Soviet soldiers were prepared to endure whatever was necessary to win this war. Lew Kopelew, a junior officer, pointed out, ‘a lot of people forget the fact that we fought voluntarily, many of us, millions – and we wanted to counter-attack.’(13)
Zhukov transposed this Mongolian experience to camouflage preparations for the pending counter-offensive. Transport movement from the interior was cloaked in secrecy. Extensive reconnaissance was conducted alongside meticulous planning to enable the passage of large formations from their assembly areas to attack points. Strict security was applied to briefings on a ‘need to know’ basis. Bogus signals, radio traffic and other disinformation methods were used to cloak the intent of the operation. Pamphlets had even been issued during the Mongolian operation which offered Soviet soldiers advice on defence and were left in situations where they might be found by the Japanese. Concentrations and all regrouping activity were conducted by night. Officers carried out reconnaissance dressed in soldiers’ uniforms and used lorries rather than distinctive cars and jeeps. Tanks, heavy weapons and other equipments were painstakingly camouflaged and dispersed. Artillery barrages were fired to disguise the noise of marching units and other methods were employed to dampen engine noise.
The attack orders were not issued until the last possible moment for fear of compromising security,(14) after which routes needed to be cleared of snow. This strategic deception was based on a fine balance between concentrating the mass of overwhelming strength at a given point and not dissipating its impact through compromising surprise. Applying barely sufficient and piecemeal resources to counter local German penetrations contributed to the overall deception. German units had become accustomed to strong local counter-attacks, and never realised the sinister implication behind these probes. As a consequence, the steady Soviet build-up was misinterpreted as ‘last-ditch’ efforts to retain key ground. The 7th Panzer Division front line reports, for example, gave little indication that its bridgehead across the Moscow–Volga canal was clashing with the newly formed First Shock Army. Likewise, 2nd Panzer Division, pushing forward a salient in the Krassnaya Polyana area within striking distance of Twentieth Army – similarly expanding and preparing to attack – misconstrued increasing resistance as fanaticism.
Soldiers from the 2nd Panzer Division occupying the villages of Katjuschki and Gorki near Krassnaya Polyana on 4 December soon found ‘it was possible to observe everyday life in the capital using scissor-telescopes’. The distance as the crow flies to the edge of the city was 16km. Much to their frustration, they were unable to engage Soviet soldiers daily disembarking at Lobnya station in sight, because their supporting artillery was out of ammunition. Kampfgruppe ‘Buck’ from Infantry Regiment 304, in taking these villages had placed themselves within ‘cannon range’ of the Moscow city limits. Conditions were harsh. Layers of jackets of temperate issue coats offered the only protection against an icy east wind. Movement was so difficult that it was decided lightly wounded soldiers should be kept with the battle group rather than sent to the rear. Partisan activity and snowstorms had converted administrative and resupply runs into perilous activity. Nightfall came abruptly and as early as 15.30 hours in these wintry conditions, at which point whoever was not on guard or building defences disappeared inside a dwelling for shelter.(15)
A number of German probes were conducted toward the city outskirts. One combat group from 240th Infantry Regiment, supported by a 52nd Flak Regiment unit, worked its way forward in temperatures of −40°C to the Krjukowa railway station. This was a stop on the local Moscow suburban railway line. They passed a signpost at a road intersection, barely visible in light snow, reading ‘22km to Moscow’.
Leutnant Heinrich Haape, moving forward on a liaison visit to the 106th Infantry Division south of 2nd Panzer, found the optimism in the rear was greater than that at the front. ‘We were told that the great final attack on Moscow would begin within the next few days,’ he heard. ‘Morale was at peak level and everyone seemed confident that the city would fall before the year was out.’ Spiritual momentum alone seemed to be maintaining the advance. ‘The troops argued,’ observed Haape, ‘that rain, mud, snow and frost had failed to stop them; they had earned Moscow and now it must fall to them.’ Haape’s view encapsulated what every soldier felt: the culminating point of this battle was fast approaching. ‘Moscow, a city that had haunted our thoughts during the long, marching kilometres, and which now seemed to be approaching us like a city in a legend,’ he wistfully reflected, ‘screened from us by seven veils’. Haape was close to the city centre. ‘It was a sobering, almost frightening, thought that if one continued at this speed for only 15 minutes we would be in Moscow itself, and a further 15 minutes would bring us into Red Square or to the walls of the Kremlin.’(16)
Across the front there were repeated glimpses of the tantalising prize. The combat diary of the 87th Infantry Division reported its 173rd Infantry Regiment was manning positions in temperatures of −30°C on 3 December on the edge of the forest of Masslovo, at the confluence of the Istra and Moskva rivers. They were ‘no more than 20km from the outskirts of Moscow, whose towers are already in sight’. The report’s author felt able to ‘boast with pride that they were among those German soldiers in World War 2 who came nearest to the capital of the Russian empire’.(17)
Back home in the Reich, the gulf between expectation and reality had become even greater. Wehrmacht High Command reports were no longer effusive. There were no more Sondermel-dungen. On 25 November it was officially reported, ‘the attack in the central sector of the Eastern Front is enjoying further success.’ Four days later, ‘further progress has been made in the attack on Moscow’. On 1 December it was announced that ‘infantry and Panzer formations are advancing closer to the capital’, ‘deep penetrations’ on ‘a broad sector’ were reported the next day and ‘gains’ on 3 December. The population suspected developments of greater significance than these frugal statements. Newspapers tended to give more space to ‘smaller’ successes achieved by minor Wehrmacht units, which were regarded as insignificant compared to previous epic results. Public opinion was convinced the reportage was masking unannounced important developments. A brief stir was created by the capture of Solnechnogorsk, 50km northwest of Moscow, which appeared to indicate the Wehrmacht’s determination to prosecute the advance whatever the weather.
There was further anticipation by 1 December that Moscow may yet fall. Much popular news was concerned with the ‘tragic’ deaths of well-known Nazi personalities. The Luftwaffe general and stunt-flying film star Ernst Udet died, as did top-scoring fighter ace and Spanish Civil War veteran Werner Molders. This offered some distraction from the dramatic events being played out around Moscow. Winter thus far in Berlin had been reasonably mild, averaging 2°C. Only 14 days had been recorded below freezing. The ‘Frozen Offensive’ seemed a long way away indeed.(18)
When Leutnant Haape reached the forward positions of the 106th Infantry Division, temperatures had dropped to double figures below freezing. Russian positions were pointed out on the ground. Nearby was a solitary Moscow tram stop, which was wistfully regarded by Haape and his companions. They were so near, yet so far. The fall of Moscow could mean the end of the war. The tram stop was barely 16km from the capital.