Nemesis (33 page)

With
twelve kills under his belt, and an uncanny knack for sighting and positioning
his tank in action, Knispel was elated when they gave him one of the new Löwe-55s.

“Look
at that monster!” he said, beaming ear to ear. “Fifty-five tons, 100mm armor,
and a brand new high velocity 75mm gun!”

“It
will be slow, Kurt,” said Lt. Hellman, who also came to the unit from the old
12th Panzer. “You won’t be able to run about like you could with that Mark IV.
I’m told it will barely give us 40 to 45KPH, and we may be road bound when the
rains come.”

“We
shall see,” said Knispel, and he would soon begin putting the new tank through
its paces, becoming quite good at his trade. In fact, he would end the war with
more confirmed kills to his credit than any man in history, all of 168, with
scores more that were unconfirmed, or kills he simply shunted off to the credit
of a fellow soldier. He never kept count, and cared little for the iron crosses
and gold badges that he would soon earn. The only thing that mattered to him
was winning, and the other men he fought with. Tenacious in combat, just as Lavrinenko
was on the other side, Kurt Knispel would never leave a comrade still fighting
on the field of battle.

He was
the best of the best, exceeding the record of other highly accomplished and
more polished combat veterans like Otto Carious and Michael Whittmann, but he
had three years to log his kills. But out there, beyond the low rolling hills
to the north was a man who would get his 52 tanks in a matter of a few months, before
an errant fragment of a mortar round ended his meteoric rise—Dmitri Lavrinenko.
As the 101st Heavy Panzer Brigade was now hastily moving up to rescue Model, the
two men would soon meet, each the perfect nemesis and foil for the other.

Disaster
had a way of striking when you least needed or expected
it. The front line had become a tortuous affair, bent like a badly twisted
girder of steel as the Germans had rammed home their offensive operations.
Several large salients had formed where the Soviets stubbornly held their
ground. In the north, one such salient was centered on and around the vital
city of Smolensk. Sergei Kirov knew that the defense there had all but derailed
the German advance on Moscow from that direction, and so he hoped the same
thing would happen now, pouring the divisions of his 20th and 29th Armies into
the defense. The Germans eventually pushed into the city with the hardened
infantry of the 4th Army, and now they were mounting a determined pincer
operation aimed at trapping all the Russian troops that had assembled to defend
that place, about 18 divisions in all.

The
41st Panzer Korps of Hoepner’s 4th
Panzergruppe
was on one side, and a
Korps that had been detached from Hoth earlier, including Knispel’s old outfit,
12th Panzer Division, joined the other pincer. The Germans took aim at the town
of Safonovo, about 90 kilometers up the road from Smolensk to Vyazma, and
Moscow beyond. After nearly a week of hard fighting, the mobile units managed
to punch through and envelop the armies still defending near Smolensk. Fearing
they would eventually lose all those divisions, STAVKA gave the order to
attempt a breakout, which was always a dangerous operation.

Men who
had been stolidly defending from well improved positions now had to effect a
tactical withdrawal under heavy enemy pressure, but by the time the movement
started, it was already too late. The German vise of steel had already closed
around the Smolensk Army Group, and as the main rifle divisions pulled off the line,
the German infantry fell on the rear guard detachments with a vengeance

To make
matters worse, once through at Safonovo, the right pincer still had sufficient
strength to drive up the road towards Vyazma. It was there that the ‘Kirov
Defense Line’ ended in the north, right astride the road to Moscow. Beyond that
point there was nothing of any consequence, a vast gap of 150 kilometers to
Rzhev where the 22nd Army was still forming in reserve. Desperate to stop the
Germans at Vyazma, and fill that gap. STAVKA ordered the 22nd south at once, a
come as you are party for units that were still fitting out and training new
raw recruits.

The
road net from Rzhev to Vyazma did not favor that move, and it would be three
days before those troops might reach the point of greatest threat. In the
meantime, STAVKA looked into its reserves and scraped up five rifle divisions,
putting them on the trains from their marshalling stations in the east and
rushing them through the late summer night to pull into Vyazma just as the
Germans were closing in on the outskirts of that town. The 234th Rifle Division
of the Moscow Militia had also come down the road from the capital, and now it
screened the arrival of these fresh troops, who literally leapt from the rail
cars with little more than a rifle slung over their shoulder, and rushed through
the town towards the growing sounds of battle.

So it
was that just as he was finding some encouragement in the stunning blow that
had been delivered by the 1st Siberian Shock Army, Sergei Kirov now received
the news of the wild situation developing to the west of the city, on the road
to Smolensk. The Germans were coming at them from more than one direction.

“The
Smolensk Group was too late in moving,” said Berzin dejectedly. “Now they will
have to try and fight their way out of that cauldron. And if we do not now
abandon that salient at Roslaval, they will soon find themselves in the same
situation. That is another 15 divisions in the remnants of 13th and 11th
Armies. If they are cut off, then there will be nothing to defend the city of
Kirov itself. There are little more than irregular militias and artillery now
manning the fortifications there. Everything else is in that salient.”

“Can
we save them without a disaster like the Smolensk Group?”

“If we
move quickly,” said Berzin. “I consulted Zhukov, and he thinks good rear guards
can hold just long enough to save the main rifle divisions. In this instance,
the road is still open, and no German mechanized units are operating in that
sector.”

“Is
there any threat the Germans might cut that road?”

“Not at
the moment,” said Berzin. “And you can again thank Karpov for that. The reserve
army he sent from Perm is holding like a stone wall west of Spas-Demensk.”

“The
fighting 24th Siberian,” said Kirov. “Yes, Karpov wasn’t bragging when he said
he had good, battle hardened men.”

“Agreed,”
said Berzin. “You may have paid a high price in turning over that ship, but it
has already returned good dividends. In this situation, with the 24th Army shielding
the withdrawal, Zhukov thinks this operation can be conducted fairly smoothly.”

“Then
we must get them out now,” said Kirov. “Now, while the main road is still open.
Yes, we’ll lose the factory at Roslaval, but we pulled out most of the
machinery last week, and it is already relocating. Order 13th Army to fall back
on the Kirov line, and man the defenses of that city. And what about the 34th
Army?”

“It is
at Volokamsk,” said Berzin, “still assembling and fitting out its rifle
divisions.” That was a reserve marshalling area about 100 kilometers north west
of Moscow.

“Well they
must be ready to move as soon as possible,” said Kirov. “With the troops we
pull out of Roslaval, the 22nd coming down from Rzhev, and the 34th from
Volokamsk, that will give us enough to hold the line. Yes?”

“I
certainly hope so,” said Berzin, “but the 22nd and 34th were being held for our
winter counterattack. You’ve already committed the 1st Siberian Shock Army.
Zhukov will want to know what he is to plan that offensive with now.”

“It
can’t be helped,” said Kirov. “We need to hold them as far west of Moscow as
possible.”

“Zhukov
thinks we should let them come east and then hit them on their northern flank.”

“A good
plan,” said Kirov, but the Raputista is only now beginning. The roads are still
fairly passable, which means the Germans still have reasonable mobility. If
those Panzer formations encircling the Smolensk Group get infantry support, and
then turn east before we establish this new defense line…”

“I
understand, sir,” said Berzin, a sober, harried look on his face. “And what
about Bryansk? There is only one road open to that city now, the road to
Kirov.”

“Then
we must keep it open.”

“The
Germans in Guderian’s group are well east of Kirov Now. They are approaching
Sukhininsk, and the last rail line open to Kirov runs through that town.”

“Then
we must hold there as well,” Kirov folded his arms. “What about the rest of the
Siberian forces Karpov promised?”

“Still
forming,” said Berzin. “2nd Shock Army won’t be ready for some time, and again,
that was slated for the winter counterattack.”

“Assuming
we survive that long,” said Kirov, and for the first time both men began to
realize that the situation could easily spiral out of control, just has it had
when the Smolensk Group had tried to withdraw.

There
was a long silence before Kirov spoke again. “I think we also need to plan for
the possible evacuation of Moscow. Should it be necessary, a little planning
now could save much trouble and grief later. But keep this very quiet. The last
thing we need now is a rumor mill and subsequent panic.”

“I
understand, sir,” said Berzin. “I’ll put my best staffers on it.”

Kirov
ran his hand through his hair, more to chase the nagging headache he was
fighting off than anything else. “Now what about the south?” he asked.

“Another
disaster,” said Berzin. “The Germans assembled a strong battlegroup at
Pokrovka, and it broke through north of Belgorod. On the other side, south of
that city, the SS have pushed all the way to Valuki. We have only one rifle
division left to block the way north to Stary Oskol. That and a couple armored
trains operating on that rail line.”

“They won’t
come north,” said Kirov. “They are heading east. They are heading for the Don.
So now we know why Volkov was so bold with this push over the Volga towards
Serafimovich.”

“This
is what Zhukov warned us about, sir,” said Berzin. “The SS are only 100
kilometers west of Rossosh now, and after that the Don...”

“There
is no good crossing point in that area,” said Kirov, “except perhaps at
Boguchar.”

“Zhukov
does not even think they will plan such a crossing. He thinks they will drive
along the southern bank of the Don and use it to defend their flank as they
come further east to reach Volkov’s area of operations. It’s a long way to go,
but we have little left to stop them.”

“This
wasn’t supposed to happen yet!” Kirov’s frustration was hard to contain. “They
weren’t supposed to drive on the Volga until 1942! Well, I don’t think they’ll
get there this year. They are running out of time. We may not have rifle
divisions to throw at them, but we will soon have the rain. There are very few
good roads in that region.”

“So
it’s come to that?” said Berzin. “We rely on the rain? What about all those
troop still in the Kuban? We have all of 25 divisions between Armavir and
Maykop.”

“I’m
not ready to concede that to Volkov yet. He’d like nothing more than to see us
pull out there after six months hard fighting for that damn oil.”

“The
fields were dynamited,” Berzin reminded him. “The rigs were destroyed, and
wells were set on fire before we pushed them out. It will take us months before
we’ll ever get a drop of oil from Maykop. You must realize that sir, because
Volkov certainly knows as much, and we don’t have that time.”

“Damn
it Starik!” Kirov used Berzin’s old Party name, ‘Starik,’ the ‘Old Man,’ a
handle from his days in Lenin’s handpicked guard. He never used that name with
him, always preferring to call him Grishin from his time in the Spanish Civil
War. Berzin could not help but notice that, and he knew that the General
Secretary was under a great deal of stress now.

“We
have 15 divisions at Maykop,” he said cautiously. “Five could hold there if
need be, and that would free up ten for other purposes.”

Kirov
hesitated. “If we give them back Maykop, then what about Krasnodar? What about
Tuapse and Novorossiysk? The Germans are already hammering at Sevastopol. If we
lose those ports we lose the entire Black Sea Fleet! What about the Southern
Front reserves near Morozovsk?” Kirov began pacing now.

“Two
rifle divisions and five independent brigades,” said Berzin. “Everything else
went to Valuki to try and stop the SS, and that was like throwing wood on a
fire.”

“Then we’ll
stop them at Boguchar,” said Kirov.

It was
a wish more than an order, and both men knew it at that moment. Kirov walked
away from the planning table in the Red Archive room, noting the books he had
so carefully collected in his sorties up the stairway at Ilanskiy scattered
about on the desks. They had dog eared the pages, looking for anything that
could help them determine what best to do, but now this new history playing out
on the battlefields was pushing their resources to the limits.

He went
to the window, seeing the city dimly lit outside, the Kremlin dark as a
precaution against German bombing. A light rain was falling, stippling the
eaves of the overhanging roof with it slight pattering. Yes, he thought, give
me rain. Give me rain and mud, and snow enough to bury the whole world. Give me
winter before they get here, by God. That is now our only hope.

He
turned to Berzin again, his jaw set. “Cancel the attack on Armavir and begin a
phased withdrawal from Maykop,” he said, conceding to the inevitable. “Fall
back through Belorchensk and Kropotkin, but establish a good defensive front on
the Kuban River, and by all means, protect those ports. The river line should be
easy to hold, and it will allow us to strip off five to seven divisions to form
a new provisional army. Get those troops to the rail lines and move sufficient
rolling stock south so we can pull them out. And by all means, save the
artillery. Who’s commanding there?”

“Konstantin
Golubev is near Armavir, and Kostenko is at Kerch. You can take your pick.”

“Have
Golubev organize the Kuban defense line. Let Kostenko put that new provisional
army together.”

“The
Germans are breaking through on his front,” said Berzin, one more bit of bad
news that he had saved for last. “They already have Fedosiya. He’s asked for
permission to cross the straits and hold at Taman. There’s already four
divisions digging in there on the peninsula.”

“Leave
them there. Tell Kostenko he can join them with anything he can get safely out
of Kerch. He can set up his new headquarters at Krasnodar and sort out the
troops withdrawing from Maykop.”

“Very
good, sir.” Berzin was glad that the General Secretary was still open to
reason, for he knew that Zhukov’s warning about the troops in the Kuban was
well taken. It would only be a matter of time before they would have to concede
that this adventure into the Caucasus was a dismal failure. It was once all territory
held by the Orenburg Federation, prized real estate with every road leading
south to the oil fields of Baku. They had come for that oil, and achieved a
kind of pyrrhic victory at Maykop, but they both knew the offensive to the south
could no longer be sustained.