them. At a regimental command post, where orders were given to pull back from entrenched positions, the briefing officer coldly remarked that the “planned retreat” meant the loss of one-third of “our people.”
But as the 94th Division left its positions, the Soviet Sixty-second Army fell upon it. Lt. Gunter Toepke heard the Russians coming, screaming “
By dawn, the 94th Division “ceased to exist.” Worse, General Seydlitz-Kurzbach’s plan backfired. Other German units held their ground and the anticipated mass stampede to the west never took place. But the general was unrepentant. Arrogant, mulish, he insisted that his strategy was the only correct one, and that the loss of several thousand men was a small price to pay for the greater goal he had sought, the salvation of Sixth Army.
Seydlitz-Kurzbach’s unilateral action reaped other unforeseen and far-reaching consequences. From inside Stalingrad, a ,Luftwaffe radioman wired news of the unauthorized withdrawal and destruction of the 94th Division directly to Hitler at Rastenburg. But no one bothered to tell Paulus, only a scant twenty miles away from the tragedy.
The news sent Hitler into a frenzy. Ranting at Paulus for disobeying his instructions to hold fast, he resolved to end any future insubordination once and for all. At 0838 hours on the morning of November 24, he sent a drastic message to the Sixth Army. Under the heading, “
After two tense days of frantic communications, the Ffihrer had delivered an incredible verdict. He denied Paulus any freedom of movement or decision. Further, he robbed Sixth Army of its chance to escape while the Russians were trying to strengthen their hold around the pocket.
In issuing his orders, Hitler assumed that Paulus would remain subservient to higher authority in such a grave moment. He guessed correctly. Temperamentally unsuited to reject a command from the Fuhrer, Paulus canceled the breakout, and put his trust in the promise of an airlift.
Yet the airlift’ was only a topic of discussion in East Prussia. Hitler still did not know whether the Luftwaffe could support Sixth Army, and he was waiting for authoritative word on the matter. A short time later, a ,special train passed through concentric rings of SS watchtowers and pillboxes outside the Wolf’s Lair, and the grossly overweight, bemedalled Reichmarshal of the Luftwaffe, Hermann Goering, huffed down to pay obeisance. His failure to deliver England, his failure to prevent massive bombings of the Fatherland, had eroded Goering’s position in the tenuous hierarchy of the Nazi regime. Nominally he was still heir to the mantle worn by Hitler, but now he was ignored by his leader and jeered at by men such as Martin Bormann. Recently he had been living in isolation in Karinhall, his magnificent estate south of Berlin. From there he directed a hunt for art treasures through the museums of occupied Europe, and indulged in drugs which eased his sense of failure.
When the question of an airlift arose, the deflated Goering seized the opportunity to ingratiate himself with Hitler and to reverse his ebbing fortunes. He brushed aside General Jeschonnek’s reservations about the inadequate airfields and bad weather in Russia, and rushed to Rastenburg, arriving in the middle of an argument. Gen. Kurt Zeitzler was warning against an extended airlift, “The Luftwaffe should muster every available aircraft and fly in fuel and ammunition
When Goering appeared, Hitler asked his opinion.
Goering had his answer ready. “My Fuhrer, I announce that the Luftwaffe will supply the Sixth Army from the air.”
Zeitzler was furious. “The Luftwaffe just can’t do it. Are you aware, Herr Reichsmarshal, how many daily sorties the army in Stalingrad will need?”
Goering flushed. “Not personally, but my staff knows.”
“Seven hundred tons! Every day! Even assuming that every horse in the encirclement area is slaughtered, it would still leave five hundred tons.” Zeitzler would not relent. “Every day five hundred tons landed from the air.”
The Reichsmarshal recovered his composure. Grandly, he boasted, “I can manage that.”
“It’s a lie!” Zeitzler screamed.
In the sudden silence that enveloped the table, Goering turned beet red. His fists knotted as if to strike the army’s chief of staff.
Hitler let his aides argue heatedly. Finally he broke in, his voice hard, devoid of sympathy for the impassioned Zeitzler, “The Reichsmarshal has made his announcement, and I am obliged to believe him. The decision is up to me.”
Waiting outside the room, General Adolf Heusinger saw a beaming Goering emerge with an equally happy Hitler. To Heusinger it was apparent that an entire German Army wandering the snowfields of the Russian steppe now had to depend on Goering’s promises. Heusinger felt a sense of doom.
From Rastenburg, orders flashed to
The Fuhrer next turned his attention to Paulus. Still ignorant of the insubordination committed by General Seydlitz-Kurzbach, he sent another curt signal to Gumrak:
Radio message (urgent) from Army Group B
TOP SECRET
The Fuhrer wishes that, because of its decisive importance for the Sixth Army, the north part of the fortified area Stalingrad, …be placed under the command of one military commander. This commander will be responsible to the Fuhrer that this fortified area is
The Fuhrer, therefore, has charged General of the Artillery von Seydlitz… with this responsibility. This does not affect the overall responsibility of the Commander in Chief of the Sixth Army….
By now, Paulus knew the disaster Seydlitz-Kurzbach had perpetrated, but for some inexplicable reason Paulus refused to tell Hitler that the man he trusted actually had defied him. Instead, Paulus took the Fuhrer’s latest order to Seydlitz-Kurzbach’s bunker and handed the document to the silver-haired officer.
When Seydlitz-Kurzbach finished reading it, Paulus asked, “And what are you going to do now?”
Seydlitz-Kurzbach laconically replied, “I suppose there is nothing I can do but obey.”
Many German soldiers accepted the news of the canceled breakout with resignation.
Cpl. Heinz Neist could not imagine that such a large army would be left to rot. Though briefly nagged by the thought that nobody would be able to help, the thirty-one-year-old Neist refused to let his spirits sag. In his cellar west of the Barrikady Gun Factory, he stayed by his radio and waited complacently for someone to come and rescue him.
Josef Metzler’s commanding officer personally told him about the aborted maneuver. When the major hastened to add that he doubted the Russians would be able to keep Sixth Army encircled, Metzler believed him. He was more concerned with acquiring fur boots. Too scrupulous to steal them from Russian prisoners or to loot them from dead bodies, he waited impatiently for the lucky moment when he could own a pair. His feet were like ice.
Sgt. Albert Pfluger, a pugnacious veteran of the 297th Division on the southern edge of the pocket, was not upset by the news either. At a briefing, when an officer read an official report telling of the Russian offensive and “temporary” encirclement, Pfluger listened halfheartedly. It struck him as very funny that the words in .the report seemed to rhyme.
After the meeting broke up, the sergeant waded through heavy snow toward his unit, but he lost his
