Crack of Doom (23 page)

He ran outside again and stopped on the steps. The street had completely disappeared under clouds of black smoke. Another salvo of shells was just whistling over; the gun that fired them must also be somewhere in the south. There was no further doubt: the Russians had found a way over the mountains. If Durkov fell into their hands, it would be senseless to stay any longer in Rozhanovce. As the shells crashed into the village, Stiller raced back to the signals room. "Has the signal already gone off to Hopper?"

"Not yet, sir."

"Then cancel that one, and tell him he's to make for Durkov."

"Not Rozhanovce?"

"I said Durkov! The Russians must on no account get to the crossroads. Do you hear me?" Stiller shouted.

Schleippen gave him a terrified look. "Yes, sir—Durkov, sir."

"He must go on attacking until he gets to Durkov, and on no account is he to break through to the west. I forbid him to try that"

"Right, sir."

"Have you still contact with Scheper?"

"Yes, sir."

"Send him a signal too. He's to make for Rozhanovce with every man he's got, in double-quick time."

"Fill his staff, sir?"

"With every man he's got, I said. Open your ears. Scheper is to evacuate his positions and march to Rozhanovce with his whole regiment."

Paying no heed to Schleippen's bewildered face, he rushed outside again. The artillery fire was now trained on the village full force. Sweating profusely— never had he run like this before—he reached the crossroads, panting. It was another fifty yards to the wood. He looked quickly round for the companies: as ordered, they had dug in on both sides of the road to Kosice. He shouted for the company commanders.

When they came, he snapped at them: "Where's the artillery?"

"Moved into the wood with their guns, sir," one of them answered.

Stiller gripped his arm. "I'm leaving you one battery. See that you get all the men still to come from the pioneer battalion here to the crossroads. The Russians must on no account take the crossroads. Understand?"

The lieutenant said nothing.

"I asked if you understood," Stiller yelled.

"Yes, sir."

"You're being reinforced. Colonel Hopper will be arriving with his regiment. Don't dare to move away from here. Anything else?"

"From which direction are the Russians actually coming, sir?" asked the lieutenant.

"How should I know? You must watch on all sides." Stiller ran across to the wood.

On the way he wondered what could still be done. Not much, he told himself; what he needed now was luck, that was all. He couldn't really count on Hopper and his regiment. With the pioneer battalion gone, the Russians had their rear free and only needed to turn their guns round. When he thought of the distance between Durkov and Slancik and remembered that they were already in Slancik, the space Hopper's regiment was confined to could be reckoned in square yards. His only chance was an attempt to break through to the west—as his signal showed he realized. But for corps' express order, he would have let him do that without hesitation but now he needed him. So long as he was sitting in the wood between Durkov and Slancik, he kept the Russians busy there. Otherwise they could simply turn back and not only overrun the two companies but also attack Rozhanovce from the south. Stiller no longer considered sending the assault regiment on to the pass. In an hour and a half at the latest, with Scheper's regiment, there would be over fifteen hundred men in Rozhanovce, so they should be able to hold it till dark—and he had no intention to stay there any longer than that, not even if corps insisted, which he doubted they would. Once the Russians were in Kosice, it wasn't far to Dobsina; new orders from corps could be expected any minute . . .

He glanced ahead of him into the wood, and saw a long convoy standing on the road to Rozhanovce: trucks, ambulances and guns. He remembered that he had ordered the ammunition column to advance to Durkov. There were a few officers standing round, and on recognizing an artillery lieutenant among them, he ordered him to go into positions at the edge of the wood and support the two companies guarding the crossroads. The other battery he dispatched to Rozhanovce with the ammunition column. Then he looked over the remaining vehicles and noticed a closed command car, whose driver was sitting at the wheel. Stiller went up to him and said: "Who are you waiting for?"

"For the colonel, sir."

"Which colonel?"

"Colonel Wieland, sir."

Stiller started. During the last half hour he had not thought at all about Wieland. And why should he have? Against a hundred tanks Wieland and his men had had no sort of chance. Presumably the three assault guns could also be written off. He walked round the car once, and then said: "From now on you'll be driving me."

The man looked shocked. "But the colonel, sir. . . ."

"The colonel," Stiller interrupted, "will never have enjoyed walking so much as now, if he still can." He looked toward the houses, where Schleippen had just appeared with his signals team. Behind them, filling the whole breadth of the street, a great mass of men was pouring forward: it must be the pioneer battalion —what was left of them. Stiller waited till they came up. There was an officer with them, and when he noticed the general, he started to give a report. Stiller stopped him with an impatient gesture, "Where's your battalion commander?"

"He was killed, sir," the officer answered breathlessly.

"I see. You'll take over the battalion at once, they're to dig in here. Come with me." He showed him the place where the two companies of the assault regiment were, instructing him to establish contact with their officers. Then he called over Schleippen and his men, and climbed into the car with them. Before it could move off, another officer came rushing up. "The wounded, sir."

Stiller regarded him coldly. "What d'you expect me to do? Can't you see the ambulances?"

"There aren't enough of them, sir. Up there are wounded lying everywhere."

"The Russians are already settling in where the wounded are."

Stiller leaned out of the car and looked over at the houses, which were still being pounded by the Russian artillery. The fire had caught all the roofs, clouds of pitch-black smoke were billowing up toward the sky. Single men from the pioneer battalion still came stumbling out of the village, and he saw that most of them were wounded. Some crawled on their hands and knees, others hopped on one leg, one dragged behind him the remains of a foot which had been shot off and was hanging on by a strip of skin. The general looked away from him and returned his stare to the officer's haggard face. He asked: "Do you belong to the pioneer battalion?"

"Yes, sir."

"The battalion did not fulfill its task. If you and your men had pushed forward a mile or two further instead of retreating, you wouldn't need to be worrying about the wounded. Because an entire regiment of ours is trapped there, over seven hundred men, and I can't be sure they'll get out at all." Stiller gave his driver the order to leave.

He did not speak a word the whole way. They overtook the supply column and some howitzers. The road led straight through the wood, no gradients or bends obscuring the view. On the right the land rose steeply towards the pass, while on the left it fell away equally steeply. After less than half an hour they met a sentry from the assault regiment, who diverted them from the road to a forest track. Between the trees lay dead soldiers; Stiller saw they were mostly Russians. He glanced at them indifferently, his mind occupied with the gunfire coming from the northeast, which had begun to arouse his attention during the drive, and now became more distinct: it sounded as if the Russians were already counter-attacking. The forest track rounded a bend, and a single house appeared between the white trees; there were a lot of cars lined up by it —evidently Kreisel's headquarters. Even before Stiller could get out, the young colonel emerged from the house. "Thank God you've got here, sir," he cried.

Stiller looked at his tense face. "Where's the trouble?"

"Everywhere, sir. I can soon show you."

"Straight away." Stiller turned to Schleippen and told him to establish contact with corps and with Hopper. Then he climbed out of the car and walked along the forest track with Kreisel till they came upon a road.

"The pass road," said Kreisel. "We must be careful, it's watched."

It was on the tip of Stiller's tongue to ask from which side, but he refrained, in case Kreisel should regard the question as a sign of fear. They passed four field howitzers, which stood on both sides of the road with their barrels directed westward.

Kreisel pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. "I've sent the reserve unit into positions further behind. It's still possible the Russians who have broken through may return when they find there's nothing coming after them."

"That's not only possible, it's very likely. Do you know by the way how many of them there were?"

"I've no idea, sir."

"You can be glad you don't. Over a hundred tanks apparently, and more infantry regiments than one can count."

Kreisel came to an abrupt halt. "A hundred tanks. But that's. . . ." He broke off, shaking his head. "And I attacked Rozhanovce with two assault guns! If the tanks had still been here. . . ."

Stiller smiled slightly. "My recipe worked. It was like a champagne bottle, where you can't say beforehand how great the pressure on the cork is. Sometimes you have to pull it out by force, while at other times it's enough if you take off the wire."

"Poor Wieland!" said Kreisel. They fell silent as they stamped through the deep snow side by side. Keeping in the wood to the right of the road, they could see nothing of the village; but the nearer they came to it, the fiercer grew the gun and mortar fire. Stiller listened intently. "Am I mistaken, or is the fire coming from the north as well?"

"You're not mistaken, sir. At first our only front was to the east, and that was all right till the Russians realized we had no contact to the left or right of us. At present my regiment is trying to dig in, but if the Russians are coming from the west as well, we'll be plumb in the middle of them."

"I've ordered Colonel Scheper here with his regiment."

Kreisel looked up. "To Rozhanovce?"

"Yes. Also, Colonel Hopper is on his way to Durkov. Only I'm afraid we shan't see him again."

"Do things look as bad as that down there?"

"Even worse."

"Then we might as well pack up at once," said Kreisel. "What does corps think?"

"That makes no difference to me. They signaled that we should hold the position in all circumstances."

"First we've got to have it again—and we can't manage that without reinforcements."

"Try and make the gentlemen at corps see that."

"But you're not going to. . . ."

"I'm not going to anything. It's enough for me that the division on our left has had an exposed flank since Scheper evacuated his positions. It's just the same in the south, the Russians can now march to Slancik quite unhindered. If he doesn't want to lose his whole corps, the commanding general is bound to order a withdrawal."

"Yes, of course, sir," said Kreisel, smiling respectfully. "The only question is—suppose the order comes too later

"Well leave as soon as it's dark, probably to the north or south of Kosice. With fifteen hundred desperate men, I'll break through to Dobsina if need be. Is this fellow Giesinger with you?"

"Yes, he's at my headquarters, with a face as black as thunder."

"It well may be," said Stiller.

They reached the edge of the wood, where there were about a dozen houses. Kreisel took the general past these, and then Stiller saw Rozhanovce ahead. Stiller suppressed an exclamation. The village street led to a bridge, in front of which three burned-out T.34s were standing. Behind it, the whole street was crammed full of vehicles, horses which had dropped dead in their harness, and dead Russian soldiers piled on top of each other.

"You certainly surprised them," Stiller said in a tight voice.

Kreisel smiled, though his eyes remained serious. "If we have to pay for this, there won't be much left of us. The credit's really Wieland's of course. The Russians must have counter-attacked almost as soon as he went in. A hundred tanks 1" He shook his head. "Were you expecting that, sir?"

"Not quite."

"Nor did poor Wieland, I’ll bet. His handful of men must have been cut to shreds."

"Better they than the whole of your regiment. Where are your assault guns now?"

"Up in the wood. The Russians are collecting tanks on the road again. I've sent two guns off from the artillery, the others are over there." He pointed to the next house, behind which two heavy field howitzers were standing.

"And the others?"

"What others? There are only four."

"That's all you have here in the way of artillery?"

"Yes, sir."

"But that's impossible. I ordered all the batteries to come up to Rozhanovce as soon as the road was clear."

"I've not seen any of them so far. Perhaps they're still on their way."

"They should have been here long ago," said Stiller nervously.

While Kreisel was giving him a full report, the general studied the terrain. Stiller decided he did not like the look of it; indeed, the more he contemplated his surroundings the uneasier he felt. Moreover, there was the continuous din, which, flaring up here and there like a forest fire, crackled for a few seconds over the horizon before shrinking again to single gun shots. Up in the woods a Russian machine gun was rattling away steadily, and Stiller registered absentmindedly the lash of its fire, followed as if in echo by the duller impacts of the bullets. All of these noises, coming from behind the fluid curtain of the snow storm and the ghostly backdrop of the soaring mountains, sounded unspeakably menacing and oppressive.

Stiller caught himself toying with the thought of not waiting a moment longer, but evacuating Rozhanovce at once without regard for the consequences—before it was too late. He realized that with the troops and arms available even the ablest divisional commander couldn't possibly hold up the Russian attack. Perhaps a more skillfully launched counter-attack might have regained the old positions once more, but against a hundred tanks Stiller was powerless. A few dozen assault guns and a whole new infantry division would have been needed to get anywhere against the Russians' numerical superiority. From this point of view Giesinger could hardly be blamed; it was the old ten-to-one proportion, with which every individual divisional commander had to battle along as best he could, till one day he was court-martialed for incompetence or sabotage.