The only person at the meeting who was loud and bullish was General von Seydlitz.
‘This so-called “fight to the last bullet” is insanity: complete and utter insanity!’ he boomed, emphasizing his words by rapping with his knuckles on the tabletop. ‘It’s easy to issue such an order from a conference room two thousand kilometres from the action. But I notice that none of the gentlemen responsible have ever come to see the situation on the ground here for themselves, not one of them! – What do we have left now? Let’s see – no artillery, no pilots, no ammunition and no fuel… just half-starved, exhausted troops and wounded men in their thousands, not to mention all the fatalities! So what are we supposed to fight with? With pistols, rifles and machine guns against tanks and Stalin organs and massed artillery?’
He cast his eye around those present in the room. It encountered faces that displayed either defeat or boredom. They were used to General von Seydlitz getting on his high horse every now and then, and knew all his arguments by heart. They were always the same. Schmidt’s eyes twinkled in an almost friendly manner at the general. The usual flare-up from this blowhard, he thought contemptuously. Von Seydlitz’s face was glowing with rage; he was lost for words. How many times had he said the same thing in this forum, always the same message and always to no purpose? They’d got him pegged as a troublemaker, which made it easy for them not to take him seriously. But that wouldn’t prevent him from saying it over and over again, from proclaiming his message about the atrocity that was taking place here to the world at large, now and for all time. His hand hammered down on the table. Once again his voice cut through the air with its high pitch and clipped delivery.
‘A battle of this kind, which apart from anything else is completely senseless and pointless, is – and this must be said loud and clear, because there’s no getting away from it – is nothing short of immoral and criminal! What’s happening here can never be the ultimate meaning of a soldier’s honour!’
Paulus looked up with a pained expression.
‘Thank you, gentlemen!’ he said. ‘I trust…’ – here he cast a questioning glance at the inscrutable face of his superior, Schmidt – ‘I trust I will be acting in the best interests of you all if I make representations to the Führer one more time, present him with the unvarnished truth and request that I be given a completely free hand.’
No one made any response to this, not even General von Seydlitz. He was relieved to have got things off his chest. Once again his anger had been dissipated through the safety valve of thunderous protest. This safety valve, which General Schmidt prudently refrained from blocking, guaranteed that this influential Corps commander’s recurrent outbursts of rage never became dangerous, never built up until the pressure was such as to cause a massive explosion, or to prompt any cathartic action on the general’s part. General von Seydlitz did what the others dared not do: he protested, valiantly and openly. But crucially, even he did not back up his words with action.
Colonel Knittke read the radio message that Schmidt had given him to encrypt and to transmit as a matter of the utmost urgency to the Army High Command. It began with a report of the current situation: shortages of everything – that had been said many times already, it really ought to have been expressed in stronger terms! Sixteen thousand untended wounded – that was good, and arresting. Incipient signs of serious disintegration – not bad either. Then came the conclusion: ‘Requesting freedom of action either to continue fighting, in so far as this is still feasible, or to capitulate, should further resistance prove impossible, so as to prevent complete annihilation and to ensure the welfare of our wounded and starving men.’
The colonel was bitterly disappointed. How could there be any talk of capitulation? That nullified the effect of all the other arguments: it torpedoed their own decision. Freedom of action – that would have sufficed! That left all possibilities open. But this unfortunate word ‘capitulate’ – one could of course contemplate such a thing and even do it when it became inevitable. But actually to utter the word, to a man like Hitler? Never! There could only be one reply.
The 70-watt transmitter quickly dispatched the message to the Führer’s headquarters. After little more than a couple of hours, the reply was already there. A long-winded answer, which began with unstinting praise. But what followed exceeded their worst expectations.
‘Freedom of action and capitulation refused! … All measures for large-scale supply already in train… Through its heroic struggle the Sixth Army will fulfil the historic mission of facilitating the formation of a new front close to and north of the city of Rostov.’
How clear, how dreadfully clear the whole situation now was. Large-scale supply – when the final airfield had just fallen to the Russians? Formation of a new front? The whole thing was total nonsense, nothing but shadow-boxing! The order that was being issued here – dressed up in nauseating stock phrases and shameless lies – was the cold-blooded sacrifice of an entire army. Three hundred thousand men – slaughtered to the last man… an act of mass murder that made the ghastly sacrificial killings of the Aztecs look like child’s play. And to what end? Because a heroic myth was required for the greater glory of the madman back in Germany! That was the real ‘historic mission’! The colonel groaned. So, they were to die a heroic death! His knees grew unsteady. All his hopes lay in ruins. And the pity of it all was he loved heroism, albeit only at one remove and not at the cost of his own skin.
But if Colonel Knittke had expected this brazen reply to spark open revolt among the commanders of the Sixth Army, he was to be sorely disappointed. The mood remained calm, suspiciously calm. Did they go in such great fear of the tyrant, even thousands of kilometres away here, well beyond his sphere of power? Or – or had Schmidt actually wanted Hitler to send the reply he did? The colonel couldn’t fathom things any more. He could see how the cards were dealt but didn’t understand the rules of the game.
When Paulus retired with the message into the adjoining room, General Schmidt took the colonel by the arm and steered him aside.
‘Tell me, Knittke, do you have any way of contacting the Russian front along the Don?’
The colonel could not believe his ears. So it really was happening! Finally, things had come to a head! Of course, this was the inevitable outcome. And he, Knittke, and no one else had been the catalyst. He was the saviour of the Sixth Army!
‘Indeed, General, sir! Of course!’ he said eagerly, already savouring a growing feeling of his own importance. In a trice, the deceptively cheerful expression of his interlocutor changed to a face like a thundercloud. And without warning the storm broke over the colonel.
‘How the devil can that be?’
The blood drained from the colonel’s face as he was brought down to earth with a bump.
‘I… I don’t understand the General’s question. There are always ways and means of establishing contact!’
‘So you’ve tried it already, have you?’
‘No, General, sir!’
‘So how can you know such a possibility even exists?’
In an instant, the colonel spotted the deadly danger he was in.
‘We know all the frequencies and the call signs the Russians use, General!’ he said as calmly as he could. ‘If we were to broadcast on those, we’d be picked up over there. There’s no need to try to make contact in advance.’