Выбрать главу

During the opening barrage the Germans had aimed their artillery fire at the entrance gates, bridgehead fortifications, bridges, artillery and auto-parks, warehouses and the ammunition stores. The curtain of fire was moved 10 metres deeper every 4 minutes. It was followed by the assault groups of the 45th Infantry Division. The majority of the warehouses were ruined and destroyed. Within minutes the water supply was disrupted and there was no possibility of a connection with headquarters. The majority of the soldiers and officers were killed or wounded and the defence was fragmented into islands of resistance.

An already bleak situation began to look even more dangerous for the defenders as further groups of German submachine-gunners began to move towards the Cholm gates on the south island and the Brest gates on the northern Kobrin island. It was clear that these units would soon link up, with the aim of fully taking over the centre of the fortress.

Decisive measures were desperately needed, and the man for the hour arrived in the shape of the commissar of the 84th Rifle Regiment, Senior Political Instructor Yefim Fomin.

A thought flashed through Yefim Fomin’s mind as he prepared to meet the threat to the fortress. “I should not even be here.” It was certainly true. He was supposed to catch a train to Daugavpils to meet up with his family on that fateful Saturday, but due to the crowds at the railway station had been unable to get a ticket. “Is this fate? Was I supposed to remain here, perhaps to die?” Fomin quickly dismissed the thought. There were too many permutations and ‘what might have been’ scenarios to consider. It was this ability◦— this decisiveness◦— that had assured his rise through the ranks to become a political commissar. Born in Northern Belarus and orphaned at an early age, the Komosol had become his adopted family.

Fomin’s regiment occupied the barracks on both sides of the Cholm gates. Unfortunately, most of its troops and their commanding officer and chief of staff were on duty outside the fortress when the Germans struck and the fortress was hit by enemy bombs and shells. However, seeing the extent of the chaos all around, Fomin was quick to react and soon took command of the motley band of men who were scraped together by the armoury. Fomin was trained to speak in public and this was precisely the moment when those hard won skills would be put to the test.

“Comrades, to arms! The fascists are here! Act now or it will be too late!” cried Fomin, who had climbed on to a sturdy table. “Break out the rifles and bayonets. Issue 100 rounds to every man!”

His instruction was swiftly followed by an alert quartermaster who was assisted by many eager hands. Once the bemused soldiery had a rifle and some ammunition in their grasp the situation was transformed and some semblance of order ensued. Under the clear guidance of Fomin the first confusion was quickly overcome. The surviving soldiers were quickly armed and grouped together in the safety of the basement where Fomin again spoke to them.

“Comrades, a terrible deed has been done this day. The fascists are invading our Motherland. Help will soon be on its way, but for now we must take matters into our own hands. We must make sure that no further reinforcements reach the fascists who have occupied the citadel. Are you with me? Shall we give them the bayonet?”

There was a roar of approval from the assembled soldiery and bayonets were locked into place.

“Then follow me!” screamed Fomin, placing himself at the head of his small army who rushed up the stairs and into the jaws of hell.

“Hurrrrahhhh!” The deep throated cry came from a hundred voices as Fomin’s men launched their murderous bayonet attack. Their sudden appearance and the sheer savagery of their advance took the advancing Grenadiers of the 45th Infantry Division completely by surprise. Fomin personally led the rush and struck at a large German grenadier in the middle of the advancing enemy group. The group was soon split in two. Men from other Russian units, seeing the success of their colleagues, rushed to support the counter-attack. Some of the German infantrymen ran on the Officers’ Club building while the others fell back towards the Terespol gate. A third smaller group retreated in the direction of the island’s eastern shore, hoping to cross the Mukhavets. However, there was no escape from the attacking Soviet troops who defeated the enemy group, putting all survivors to the bayonet.

“Move on, comrades! On to the Terespol gate! Be quick!” urged Fomin, and his men responded like demons as they surged on to the gate, seizing it back from the stunned German sentries and thereby cutting off the German units already in the fortress. This was the first counter-attack struck at the German assault groups and under Fomin’s energetic leadership. It would not be the last.

At the gate a confused group of Russian prisoners was found and released by Fomin and his soldiers from the 84th Rifle Regiment.

“Well done, comrades. We have shown them what the 84th is made of. You have launched a counter-attack which has destroyed the enemy assault detachment. Now, quickly set up the machine gun positions again and pass the ammunition. We must not allow a single fascist to pass these gates!”

Fomin’s men were true to their task. Although the German infantry made numerous attempts to penetrate into the depths of the fortress, again and again attempting to cross the bridge, the withering fire of the defenders was too strong.

Sprinting over to the Cholm gate with a small detachment, Fomin was able to draw strength from his success and soon organised a clear defence plan for this gate too. He was just in the nick of time. As wave after wave of German assault troops tried to cross the bridge they were met by rifle and machine-gun fire from the 84th Regiment and fell on the bridge or on the riverbanks. German troops eventually fell back and opened fire again and again, peppering the walls beside the Cholm gate with bullet and shell holes.

The garrison’s improvised yet stubborn resistance had brought the attacking German units to a halt. The victory won at dawn in re-taking the Terespol gate and cutting off Weissheim’s submachine-gunners who had forced their way into the fortress gave a fresh impetus to the citadel’s defenders.

Regimental Commissar Fomin now assumed responsibility for the defence and set up his command post next to the engineering headquarters building in the very middle of the citadel’s courtyard. From here he tried to establish radio contact with divisional headquarters.

“What do you wish me to transmit, Comrade Commissar?” asked the radio operator.

“Transmit as follows. This is the fortress. We have contained the initial assault and we are fighting the fascists for every metre of ground. We request ammunition and reinforcements. Please respond.”

Fomin stood by as the message was transmitted.

“Message transmitted. There’s no reply, comrade,” stated the radio operator.

“Transmit again,” ordered Fomin and the operator repeated the process, again and again, without success.

“There is no mains electricity and we are running low on battery power, Comrade Fomin,’ said the radio operator disconsolately.

Fomin had wasted enough time and now urgently needed to be elsewhere.

“Comrade, I order you not to leave your post. Switch to text transmission broadcast, a single open text message, saying: ‘This is the fortress. We are fighting. We have contained the initial assault and we are fighting the fascists for every metre of ground. We request ammunition and reinforcements. Please respond.’ Continue to broadcast this message until you run out of power. Do I make myself clear?”

“Very clear, comrade, I shall continue to transmit the message.”

“Good. Then I shall attend to our defences.”

With that, Fomin rose and sprinted across the courtyard towards the entrance to the tunnel which led to the underground barracks. It was one of those split-second decisions which in battle can mean the difference between life and death. No sooner had Fomin reached the safety of the tunnel entrance when, with a noise like an express train passing within a few feet, a high-calibre shell smashed into the very spot he had just vacated. The resultant explosion blew the radio operator into a million pieces and with him went the last means of communicating with the outside world. As he got to his feet Fomin realised that the fortress was now cut off and surrounded on all sides with no means of knowing what was happening in the wider world.