A Russian woman, now the wife of a prominent American musician, has only one searing recollection. Eighteen months after the fighting ended, when her refugee train stopped at Stalingrad, the stench of thousands upon thousands of corpses still lying in the rubble made her want to vomit.
It is the same with the Germans. In a suburb of Hamburg, when a strapping Luftwaffe officer unlocks bitter images of beatings by Soviet prison guards, he suddenly breaks down completely and begs me not to question him further.
In Cologne, a woman who has been waiting twenty-seven years for the return of her husband, reported missing in action, asks me a question. Her eyes glassy with tears, she says: “Do you think I should go to Stalingrad and look for him?” I think of her unbelievable devotion to the memory of a man long since written off as a casualty by government archivists, and can only shake my head numbly and say: “No, I don’t think it would help.”
She had known what my answer would be. Smiling bravely, she rose and made tea for the two of us.
The catalogue of bitter memories increased in scope as I met with hundreds of men and women who survived the holocaust of Stalingrad. I was deeply upset by what they told me, and I had to remind myself time and again that I had to listen to these tales of horror because the stories were vital to a valid reconstruction of the conflict.
Most appalling was the growing realization, formed by statistics I uncovered, that the battle was the greatest military bloodbath in recorded history. Well over a million men and women died because of Stalingrad, a number far surpassing the previous records of dead at the first battle of the Somme and Verdun in 1916.
The toll breaks down as follows:
Conversations with official Russian sources on a not-for attribution basis (and it must be remembered that the Russians have never officially admitted their losses in World War II) put the loss of Red Army soldiers at Stalingrad at 750,000 killed, wounded, or missing in action.
The Germans lost almost 400,000 men.
The Italians lost more than 130,000 men out of their 200,000-man army.
The Hungarians lost approximately 120,000 men.
The Rumanians also lost approximately 200,000 men around Stalingrad.
As for the civilian population of the city, a prewar census listed more than 500,000 people prior to the outbreak of World War II. This number increased as a flood of refugees poured into the city from other areas of Russia that were in danger of being overrun by the Germans. A portion of Stalingrad’s citizens were evacuated prior to the first German attack but 40,000 civilians were known to have died in the first two days of bombing in the city. No one knows how many died on the barricades or in the antitank ditches or in the surrounding steppes. Official records show only one stark fact: after the battle ended, a census found only 1,515 people who had lived in Stalingrad in 1942.
As these grim statistics emerged, I began asking the survivors the most important questions of all: what was the significance of the battle?
In 1944, Gen. Charles de Gaulle visited Stalingrad and walked past the still-uncleared wreckage. Later, at a reception in Moscow, a correspondent asked him his impressions of the scene. “Ah, Stalingrad,
Anyone with an understanding of military problems must agree with de Gaulle. That the Germans had been able to cross more than a thousand miles of southern Russia to reach the banks of the Volga River was an incredible achievement. That the Russians held them at Stalingrad, when almost every Allied strategist thought the Soviet Union was on the verge of collapse, is equally extraordinary.
Battered for more than a year by the Nazi juggernaut, most soldiers in the Soviet Army had become convinced the Germans were unbeatable. Thousands of them streamed into enemy lines to ask for succor. Thousands more bolted from the front lines and ran away. In unoccupied Russia, the civilian population fell victim to the same despair. With millions dead or under German control, with food, clothing, and shelter in increasingly short supply, the majority of the Russian people had begun to doubt their leadership and their armies. The surprising victory over the German Sixth Army at Stalingrad changed that negative attitude. Psychologically buoyed by this magnificent triumph against the “Nazi supermen,” both civilians and military braced for the grueling tasks ahead. And though the ultimate destruction of the Third Reich would prove to be a long and costly struggle, the Russians never again doubted they would win. After Stalingrad, they moved resolutely westward, straight to Berlin, and the legacy of their arduous passage into the heartland of Germany remains with us to this day. For the Soviet Union, the path to its present role as a superpower began at the Volga River, where, as Winston Churchill described it, “the hinge of fate had turned….”
For the Germans, Stalingrad was the single most traumatic event of the war. Never before had one of their elite armies succumbed in the field. Never before had so many soldiers vanished without trace in the vast wilderness of an alien country. Stalingrad was a mind-paralyzing calamity to a nation that believed it was the master race. A creeping pessimism began to invade the minds of those who had chanted “
After spending four years intensively researching the battle of Stalingrad from both sides of no-man’s-land, I found that the mosaic of the story changed with the passing days—as does all history. The brilliant German offensive to the Volga paled in relation to the inspired defense of Stalingrad by the Russians. Beyond that, most gripping of all, was the gradual moral and physical disintegration of the German soldiers as they realized they were doomed. In their struggle to cope with the unthinkable, lies the ultimate drama of the event.
Brutality, sadism, and cowardice are undeniably prominent in the story. Jealousy, overriding ambition, and callousness to human suffering occur with shocking frequency. Man aspires to greatness, but all too often his hopes are submerged by the primitive instinct to survive at any cost. What happens is not pleasant reading. No book that deals with widespread slaughter can be. At Stalingrad we are witnesses to monumental human tragedy.
Map
PART ONE
Parched by the blazing sun of summer, the grassy plain of the steppe country is light brown in hue. From the vicinity of Lugansk in the west to Kazakhstan in the east, the barren tableland stretches more than six hundred miles across southern Russia. Only a few rectangular patches of cultivated farmland,
