On reaching the scene, Wendorff could not believe what he was seeing. A mass of young children, the very children for whom he had just secured safe passage, were now lying dead in the centre of a clearing. Some had obviously run for their lives and were being hunted like wild animals for sport, their executioners smiling and laughing as they targeted and hunted the terrified children. Where was Bettina?
Wendorff saw two soldiers emerge into the clearing, both laughing. One was brandishing a blood-stained broken bottle. Sickened by an awful sense of foreboding, Wendorff raced passed them. Then the awful sight met his eyes. At first, he was unable to take in the sheer horror of what he was seeing. He then reeled in disgust as the vision swamped his brain. Bettina’s lifeless corpse was splayed out on the ground, her arms and legs spread and tied to four wooden stakes. Her skirt had been lifted and she had been mutilated…
Wendorff looked around and saw Oskar Dirlewanger emerge from behind a tree. He ran straight at him, screaming and repeatedly punching him.
“Bastard! Bastard!” screamed Wendorff, raining down the blows. He would have continued until the man had been reduced to a bloody pulp, but he felt a massive blow from behind and found himself grappled to the ground by two of Dirlewanger’s command. Dirlewanger stood over him, smiling.
“You murdering bastard,” screamed Wendorff.
“You must learn to moderate your language, Wendorff. I have clarified the orders with Hauptsturmführer von Schroif. Eliminate all bolshevised individuals. That’s the standing order.”
Wendorff couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “She was a nurse, for God’s sake!”
“Really?” replied Dirlewanger. “Well, what’s this then?” He produced a Soviet document. “Unless I’m very much mistaken, this is a trade union membership card from a bolshevist trade union. You will note the name Bettina Ostermann… and furthermore, the bitch stole the gun of one of my men. It was all a Soviet trap. The scum are so low that they will even use their own children as weapons. They have no respect for the innocents, the poor loves, caught up in the crossfire like that. Now, I’m afraid I cannot possibly retain the trust of my unit if I allow the likes of you to escape unpunished for attacking an officer of the Reich.
“Leow, what shall we do with this traitor? We all saw him in Soviet uniform, trying to infiltrate the sow and her swine behind our lines. Summary execution followed by a bit of paperwork, or something a bit more delicious? On second thoughts, I think we have had our fun today. Summary execution it is then, Loew?”
Loew laughed and nodded. Dirlewanger pulled out his pistol and pointed it at Wendorff. Smiling and insouciant, he was just about to pull the trigger when he heard a voice behind him.
“Dirlewanger!”
It was Hans von Schroif and behind him stood a squad of armed men from the StuG battalion. At their head was Hauptscharführer Michael Knispel.
As Dirlewanger and his command made their way out of the clearing in the direction of the fortress, Hans von Schroif watched every move. He had a great deal on his mind and he showed complete contempt.
“You will have to take charge here, I’m afraid,” he said to Knispel. “Give them the best burial you can. I’m going to make sure there’s no repeat when the fortress falls.”
The awful task of burying the bodies of the children now commenced. It was heartrending. The tiny remains signified innocent, prematurely destroyed lives. Knispel supervised the burial. He was a hard man, but even he was almost reduced to tears by the harrowing task.
He was glad when his attention was drawn to a figure hunched by the edge of the clearing. The man was part of Dirlewanger’s unit. He had been unable to join the others and was left behind, still vomiting and shaking. Next to him was a powerful hunter’s rifle. Knispel moved swiftly and soon stood over him. The man’s arms were tightly folded, his hands concealed under his armpits as he continued to wretch.
“Can you stand up?” asked Knispel.
Eventually the man looked up. “I don’t know. I don’t care anymore,” he said weakly, his wandering gaze failing to focus on Knispel.
“Otto Frankl!” exclaimed Knispel. “‘What are you doing here?”
“Michael Knispel? It’s you? After all these years…”
“So what brings you into Dirlewanger’s unit?”
“I was given a choice, stay in jail and rot or sign up as a marksman with Dirlewanger.”
“Why were you locked up?”
“You know me, Knispel, once a poacher… always a poacher. I got caught plundering deer. I got five years.”
“God almighty! How much did you poach?”
“It wasn’t the amount, it was where… they caught me on Göring’s estate.”
“You idiot, even I wouldn’t be that stupid!” said Knispel in astonishment.
“Well, I don’t care anymore. I can’t do this. They can shoot me for all I care. I won’t go any further. I’m finished, Knispel. My life’s over. The things I’ve seen, they haunt me day and night. I can’t go on. Can you get me out of this, Knispel?”
“Well, Sturmbannführer Voss does have the right connections to Deitrich. We can sometimes arrange transfers… even for total idiots.”
Knispel’s gaze then fell longingly on the hunting rifle. “I see you’ve got yourself a Sauer.”
Knispel knew that rifles with telescopic sights were only given to the best marksmen, irrespective of rank. They were looked upon as an honour, and changes were avoided as far as possible. This was not military issue. It also carried a fine telescopic sight of the sporting type, and one like this was not suitable for military purposes. In any event, it could not be manufactured within a short period in the large numbers required. The intention of the military was to issue as many serviceable telescopic sights as possible, and not to develop just a few high-grade optical instruments. The present army telescopic sight had a low magnification, but was practical and rugged. When properly handled, it was effective in the field.
Knispel was much more familiar with the sporting sight on the Sauer rifle which Frankl carried. It was a general rule that the greater the magnification of the telescopic sight, the smaller the field of vision. A telescopic sight like this with wide field of vision and high magnification was the poacher’s stock in trade, but was not available for military service because of its size and its sensitivity. Sights were very delicate and had to be tested and, if necessary, corrected. This was nearly always the case when the sights had been transported for long periods.
“It’s yours now. I’ll never touch one again, as long as I live,” said Frankl. “They can do to me what they like.”
As he spoke there came the sharp report of a nearby explosion as Thor sent another huge shell hurtling towards the fortress. The siege was drawing to a close and the impact of the mighty gun was bringing it towards a swift conclusion.
Knispel now thought of von Schroif, who had followed Dirlewanger. He might need some help.
“You have an agreement, Frankl. Welcome to the Sturmgeschütz battalion. I’ll take care of this.”
Michael Knispel picked up the elegant Sauer rifle and made his way to the fortress.
The huge detonations were indeed draining the last will of the defenders to resist. They also caused further casualties. Yefim Fomin was one of those. Unlike the others crouched in the rubble of the citadel, Fomin did not pick himself up and try to dust himself down. The effects ofa catastrophic explosive event like the detonation of a massive shell in close proximity cannot be easily subdivided into neat linear packages. The deadening of the senses, the all-pervasive shock, does not end cleanly and decisively. In some cases, it ever ends.