Europe Central (67 page)

He received Field-Marshal von Manstein’s Chief of Staff and assured him that Sixth Army could hold out, if we were only adequately supplied as per agreement. He anxiously awaited the order to commence Operation Thunderclap. The two men toasted one another. Then they drank another toast to Sixth Army. The Chief of Staff flew out, and Paulus never saw him again.

On 11.12.42, when the enemy overran the Italian sector, Paulus told the director of the Luftwaffe Air Supply: Your airlift has failed us. We’ve received only one-sixth of the supplies you promised. With this, my army can neither exist nor fight.

Herr Colonel-General, Reich-Marshal Göring himself has promised us—

We could have broken out before, Paulus interrupted. But the Führer believed the Reich-Marshal. What am I supposed to tell my soldiers now?

Major-General Schmidt was loudly humming “Erika, We Love You.”

Enemy pressure was increasing on our Chir front. He issued an order that henceforth we would follow the same security procedures that they did at Wolf’s Lair: A violet flare, for instance, would indicate that we’d come under paratroop attack. He prepared to form alarm units from volunteers among his B-echelon troops; their task would be to lurk outside the perimeter, sacrificing themselves if need be to give warning of surprise incursions. He began to write a letter to Ernst, but couldn’t find the right words. As Field-Marshal von Bock always used to say, the important thing was to keep calm. He completed a letter to Olga advising her to be more careful with money. He sent Friedrich his best hopes.

On 18.12.42 he received Field-Marshal von Manstein’s intelligence officer, a certain Major Eismann, and regaled him with a slice of frozen horse. Major Eismann brought him the latest report from Fremde Heere Ost Gruppe I, Army Group B; and this report suggested that the situation of Stalingrad might well be serious. Major Eismann also brought a case of schnapps. They made a toast to victory. Major Eismann warned him that once Operation Thunderclap commenced, Sixth Army would have to press on considerably beyond Donskaya Tsaritsa in order to link up with our relieving forces. Paulus’s face fell, and he began rolling a pencil between his fingers. He began to speak, but Major-General Schmidt, whose soul was as powerful as one of our Führer’s 7.7-liter cars, interrupted: Sixth Army will still be in position at Easter. All you people need to do is supply us better. Don’t you agree, sir?

Paulus nodded. Then he said: At any rate, under current conditions a breakout would be impossible . . .

With all due respect, Herr Colonel-General, a breakout is your army’s sole chance.

That’s treason-talk! said Major-General Schmidt.

My dear Major Eismann, said Paulus, perhaps you don’t have a full appreciation of our position. Only a hundred tanks remain operational, and the petrol situation will only allow them to go thirty kilometers at best.

Yes, Herr Colonel-General, but once Thunderclap is in progress, air supply should become increasingly more practical.

That is without a doubt, said Paulus graciously, nodding and nodding his head.

Herr Major-General, may I please have a word with Colonel-General Paulus alone?

Impossible, explained Major-General Schmidt.

As you wish. Herr Colonel-General, we understand your moral position. Technically speaking you are the subordinate of Army Group Don, but the Führer has given you a direct order to hold Stalingrad, and so you may feel that Operation Thunderclap would contravene this. Under the circumstances, Field-Marshal von Manstein is prepared to absolve you of your responsibility—

To whom?

To OKW.

To the Führer, you mean.

Smilingly flicking something from his silver assault badge, Major-General Schmidt remarked: Major, I’ve met quite a few men like you.

Well, well, said Paulus into the silence. The Field-Marshal’s suggestion is, to say the least, unexpected. And just how would he go about absolving me?

He would issue a direct order that you initiate Thunderclap. As your superior officer, he would then take the consequences upon himself.

I see, said Paulus. Major, this conversation has been extremely interesting.

On 19.12.42 he dispatched a warning to Army Headquarters that the maximum range of his Panzer tanks had now dwindled to twenty kilometers. The Bolshevists were pressing him hard at the Myshkova River. Field-Marshal von Manstein had just issued a top-secret order to launch Operations Winter Storm and Thunderclap at the first possible instant. On 23.12.42 the teleprinter chattered:
Good evening, Paulus.
It was Field-Marshal von Manstein.
The day before yesterday, you reported that you had sufficient fuel for a 20-km sortie. Zeitzler asks, would you please re-check and confirm this?

Dread began to pulse in Paulus’s guts.

Now, if during the next few days we could fly in a limited amount of fuel and supplies, do you think that if worst came to worst you could launch Operation Thunderclap? I don’t want an immediate answer. Think it over and get in touch with me again, please, at 2100 hours.

Staring at the wall above the head of the military typist, who in turn stared nowhere, his bluish white fingers obediently convulsive against the teleprinter keys, Paulus paced and dictated:
Thunderclap has become more difficult than before, because during the last few days the enemy has been digging in on the south and southwestern front, and according to wireless intercepts, appears to have concentrated six armored brigades behind these new positions.

Now, shockingly, the typist was gazing full into his face, and the gaze was pleading.

Preparations,
he continued,
would take
—let’s see—
six days. It will be a very difficult operation, unless Hoth manages to tie down really strong enemy forces outside. Am I to take it that I am now authorized to initiate Operation Thunderclap? Once it’s launched, there’ll be no turning back. Over.

The typist was praying.

I can’t give you full authority today,
replied the teleprinter, and a single tear began its progress down the typist’s white, white face. Paulus pretended not to see; that would be kindest. He himself felt nothing but relief. Whenever he thought about breaking out, a horror which seemed somehow
dirty
burst out like sweat; he knew to his bones that the thing was impossible; as long as he could hang on here, there’d be no further shame. And he felt that our Führer far away at Wolf’s Lair understood him. If he only continued to do his best here at Stalingrad for as long as he could, our Führer would forgive and preserve him. Certainly, nobody who stayed here could be called a coward . . .

By Christmas, although they informed him that the
Viking Division would soon arrive at Salsk, which might to some degree stabilize the defense of the western Don, he decided to cut the bread ration to fifty grams per day. (He did not yet know that as a result of other enemy incursions Field-Marshal von Manstein would be unable to spare
Viking when it did come.) He remarked to no one: It’s different from fighting in France, I’ll tell you! . . .—But the relieving forces fought their way closer; their forward corps actually came within sight of the gunfire at Stalingrad. Field-Marshal von Manstein called upon him to attack. That would have been impossible, of course.

On Christmas night, the Russians took the ruins of the Shestakov Bridge, in obedience to one of his aphorisms:
The whole thing is a question of time and manpower.
The manpower question explained why they were now making Russian girls wash the surgical instruments. He was still hoping to be allowed to commence Operation Thunderclap, even though his enfeebled men might well be decimated in the attempt. But no word came from Wolf’s Lair. First reliefs, then distribution of fuel and ammunition, then breakout; he knew how it should be done. A breakout to the southwest was the theoretically correct solution.
Can aircraft still take off safely from Tatsinskaya?
Schmidt was loudly dictating to the teleprinter clerk, not the one who had cried, but another one who reminded him a little of his son Friedrich. Paulus wished his staff officers a merry Christmas, and they toasted Sixth Army. That night, his face greyish-white like the element germanium, he went out amidst the skeletons of devoured horses to inspect the positions as quietly as he could, so as not to disturb or exhaust the men with false hopes. The rescue force was retreating now, driven back to the Aksai, then to Kotel’niko. Within the skeleton of an apartment tower, a chaplain was conducting a service on an altar comprised of an ammunition box. The congregation prayed fervently, some of them weeping. Trotting at his side, Major-General Schmidt said: Well, sir, on the positive side, these privations will strengthen our racial hatred.

18

Major-General Schmidt had begun to create special units out of our reserves, the
Aufgreifkommandos
they were called. Their task was shooting deserters.

Do you approve these measures, sir?

I prefer to make long-term policy recommendations, Paulus replied.

Yes, sir. Do you approve these measures?

To be sure. Every soldier must follow orders. You have authority to act as you see fit—

Since the tanks were now almost entirely out of fuel, he commanded that they be dug in at the front line, as deeply and permanently as possible, so as to support the infantry in the capacity of pillboxes. If nothing else, the sentries would have a place to shelter from this killing wind, which felt worse than it had last year at Moscow, although naturally it wasn’t; it only seemed that way due to the nutritional deficit.

A corporal said: I always knew I should have studied Russian! . . .—and Major-General Schmidt personally shot him in the head, one-two. Paulus lit a cigarette.

Skirting his Germans lurking in their snowy trenches, his Germans babying their siege guns, which were now anti-siege guns, against the cold, he went out to the front line with Colonel Adam. It was very dark. He was halfway hoping to see the muzzle-flashes of our relieving forces, even though he knew that was impossible now. Colonel Adam implored him to turn back, on account of the danger. Suddenly the enemy began to shoot at them. He sat down in the snow so relaxedly that Colonel Adam was sure he must have been hit, but he only smiled and lit them each a cigarette.

19

Field-Marshal von Manstein’s messages seemed less urgent now, less encouraging. He was trying to get command of a largish battle group near Millerovo, but the Führer hadn’t yet ruled on that.

Paulus sent him a radio signal: Army can continue to beat off small-scale attacks for some time yet, always providing that supply improves. Only 70 tons were flown in today. Some of the corps will exhaust bread supplies tomorrow, fats this evening, evening fare tomorrow. Radical measures now urgent.

Field-Marshal von Manstein, however, hoped to recapture the airfield at Tatsinskaya. He was doing his best to persuade the Führer to allow Sixth Army to break out, although by now, of course, only a few remnants could possibly make it through the enemy ring.

The winter days dwindled behind Sixth Army as steadily as the frozen horse-legs stuck in the snow for road markers. Paulus was almost out of cigarettes.
Christmas, naturally, was not very happy,
he wrote to Coca.
In times like these, it is better to avoid celebrations.
First the screaming of the enemy’s Katyusha rockets, much shriller than the sirens of Wolf’s Lair; then the explosions, followed after an interval by the crystal-clear cracklings of frozen rubble shivering to fragments, the cries of the survivors, each cry utterly sincere and wrapped up in itself, as if its own pain were the first pain which had ever come into this world; it always surprised him how many of his soldiers called for their mothers at the end. First assault, then defense, each time at the price of a further weakened perimeter; first Stalingrad, then everything. He talked with officers of all ranks, hoping to establish the working basis of a real plan. Sixth Army needed to be echeloned in depth, he explained. He didn’t bring any pressure at all to bear upon them; they voluntarily accepted his proposals, smiling vacantly, probably as a result of hunger. His friend Karl Hollidt at XVII Corps continued to believe in him. And Major-General Schmidt still thought it entirely possible that the Russians might surrender. When Paulus asked him on what considerations he based this opinion, Major-General Schmidt replied: We can live without the Jew. In fact, we’ll be better off. But he can’t survive without us. He’s a parasite.