Road to Stalingrad by Benno Zieser

Author:Benno Zieser [Zieser, Benner]
Format: epub
Published: 2010-07-07T04:00:00+00:00

"In the future, kindly leave all the thinking to me."

Then Kovak had to turn interpreter. It seemed these Russians were stragglers who'd been cut off and moving around the neighborhood for days. They'd managed to get close to the reeds and planned to attack us at night, but our superior numbers had made them hesitate.

The interrogation was by no means easy. Welty had to force every word out of them at pistol point. He insisted on knowing who their leader was, but they wouldn't answer. Even brandishing his pistol produced no results.

Then one of the men brought in a badge he'd found in the reeds - the badge of a political commissar. Welty was foaming at the mouth. He gave them five minutes to make up their minds; if the leader refused to identify himself, Welty would have them all shot. That shook the Russians. Some began pleading for mercy, but Welty remained adamant. Three minutes passed. The lieutenant ordered a firing squad to get ready.

Hasty words were being exchanged among the Russians. Welty looked at his wrist watch. "One minute to go," he said.

Suddenly one man stepped forward; he had the face of a goodnatured peasant. His mouth was twitching. Without a word he turned around and pointed to a sullen towheaded young fellow, who reacted to this betrayal with a derisive grin.

"Search the scoundrel!" Welty ordered.

A compass, a pencil, a piece of string - nothing of importance. Nevertheless, out rang the sharp command: "Shoot him!"

There were two men of the third platoon who stood

closest to Welty. One of them I knew Corporal Habacher.

The other one was a newcomer. Habacher stared hard at

the ground, and didn't stir. He was a frontline veteran,

and this kind of job went against his grain. The youngster

blanched to the roots of his hair and stared at Welty in

horror, as if he couldn't believe that the order was ad

dressed to him. The commissar was still grinning, but now

the grin was a frozen mask on his face.

"Make it snappy," Welty said coldly. "I'll have no insubordination! There's a trench back there!"

With a weary shrug Habacher motioned to the commissar to step out and precede him. The young recruit followed, his knees shaking.

Then we heard a shot, hastily followed by another. The sun was going down in a bloodred ball of fire.

Another hour, and everyone was astonished by the sudden orders to get ready. It might mean a lull in the fighting, or combat. This time it clearly meant another battle, and my first thought was: which one of us would no longer hear this command the next time?

Our uniforms were still reeking with gasoline.

Near our trench lay a dead horse, swollen with gases. The whole air smelled of sweetish decay; it was so strong you could taste it. The only thing that helped was smoking, and since we'd used up our cigarette rations we scrounged around for pipes and tobacco and puffed away till our throats were raw.

Enemy artillery was continuously bombarding the railway embankment behind which we were entrenched, and the heavy stuff was screaming about our ears.

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