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Re: Stalingrad-Hell on Earth
Jim, I intend no disrespect to your post so please don't take this the wrong way.
My father was at Stalingrad with the 14th Panzer Division, and I have yet to see a photograph that comes close to matching some of what he described to me.
Case in point, the photo directly above of the Volga. To me, that photo is almost serene compared to way it was described to me. I'll share the story with you.
My father was part of Army Group South and as he told it they just finished clearing a path between the Don and Volga rivers, and began to assault the city from the southeast pushing their way north. My father said after three years of war, it as the most brutal fighting he had yet to see. No longer was he tearing across the steppes at top speed, but crawling along in support of infantry through the rubble of streets, always worried that the debris would rip loose a track link.
He said the ground trembled from the roar of bombers overhead and buildings shook from massive explosions. Ash and fine dust fell like snow and the sound of small arms fire, men screaming and the growl of machines all blended into a constant din.
He placed the date somewhere in early to mid September when he was told to move his panzer into an area not far from the banks of the Volga, where the slope of the land and the clutter of ruins offered some protection while they took on fuel and ammo.
He said it was night, and the area around them and some of the river was awash in an orange glow from the fires of the city. The air reeked of smoke, cordite and rotting flesh and although the fighting has eased, the clatter of small arms and the crump of grenades could still be heard.
My father told me he was handing the last of some machine gun ammo to a crew mate through an open hatch when he and others around him heard an incredible sound coming out the dark toward them. Everyone snapped around as if by order, some reaching for their sidearms, others grabbing rifles. He described it as a cross between women crying and old men moaning.
When the source of the sound broke into the light no one raised a weapon or fired a shot. They were too stunned.
Dogs, my father told me, perhaps as many as 40 all moving in one great mass, leaping over debris with eyes glowing in the firelight. Mouths open wide and tongues swinging.
They ran pass the tank, the crew and supply detail without so much as a glance and on reaching the river, plowed in without breaking stride and began to swim. The men stood silent and shocked as they watched them fade into the darkness.
"The dogs fled Stalingrad," My father told me. "Only those with orders stayed."
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