Stalingrad in the crosshairs (eBook)

STALINGRAD IN THE CROSSHAIRS - THE DUEL THE SNIPER

1

"If you think you've seen everything there is to see in war, you haven't been here!" the company commander shouted to the beardless lieutenant lying next to him in the trench.

The young officer nodded silently and tied an aftershave-soaked handkerchief to his nose. It was an ineffectual attempt to mask the disgusting, sweetly foul smell of rotting flesh that the wind carried over to them.

The company commander kept staring at his wristwatch. It wouldn't be long before the signal to attack. His heart was racing, his pulse was pounding. How many times had he raised his fist and shouted the order to charge? How many times had he jumped up with his men and charged forward? And how many times did he have to write hard words on white paper after the battles to tell the bereaved at home that their sons, husbands, brothers or fathers had fought bravely before they died a soldier's heroic death and gave their lives for the German people and the final victory?

What bloody nonsense! That's not heroism, that's mass slaughter! You mothers and fathers at home, be glad you can't see us die here, were the next thoughts that crept through the captain's mind.

The officer's palms grew damp. The reporter lying to his right fiddled with the radio. Finally, he tapped the shoulder of the 20-kilogram device and raised his thumb to indicate that all was well. "The switch is fixed," he shouted to drown out the wailing Jericho sirens of the attacking Stukas.

For days there had been a fierce battle in Stalingrad for Mamai Hill, known militarily as Hill 102. It stood like a monstrous watchtower between the southern city center and the large factories in the north. Whoever owned it controlled the city with their artillery. They had a clear view of the city center, the railway station, the factories and Stalingrad's lifeline, the Volga River.

Dramatic scenes took place on the river. Red Army soldiers were ferried across on ships and barges of all kinds, and had to sail through the deadly fire of German artillery. In places, burning oil slicks floated on the water. Black smoke robbed them not only of their sight, but also of their breath. If you sucked it in, it burned your lungs.

NCOs in earthy brown uniforms led the men, while officers shouted orders. The banks on both sides of the river resembled ant hills, swarming with insects.

Ships were hit, their hulls ripped open, planks burst, water entered and capsized them. Soldiers swam for their lives. The lucky ones were able to cling to a piece of driftwood. Most of them drowned. Bodies were floating around. Their lifeless bodies floated on the waves of the Volga, whose spray broke on the bows of the ships. The Soviet soldiers were in agony. They were helplessly exposed to the enemy's fire and the Volga's water. The shells whizzed incessantly, lowered their flight path and exploded. However, not only the river was targeted by the German artillery, but also the part of Mamai Hill occupied by the Russians.

Huuiiit - Wham

Splinters and shrapnel whirled through the air, digging into positions, trenches, bunker ceilings, and the flesh and bones of Red Army soldiers digging in to fight.

Once the height of 102 was taken, one would inevitably be the master of Stalingrad.

With this knowledge, the 295th Infantry Division had been storming the Red Army positions for days. Yesterday evening they had almost succeeded, taking the lead with heavy losses. But the Russians had kept pumping new soldiers into the battle through the Volga lifeline, and after a counterattack in the morning, they had pushed the Germans back. Now the next counterattack was imminent.

At first, the corpses were removed during lulls in the fighting. This chivalrous last service was withheld for some time. The fighting became more intense and bitter. With great difficulty, the medics were able to rescue the wounded from the field of death. The fallen remained lying. Since the last Russian attack, the corpses had piled up.

The captain closed his eyes. He suspected what was waiting for him. The shells from the howitzers not only crashed into the barbed wire and the occupied Russian trenches, they also exploded en masse among the piles of corpses, shredding what was left of the human appearance of the dead.

The company commander knew that they would have to wade through a mixture of stinking blood and bones to reach their objective. He had seen the piles of corpses between them and the Russian trench through his binoculars, and it was clear what the explosive force of the shells that had detonated between them had done.

A chill ran through him. Goose bumps spread over his entire body. The officer's stomach rumbled. He swallowed the nausea and looked at the young lieutenant who lay trembling next to him.

That's not a bad idea with the scarf, he thought to himself.

Squadron after squadron of Stukas thundered over them. They dipped their noses and the deafening wail of their sirens sounded. For the German soldiers, it was liberating music; for the Red Army soldiers still holding the eastern slope of Mamai Hill, it was nothing more than the nerve-wracking announcement of death.

The pilots took aim at their targets, released the bombs, fired from their guns and pulled up the noses of their Ju 87s.

The air raid was the second wave of the attack. It was preceded by a heavy artillery barrage. The third and decisive wave was the infantry attack.

The captain clutched his submachine gun. A stick grenade was in the belt. He would lead his men to victory or go down with them. He had too many letters to write in his short time as company commander. The 295th Infantry Division was a top division and always on the front lines. Hard on the enemy. The price was human life.

His thoughts drifted home to beautiful Saxony-Anhalt. His son Rolf had graduated from high school last year. The captain knew that the Wehrmacht would come for him, since Rolf had long since been drafted. He went on the offensive, advising him to volunteer and choose an officer's career. This might have prevented him from being drafted and sent somewhere.

"If you do that, then try this way," he had advised him, and Rolf had listened. "As an officer, you might be able to stay here in Germany. Or you could come to France. That would be good too."

Rolf finally received his call to the Reich Labor Service and did his six months of compulsory service in East Prussia. His application was then accepted and he began his training as a flag officer.

They should transfer you anywhere but to Russia! I want to spare you that, my son. Damn war! What's happened to the world? I hate it! How did it come to this?

One of the bombs exploded very close to their positions. The detonation was loud and made the earth tremble. They pressed themselves firmly to the ground. The air pressure not only threw up dust, stones, and earth, but also tossed around shredded human parts. When a piece of stinking intestines and a rib with a flap of skin next to it landed in front of the lieutenant, he lifted the handkerchief he had tied to his mouth and threw up.

The requested group of assault engineers was getting ready. They would blast their way through the Russian wire tangles.

"Oh God, if you exist, help us survive this," the captain pressed his lips together.

The last group of Stukas finished the attack and the artillery shifted its fire to the Volga. A red flare shot up. That was the signal. He took another deep breath, then jumped up and shouted: "Attaaaack! Forward!"

At the same time, the stormtroopers jumped to their feet and rushed forward. Machine guns rattled, trying to stifle any possible resistance on the Russian side.

Rrrrrrrrrr rrrrrrrrr

The captain gasped. He was close behind the engineers. His men followed with a loud "Hurraaaa!" on their lips. They screamed their fears from their souls.

Mamai Hill began to come alive. Soldiers rose and ran up. At the top and on the occupied flanks, Red Army soldiers crawled out of cover and took up defensive fire. Russian artillery joined in. Machine guns rattled and tore the first holes in the attacking ranks. Again and again, hit soldiers fell to the ground. Some lay motionless, others writhed in pain.

The way up was difficult. There was no cover. The reality was worse than the captain had imagined. The terrain was littered with body parts. Shrapnel of various sizes had to be walked around or through. A mixture of blood, human parts and bones collected in them like in a soup kettle. You had to try, but you couldn't avoid everything that was disgusting. Again and again, boots sank into this blood soup, or the chest of a fallen man was stepped on, crushed, and stinking foul gases were expelled with muffled noises reminiscent of gasps.

The company commander saw one of the sappers fall.

Shot in the head, he registered.

The soldier collapsed like a wet sack. Immediately after, the next sapper fell to the ground, hit. The officer pointed his machine gun in the direction of the Russian trenches and fired two rounds, then raised his hand and waved it vigorously at the storm troopers.

"Cover the engineer attack! Barrage fire! The machine guns are supposed to protect them, damn it!" he shouted to his reporters, who both tried to keep up.

The howling of several Katyushas could be heard.

Huuuiiiiii huuiiiiii

"Full cover! Stalin organ!"

They threw themselves to the ground. The captain rushed into a larger shell hole. He smelled burning. He avoided looking around.

Wham wham wham

Impacts could be heard. The warheads of the...