Forever Fleeting by Bret Kissinger

Author:Bret Kissinger [Kissinger, Bret]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-12-07T16:00:00+00:00

Back into the Fray

Wilhelm’s cauterization of his wound had saved his life. The doctors had told him as much. But his fear of getting an infection was well founded, and for the next three weeks, he drifted in and out of consciousness. Each time he awoke, there were different people on the bunks beside him. He was given things to drink, food to eat, pills to swallow, and ointments to rub on his wound. Each day, the pain in his chest and shoulder lessened. After a month, Wilhelm was cleared to return to combat. The devil atop the buildings snickered at his misfortune. There were no empty beds at the aid station. Hundreds had been cleared for combat, and the last thing any returning soldier wanted to see was the truckloads of injured or dead soldiers.

The initial blitzkrieg success that had been the staple of the German advance had, for the first time, failed them. The Soviets had chosen Stalingrad as the city they would defend to the last Russian. Stalin’s words were not an empty threat. During the initial three months of the battle, the Germans had captured ninety percent of the city, but the Soviets stood fast and stout. They also proved to be much more cunning than General Paulus had expected. The heart of winter was upon them, and the freezing winds swept through the city like a fog. The Germans were not prepared for such weather. The battle had started in late August, and none of the Sixth Army nor the others who fought wore clothing to match temperatures that dropped well into the negatives, and with their supply lines cut off, there would be no winter gear coming.

Wilhelm loved winter walks but only when dressed for it. His ears and hands were frozen, yet not numb to the pain the cold brought. He kept his hands buried under his armpits and switched from left to right in pressing his ear against his shoulder. Wilhelm and four other men were shoulder-to-shoulder in a foxhole. Hardly comfortable, it at least blocked the wind.

“They will send reinforcements,” a soldier said.

Whether it was to someone in particular or to himself was unclear.

“No one is coming. We’re cut off,” a soldier said, his mouth exhaling a cloud.

“What do you mean?” the soldier asked.

The desperation in his voice told Wilhelm his first comment had been a pep talk to himself.

“Our supply lines have been cut off. While we charged forward dick first, the Soviets went around the back and, now, they are fucking us in the ass,” the soldier said.

“We need food, winter clothes,” another said.

The pissed-off soldier pointed behind them. “There isn’t anything coming from that way but death,” he said before pausing, “We are in the cauldron now.”

The phrase stuck, and the area they were encircled in became known simply as the cauldron, and it was not a great moniker for the Germans. The pot was cooking. Somewhere, hopefully, Höring was telling Jonas a massive “I fucking told you.” Wilhelm had not seen either of them since August.

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