Now I understood why Rybalko and Novikov had had us wheel to the north. Once we had the Fascists surrounded, we could split them up and force them to throw down their weapons. I immediately passed on the commander’s orders.
I sent off Serashimov towards Ruhleben with his scouts. Gulevaty’s battalion, reinforced with submachine-gunners from Staruchin, heavy tanks and self-propelled guns, turned into the Reichsstrasse, the street by which the brigade should reach the River Spree.
Despite the haste and the pressure, we found a moment free for breakfast. A mess-tin, buckwheat and a mug of hot tea quelled our hunger and thirst and drove off our fatigue.
Dmitriev and I leant against the rear of the tank. The warm air coming from the engine radiators was pleasant on this cool morning. Schalunov was busy on the wireless near us. This restless man had a lot of work and things to worry about, having to pass on messages from the fighting units and giving the corps staff our coordinates to make the position of the 56th Tank Brigade understood.
Dmitriev silently held his hands over the radiators, looking unusually thoughtful. This was the first time that I had seen my political adviser so taciturn.
I carefully clasped him by the arms. ‘Are you asleep?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I think I was being melancholic. I cannot explain my behaviour otherwise.’ Dmitriev turned towards me, wiped a hand over his eyes, took out a tobacco pouch and quietly lit a cigarette. ‘How hard have we had to fight for victory, how many men have fallen on the way so far, and how many more will still die on the threshold of victory? The bullet does not know whom it hits. It could be any one of us. A little while ago I saw Verdijev killed.’
This news hit me hard. Only a few days previously the brigade commander, Hero of the Soviet Union Ivan Kalenikov, as well as battalion commander Pjotr Fjodorov and Sergeant Major N. N. Novikov had been wounded. Also the deputy of our corps commander, the twice Hero of the Soviet Union General Jakubovski, and many, many others that I knew well had been hit. And now Hero of the Soviet Union Avas Verdijev had fallen. These losses hurt not only me, but especially my comrades in arms. But we could spare no one, and this war was demanding its victims right up to the last moment. Nevertheless, we all had to try to keep the number of dead as few as possible.
‘Alexander Pavlovitch, you have again reminded all the commanders, political workers and tank-men to be careful and vigilant. The war is coming to an end, but there are still situations in which the men will take unnecessary risks.’
‘Talking doesn’t help, David Abramovitch. I had already agreed with the chief of staff to have the Heroes of the Soviet Union Novikov and Verdijev transferred to the commander’s platoon. They were to guard the colours. But unfortunately this had not happened. Novikov has gone off with the scouts despite this, and Verdijev remained with his submachine-gun battalion. How it is with our political workers you know for yourself. They cannot be held back. Nemtschenko has fallen, and, despite being badly wounded, Malanushenko has refused to go to a field hospital.’
‘So, we are not in a position to keep order in the brigade and control the hotheads?’
‘That is it. We are powerless. The men want to participate in the final defeat of the enemy at any price, and then go back home.’
What Dmitriev said was true. Courage and boldness were being displayed by everyone, and they were giving evidence of this every moment of the fighting. Many misjudged the danger in the tumult of the fighting and had to pay for it with their lives. Dmitriev and I understood this fighting spirit and we also knew how difficult it was to keep things within their normal bounds. Everyone wanted to give his absolute best. Sergeant Verdijev was no exception. I knew him well, although there were about 500 men in the brigade and one could not know every face. The men come and go, new fighters replacing the fallen. Often the commanders changed, several not even getting used to their units. So, even with the best will, I could not get to know everyone. Nevertheless there were men that one saw once and could never forget.
Shells exploded near us. Artillery and mortar fire was increasing in the Spandau area. Instinctively we pressed up against the tank. As suddenly as the firing had begun, it went away again. The firing was now on another street nearby.
My small operational group had grown considerably. The staff of the artillery brigades and battalions, as well as the commanders of the attached units, had all joined us. Apart from this, Leonov had joined us with his Rear Services units.
‘What are you doing here?’ I started saying in my greeting. ‘You are tying us down hand and foot and making it even more crowded.’
Calmly and controlled, Leonov replied: ‘I could not do otherwise, Comrade Brigade Commander. My Rear Services were at the Reichssportfeld S-Bahn station, uncertain as to the situation. An enemy group attacked us from the Olympic Stadium U-Bahn station and we had to beat them back for two hours. I came here because I wanted to save the ammunition, supplies and fuel.’
I knew Leonov. He was not looking for a quiet life when he withdrew his unit. He was not looking for protection, for he was a brave and experienced officer who knew how to defend himself. I had made the error of not taking into account the special circumstances in Berlin, where the Rear Services were everywhere in danger. Once this had been clarified, I allotted a tank, a platoon of submachine-gunners and a heavy anti-aircraft machine-gun to Leonov.
For two whole hours we sought to make contact with Gulevaty but without success. I regretted having lost time through having breakfast and the talk with Leonov, and decided to follow in Gulevaty’s tracks. Orientation became even more difficult. The streets were buried under rubble and with all the scrap metal lying around the compasses could not be relied upon. We had to circumvent ruins and barricades and thus lost our direction. Fortunately we soon came across wooden boards with the tactical signs of our brigade: the two circles with a ‘2’ in the middle showing us the way. Every ten to fifteen minutes General Novikov was demanding a situation report. His voice literally pursued me.
‘I am continuing the action,’ I replied laconically to all questions, although I knew that this reply would not please my superior. Finally we were not fighting alone in Berlin, but the corps commander and the army commander-in-chief were observing our 55th Guards Tank Brigade in particular, because it was at the head of the 3rd Guards Tank Army and should meet up with the troops of the 1st Byelorussian Front.
As he was unhappy with my replies, General Novikov sent a liaison officer to see me. He told me that the corps commander was unhappy with the handling of my brigade and demanded a faster rate of attack. Somewhat later the army commander ordered me categorically to close the inner ring by midday.
Once I had listened to my superiors, I and those under me remained not guilty. I sent the chief of staff to deal with the poor communications with the battalions and I reprimanded the communications officer.
The persistent questions from above and the interrupted communications with the 1st Battalion forced me to immediately climb into my tank, taking all the reserves with me, and to thrust through to Gulevaty for better or for worse.
The chief of staff tried to tell me something, but I lost my temper and interrupted him angrily: ‘Enough, Comrade Schalunov, get your staff and follow me to the Spree. We will have another look at things there.’