Model wondered briefly how many more vital messages were hanging by a roadside. He opened the message bag and started to read. As he did so, he went white. The report had obviously been written by the commander of a unit in the last stages of destruction. Three bridges over the Volga. More being built. Heavy armor over. Units identified, First Byelorussian Front., 57th Mechanized Army, 5th Guards Tank Army, 1st Mechanized Corps, 2nd Mechanized Corps, 20th Tank Corps. All units that were supposed to be North of Walthersburg. The defenses on the left bank of the Volga overrun. 2nd Fallschirmjaeger Division overrun and destroyed. What was left was falling back to Sadovoye. Where was Sadovoye?
Model went over to the map and looked. “SCHEISSE.”
The exclamation made everybody look up. Model took a breath. There was no need to panic, panic was a worse enemy than the Russians. The Ivans hadn't got that far, it was just the German survivors of the Volga defense line were falling back to there. Keep calm, he ordered himself. Disasters happen in wars, that is why they are called wars. Armies get routed in wars and the art is to put the pieces back together again. He heard his old instructor from Staff College talking. “Always remember the feint you ignore is the enemy's main thrust.” It sounded like a joke or something a cynic would say but it was true. And he'd forgotten the lesson and fallen into the trap.
So it was time to plan. Another memory from his old instructor “If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs, victory will be yours.”
The Russians were across the Volga. How had they done it? An assault crossing of the Volga was impossible, it was too wide. It would take days to build bridges over the river and even his this screen of paratroopers would be able to hold them off. It had to be the Americans. Had to be. They weren't satisfied with their damned Hellburners and loathsome jellygas, they'd invented a way of letting their troops walk on water. No, that was absurd.
The Americans weren't gods, although it was about time somebody made them aware of that.
The answer was obvious, it had to be their Marines. They'd built a six-division Marine Corps for the invasion of Europe but never used it. Postwar, they'd kept it and now they'd used it. They'd done the crossing of the Volga and opened the way up for the Russians. The Russians would be advancing, the American's ridiculous Pentomic Divisions couldn't fight their way through a paper bag.
Now, what to do? The Ivans were over the river on a, what was it, a 30 kilometer front? Say 30 kilometers. They must be planning to race across New Schwabia behind his lines and take his Don fortifications from the rear. They'd cut Walthersburg off from the rest of the country as well. Then they could mop the south of the country up at their leisure while besieging the fortresses along “Northern edge. But, the way to eliminate a bridgehead was to hit the flanks. Pinch it off from the river, surround it and destroy it.
By sheer blind luck LII Panzer Corps was in the right place. It had 2nd, 12th and 13th Panzer divisions and the 8th Panzer Grenadier Division. They were almost in the right place anyway and they would have to change their facing but that was routine staff work. The SS Wiking Division was at Volgodonsk, most certainly not the right place. It would have to move fast. To Sadovoye. To link up with the other troops there. And a division from Walthersburg itself, he would have to strip one from the city defenses. They were the three best divisions he had and the 106th Infantry, well, it was the best of the best. They, and the survivors of 2nd Fallschirmjaeger could form a stop line.
Now to beef it up a bit. There had to be troops around there. Service unit, truck units, fuel depots. Get to work, get the officers to sweep up anybody wearing a uniform. And anybody who wasn't but looked like he should be. Or could be. There was a penal battalion not far away, at Malyye Derbetyy. They'd do as well. He would issue the orders but in truth it wasn't necessary. Every officer would already be gathering up whatever men he could find and forming them into combat units. They'd be holding out where they could, pulling back and trying to link up where they couldn't.
This was one thing the German Army had down to a fine art; making defenses out of nothing. Time and again, the Russians had learned that what appeared to be a gaping hole in the German lines was nothing of the sort. There would always be something there, tenuous, thin, ill-supplied but they'd hold until reinforcements arrived. Now, they would have to do it again.
One thing was obvious, he couldn't command from here. He'd have to go south, to join the forces there. He's co-locate with the SS Wiking Division, he could rely on his Wehrmacht units to keep a calm head on their shoulders but the SS tended to get distracted by irrelevancies and target fixated. And, truth be told, they may have the best equipment and the best manpower but their officers weren't Wehrmacht standard. He'd have to keep a closer eye on them. Talking about keeping an eye on things. The courier who'd arrived was drinking coffee now and picking at some black bread and jam. He was probably in shock, coming within seconds of being hanged as a deserter tended to do that.
“What is your name Lieutenant?” The courier looked up nervously.
“Martin Sir. Willi Martin.”
“You did a good job getting here Lieutenant Martin, I can use men like you on my staff. A good courier is hard to find.” Model reached out, an aide had anticipated the request and put a badge in his hand. “You got here without one of these, but in future, this will make your work much easier. If the Einsatzgruppen stop you again, show them this then they will apologize for delaying you while polishing your boots with their tongues.”
Model started rapping out a string of orders, moving some units, getting word out to others. Getting his own staff to prepare a shift to the new forward headquarters. He reflected that, with a gaping hole in his front, a Russian tank army or two loose in his rear areas, no reserves left, nowhere to retreat to, it was quite like old times. Reassuringly familiar in fact. The Russians had pulled a coup, a superb stroke that had cracked the whole situation wide open. Now, it was up to him to glue the pieces back together. In the organized chaos of his headquarters, the urgent letter from the International Committee of the Red Cross sat in the in-tray, unread and forgotten.
Primary Debriefing Room, United States Air Force Air Warfare Center, Nellis AFB, Nevada
The glaring wave of resentment hit Captain Kozlowski as soon as he stepped into the debriefing theater. A montage of images involving a rioting mob, being ridden out of the base on a rail, tarring and feathering, lynching and some enthusiastic application of chainsaws flooded his mind. There was no doubt about it; the Fighter Mafia were taking what had happened very badly.
It was a relief to join the ranks of the Bomber Barons. The B-52 crews were on their feet applauding the crews of Marisol and Tiger Lily, slapping their backs and cheering. General Montana, commander of the 100th Bomb Group actually rose to his feet to salute the RB-58 pilots. The RB-58C had made its first appearance at Red Sun and this, the results, threatened to reduce the debriefing session to utter chaos.
Captain John Paul Martin walked up on the Podium and banged his gavel. There was almost instant silence. Amongst his many responsibilities, Martin had to organize the search and rescue exercises, the SAREXs that paralleled Red Sun. Crews would be assigned the roles of shot-down airmen while the Combat Search and Rescue, CSAR, teams tried to find and extract them. Of course, the crews got to practice their desert survival skills while waiting for the rescue.
Any pilot who argued with Martin's judgments as range officer had their objections carefully evaluated, the relevant range tapes called up for inspection and the situation explained in detail. His objections answered, next day, the pilot in question would find himself sitting in the desert, waiting to be rescued and watching the Rattlesnakes, Sidewinders and Gila Monsters edging closer. It was not for nothing that Captain Martin was also known as Captain Sarex and old-timers at Red Sun did not argue with him.