Colonel Steffen nodded in agreement. Downy hair grew profusely from the back of his neck at the base of his bald head, like a cockatoo’s crest. He was a General Staff officer. Differences of opinion with his CO had led to his transfer to the regular forces. In the hope of being reappointed to a staff soon, he led his infantry regiment with élan, strict discipline and ambition.
‘A heroic death – good idea!’ he said huskily; his Adam’s apple bounced up and down above the collar of his camouflage jacket. ‘It’s the only proper way to go now that the game’s up. In any event, far better than sitting around here waiting to be cut down. The Sixth Army’ll go out in one last blaze of glory!’
The hubbub of dissent in the room grew louder. A clear voice suddenly rang out from the back.
‘What’s going to happen to the wounded?’
Colonel von Hermann looked intently at the speaker’s gaunt face, framed in a soft Christ-like beard. He had a lot of time for the young major, who had taken command of an infantry regiment just a fortnight previously. He repeated his question, this time with even greater urgency.
‘What will happen to the wounded? We’ve got thousands of untended wounded and sick here in the Cauldron. It’s a state of affairs that casts a shadow over the “glory” of the Sixth Army, if you ask me.’
‘The plan doesn’t say anything about the severely wounded,’ replied the colonel, laying out his words carefully like coins on a table. ‘We’re going to have to abandon them to their fate. For men with less severe wounds, or those suffering from battle fatigue or frostbite – in short, for anyone who’s no longer capable of marching, the following is envisaged: the rapid Russian advance from the west could put the plan in jeopardy. So the idea is to set up a defensive line on the railway embankment between Gumrak and Voroponovo, comprising all those wounded and sick men who can still fight…’
The colonel took a single deep breath before continuing with his address in a rapid and almost offhand delivery.
‘There’s a worry that those concerned won’t be able to summon up enough enthusiasm for the task. As a result, it’s been recommended that they be told that… that a thousand German tanks are en route from the west to liberate us, that they have already reached the high road above the Don, and that until they arrive the position must be held at all costs. While they’re busy fighting in this expectation, the rest will effect a breakthrough at another location.’
Only the busy ticking of the pocket alarm clock on the table broke the silence that followed. Colonel Steffen gasped for air a couple of times, but after looking at the frozen faces of his colleagues refrained from voicing his thoughts on the matter. Without warning, the major who had spoken up before pushed his way to the front. He took two paces forward, composed himself and raised his hand to speak. His voice cut through the air like a sword.
‘In the name of my regiment, I hereby declare that the men would not be prepared to go along with… with a “plan” like that!’
That broke the spell of silence. The room erupted in shouts of agreement and indignation.
‘Quite right!’ – ‘Yes, it’s out of the question!’ – ‘Sheer impertinence!’ – ‘It’s a disgrace!’
Even the little artillery officer became animated. ‘The whole thing’s a fool’s errand, in my view. To try to bamboozle those poor blokes who are at death’s door by building castles in the air like that and use them to try to win glory for yourself – I say it’s a fool’s errand!’
Colonel von Hermann gestured with his hand to quell the mounting tide of noise.
‘Very well, Meyer,’ he said curtly. ‘Your objection is duly noted… What about you, Steffen?’
The colonel’s piercing gaze swivelled round the room. It met with an icy wall of hostility.
‘Look, if only we could at least give them a chance of success… if only we could tell them…’
He struggled to finish his answer. No one came to his aid. Finally, he gave it up.
‘So, it looks like a heroic last stand is very doubtful, very doubtful indeed. Seems as though there isn’t enough support for it.’
‘Anyone here take a different view?’ Hermann asked finally. No one responded. The colonel gave a sigh and his face relaxed.
‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ he said, a little less formally. ‘I wouldn’t have expected you to do otherwise. If we have to die, then we want to do so as upstanding soldiers – in so far as that’s in our hands.’
He bade farewell with a handshake to each of the officers in turn. The last one to come up was a captain, one of the adjutants.
‘Permission to ask the Colonel a question? Does this… this plan come directly from the Führer’s HQ?’
The colonel grasped straight away what the captain was driving at. ‘No, Winter,’ he replied. ‘Not this time – more’s the pity!
He went over to the window and looked at the sparkling, radiating pattern of the frost on the glass. From outside came the sound of the departing officers talking excitedly among themselves. No, this plan, this crazy mishmash of desperate bravery and criminal wickedness, hadn’t come from Hitler. No one knew in what deranged minds here in the Cauldron this scheme had been hatched. But the army chief of staff had – without the knowledge of the commander-in-chief – latched on to it and, through soliciting his commanders’ input, elevated it into the realms of the feasible. Under his breath, the colonel began murmuring to himself, ‘The times are changing… it’ll be a grisly end. Ah, we’ll need to turn it all on its head, start afresh, wipe the slate completely clean…’ He turned away from the window. His face wore an embarrassed smile that made him look oddly younger. His gaze met that of Dannemeister, who was looking at him stupidly through red-rimmed eyes.
‘It’s so insane,’ he said hoarsely. ‘The crazy things you find yourself thinking… just absurd!’ Saying this, he picked up the receiver and briefly informed the chief of staff that his officers had unanimously rejected the plan for a ‘breakout on all sides’.
‘Very well, I thought as much,’ replied the voice at the other end of the line; it sounded calm, almost indifferent. ‘The other divisions report the same. That means the matter’s settled for us. By the by, my warmest congratulations, dear Hermann! I’ve just spoken with the C-in-C; your promotion to Major General’s been confirmed!
Von Hermann gave the customary bow in front of the telephone and politely expressed his thanks. He slowly replaced the receiver. He was a general! The dream he’d had since he was young had finally come true, much faster than he could ever have expected. Stalingrad was to thank for that, too—
But he took no pleasure in it.
Breuer could only shake his head in bewilderment at the behaviour of the Sonderführer over this period. Fröhlich seemed to be gripped by a zealousness that was impossible to fathom. He spent almost the entire day on the move or having long conversations in Russian with Nasarov. He no longer offered any predictions concerning the military and political situation, but his silence was born of a sly optimism. At his instigation, two Russian volunteers he had picked up somewhere were working in the kitchen. He always made a point of giving them something from his own meagre daily rations. One day Breuer caught him giving the Russian lieutenant colonel a long lecture in front of the intelligence division’s large-scale map of the front. Breuer blew his top about that. The Sonderführer maintained a haughty silence as the first lieutenant tore him off a strip. But when Breuer’s fury refused to abate and he threatened to report him, Fröhlich was moved to speak.