under the sky. There was no rowdyism, people lived together then with some understanding.’

Clothing was even more fashionable in Minsk than it is now. There were fashion shows, cinemas and the shops were full. Natalie Shirowa emphasised, looking back:

‘I must say that there was a great variety of things to buy in the shops. I remember I had a pair of leather boots that cost 36 roubles. My father earned 700 roubles then, so all in all we felt we led comfortable lives.’

Normal life continued. Football matches featured ‘Locomotive’ versus ‘Spartakist’ Minsk. There were sports parades. A degree of contentment was being felt in those areas beginning to create wealth again. The Soviets were proud of the establishment of the new border in Poland, which had recovered for Russia ground lost in 1918. Confidence that had faltered during the war with Finland was returning.(2)

Along the Soviet western border, however, there was a paradoxical sense of tension at odds with the heat wave that had engulfed the region by 20 June. Engineer Colonel Starinov in Brest-Litovsk observed:

‘It was another marvellous sunny morning. The sun shone down on the heaps of coal along the railway track and on the stacks of glistening new rails. It was the very picture of tranquillity.’

Starinov, on exercise, had already heard reports ‘about German spies and aircraft violating our borders’. The TASS announcement of 14 June, castigating such rumours as ‘propaganda’ inspired by those hostile to the Soviet Union, had contributed to a lessening of tension but still did not account for the disturbing activity apparent on the other side of the River Bug. Starinov was informed by the Fourth Army Engineer Chief, Colonel A. I. Proshlyakov, that the Germans had been bringing up equipment to the western side of the River Bug all through June. Camouflage screens had been erected in front of the open sectors in their lines and observation towers. An artillery colonel told him that the TASS announcement had not changed the situation on the German side of the border, ‘but our troops had begun to relax’. Nodding toward soldiers carrying suitcases along the Brest railway station platform, he remarked ironically:

‘Not so long ago these guys were sleeping with their boots on, and now they’re getting ready to go off on leave! Why? The TASS announcement!’(3)

Soviet military archives clearly demonstrate that the commanders of the respective military districts bordering the frontier were aware of the German build-up. Reports from troops stationed on the border were giving clear indications of an impending German attack. Although mobilisations of interior districts were producing a partial deployment toward the western frontier, no concrete measures were ordered by the Soviet General Staff to raise readiness postures on the border itself. Indeed, where measures were taken on the initiative of individual staffs, they were ordered to be reversed.(4)

The background to this bizarre response is explained by Dimitrij Wolkogonow, then serving as a lieutenant, but later to become a general and historian. Stalin thought the war would occur much later than was to be the case. In discussion with his closest advisors 20 days previously he announced that ‘evaluation of intelligence suggests we cannot avoid war. It will probably begin early next year.’ Soviet perception, Wolkogonow feels, was moulded by Stalin’s view.

‘Stalin was like God on earth. He alone said, “the war will not happen now.” It was his isolated belief, and he wanted to believe it. And what is particularly important is that he was totally clear in his own mind that the Red Army was unprepared for war.’

Some 85% of Soviet officers serving in the Western Military District had only been in their appointment for a year; a direct consequence of the bloody purges of 1937–38 which had all but obliterated the officer corps. Stalin’s view prevailed. Nobody would dare question it. Wolkogonow commented:

‘It is likely that Stalin’s deception over the outbreak of war was directly related to the earlier suppression of information he did not want to hear. What should not happen was therefore unlikely to occur.’(5)

Logical developments, however, continued their inexorable course. On 20 June Kuznetsov, the commander of the Third Army in the Western Special Military District opposite the German Army Group Centre, reported the Germans had cleared the barbed wire on their side of the frontier north-east of Augustovy, near one of the border crossings. The forested area of the Suwalki region had been particularly tense, suited as it was for the passage of agents moving in both directions. German reconnaissance had been active in this area, producing detailed overviews of tracks, the road network, the state of bridges, Soviet defence positions and field landing strips for aircraft. The removal of the wire was clearly an indication of impending attack.

Similar suspicious activity had been identified on the border of the Kiev Military District. Nikolai Kirillovich Popel, the Chief Political Officer of the VIIIth Mechanised Corps, attending the usual Saturday evening entertainment in the Red Army Garrison House, was not enjoying the party. He was totally preoccupied with distracting and disturbing developments. ‘What’s happening now on the opposite bank of the San river?’ he constantly asked himself.

‘No, it wasn’t a premonition. How many times afterwards did I hear of that night “my heart told me” or “my mind felt it”? Neither my heart nor my mind told me anything. It was just that I – like many of the senior officers in the frontier formations – knew more facts than I could explain.’

The commander of the Sixth Army, Lt-Gen Muzychenko, decided to split up a running artillery competition. Only one regiment was allowed on the range at the same time. Infantry were also surreptitiously moved from barracks to fortified areas. The VIIIth Mechanised Corps was placed on high alert at dawn on 22 June by the Twenty-sixth Army commander, Lt-Gen Kostenko. The corps commander, Lt-Gen D. I. Ryabishev, was informed to ‘get ready and wait for orders’. He confided to Popov, his political officer, ‘I don’t know what this means, but anyway I’ve given the order to stand to, and commanded the units to go out to their areas.’ Staff officers alerted by the call-out appeared at headquarters to man their desks. They carried ‘alarm-cases’, so called by families, holding two changes of underwear, shaving gear and a small stock of food; the minimum necessary to go off to war without returning home. Popov noticed:

‘The staff officers were grumbling. Really, what can be more unpleasant than an alarm on the eve of Sunday. The day is spoiled, the plans which the family has been making all week are broken. How could they not grumble!’

Popov was concerned. ‘Our corps was not ready to fight.’ They were in the process of regrouping. Newer KV and T-34 tanks were still arriving to replace obsolete T-26, T-28 and T-35 tanks. Some had arrived that week. The new arrivals lacked repair equipments and spare parts. ‘How could our minds reconcile themselves to beginning a war in such unfavourable conditions?’ Popov opined.(6)

Back in Brest, the weather conditions were idyllic. Colonel Starinov declared:

‘On the warm evening of 21 June 1941, the staff officers of the Fourth Army, which was covering the approaches to Brest, were following a typical Saturday routine.’

Starinov’s exercise had been cancelled, so ‘we wandered around the picturesque town for a long time’. Georgij Karbuk, also in Brest that night, described how:

‘On Saturday, the day before the war, we met with friends in the park. It was about ten or ten-thirty in the evening. Many people were in the park. In fact, it was the only place where you could get together. Orchestras and brass bands played, people danced, and we were happy. It was lovely and pleasant.’

But lurking beneath this carnival atmosphere ‘was a certain tension within the town’. Like the anxiety prevalent along the frontier, a paradoxical feeling of pending unpleasantness was incongruously juxtaposed with glorious weather. Karbuk noticed as the evening wore on that:

‘Groups of men in uniform began to surface. They all seemed alike, and attentive. They entered the park. We stayed at the entrance, and everything carried on with the bands playing. Just as we were leaving the park, within five to ten minutes, the electric lights suddenly went out. That had never happened before. We continued on further to Pushkin street, about half a kilometre away, and the lights went out there, too. Only a few lights remained now in the street, where at the cross roads there were a few groups. Later we discovered this had been caused by infiltrating German saboteurs.’(7)

Nothing further happened. Karbuk returned home and went to sleep. Meanwhile, to the north in the Third Army area there was a sudden and wild outbreak of shooting in the darkness. Tension, which had already been high in this forested border region, now manifested itself in gunfire, as German ‘Brandenburger’ soldiers from ZbV 800 dressed in Russian uniforms clashed with Soviet outposts they were attempting to infiltrate.(8)

Colonel Nikolai Yeryomin, a staff officer in the 41st Rifle Division, was awoken at 02.00 hours on Sunday, 22 June. He was concerned as he hurried from his small house in the camp. ‘Ever since I had been stationed here, near Lvov,’ he declared, ‘this was the first time the frontier guards had called me out at night.’ The summons appeared serious. Picking up the telephone, he heard a worried voice:

‘Comrade Colonel, this is the commandant of the Lyubycha-Krulevkaya sector speaking. All along the state boundary the posts of my sector are reporting unusual behaviour by the Germans. Troops and armour movement can be heard on their side. Our listening posts have discovered that infantry has been massing since dusk. We’ve never had such a situation and I decided to report to you. Will there be any instructions?’(9)

At the same time telephone lines between the staff of the Fourth Army and the Western Special Military District, and to some divisions, were reported cut. Despatch riders were sent out until contact was re-established at 03.30 hours.(10)

Ninety minutes before, the General Staff of the Red Army released Directive Number 1, which raised the defence posture of the western military districts. It tersely announced:

‘During 22. and 23.6.1941 a surprise attack by the Germans on the fronts of the Leningrad Military District, the Baltic, Western, Kiev and Odessa Special Military Districts is possible. Attack could be preceded by provocative actions.’

Troops were instructed not to react to provocations, which would enormously complicate the issue’. Nevertheless, all the districts were placed on the highest alert ‘in order to meet an eventual surprise attack from the Germans or their Allies’. Marshal Timoshenko, the People’s Commissar for Defence, the head of the Red Army, signed the order. During the night gun positions on the border were ordered to be camouflaged, and aircraft dispersed and also hidden before dawn. Troops were to occupy battle positions, disperse and camouflage themselves. Air defences were alerted in border areas, but not allowed to mobilise additional conscript soldiers. ‘Black-out’ measures were introduced at key objectives of military importance and in the cities. Timoshenko ended by stating: ‘no further measures are to be taken without special directives.’

The message was telegraphed throughout the night. It reached the Kiev Special Military District at 02.30 hours on 22 June. The commander of the Western Military District received a copy at about 03.30 hours. Relayed onward to army staffs, Fourth Army HQ in Kobrin near Brest was contacted at 04.15 hours.(11)

H-hour for the German assault was set for 03.15 hours.

Colonel Nikolai Yeryomin with the 41st Rifle Division near Lvov heard:

‘The hollow rumble of many aircraft engines, swelling and then dying down again, vibrated over the camp, approaching from the west and sinking in the east. There was no doubt that they were warplanes, and heavy bombers at that…’

Disturbed, Yeryomin sought to pass on this worrying information. ‘For some inexplicable reason,’ he related, ‘I could not contact headquarters.’ A pale dawn was already appearing in the east; Sunday, 22 June, the longest day of the year. Suddenly the teletape began to tick. ‘I reported the flight of the aircraft and the behaviour of the Germans on the frontier,’ he said. Back came the disappointing if not entirely unexpected response: ‘Do not fire. Carry on with your observations. I shall at once report to the Chief of Staff. Wait for instructions.’

What was he to do now? The field telephone rang. It was a call from the frontier sector. An urgent metallic voice announced:

‘Comrade Colonel, the Germans have opened fire along the entire front of my sector. They have crossed the state boundary. My posts are in action.’

It was four o’clock in the morning. Yeryomin recalled: ‘breaking the stillness, the reverberations of the first salvoes of gunfire reached us from the frontier’.(12)

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