War Without Garlands: Operation Barbarossa 1941-1942

The ‘smooth’ period… The Panzers

Generalfeldmarschall von Bock, the commander of Army Group Centre, felt exasperated as he turned his two Panzergruppen – 2 and 3 – inwards to complete the first major encirclement of the Russian campaign after being denied the greater prize at Smolensk. It was, nevertheless, a stunning achievement. ‘I was still so annoyed by the order to close the pocket prematurely’ wrote von Bock in his diary, that when visited by Generalfeldmarschall von Brauchitsch, the Commander-in-Chief, his response to congratulations was a gruff ‘I doubt there’s anything left inside now!’⁽¹⁾ The 250–300km Panzer advance beginning to curl around the trapped Soviet forces was about to net some 27 Russian divisions.

Major Johann Graf von Kielmansegg, a Panzer commander with the 6th Division, later explained that the nature of the fighting on the ground belied the impressive achievements trumpeted to the world’s press. It was no walk-over. The Soviet border defences ‘were certainly surprised’, he said, ‘but not overrun’.⁽²⁾ Leutnant Helmut Ritgen, serving in the same division, concurred.

The ‘smooth’ period of the Panzer advance von Kielmansegg described ‘lay between two parts’:

The ‘smooth’ period was testimony to German tactical superiority, conferred by the collective experience of the previous successful campaigns. ‘In three days I have slept for two hours and one attack has followed the other,’ wrote war correspondent Arthur Grimm, advancing with elements of Panzergruppe 1 under von Kleist with Army Group South.

An unpleasant surprise for the supremely confident Panzer troops was the quality of some of the Soviet equipments they soon faced.

On the second day of the campaign, in the 6th Panzer Division sector, 12 German supply trucks were knocked out, one after the other, by a solitary unidentified Soviet heavy tank. The vehicle sat astride the road south of the River Dubysa near Rossieny. Further beyond, two German combat teams had already established bridgeheads on the other side of the river. They were about to be engaged in the first major tank battle of the eastern campaign. Their urgent resupply requirements had already been destroyed. Rutted muddy approaches and a nearby forest infested with bands of stay-behind Russian infantry negated any option to bypass. The Russian tank had to be eliminated. A battery of medium 50mm German antitank guns was sent forward to force the route.

The guns were skilfully manhandled by their crews through close terrain up to within 600m of their intended target. Three red-hot tracer-based shells spat out at 823m/sec, smacking into the tank with rapid and resounding ‘plunks’ one after the other. At first there was cheering but the crews became concerned as these and another five rounds spun majestically into the air as they ricocheted off the armour of the unknown tank type. Its turret came to life and remorselessly traversed in their direction. Within minutes the entire battery was silenced by a lethal succession of 76mm HE shells that tore into them. Casualties were heavy.

Meanwhile a well-camouflaged 88mm Flak gun carefully crept forward, slowly towed by its half-track tractor, winding its way among cover provided by the 12 burnt-out German trucks strewn about the road. It got to within 900m of the Soviet tank before a further 76mm round spat out, spinning the gun into a roadside ditch. The crew, caught in the act of manhandling the trails into position, were mown down by a swathe of coaxial machine gun fire. Every shell fired by the Russian tank appeared to be a strike. Nothing moved until nightfall when, under the cover of darkness, it was safe enough to recover the dead and wounded and salvage some of the knocked-out equipments.

An inconclusive raid was mounted that night by assault engineers who managed to attach two demolition charges onto this still, as yet, unidentified tank type. Both charges exploded, but retaliatory turret fire confirmed the tank was still in action. Three attacks had failed. Dive-bomber support was requested but not available. A fourth attack plan was developed involving a further 88mm Flak gun, supported this time by light Panzers which were to feint and provide covering fire in a co-ordinated daylight operation.

Panzers, utilising tree cover, skirmished forward and began to engage the solitary tank from three directions. This confused the Russian tank which, in attempting to duel with these fast-moving and fleeting targets, was struck in the rear by the newly positioned 88mm Flak gun. Three rounds bore into the hull at over 1,000m/sec. The turret traversed rearward and stopped. There was no sign of an explosion or fire so a further four rounds smashed remorselessly into the apparently helpless target. Spent ricochets spun white-hot to the ground followed by the metallic signatures of direct impacts. Unexpectedly the Soviet gun barrel abruptly jerked skyward. With the engagement over at last, the nearest German troops moved forward to inspect their victim.

Excited and chattering they clambered aboard the armoured colossus. They had never seen such a tank before. Suddenly the turret began to rotate again and the soldiers frantically scattered. Two engineers had the presence of mind to drop two stick grenades into the interior of the tank, through one of the holes pierced by the shot at the base of the turret. Muffled explosions followed and the turret hatch clattered open with an exhalation of smoke. Peering inside the assault engineers could just make out the mutilated remains of the crew. This single tank had blocked forward-replenishment to the 6th Panzer Division vanguard for 48 hours. Only two 88mm shells actually penetrated the armour; five others had gouged deep dents. Eight carbonised blue marks were the only indication of 50mm gun impacts. There was no trace at all of the supporting Panzer strikes, many of which had clearly been seen to hit.

The nature of the enemy armoured threat had irretrievably altered. General Halder wrote in his diary that night:

This was the KV-1 (Klim Voroshilov) which mounted a 76.2mm gun. Its sister variant, the KV-2, although more unwieldy, did have a 15cm gun. In 1940, 243 of the former and 115 T-34 tanks had been produced, rising to 582 and 1,200 respectively by 1941.⁽⁷⁾The Russian-German tank balance was grossly distorted to the Soviet advantage in both quality and quantity. There were 18,782 various Russian tank types versus 3,648 German in 1941.⁽⁸⁾ German Panzers in weight, main armament, operating distances and speed were generally inferior to Russian tanks.

^{The prelude to a Blitzkrieg advance was the shattering of the enemy front at the main German point of effort, preceded by a joint artillery and air bombardment with an infantry break-in battle. The Panzers were then passed through to strike deep into the enemy rear, intimately supported by tactical air sorties and motorised artillery to overrun headquarters and break up logistic support areas. These armoured units moving at best speed would form pincer ‘arms’ which would then encircle and cut off retreating Russian forces, penning them into pockets to be subdued later by following marching foot infantry.}

The appearance of the 34-ton T-34 caused much consternation to the German Panzerwaffe. Developed in relative secrecy six years before, its 76mm gun was the largest tank armament (apart from the 15cm KV-2) then mounted. Its 60% sloping armour was revolutionary in terms of the increased armoured protection it offered against flat trajectory anti-tank shells, which often simply ricocheted off. Josef Deck, a German artilleryman with Regiment 71 in the central sector, complained that the 37mm standard antitank fire ‘bounced off them like peas’.⁽⁹⁾ Adapting the American Christie suspension system, the T-34, with extra-wide tracks and a powerful lightweight diesel engine, possessed an enormous relative power-to-weight ratio, conferring superior mobility on the Russian vehicles. It was to prove the outstanding tank design of the war, and was a formidable adversary, even in the hands of a novice. Alexander Fadin, a T-34 commander, remarked:

The vast majority of Soviet tanks, some three-quarters, were the T-26 series (approximately 12,000) while BT-2s, 5s and 7s made up a further 5,000. The remainder consisted of 1,200 T-34s and 582 heavier KV-1s and KV-2s. As a consequence 17,000 Soviet tanks were on an equal fighting footing or inferior to 979 PzKpfwIIIs and 444 PzKpfwIVs and superior to 743 PzKpfwIIs and 651 PzKpfw38(t)s, based on a captured Czech chassis. Other generally technically inferior or command variants made up the German difference with the notable exception of 250 Sturmgeschütz IIIs assault guns made up of 75mm guns on a PzKpfwIII chassis – that operated in independent units. They were heavily armoured, with a low hard-to-target profile; they proved lethal Russian tank killers, normally employed in close support of infantry. German armoured superiority stemmed not from technology but from the combat edge conferred by their trained crews. German crews were larger: five within the PzKpfwIII and IV and even four inside the small PzKpfw38(t). Russian crews numbered four in heavy tank prototypes or less. Panzers operated within a comprehensive radio net whereas the Russians had few radios and hardly any below battalion level. Control was executed using signal flags. Responsiveness in rapidly changing circumstances was therefore cumbersome.

German Panzer crews were well versed in battle drills developed over several recent campaigns and many of their junior commanders had combat experience. Russian tank crews, by contrast, tended laboriously to follow crest lines to aid visibility and control, presenting themselves as easy targets. The Soviet tank arm caught unprepared in the middle of reorganisations and major operational redeployments to frontier areas was presented with conflicting tactical and command dilemmas. Many of the older Russian tanks, estimated at 29%, required total overhaul on the eve of the invasion and 44% were due routine servicing.⁽¹¹⁾ A key factor further bedevilling Soviet armour was the lack of air parity. Russian armoured columns were consistently and destructively harassed by the Luftwaffe while denied the accurate air intelligence freely available to their Panzer adversaries.

German tank crews were clearly shocked by the appearance of heavier and obviously superior Russian tanks. It did not square with the comfortable Untermensch (sub-human) perception of the Russians, fostered by overrunning squalid worker settlements early in the campaign. German cinema newsreels often poked fun at so-called ‘paradises for Soviet workers’, assuming German technological superiority was unassailable. Broadcasts in the Reich proclaimed German tank rounds ‘not only penetrated once, but came out the other side of Russian tanks as well’.⁽¹²⁾ Leutnant Helmut Ritgen of the 6th Panzer Division admitted after clashes with these previously unknown tank types that:

German crews entered Russia convinced of their innate technological and tactical superiority, proven in former campaigns. Tank gunner Karl Fuchs, crewing the relatively inferior PzKpfw38(t) with the 7th Panzer Division in the central sector, wrote to his wife at the end of June:

Curizio Malaparte, an Italian war correspondent advancing with a German armoured column in Bessarabia, described a group of Germans examining a knocked-out Soviet heavy tank four days later.

Karl Fuchs declared more candidly to his wife, we have fought in battle many days now and ‘we have defeated the enemy wherever we have encountered him.’⁽¹⁶⁾ Victory jargon even became a feature of Wehrmacht slang. The BT-7 light Soviet tank was knocked out in such numbers it was referred to as the ‘Mickey Mouse’. This was because the silhouette of both crew hatches, invariably left open on top of abandoned tank hulks, resembled the distinctive mouse ears of the famous Walt Disney cartoon figure.

Frontier tank battles

War correspondent Arthur Grimm rode with the 11th Panzer Division, part of Army Group South, toward the first major tank battle in the eastern campaign within 24 hours of the invasion. Columns of half-track SdKfz251 armoured personnel carriers festooned with infantry churned up dust as they lurched along heavily rutted village roads, ‘when the reconnaissance group from our unit radioed that some 120 Soviet tanks had moved up in front of the village of Radciekow’. Engines whined and hummed into life as Grimm described ‘their forward advance into the dawn twilight’. Shortly before 05.00 hours ‘we drove through high cornfields as the early morning fog began to clear’. PzKpfwIIIs and IVs drove by, dark silhouettes floating across the surface of a sea of corn. They distinguished groups of Soviet tanks to their right which ‘included the heaviest and most modern tanks in the world’.

On the other side of the dispersed village houses Grimm observed the dark tell-tale dots that were Soviet tanks moving about. At 05.20 hours the German assault drove into the left flank of these indistinguishable dots and, with a flash, a tall globule of black smoke rose slowly into the air and began to form into a dark ominous mushroom shape. The boom of the report carried across the intervening distance as the first Soviet tank erupted with a shot that ‘penetrated its ammunition compartment’. The first tanks encountered were B-26 variants. Grimm, following closely behind the German tank advance, took photographs of scenes of blazing destruction around him. Dirty columns of smoke began to hang lazily in the air as tank after tank was hit.

‘20-rounds were required to bring this heavy tank to a standstill’, commented Grimm captioning a photograph which he took passing a blazing T-34 tank. Its gun was traversed rearward, to enable the driver to escape from his forward hatch. ‘But this only lasted a few seconds before the remaining ammunition exploded in a blinding flash’. Grimm’s reportage for Signal,⁽¹⁾ the German pictorial propaganda magazine, glossed over the desperate nature of the engagement as German tank gunners realised they were up against surprisingly heavy and unknown tank types. Leutnant Ritgen’s observations of the 6th Division’s encounter with KVs at Rossieny three days later were more honest:

Despite the quality of the Russian tanks, tactical surprise and superior German battle drills began to tell. Alexander Fadin, a Soviet T-34 tank commander, described the spectrum of emotion a tank crewman would feel in such a battle:

Spent shell cases clatter to the floor of the turret and begin rattling around, as with each concussion and recoil of the gun the fighting compartment fills with fresh cordite fumes. Fadin continued:

German tank crews were coldly and professionally detached. Leutnant Ritgen surmised, ‘the Soviet tank crews had no time to familiarise themselves with their tank guns or zero them in,’ so soon after the invasion, ‘since their fire was very inaccurate… Furthermore, the Soviets were poorly led.’ Arthur Grimm observed that by midday on 23 June ‘a dusty sea of black smoke from red and yellow flames had built up’. German reinforcements that had been brought up in support ‘hardly needed to get into the fight and remained merely as spectators’. Leutnant Ritgen said the 6th Panzer Division’s early frontier battles were not without crisis.

German tactical ingenuity began to level the odds. ‘Despite their thick skin,’ Ritgen explained, ‘we succeeded in destroying some by concentrating fire on one tank after the other. “Aim at the hatches and openings!” we ordered.’

Grimm, the war correspondent, observed by 16.00 hours that afternoon ‘the black smoke over the battlefield became ever thicker’. PzKpfwIV tanks had already ceased firing because they were being resupplied with ammunition. Panzer tactics varied according to crew initiative. ‘Some enemy tanks were set on fire and others blinded,’ Ritgen pointed out. ‘If they turned around we found it was possible to knock them out from the rear.’ Such lessons were being learned throughout the new Russian theatre.

Hauptmann Eduard Lingenhahl serving with Panzer Regiment 15 explained the heavy PzKpfwIV companies ‘found mainly by chance’ that quarter-second delayed action HE shells fired into the back of T-34 tanks either set the fuel or engine on fire, as blazing fuel poured through the air induction grating.⁽⁴⁾ By 21.00 hours the battle was over. The 11th Panzer Division destroyed 46 tanks on the heights south-west of Radciekow village alone. Contrary to the later propaganda coverage there was little complacency. Three days later Major Kielmansegg spoke to his 6th Division commander about the first encounter with heavy Soviet tanks at Rossieny. ‘Herr General,’ he said, ‘this is a totally different war from that we have experienced with Poland or France.’ It had been ‘a hard battle with hard soldiers’ and a number of officers had been badly shaken. ‘Early panic,’ Kielmansegg declared, ‘was mastered finally only by the attitude and discipline of the officers.’ He stated soberly:

The only comfort he could derive was a report that one of the ‘monster tanks’ he had seen had been immobilised by a Leutnant placing a mine under its track.⁽⁵⁾ Arthur Grimm’s Signal report, not unexpectedly, ended on a high note.

Hard fighting near the frontier was followed by a relatively ‘smooth’ period of spectacular Panzer advances towards Minsk and later Smolensk. The pattern of these days, although less eventful, remained gruelling. Hyazinth Graf von Strachwitz – an Ober-leutnant with Panzer Regiment 15 – declared, ‘we hardly had any sleep because we drove through both day and night.’⁽⁷⁾ The enemy was given time neither to rest nor regain the initiative. Anotoli Kruzhin, a Red Army captain facing the German onslaught opposite Army Group North, said:

On the outskirts of Lvov, a similar picture was evident in the Russian 32nd Tank Division sector. Stephan Matysh, the artillery commander, had seen that superior T-34 and KV tanks had exacted many casualties. Russian tank crews were well aware of their superior armour, ‘sometimes even ramming [German] tanks’, but cumulative pressure was beginning to tell.

Colonel Sandalov, the Soviet Fourth Army Chief of Staff, had established the Army HQ in a forest grove east of Siniavka. With no radio communications whatsoever, he was reliant on messenger traffic alone. He reported the outcome of consistent and crushing blows inflicted on his forces by Guderian’s Panzergruppe 2 and Fourth German Army following its central route. Sandalov’s 6th and 42nd Rifle Divisions had already withdrawn eastwards with ‘remnants [which] do not have combat capability’. The 55th Rifle Division, having unloaded from motor transport, was quickly pushed from its rapidly established defence line, ‘unable to withstand an attack of enemy infantry with motor-mechanised units and strong aviation preparation’. No word had been heard of the 49th Rifle Division since the invasion. The XIVth Mechanised Corps, ‘dynamically defending and going over to counter-attacks several times, suffered large losses in material and personnel’, and by 25 June ‘no longer had combat capability’. Paralysis afflicted the Soviet defence:

^{A diagramatic representation of the Panzer advance. The vanguard – a light mixed force of Panzers and motorised infantry – would seek the line of least resistance. Once battle was joined, this lead element would ‘fix’ the objective while following heavier elements would manoeuvre, bypass, destroy or surround enemy resistance, relying upon later echelons to subjugate stay-behind elements. Fighting was generally in the form of meeting engagements shown top right) whereby junior commanders would exercise iniative to retain the tactical and operational momentum of the advance.}

Konstantin Simonov, on the Minsk highway under German air attack, remembered a Soviet soldier shell-shocked by the bombing fleeing down the road shrieking: ‘Run! The Germans have surrounded us! We’re finished!’ A Soviet officer called out, ‘Shoot him, shoot that panic-monger!’ Shots began to ring out as the man whose ‘eyes seemed to be crawling out of their sockets’ fled.

^{Village clearance would occur once Panzer forces had isolated the settlements. Panzer-grenadier infantry would be committed with tank fire support shooting them in from the flanks, at an acute angle to advancing troops. Artillery and Luftwaffe air support might be employed to precede the attack, prevent the insertion of Russian reinforcements and harrass the eventual retreat. Achieving tactical momentum was of paramount importance.}

^Legend

^{1. Panzers and infantry split. Infantry lead attack on village.}

^{2. Infantry dismount.}

^{3. Panzers bypass and give fire support.}

^{4. Panzer and anti-tank gun in direct fire support.}

^{5. Infantry fight through village with man-handled anti-tank gun support.}

^{6. Surviving Russians surrender or flee.}

^{7. Grenadiers remount and with Panzers continue the advance.}

A collapse appeared imminent.

Panzer vanguard

A typical vanguard for a Panzer division in open terrain would consist of a mixed battalion-strength force of light armour and motorcycle-borne infantry. These were the ‘eyes and ears’ of following units (see diagram) which might include a battalion or regiment of Panzers, supported by motorised infantry at similar strength, riding on lorries or Panzergrenadiers in armoured half-track open-compartment APCs (armoured personnel carriers). Bringing up the rear would be a battalion – or even up to a regiment – of motorised towed-artillery, to provide close fire support. Light Panzer armoured cars or tracked vehicles (PzKpfwIs or IIs) would drive either side of parallel moving columns, forming a protective screen to the flank. Such a lead element in total was termed a Voraus-abteilung or vanguard combat team. It might vary in size from a battalion to a regiment plus.

Depending on terrain going’, units would move in dust-shrouded columns, several kilometres long. Leading reconnaissance elements were often tactically dispersed on a broad front, but many follow-on units simply drove at best speed, spaced at regular intervals. Three columns might advance in parallel if sufficient routes were available. Often they were not. Map-reading in choking dust-covered and packed columns was difficult. Crewmen would sleep fitfully wherever they could, as they bumped and lurched along in vehicles. These Panzer Keile (armoured spearhead-wedges) might operate from roads or spread out in tactical formation if terrain and ground conditions allowed. In woodand or ‘close country’ (bushes and scrub), the infantry would lead, clearing defiles, choke points or woodland, with tanks overlooking, prepared to give fire support. Open steppe-like terrain would see Panzers leading. War correspondent Arthur Grimm, following such a Vorausabteilung at the end of June, gave an atmospheric description of his observed axis of advance:

Panzer crewmen have a different battle perspective compared to infantry on their feet. Scenery, as a consequence of greater mobility, changes quickly and more often. Maps are read from a different vista in terms of time, distance and scale. Panzers quickly crossed maps. Infantrymen saw each horizon approaching through a veil of sweat and exhaustion. Following armoured formations made infantry feel more secure – often a false assumption, but it did mean that friendly forces were known to be ahead. A new horizon for the tank soldier meant an unknown and, very likely, a threatening situation. His was an impartial war, fought at distance. Technology separated him from direct enemy contact: he normally fought with stand-off weapon systems at great range. When direct fighting did occur, it was all the more emotive for its suddenness and intensity. Grimm stated:

It was the accompanying supporting troops who closed with the enemy and saw him in the flesh. Anti-tank gunner Helmut Pole recalled the deep impression early Soviet resistance had upon him and his comrades.

Little can be seen from the claustrophobic confines of a tank closed down for battle. Fighting was conducted peering through letter-box size – or smaller – vision blocks in a hot, restricted and crowded fighting compartment with barely room to move. Each report from the main armament or the chattering metallic burst of turret machine gun fire would deafen the crew and release noxious fumes into the cramped space. Tension inside would be high, magnified throughout by a prickling sense of vulnerability to incoming anti-tank round strikes, anticipated at any time. These projectiles were easily seen flying about the battlefield as white-hot slugs, with the potential to screech through a fighting compartment and obliterate all in its path. The kinetic energy produced by the strike set off ammunition fires, searing the fighting compartment in a momentary flash, followed by an explosive pressure wave blasting outward through turret hatches, openings or lifting the entire turret into the air. An external strike by a high-explosive (HE) warhead would break off a metal ‘scab’ inside; propelled by the shock of the explosion, this would ricochet around the cramped interior of the tank. The results were horrific. Flesh seared by the initial combustible flash was then lacerated by jagged white-hot shrapnel, which in turn set off multiple secondary explosions.

Tank crewmen were muffled to some extent from battle noises outside the turret, because the screams were dulled by the noise and vibration of the engine. Human senses were ceaselessly buffeted by violent knocks and lurches as the tank rapidly manoeuvred into firing positions. Dust would well up inside upon halting, and petrol and oil smells would assail nostrils during momentary pauses. A grimy taste soured mouths already dried of spittle by fear. Tank gunner Karl Fuchs from Panzer Regiment 25 admitted to his wife:

Fatigue and fear went hand in hand. Unteroffizier Hans Becker of the 12th Panzer Division spoke of Panzer battles at Tarnopol and Dubno:

Motorised infantry units alongside were subjected to the same persistent and physically demanding pressures. Hauptsturmführer Klinter, a company commander with the vehicle-borne SS ‘Toten-kopf’ Infantry Regiment, which was part of Army Group North, remembered in the first few weeks of the Russian campaign that ‘all the basic tactical principles we had learned appeared to be forgotten’. There was hardly any reconnaissance, no precise orders groups, or few accurate reports, because the situation was fast-moving and constantly changing. ‘It was a completely successful fox hunt,’ he said, ‘into a totally unknown environment, with only one aim in sight – St Petersburg!’

Maps were either incorrect or inadequate. As a result, columns separated on the line of march would often drive off along the wrong route when they reached a junction. Road signing was in its infancy in a rapidly developing tactical situation. ‘So every driver, in complete darkness, observing totally blacked-out conditions and at varying speeds, had to try to remain close together driving in tight columns.’⁽⁵⁾ Driving continuously day and night, in such conditions was nerve-racking and exhausting.

The speed of the Panzer advance may have been an elated ‘fox hunt’ but its rapidity produced problems of its own. Communications, although vital, were difficult to maintain. This was the experience of 7th Panzer Division columns on the Minsk-Moscow autobahn’ at the end of June. On reaching Sloboda some 20km north-west of Minsk, they realised Russian units had become intermingled with their own vehicles during darkness. So confusing became the situation that columns of German, then Russian and then German units again were often passing each other, going in the same direction. On one occasion Russian lorries, 100m behind a German unit, overtook it and on realising their mistake, panicked and drove back again at full speed, passing the bemused German column yet again.⁽⁶⁾ War correspondent Bernd Overhues, travelling at an exhilarating ‘autobahn’ speed towards Minsk with the vanguard of a Panzer unit, recalled shots ringing out at night. A loud call warned, ‘Soviet tanks up ahead!’ Bullets suddenly whistled in all directions.

Some of the 7th Panzer Division Vorausabteilungen advanced so quickly in chaotic pell-mell rushes that they became separated from the main bodies following on behind. As the unit itself related, ‘again and again a wild outbreak of shooting would break out, which could only be clarified when the command “7th Panzer Division cease firing!” was given by radio.’⁽⁸⁾

Arthur Grimm’s Vorausabteilung, clearing a cornfield of Soviet soldiers near Nowo-Miropol, unexpectedly detected an airfield to their right, obviously still in use.

A light 20mm Flak gun mounted on a half-track drove onto the airstrip and began shooting up the serried lines of aircraft. Soldiers gleefully disembarked with axes and grenades and began to wreck the remainder. Connecting wing struts were knocked off biplanes with axe-heads, tyres shot flat with pistols, fuselages grenaded and propellers lifted off and dropped to the ground. In all 23 aircraft were destroyed or disabled. The greatest prize was a still steaming field cooker. Requisitioned with relish, its contents were consumed on the spot. Loaves of bread and captured fresh rations were heaped on top of groundsheets and tossed into the German vehicles. The advance was quickly resumed, for once, with full stomachs.⁽⁹⁾

Tempo occasionally resulted in tragedy. Oberst Rothenberg, the distinguished and experienced commander of Panzer Regiment 25, a holder of the Pour le Mérite and Knight’s Cross, was severely wounded by stray rounds exploding from a burning tank. He required immediate medical evacuation. His Panzer spearhead had advanced so rapidly it was cut off from the main body, marooning the wounded. Rothenberg, mindful of the vulnerability of his exposed forward position, rejected the offer of his division commander’s Fieseler Fi156 Storch light aircraft or an eight-wheeled armoured car escort. Instead, he elected to be driven back in two light jeeps. The small group was apprehended by Soviet soldiers in the insecure zone immediately behind the advance, and Rothenberg was shot. The bodies were not recovered until a counter-attack was mounted the following day.⁽¹⁰⁾

The primary difficulty during lightning advances was in successfully co-ordinating maximum combat power at the chosen point of main effort – a tenet of Blitzkrieg. Leutnant von Hoffgarten, commanding Motorcycle Battalion 61 with 11th Panzer Division, advanced 510km in four weeks after crossing the River Bug at the start of ‘Barbarossa’. Tanks generally led in open terrain, but there were situations, von Hoffgarten explained, that required:

Depending on the effectiveness of enemy fire, riflemen might initially ride into battle mounted on tanks or by motorcycle. They would then dismount and close with the enemy, intimately supported by protective Panzer fire. Arthur Grimm with the 11th Panzer Division recalled attacking heavily defended villages in the Dubno area early in the campaign:

Tank commanders, after being briefed, sketched the tactical plan on their maps in the early dawn hours. At 04.30 hours war correspondent Grimm started taking photographs as the motorcycle infantry, tasked with clearing the outlying village fields, began to drive by in a seemingly endless column of dark silhouettes. They bobbed and bumped along, rifles slung at the shoulder, raising a cloud of dust that began to merge with the low-lying early morning mist. Sunlight glinted on the metalwork of sidecars as they advanced under the protective dark outlines of tactically dispersed Panzer platoons. Commanders observing the advance formed part of the menacing silhouettes of the tanks.

After a short artillery or mortar preparation Panzer platoons would approach a village. The tactic was either to encircle or to flank the objective, pouring in fire from a distance at an acute angle to the infantry advance, closely supporting it (see p.186). The Panzer battle was detached, conducted over radio, and therefore remote and clinical. Although fast-moving, it remained nerve-racking. Watchful for opposing tanks or suspected anti-tank positions, fire would converge in tracer patterns, both automatic and tank fire, onto flimsily built houses whose thatched roofs quickly caught fire and blazed spectacularly. Throughout the action, figures would be seen dashing from house to house. Flashes, instantly observable, followed by the slower travelling ‘crump’ sound of stick grenades, signified the beginning of mop-ping-up operations to clear each dwelling. The sound of automatic fire rose and faded in concert with the movement of the distant toy-like running figures. It was impersonal, but not for the infantry. Grimm described the capture of the approaches to the village ahead:

Tank guns cracked out supporting fire. Presently figures, some bearded, wearing flat caps and padded jackets, emerged with hands raised. Fear showed in their faces. Lines of prisoners were formed. Confusion over an uncharacteristically large number of civilians cleared when Grimm noticed that many of the discarded Soviet knapsacks strewn about contained civilian clothes.⁽¹²⁾

Unteroffizier Robert Rupp, serving in a motorised infantry unit, described the aftermath of a typical village attack. Panzers were standing by, ready for action, alongside a reserve half-platoon of infantry, all watching two wooden houses blazing fiercely nearby. As the mopping-up group combed through houses, civilians drove cows out of harm’s way, carrying possessions outside. Presently about 50 Russians were pulled out of isolated hiding places from barns and houses.

Later that afternoon he was awakened from an exhausted doze by the sound of shooting. Two prisoners of war had been shot and were being buried by their comrades. One had allegedly been firing dum-dum bullets (doctored rounds designed to splat on impact, causing grotesque wounds). The other apparently opened fire after signalling to surrender. ‘One of them,’ Rupp said, was still alive, because he continued to wheeze even beneath a thick layer of earth, which rose up as an arm worked itself up into the air.’

Four more Russians were ordered to dig another hole. For whom? wondered Rupp. The Russian who had earlier drunk his tea was led forward, made to lie in the hole, and shot by the Unteroffizier – the missing commissar. General Halder’s pre-campaign remarks were becoming ominously prescient. ‘A communist is no comrade before or after the battle. This is a war of extermination.’ Such behaviour was by no means universally acceptable. Rupp pointed out:

Panzer soldiers might observe such incidents, but the momentum of meeting engagements kept them moving. Finishing off the enemy was infantry business. Their war was physically removed from the need to close with the enemy. A German staff officer serving with an armoured unit with Army Group South encapsulated the difference with his remarks to war correspondent Curizio Malaparte:

It was an impersonal matter of suppressing enemy resistance. Battle took up only a fraction of the time expended during even eventful advances. Physical discomfort was the primary consideration.

Leutnant Horst Zobel’s tank platoon with the 6th Panzer Regiment, part of Guderian’s Panzergruppe 2, travelled 600km between the rivers Bug and Dnieper over 12 days, covering some 50km per day.

Tank crewmen shared everything. Comradeship was intense, forged sharing common dangers, enduring trying conditions and living intimately together within the confines of a Panzer. Signal, the glossy German news magazine (equivalent to the American Life picture publication) ran an atmospheric article entitled ‘The Five from Panzer Number 11’. It described typical conditions among five crew members of a PzKpfwIV (heavy tank) from Panzer Regiment 15 (with the 11th Panzer Division).

The Panzer commander – ‘Der Alte’ (the old man) – was 21-year-old Leutnant Graf Hyazinth St___ (names withheld in the Signal article) [probably the Oberleutnant Hyazinth Graf Strachwitz referred to earlier], who had joined at the beginning of the war serving in the Yugoslav campaign prior to Russia. His father, from a distinguished family, was a Panzer battalion commander.

The gunner was Unteroffizier Arno B___ who, ‘after every battle, stuck a cigarette in his mouth.’ He was 25 years old with three brothers, all serving in the Wehrmacht, and two sisters. After the war he intended to be a technical salesman, ‘preferably in Africa’. Inside the fighting compartment he was aided by the gun loader Adolf T___. He was an elderly 32-year-old ex-SA (Sturm Abteilung or Nazi party ‘brownshirt’), married, with two young daughters. His first task after any engagement was to swab out the gun barrel.

Tank communications was the responsibility of the radio operator, Walter D___, who had worked on the railways before becoming a regular soldier. He had six brothers, five serving, the eldest of which was a Feldwebel.

Unteroffizier Hans E___, the 26-year-old driver, had earlier been a civil motor mechanic, a trade he intended to resume after the war. He was married and always carried a photograph of his four-year-old son in his pocket.

The five-man crew represented a ‘presentable’ microcosm of Reich society in Signal propaganda terms. Enlisted soldiers earned between RM105 and RM112.50 each month. This might be supplemented by a monthly family allowance of RM150. Most of them saved their money and sent it home. Factory workers by comparison earned an average of RM80 (or RM51.70 for women). It is not known whether this chosen crew survived the campaign. Their statistical chance of avoiding death or injury before the end of the war was remote.⁽¹⁷⁾

These were ordinary men. ‘The first man of the crew who required a rest during a stop was the driver,’ explained Leutnant Horst Zobel with Panzer Regiment 6. ‘We had to care about him and he was seldom used as security or a sentry mission.’ As a consequence, ‘the tank commander,’ like himself, ‘regardless of rank, unless a company or battalion commander, had to share in those tasks.’ Each depended on the other to survive. As Zobel stressed, in the attack ‘the enemy is always the first to open fire. He fires the first shot and the crew must react.’⁽¹⁸⁾ Everyday life followed a routine regimented by administrative and security tasks interspersed with the intense demands of acting as an integrated and focused team in battle. Typical routine in the 20th Panzer Division, according to one Panzer crewman, meant one was:

Lurking behind such routine was not so much a morbid fear of death, rather a healthy regard for the unexpected. Catastrophe was something that happened to others and it was unhealthy to dwell upon it for too long. Götz Hrt-Reger, a keen amateur cine cameraman, describing scenes he had taken during the war from his armoured car, remarked:

His view was that death struck in a haphazard way. There was scant time or scope to sentimentalise about its impact.

On to Smolensk

The German Army was making headway but at some cost. The original conception of a great pocket extending from Bialystok to Minsk broke into several fragmentary pockets created during desperate fighting, first around Bialystok and then around Volkovysk. General Günther Blumentritt, Fourth Army Chief of Staff, explained:

There were insufficient German troops in Panzer units to seal off the larger encirclement completely. Motorised units obliged by necessity to fight on or near roads were powerless to prevent Russian columns using forest tracks to slip away eastward at night. In the large trackless spaces between German units, Russian units were left unmolested. Confusion reigned in uncertain circumstances. During one battle the I/‘Grossdeutschland’ Regiment drove into a village on captured Russian trucks and fought a mobile engagement with Russian troops driving out with captured German vehicles. ‘Everyone fired at everyone else – it was pure chaos,’ related the unit historian.⁽²⁾ The greatest pressure was on the eastern side of the pockets, the focus for Russian attempts to break out.

Commanders were presented with a dilemma. Panzers disrupted Soviet units by cutting their rearward communications, providing the optimum conditions for further advances. But because of the imperative to keep moving forward, they were unable to create solid rings around encircled Soviet forces. These pockets could only be closed and reduced by the 32 infantry divisions of Army Group Centre forced-marching their way forward. Unexpectedly bad roads and tough fighting on the edges of pockets with Russian formations which refused to surrender disrupted the previously assumed schedules of marching performance. Inevitably the gap between marching infantry and driving Panzers widened. The infantry was the substance of Wehrmacht fighting power; its role was to grind down and crush resistance. Panzer thrusts bludgeoned the enemy, but were incapable of inflicting the coup de grâce. Panzergruppen commanders strove to maintain momentum to exploit surprise and disrupt Soviet command and control. These were the basic conditions that ensured success. Von Bock confided his exasperation with High Command’s apparent inability to recognise this basic tenet. He declared in his diary:

It was becoming increasingly clear that manoeuvring alone onto tactically advantageous positions was not going to finish this enemy.

The Bialystok-Minsk battles fought from 24 June onwards were nearing conclusion on 8 July. They cost the Soviets an estimated 22 rifle divisions, seven tank and three cavalry divisions, and six motorised brigades. During the fighting two Panzergruppen, numbering nine Panzer and five motorised divisions, were employed to seal the pockets. These were joined by 23 more infantry divisions, which closed and annihilated them.⁽⁴⁾ In short, 50% of the entire strength of Army Group Centre, 51 divisions, was tied to destroying units of its own comparable strength; a devastating blow. The experience in Poland and the West was that Blitzkrieg tactics achieved operational success once armies had been outmanoeuvred. Denied space and resources, the enemy’s political will collapsed when faced with pointless casualties. Surrender invariably followed. In Russia established norms became perverted when Soviet units fought on in hopeless conditions with no prospect of success. Up to 50% of German attacking potential was thereby constrained during the first decisive phase without achieving the initial operational objective. This was the Smolensk land bridge, the historically significant jump-off point required to mount an offensive against the political heart of the Soviet Union – Moscow.

Although out of reach of German land forces, the Luftwaffe already had this operational prize firmly within its sights:

Hans August Vowinckel’s Heinkel He111 bomber avoided ‘a spire’ shape of searchlights and Flak before negotiating a series of wide curves and setting course for the city centre. ‘The inside of the aircraft was as light as day,’ he later wrote to his wife. As his aircraft flew over the River Berezina on its return, Vowinckel found himself reflecting upon Napoleonic history.

It was a tiring flight, 9½ hours from taking-off at 18.00 hours until landing at 03.30 hours. Artillery fire could clearly be seen on the ground far below, where the advance continued unabated. On return to his home base Vowinckel ironically found time to read Friedrich Holderlin’s The Peace. ‘Everything that is important,’ he wrote to his wife, ‘is already in there.’ But he was never to experience it. Two days later, flying in formation during a dogfight, a Russian fighter shot into flames by another German bomber collided with his aircraft from above. His commanding officer wrote to his wife explaining, ‘the whole crew were likely killed in the crash.’ As the incident occurred well beyond the advancing German line, he had sadly to conclude:

When the Minsk pocket capitulated to Army Group Centre on 9 July, General Günther von Kluge was already far beyond, creating an even larger encirclement at Smolensk. His two Panzergruppen, 2 and 3, had continued moving considerable Panzer formations eastward, despite daily crises keeping existing pockets closed. It had been a calculated risk. On 3 July German Army Commander-in-Chief Walther von Brauchitsch, merged the two Panzerkampfgruppen forming Fourth (Panzer) Army, under von Kluge, rationalising the necessary command arrangements to achieve a breakthrough in the direction of Moscow. It was accepted the infantry would follow at best speed, but at a distance. Fourth Army units were taken under the new command of Second Army under General Maximilian Frhr von Weichs.

Panzergruppe 2 succeeded in forcing the River Dnieper either side of Mogilev at Stary Bykhov and Shklov, after hard fighting, between 10 and 11 July. Meanwhile Panzergruppe 3, following the line of the River Dvina between Polotsk and Vitebsk, was ordered to break into the region north of Smolensk. Vitebsk fell on 9 July, animatedly recalled by soldier Erhard Schaumann, who witnessed its fiery capitulation:

Panzergruppe 3 pressed on, bypassing Russian forces on the Orscha-Smolensk road. It had, following intense fighting, set in motion the beginning of the Smolensk encirclement by 13 July. Two days later a bold surprise attack on the city itself resulted in its capture.

On 17 July a new pocket had been created around the Dnieper-Dvina land bridge containing about 25 Russian divisions centred on Vitebsk, Mogilev and the city of Smolensk. It was estimated some 300,000 enemy soldiers were inside. Von Bock’s infantry formations were anything up to 320km behind the Panzer spearheads at this point, with many units still extricating themselves from mopping up the Minsk pockets. The Panzers and motorised formations of Fourth (Panzer) Army strung a noose around the highly dangerous Russian formations and hung on, tightening the pressure and waiting for the marching infantry to arrive. The grip was tenuous. On 18 July only six German divisions were in place against 12 Soviet divisions in the pocket.⁽⁷⁾ Soviet pressure built up quickly from within and outside der Kessel (the cauldron). Everybody was now focused on the progress of the infantry. Where were they?

Finale: Brest-Litovsk

Even as the enormous pocket at Smolensk was being formed, the 45th Infantry Division had still to reduce the very first Soviet pocket that had been established on day one of the campaign.

At the end of June isolated resistance points had gradually succumbed to the German investment of Brest-Litovsk. German soldiers forced to engage in hand-to-hand fighting to clear confined spaces in the bitterly contested outposts took no risks. Casualties were heavy. Mercy was neither anticipated nor freely given. Medical Sister Katschowa Lesnewna from the surgical hospital on the South Island said:

At 08.00 hours on 29 June, the eighth day of the siege, the much-vaunted Luftwaffe sortie was finally flown. A single bomber dropped a 500kg bomb onto the Ostfort. It was intended that German lives would be saved by blasting defenders into submission. The resulting massive explosion caused only superficial damage to the brickwork. Preparations were made for a close-in ground attack the next day, using incendiary devices. Barrels and bottles were filled with a mixture of petrol, oil and fat. These were to be rolled into the fort’s trenches and ignited with hand-grenades and Very pistols. Nobody relished the task. The Luftwaffe was given one last chance.

The solitary bomber returned and languidly circled the fortress while final aiming instructions were radioed to it. All attention focused on the Ostfort. Soldiers moving through the devastated wasteland of surrounding parkland and on the scarred walls of the citadel paused and gazed skyward. Another 500kg bomb whistled into the fort with minimal impact. The scene had taken on a relaxed, almost bizarre troop trial atmosphere. Cameras rolled to capture the moment on film. Interested spectators from the 45th Division headquarters staff gathered on the roof of a nearby building to watch. Circling above, the lone Luftwaffe bomber steadily came on line and lobbed a solitary 1,800kg bomb. The black cylindrical speck descended with slow effortless ease until it struck the corner of the massive ditch-fronted wall. A violent crack and boom echoed around the streets of Brest. Windows shattered and the whole population started as a huge pall of smoke spurted up above the stricken fort. This time there was massive damage, signalling the end for the survivors. Russian soldiers began to emerge from the fort: there were women and children among them. By dusk, some 389 men had surrendered.⁽²⁾

During the early morning hours of 30 June the Ostfort was searched and cleared of Russian wounded. German bodies, which had been pathetically sprawled for days around the fort’s deadly apertures, were finally recovered. Jets of bright flame marked by incandescent eruptions of black smoke marked the progress of flamethrower teams burning and incinerating likely hiding places rather than risk a look inside. Victory appeared complete. The town and fortress of Brest-Litovsk had been cleared. Panzer ‘Rollbahn 1’ moving eastward and the Warsaw-Brest railway were open to uninterrupted convoy traffic. Elements from two Soviet divisions, the 6th and 42nd, with over a hundred officers and 7,122 NCOs and men, were captured. In addition, 36 tracked and 1,500 badly damaged vehicles of other types were taken, along with 14,576 rifles, 1,327 machine guns and 103 artillery pieces of various calibres. Although victory appeared total, and the Panzer spearheads were already hundreds of kilometres into the Russian interior, psychologically it was an empty result.

PK-cameramen filmed the last exhausted Russian survivors as they emerged from the devastated Ostfort. Dirty and bandaged, they looked directly and unashamedly at the cameras. Adopting a relaxed stance, smoking cigarettes, they exuded a grim confidence that was not lost on their captors, and probably not the message intended for the cinema audiences in Germany who would later view the weekly Wochenschau newsreel. The 45th Division report stated, ‘they were in no way shaken, appearing strong and well fed, giving a disciplined impression.’ The major and commissar who had maintained resistance to the last were never found. They had committed suicide.⁽³⁾

The 45th Infantry Division had entered the Russian theatre as a veteran formation, having lost 462 men in France. Its chaplain interred 482 men in the first divisional cemetery of the Russian campaign at Brest-Litovsk, including 32 officers. Another 30 officers and about 1,000 other ranks were wounded.⁽⁴⁾ Some 2,000 Russian dead were actually found in the vicinity of the citadel and fortresses, but it is estimated as many as 3,500 may have died. The experience of the 45th Division at Brest was to prove a microcosm of the fate soon to befall its sister divisions in Russia. It lost more men during this initial action in the east than it lost during the entire campaign in the west the year before. It was a sobering calculation. The 45th Division became part of the newly formed Second Army on 3 July and marched eastward far behind the renamed Fourth (Panzer) Army, with which it had started the campaign.

Even after 30 June, and following 45th Division’s departure, German soldiers needed to be alert in the vicinity of the fortress, because isolated sniping continued. Frustration at this ‘unfair’ – to the German mind – form of guerrilla warfare was vented on innocent bystanders. Gefreiter Willi Schadt, a motorcycle NCO from the 29th Motorised Division, recalled how Unteroffizier Fettenborn from his company shot dead 15 defenceless civilians in Brest, ‘before,’ as the perpetrator explained, ‘these red swine start something’. The hapless victims were forced to dig their own graves before execution.⁽⁵⁾

Security had improved little by mid-July. Helmut K___⁽⁶⁾ a 19-year-old Reichsarbeitsdienst driver employed in Russia immediately after the invasion, wrote to his parents about continuing resistance in Brest. Even as the battle at Minsk was concluded he wrote on 6 July that ‘the citadel was still held’ and pockets of resistance were still active. ‘Twice the Reds had hoisted a white flag, and every time a company of Waffen SS were sent in, the doors were slammed in their faces.’ Driving close to the citadel walls with another truck, Helmut narrowly missed being killed during a reprisal Stuka dive-bombing raid. The strike was only 300–400m away, and ‘if I am truly honest, I wet my pants a little,’ he confessed. On 11 July two German officers were shot in the streets of Brest. Helmut K___ wrote again the following day, complaining:

Even today, messages carved into concrete by bayonets in cellars and casemates throughout the old fortress of Brest-Litovsk are preserved. ‘Things are difficult, but we are not losing courage,’ reads one. Another proclaims: ‘We die confidently July 1941.’ ‘We die, but we defended ourselves. 20.7.41.’ is crudely scratched elsewhere.

Isolated shooting incidents carried on throughout July. Few people knew about these lonely deaths.⁽⁸⁾