Chapter 221 |
< World War II - The Awakening of a Giant (7) >
October 29, 1941
Western Soviet Union, West Dvina River Basin
After the rainy season in Belarus ended, the water level of the West Dvina River receded, and the mire of the Rasputitsa vanished. Ivan Konev began preparing for the river crossing of his isolated army, which had been cut off by Walter Model.
Of course, the Allied Forces weren't just going to stand by and watch the elite Soviet troops escape.
“Ah, ahhh…”
A pontoon bridge, painstakingly being constructed from the far bank, was blown to bits as a Stuka (Ju-87) dove from the sky with a metallic roar.
The few hastily prepared boats that managed to cross the river were frequently riddled by machine gun fire from the Allied air force that blanketed the sky before they could reach the other side.
“W-Wait for us!”
Those waiting in the boats for their comrades to catch up heard an unlucky roar.
“Uh, uhh?”
“G-Go now—uaaargh!”
An artillery shell that unfortunately landed on a boat obliterated it, sacrificing the soldiers aboard who had been filled with the hope of escaping this place.
“Aaaargh!”
“It hurts, Mom, Mom…”
Witnessing the gruesome fate of the comrades who had been waiting for him, the running soldier fell to his knees, his face dumbfounded.
Isolated in the middle of enemy territory, having endured the rainy season and the Rasputitsa without supplies, the condition of the Soviet troops was the worst imaginable.
The heavy equipment they once possessed had been rendered mostly useless after being isolated during the Rasputitsa.
To prepare for the river crossing, they had abandoned or destroyed it all and were now cornered on the riverbank, with neither the strength nor the will to fight.
What was happening now was less of an engagement and more of a predator’s act, cutting off the limbs of its captured prey one by one to prevent escape.
The Allied Forces, or rather, the German Army, had spent the last two weeks pushing the besieged Soviet troops toward the river.
Now, they were blocking the escape of the isolated Soviet forces on the riverbank, relentlessly wearing them down.
The river was right before their eyes, yet they could do nothing. Tormented by this false hope, the Soviet soldiers trembled with rage at the cruelty of it all.
Just as the boats and ships hastily prepared by the Soviets were all destroyed, and despair that there was no longer any hope of crossing began to consume the Soviet troops amidst the endless, horrific attrition…
A voice began to flow from a loudspeaker in Russian.
[People of Russia! I am Lieutenant General Andrey Vlasov of the Free Russian Army! I know that you are here against your will, intimidated by the vile Stalin and the Communist Party!]
Penenko Nikolayevich, once Enrique Líster's adjutant and a member of a penal battalion, was now a member of the Free Russian Army.
He wore a uniform given to him by the German Army and held a Mosin-Nagant rifle in his hands.
He imagined the faces of the Soviet soldiers on the distant riverbank listening to the broadcast.
Would they have the same face as him, Nikolayevich?
[Stop your resistance and surrender! We do not want the people of Russia to shed any more blood for the commies! Surrender, and dedicate yourselves to the great cause of a Free Russia! Let us make those who are driving the people to their deaths pay the price in blood!]
To the isolated Soviet troops, what were the words of Lieutenant General Vlasov?
Their only lifeline?
Or poison?
-
October 28, 1941
Western Soviet Union, Vitebsk – Soviet Western Front Forces Headquarters
-Comrade Lieutenant General, we're finished. If you don't order a surrender now, the soldiers are on the verge of killing the command staff!
Hearing the field commander's words over the radio, Ivan Konev let out a deep sigh.
He had been defeated. And what a crushing defeat it was.
His surprise offensive had inflicted heavy damage on the Allied Forces, but it had failed to capture the most crucial objective, Minsk.
Moreover, while he was launching an all-out offensive on a barely holding Minsk, Walter Model had exploited the weakened front and launched a surprise attack, wiping out his main force in one fell swoop.
He had been utterly loyal to the Party.
It was only natural for a former political officer, but he had served the Communist Party with that much conviction.
However, his loyalty had not been rewarded.
The General Secretary still had another 1 million elite troops under Marshals Voroshilov and Budyonny.
If the General Secretary had trusted him and put them under his command, he might have been able to muster the 1 million remaining soldiers and break through Walter Model's thin defense line!
To lose such an opportunity to political infighting between the military and the Party!
As Konev thought this, he raised a hand to his forehead.
No, that was ultimately just a way of shifting blame.
There were plenty of excuses.
The Allied Forces were superior to him in every aspect: air superiority, supplies, heavy equipment, morale, and justification.
But it was he himself who, drunk on the ambition to surpass Georgy Zhukov, had enthusiastically agreed to this high-risk operation.
-Comrade Lieutenant General?
It was he who had ultimately failed to break through Günther von Kluge's defense line, and it was he who had ignored Zhukov's advice to abandon Minsk and retreat, getting permission from the General Secretary to hold the line.
In the end, his own ambition had led to his ruin and had driven countless people to their deaths.
-Comrade Lieutenant General!
At the very least, he had always considered himself a different kind of man from that arrogant and cruel Georgy Zhukov.
“…Do you wish to surrender, Comrade?”
-Th-That is…
The river crossing demanded by the General Secretary had failed.
The demand to evacuate 2 million soldiers who were besieged and under attack was absurd from the start, but Konev had managed to get only a little over 400,000 men across the river.
The remaining 1.6 million were either already dead, fated to die, or on the verge of surrender.
And in the meantime, with his main force encircled and no reinforcements arriving, Konev's weakened defense line had collapsed.
The Allies, not content with merely starving out the 2 million men encircled by Walter Model, retook Mogilev and immediately crossed the river, setting foot on the east bank of the Dnieper.
Now, the front line was here, at Vitebsk.
Konev scoffed at himself.
In the end, when it came to sending countless men to their deaths for his own military glory, was he any different from Zhukov?
“Surrender, Comrade.”
-S-Sir?
He probably didn't want to die at the hands of his subordinates for refusing to surrender, but he also wanted to avoid the stigma of being the one to decide on it.
So he was waiting, hoping Konev would make the decision for him.
But he never would have expected such words from Konev, a former political officer and one of the most loyal men to the Party in the entire military.
“Don't you want to live, Comrade? Survive. Do not drive the people to a senseless death any longer.
Over.”
-Uh, uh…
With those final words, Konev turned off the radio.
“Comrade Lieutenant General…”
Konev gave a bitter smile at the gazes of his subordinates, who were looking at him with disbelief.
He was born a tenant farmer and had lived as a lumberjack.
The Great War and the Russian Revolution had given him his opportunity to rise.
He believed he had truly dedicated himself to communism.
He had been truly loyal to Marshal Voroshilov, who had recommended and appointed him.
He had never once doubted Stalin, Marshal Voroshilov’s close friend, or the Soviet Union.
Konev bowed toward the east, in the direction of Smolensk.
Towards his superior, Marshal Voroshilov.
Although he hadn't sent reinforcements, it was probably because he, too, could not defy the General Secretary's decision.
The hope that he had not been abandoned was Konev's only consolation.
The next moment, Konev drew his pistol and brought it to his head.
“C-Comrade Lieutenant General!”
A star of the Soviet Union had fallen.
-
November 1, 1941
Berlin, Capital of Germany, Army General Staff Headquarters
“An ooooverwhelming victory, Mr. Minister of Defense! A truly overwhelming victory!”
Manstein was practically bouncing off the walls in front of me as I read the report.
Seeing a middle-aged man act like that was seriously grating on my mental health, but his words were no exaggeration.
Of the 2 million Soviet troops encircled by General Model, only 400,000 had escaped, and they had escaped with nothing but the clothes on their backs.
Of the remainder, 600,000 were casualties, and 1 million had surrendered and been taken as prisoners of war.
Manstein hadn't stopped there.
While the Soviets were focused on the rescue, he had driven the Polish Army, Rommel, Guderian, and General Model’s forces to retake Mogilev and, before the Soviets could even respond, had broken through the now-vulnerable Dnieper River.
Now that we had successfully established a strongpoint on the east bank of the Dnieper, advancing into the flat plains beyond the river would be no difficult task.
“How about that? Trading flesh for bone! Isn't this the perfect military gain to match the expression? Hahaha!”
He must have been secretly bothered by being tricked by Zhukov again, since he was admitting to having given up flesh.
Still, this was certainly enough to make up for the blunder of nearly losing Minsk after being baited by Zhukov in the Battle of the Dnieper River.
“…Excellent, Mr. Chief of the General Staff.
You always exceed my expectations.”
When I spoke with a faint smile, Manstein’s mouth stretched from ear to ear.
“Hahaha, as I always say, everything works out when you trust and entrust me! Of couuuurse, isn't this all thanks to the Minister of Defense’s excellent supply management and support! No matter what anyone says, this Manstein knows! That behind every shining victory, the Minister of Defense's hard work is always present!”
“Ah, yes…”
I wish he'd just stop at one sentence…
By this point, he should have realized I'm not particularly fond of such flattery, but Manstein’s lack of tact was unchanging.
I let out a small sigh and glared at the report.
Retaking Mogilev, reaching the east bank of the Dnieper, and driving the 2 million Soviet troops to the bank of the West Dvina to be encircled and annihilated had resulted in another 200,000 sacrifices.
In total, the Allied casualties in this Battle of the Dnieper River were 1 million, 500,000 of them German.
Soviet casualties, including those taken prisoner, exceeded 4 million.
Manstein, thinking I was looking at the casualty ratio, was grinning like an idiot.
Certainly, among them were a large number of the elite soldiers that the Soviets had left, so it was a victory, an overwhelming victory.
But even so, the number of those who had fallen on the battlefield was far, far too high.
And the Soviet Army—
In the end, I was the one who had approved Manstein and Richthofen's plan to inflict as much damage and attrition as possible on the enemy troops cornered on the riverbank before offering them surrender.
This resulted in 600,000 Soviet and 100,000 Allied sacrifices.
The enemy was a regular army.
Allowing the Free Russian Army to gain too many additional troops would also be a problem.
There were also demands from Abwehr Director Canaris and the anti-communists within the military.
Only by launching a harsh offensive could we definitively reduce the number of enemy troops crossing the river and save more Allied lives.
There were many reasons, but in the end, I had approved an operation to kill as many people as possible who had little capacity to resist, and in the process, had allowed our own forces to be sacrificed as well.
How much longer must I approve these acts of mutual slaughter?
"The war to end all wars," the phrase used to describe the calamity of World War I, had lost its luster in this history as World War II repeated it.
Still, my goal of ending this war faster and with fewer casualties than in the original history had not changed from the very beginning.
I slowly rose from my seat.
“I'll be on my way, then. I must prepare to receive our honored guests tomorrow…”
“Haha, of course, Minister! Take care!”
At least he doesn't order everyone to attention and salute when I leave anymore.
In the end, people gain experience and gradually get better, right?
I gave a nod to Tresckow, who casually raised a hand while smoking a cigarette, and went outside.
Winter was just around the corner, but the war situation for the Allied Forces was not bad.
Despite those countless sacrifices, we had blocked the Soviet offensive, annihilated their main force, and successfully secured a bridgehead for the capture of the east bank of the Dnieper.
In Asia, the news of victory brought by Admiral Dönitz had plunged all of Germany into joy.
The Japanese reaction was quite amusing…
The Imperial Japanese Navy had attempted a delusional victory.
They covered up the sinking of the transport convoy and the Hiei and spread propaganda about a great victory for the Combined Fleet against the Royal Navy.
However, the Imperial Japanese Army exposed the annihilation of the Special Naval Landing Forces and the sinking of the Hiei, blaming the Navy and ruining everything.
It seems it all turned out that way because the Imperial Japanese Navy had announced the departure of the transport convoy to the entire neighborhood to bait the Royal Navy…
It was painfully obvious how things had been turned upside down inside Japan.
And the one existence that could become the final variable in this situation, the American special envoy, arrived in London just this morning.
They may have stopped in London first as a show of courtesy to a traditional ally, but much to Churchill's regret, the official talks are to be held in Berlin.
So I have to greet the envoys arriving in Germany tomorrow…
I let out a hollow laugh as I looked at the list of the American delegation I had received by telegram.
What kind of historical joke was this?
Secretary of State Robert A.
Taft.
That made sense, given his position…
Former President Franklin Delano Roosevelt.
FDR. It seemed I was about to meet a giant of an era.