War Without Garlands: Operation Barbarossa 1941-1942 (70 page)

Lethargic and tired soldiers tend not to take the trouble to adjust their clothing or regulate layers. The normal reaction is to add more clothing, which compounds the problem. During combat or when marching, soldiers perspire, get wet and then chill. At the end of November the 2nd Panzer Division anti-tank battalion received only a partial issue of winter clothing, enough for only one greatcoat per gun crew.
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Fighting ability decreases with temperature and slows the rate of operations. After it drops below a bearable point, survival replaces the previous combat imperative. Organised manoeuvre involving combined activity becomes correspondingly difficult. Even today, NATO armies with high-tech lightweight ‘breathable’ and layered clothing reduce training activity at temperatures below −25° and virtually cease at −35°C, when survival is declared the paramount consideration. Training stops, snow holes are dug, mobility is reduced or troops return to accommodation. Conditions in front of Moscow began to vary between these two parameters, both judged unacceptable for operations other than war today. German soldiers possessed little to combat the cold. Their Russian counterparts were more fortunate, receiving padded clothing, ear muffs, gloves and felt boots. Zhukov pointed out, ‘by the middle of November our soldiers were a great deal more comfortable than enemy troops, who wrapped themselves in warm clothes confiscated from local residents.’
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Oberleutnant Ekkehard Maurer, serving with the German 32nd Infantry Division, declared:

‘I felt terribly angry. We had no gloves, no winter shoes – we had no equipment whatsoever to fight or withstand the cold.’
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Inexperience in such sub-Arctic conditions was lethal. The body can lose liquid at an exceptional rate in freezing temperatures. Soldiers bundled themselves up in as many layers of clothing and materials they could find and became dehydrated, not imagining such conditions might exist aside from hot and humid weather. Infantry officer Heinrich Haape ‘had gathered together an assortment of clothing,’ he said, ‘that kept me reasonably warm’. On his feet he wore outsize boots with two pairs of woollen socks wrapped in flannelette. The soles were padded with newspaper. He wore two pairs of ‘long john’ woollen underpants, two warm shirts, a sleeveless pullover, a summer uniform temperate overcoat and, over all this, ‘a special prize’ – a loose leather greatcoat. His hands were protected by an inner layer of woollen gloves, with leather gloves on the outside, and he wore two woollen caps. String was tied around his wrists to prevent the wind blowing up his sleeves. Any violent movement by the non-acclimatised German soldiers resulted in a bath of perspiration. Liquid was further lost breathing in cold air which, on being heated to body temperature inside the lungs, absorbs large amounts of moisture which is then expelled as body fluids. Soldiers ate snow because there was rarely time or opportunity to boil it: 17 times the volume of snow is required to produce an equivalent volume of water. Body ‘cores’ became chilled taking in snow, which often initiated diarrhoea.

Dysentery was an
Ostfront
affliction caused by poor food, unhygienic conditions and lice bites, and was a death sentence in certain conditions. Leutnant Heinrich Haape, a medical officer intent on keeping his men in the line, recognised ‘these poor fellows’ who, despite being badly weakened, attempted to keep up with their comrades as best they could. ‘If they exposed themselves more than three or four times a day to the demands of nature,’ he said, ‘they lost more body warmth than they could afford to lose.’ Soiled clothing might cause frostbite and death. A crude remedy was instituted:

‘Without regard for the niceties, therefore, we cut a slit 10–15cm long in the seats of their trousers and underpants so that they could relieve themselves without removing their garments. Stretcher bearers or their own comrades then tied up the slit for them with a string or thin wire until the operation had to be repeated. All the men had lost weight so the trousers were roomy enough to permit this solution.’
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All these afflictions impaired fitness. Considerable energy was burned simply struggling through deep snow, burdened with heavy weights. An inadequately protected and exhausted man might freeze to death in his sleep. Unfit soldiers were more susceptible to cold injuries and frostbite. The latter occurs when blood supply to chilled areas of the body diminishes. Dehydration and the adrenaline surges that frightened soldiers experience in combat inhibit blood flow. All these conditions applied to the inadequately equipped German soldiers advancing on Moscow. ‘People seemed to go grey overnight,’ commented infantry soldier Harald Henry. ‘Our best strength was murdered here on these snow fields,’ he wrote in front of Moscow at the beginning of December.
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If the chilling process is brief, only minor damage occurs to flesh tissue, sometimes termed ‘frost-nip’. Complete constriction leads to a discolouring of flesh and, if not treated, tissue damage resulting in gangrene. This might, at worst case, necessitate amputation. A steady trickle of such casualties began to occur. The 3rd Battery of Artillery Regiment 98 recorded, ‘Ten men were passed on to the field hospital’ on 8 December, ‘including four men with second-degree frostbite’.
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It was infinitely worse for the infantry forward. Walter Neustifter, a machine gunner, claimed ‘most soldiers froze to death in temperatures under −30°C; they were not shot, simply frozen’. Icicles, he graphically described, would form around nasal passages, and ‘fingers!’ (he demonstrated with a sharp tap of the hand) ‘would drop off! Real shitty!’
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Arctic temperatures brought planned operations to a frozen impasse. The 6th Panzer Division war diary recorded a temperature drop of −32°C on 4 December and −25°C to −32°C the following day, dropping to −35°C at night. Cold injury casualty figures were passed by radio, not in writing, to corps headquarters, so as not to alarm the soldiers unnecessarily about the true situation. Infantry companies down to 30 men needed three reliefs of sentry per hour to cope with the biting cold. Five soldiers standing guard meant ‘half of the company was on duty while the other half got some rest’. On 5 December the operations officer reasoned:

‘As a consequence, combat effectiveness, even security, was practically impossible to achieve. Twenty cases of frostbite were appearing in the battalions on average each day. The care of weapons and their maintenance for readiness is a matter of considerable urgency but difficult to accomplish. At times about two-thirds of the artillery guns are unable to fire because their barrel brakes and recoil mechanisms are frozen up. Feverish work is required to free them. Both infantry regiments are organised and maintaining their fighting strength… but in both regiments the available companies cannot be maintained at acceptable strengths.’
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Other complications were caused by the intense cold. Shock from wounds developed more quickly and was more lethal; cases of snow blindness increased in incidence. Carbon monoxide poisoning and eye irritations resulted from constant confinement in lice-ridden, ill-ventilated and overcrowded smoky hut and bunker conditions. Compressed living space in unhygienic conditions, coupled with winter darkness and the depressing attrition rate of dead and wounded, frayed nerves and shortened tempers. The cumulative impact this had on fighting power is difficult to quantify. Morale in general was maintained, but not easily. Opinions varied in relation to the proximity of the front. Panzer soldier Götz Hrt-Reger reflected with hindsight:

‘In my opinion I believe the advance would have been a lot quicker with more material. Given fresh divisions and in sufficient numbers we could have reached Moscow before winter. Because of this we had delays. The troops were – let’s say – overtired with the effort. There were heavy losses but, despite that, morale was “tip-top” – first class. Nobody wanted to [
carry on the advance],
that was another story, but you can’t say the troops had no morale. In my opinion it was good, up to the zenith of the high point – otherwise it could not have lasted so long.’
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This high point was reached at the beginning of December. There were alternative opinions. Artillery soldier Josef Deck argued, ‘our morale was actually in a catastrophic state, because constant combat with its incessant changes of accommodation grated on the nerves.’ Infantryman Harald Henry held a similar view, declaring, ‘A tremendously deep hatred, a resounding “No” collected in our breasts –
Ach,
it was so awful!’ In order to counter collective dismay, officers and NCOs had to exercise their leadership qualities more often. In practical terms this meant more exposure to the enemy, and their casualties rose in order to maintain the momentum of the advance. Oberleutnant Ekkehard Maurer, fighting in the Leningrad area, described the inertia that had to be overcome.

‘We could hardly take care of our own wounded, not to mention dealing with the enemy. We were afraid to become wounded and become the prey of the very bad winter climate, as much as the prey of the enemy. We had seen enough of the enemy to know that in cases like that prisoners were hardly ever taken, so a good many people, when it came to a decisive moment, opted not to stick his head out as far as he might have done otherwise.’
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Casualty reports reflected this drain on the junior leadership. The 6th Company of the IInd Battalion Schützen Regiment 114 reported being led by its sole surviving officer, an artillery observer, on 2 December. That day, nine men died and three were officers, as also one of 10 wounded. Total battalion losses had been 11 dead and 24 wounded.

While 7th Panzer Division clung to its tenuous bridgehead across the Moscow–Volga canal, on its right the 6th Panzer Division pushed on ahead. Gefreiter vom Bruch, advancing with Schützen Regiment 4, watched the explosions of bombs dropped from high-altitude Soviet bombers on the hilly wooded areas on the German side of the canal in bright freezing sunlight. As they entered the village of Goncharowo, he asked a little girl standing amid the ruins how far it was to the canal, Panzergruppe 3’s objective. ‘11km to the canal and 12 to Yakhroma,’ she said. ‘And Moscow?’ enquired the corporal. ‘60km,’ was the reply.
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Fighting began again in earnest as they penetrated the village of Bornissowo. Arctic temperatures were producing weapon malfunctions, which impeded operations with depressing regularity. Metal becomes brittle with intense cold and this, combined with the rapid increases of temperature by working parts during firing, caused breakages. Machine guns, in particular, needed substantially more spare parts. Belt-fed weapons had their feed pans regularly snarled up with snow, or fired intermittently due to the difficulty of controlling the gas flow to produce rapid rates of fire. Repeated reference is made in the 6th Panzer Infantry Regiment war diaries to heavy casualties caused by machine guns seizing up. Weapon stoppages and casualties among junior leaders attempting to remedy them were endemic across the front. Karl Rupp, commanding a PzKpfwII with Panzergruppe 4, recalled that, apart from the distraction of constantly turning over his tank engine to keep it working:

‘One night the riflemen noted with horror that, on top of everything else, our machine guns had frozen up. If the Russians had attacked, they could have finished us without the least problem.’
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The Panzer spearheads continued falteringly to reach out thin fingers towards Moscow. On 2 December the 6th Panzer Division experienced ‘a light parachute-drop scare’ to its rear. Russian bombers were resupplying partisans but there were also parachute infantry insertions. German vehicles were shot at on the Klusowo road bridge in the division rear as the lead elements reached Kulowo. The 1st Panzer Division took Bely-Rast on 3 December with a tank/infantry attack. They were 32km from the Kremlin.
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The unfortunate Russian population was caught between German spearheads and Red Army resistance. They were exposed to the same −40°C temperatures described by Josef Deck with Artillery Regiment 71.

‘Bread had to be chopped with hatchets to make it smaller. First aid packs set as hard as wood, petrol froze, optical instruments failed and the skin from hands remained frozen to rifles. The wounded froze to death within minutes in the snow. Only a few people these days had the fortune to thaw out a Russian body to get his clothes.’
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Non-combatants caught in the path of the Army Group Centre advance suffered enormous privations. The
Landser,
insufficiently supplied, fell upon the populace like a horde of ravaging locusts. Valentina Judelewa Ragowskaja remembers the Panzers clattering into Klin on 23 November. The family hid in the cellar, ‘dreadfully frightened’, until German soldiers stamped on their cellar lid with jackboots. ‘A soldier came down the cellar steps with a stick grenade in his hand – “Out!” he cried, “all Russians out!” They demanded “bread and sugar Mother!” making smacking noises with their lips. Two loaves of bread and a pair of turnips had been saved for the children. They were handed over.’ One loaf was devoured before their eyes, the other tossed up out of the cellar to others. ‘I went up and saw about 300 soldiers outside.’ They were making fires with furniture gathered up from the houses to keep warm. Water and meat was then demanded. Ragowskaja’s two hens were snatched up, their necks broken and flung on the fire, complete with feathers. ‘Once the feathers were burned off, they stuffed themselves with chicken meat, as simple as that!’ When she complained to the German commander she was haughtily informed, ‘German soldiers do not take foreign property!’ Total catastrophe ensued when the Germans slaughtered their one cow. ‘It was our only cow and a young one at that, she produced a lot of milk,’ said Ragowskaja. ‘I cried and threw myself on the carcass of my dead cow.’