THE FORESIGHT WAR (30 page)

‘What are his chances of succeeding?’
 
Churchill’s inevitable question caused a sudden stillness in the room.
 
Don chose his words with care.

‘Clearly, he is much better equipped than before, although initially that shouldn’t make much difference.
 
The
string of German victories in the first few weeks were
so swift and comprehensive that the Soviet forces could hardly be destroyed any more than they were then.
 
The crunch will come later on.
 
Can the initial momentum be sustained over those vast distances, with vehicles inevitably breaking down and wearing out in the harsh conditions?
 
Can the German supply lines keep pace with the armoured divisions given that there are no decent roads and the railways are the wrong gauge?
 
How will the Germans treat the non-Russian peoples?
 
Can the Luftwaffe stop Stalin moving his strategic industries east of the Urals?
 
Will Hitler decide to go straight for Moscow this time and, if he takes it, will Stalin surrender?
 
Perhaps the most ominous sign is that, despite knowing everything we know about what happened in my time, Hitler nevertheless believes he can do it.’

Churchill grunted acknowledgement.
 
‘All imponderables, as you say.
 
We must concentrate on what we can do to help.
 
I have already publicly offered our support and intend to declare an alliance with the Soviet Union.
 
What can we send them that will be of most use?’

Don grimaced.
 
‘Almost everything, I imagine.
 
What they will need most urgently is equipment to counter the Panzer Divisions.
 
We can fly PIATs over via Norway – the Russian anti-tank rifles will be virtually useless against the Panzer Threes.
 
Then self-propelled anti-tank guns; all the Cavaliers we can spare.
 
And fighter-bombers equipped with rockets – as many Brigands as possible.’

Churchill nodded.
 
‘That’s more or less what the Chiefs of Staff recommended.’

‘The important thing is for Stalin to hold on.
 
The Germans and the Russians fight different kinds of wars.
 
The Wehrmacht has never fought a campaign lasting more than a few weeks; everything is geared towards the Blitzkreig concept, which involves an attack so sudden that it paralyses the enemy command centre.
 
They can’t regroup because every time they try, the Panzers are behind them again.
 
Eventually opposition collapses because the HQ can give no useful orders and the troops’ morale is crushed.’

‘So we have seen for ourselves, with our victories in North Africa.’

‘The point is that German industry and logistics are geared up for short, sharp campaigns.
 
Unless my opposite number has persuaded them to make some drastic changes, their war economy is inefficient and will remain so until Speer is given the job of sorting it out, late in the war.
 
Even the army is not well organised for a long campaign; their main repair workshops are back in Germany, which isn’t much use when the front’s a thousand miles away.
 
The Russians, on the other hand, are best suited to a long war of attrition.
 
They have space, resources and people to spare.
 
Quite simply, Hitler either wins quickly or not at all.’

Churchill turned to the other members of the Committee.
 
‘So ignoring the political side of what Stalin might decide to do, what are the chances of a quick German military victory?’

Geoffrey Taylor shuffled some papers.
 
‘Our best estimates are that the Germans have committed twenty Panzer divisions with a total of four thousand tanks.
 
As many as half of these are the latest version of the Panzer Three, with the remainder being earlier versions – still more than a match for almost all of the Soviet tanks – and some of the older Czech tanks.
 
The Russians have far more – estimates range over twenty thousand – but they are nearly all obsolete except for a few of the new T Thirty-fours and KV Ones.
 
What’s worse, the Russians have no idea how to use them effectively.
 
The Russians have a similar advantage in infantry divisions, but again their equipment is outdated and they are badly led.
 
They’re little more than cannon fodder.’

‘It’s much the same story where aircraft are concerned,’ said Peter Morgan.
 
‘Huge numbers, but qualitatively no match for the Germans and largely wiped out by the Luftwaffe on the first day anyway.’

Churchill was silent for a while.
 
‘So,’ said slowly, ‘the only hope is that the distances involved will frustrate the Nazis before they have time to compel Stalin to surrender.’

‘The other hope we have,’ added Don, ‘is that he has no reason to surrender.
 
If he does, he’s as good as dead.’

The Oberst stood on the roof of his Panzerbefehlswagen, field-glasses trained east over the vast, rolling plains of the Ukraine.
 
Far behind him, the distant mutter of artillery fire signalled the destruction of yet another encircled Soviet unit, cut through then bypassed by his own Panzergruppe.
 

With a rare few moments for reflection in the frantic, headlong campaign, he had a strong sense of being part of some huge, dispersed machine.
 
In a wide screen around him were the Panzer IIIs of the leading Kompanie.
 
Somewhere out ahead of him were the armoured cars of the Panzeraufklärungsabteilung, their occasional terse reports crackling on the radio.
 
Further ahead still, the Fieseler Storchs hunted, seeking out Soviet troops and defensive positions, while far above the fast photoreconnaissance aircraft tracked the movements of armies and the Fw 190 fighter-bombers cruised, waiting for the call which would bring them hammering down on any points of resistance, or much less frequently, pouncing on any of the few remaining Soviet aircraft which tried to hinder their passage.
 
Behind him was the rest of the Panzergruppe; not just tanks, but Panzergrenadiers in their Personenkraftwagen, Panzerjäger units with their Marder and Jagdpanzer self-propelled anti-tank guns, together with artillery, engineers, signals units, medical units and the all-important supply organisation.

At that thought he grimaced.
 
The machine had some problems, and worst of all was the supply situation.
 
The further and faster the armies moved forward, the more difficult it was to ensure the supply of fuel, ammunition and other necessities.
 
Despite commandeering every available lorry capable of managing the conditions, the Wehrmacht was in danger of running out of steam.
 
Far behind him, he knew that engineers were racing to convert the Soviet railways to the German gauge in order to push forward railheads to shorten the travel distance of the
lorries
.
 
In an emergency, the Luftwaffe could arrange vital deliveries.
 
But it was still very tight.
 
Now the plains were drying out, dust was beginning to form, penetrating the air filters to wear out the engines and sharply increasing the wear rate of tank tracks.
 
There was indeed some grit in the machine.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp note of urgency in the radio report from the reconnaissance unit, then a sudden silence.
 
He swept the horizon with his glasses and spotted a smoke column forming in the distance.
 
Seconds later, the heavy thumps of gunfire reached him.
 
He dropped down into the command vehicle and issued instructions over the radio net.
 
The Panzer Kompanie burst into life and moved off, splitting into three groups; one headed for the smoke, the others diverged to either side.

The big, eight-wheeled Panzerspähwagen burned fiercely.
 
Close by, two of the smaller four-wheeled vehicles were visibly wrecked.
 
There was no sign of life.
 
The Oberst shifted the glasses to the small copses about a kilometre away, calculating distances and angles.
 
‘That one, I think,’ he muttered to himself, and switched on the radio.
 
The Panzers moved to surround the copse.
 
The Oberst frowned; one of them was exposing his flank only 500 metres from the copse.
 
He reached for the radio again but was forestalled by the sudden boom of a heavy-calibre gun.
 
He looked up in time to see the Panzer shudder to a halt, smoke already seeping from it.
 
There was still nothing visible in the copse.
 

On his command, the Panzers poured high-explosive shells into the copse, blasting the trees to splinters and setting them ablaze.
 
After a few minutes, a massive shape lumbered forward out of the flames, a type the Oberst did not recognise.
 
The lead Panzer promptly fired and the Oberst watched incredulously as the armour-piercing shot bounced off the tank’s glacis plate.
 
The Soviet tank returned fire and knocked out another Panzer with a flank shot; the others hastily traversed their vehicles to gain the protection of the thicker frontal armour and retreated up the slope.
 
After a few minutes it was clear that they had a stand-off;
neither side could penetrate the other’s frontal armour and
the Soviet tank was even able to shrug off hits on the side armour.
 
The Oberst gave more instructions.
 
The Panzers ceased fire to conserve their ammunition and waited.

Half an hour later, the Jagdpanzer rumbled up to join the Panzers.
 
When he had first seen them, the Oberst had thought they were an unneccessary extravagance.
 
With a huge 8
,8
centimetre Flak cannon mounted in an armoured box on a Panzer III chassis, they had seemed far too powerful to deal with the relatively thinly-armoured Soviet tanks which the Germans had first encountered.
 
He was beginning to realise that the OKH knew what they were doing.
 
The Hauptmann in charge of the Panzerjäger unit strolled over to the command car and climbed up beside the Oberst.
 
He studied the Soviet tank, still motionless in front of the copse.
 

‘Ah yes, one of the new KV One heavy tanks.
 
Only a medium-velocity seven point six centimetre gun, but very good armour all-round.
 
Still, we have the right medicine for it.’
 
He walked back to his vehicle, which edged forward up to the crestline.
 
The KV1 turret turned towards them as the crew spotted the movement and the Oberst was irresistably reminded of a cornered, dangerous rhinocerous sniffing the air for enemies.

The sound of the 8
,8
cm gun firing at close range was so loud it hit him like a physical blow.
 
Just over a second later, the 9.4 kilogramme shot smashed into the KV.
 
To the Oberst’s astonishment, after a few seconds the Russian tank returned fire.
 
The exchange continued for several more shots, one bouncing off the Jagdpanzer’s well-sloped armour, before the Soviet tank fell silent.
 
The Panzers approached cautiously and gave the all-clear.
 
The Oberst ordered his driver to approach the KV and got out to examine the tank.
 
It was much more massive than the Panzer III, although as the Hauptmann had said, its gun was shorter and less powerful.
 
The Panzers’ 7,5 cm projectiles had gouged the surface of the armour but failed to penetrate; of the four visible 8,8 cm strikes, only the last had succeeded in dealing a fatal blow.
 
The Oberst whistled between his teeth, and returned to his vehicle in a thoughtful frame of mind.

The village
burned,
flames and smoke rising into the summer sky.
 
Men were moving back to a line of vehicles, preparing to move off.
 
From where the villager lay, concealed in some undergrowth, he could see still figures, like ragged bundles of clothing, lying on the ground.
 
It was quiet, since the shooting had silenced the screams of the women and the cries of the children.
 

It was pure chance that he had been working in the copse when the Germans came, surrounding the village before anyone could escape.
 
He continued to watch as with much revving of engines the small convoy drove away.
 
Nothing moved in the village.
 

The man lay there for a long time, unable to move, his limbs frozen in shock and despair.
 
He had played no part in the war; like many other Ukranians he and his neighbours had hated the brutal, all-embracing power of Stalin’s Russia and had welcomed the Germans as liberators.
 
The first wave of troops had swept past the village, ignoring the awestruck peasants.
 
Stalin’s appeal to the people to wage a merciless struggle against the invaders had been scoffed at.

Since then, ugly rumours had begun to circulate, causing a growing feeling of unease:
 
rumours of senseless killing and torture on both sides, of the brutality suffered by many civilians, especially those of Jewish descent.
 
Worst of all, a name whispered to him by
a
Ukranian Jew who passed through the village a few days ago, fleeing with his family: SS Einsatzgruppen.