On
this fateful date, June 22nd 1941, Hitler’s mighty Wehrmacht
crossed the border into Russia.
Barbarossa was the codename for his secret preparations of the attack. He even signed a Peace Treaty with Russia—to
the delight of the world and the German people who eagerly
wanted peace.
Yet
peace was far from Hitler’s mind; he was planning the largest military
attack ever launched—three million men, 750,000 horses, 3,500 tanks, and on and
on. Within seventeen days his army took 300,000 Russian prisoners and pushed
deep into Russia.
However,
the deeper the troops penetrated, the wider the front became. Soon it extended
from the Baltic Sea in the North to the Black Sea in the South—over a thousand
miles. In three short weeks German panzer divisions had pushed 450 miles into
Russia. They were within 200 miles of Moscow.
Hitler
was exuberant. In September, he issued orders that his Eastern Divisions
be reduced because he needed men at home to build
ships and planes for his final push against England and his conquest of America.
The
naval ships on his drawing board were eight times larger than the largest ship
ever built. They were to carry an enormous army to invade the American
continent. He could barely contain his impatience to attack that rich land of
resources. After that conquest, he would be the uncontested ruler of the world.
It was his vision, his goal. Then he would settle down and build his capital,
the most spectacular city the world had ever seen, with monuments so grand that
for millennia people would come to admire them.
“Russia is done with,” declared Hitler’s press chief Dr. Otto Dietrich in
October 1941.
That
fall, German troops had crossed the Dnieper River. Kiev, the capital of the
fertile Ukraine, the food basket of Russia, had fallen into German hands.
“The
Ukraine is ours; it is unable to resist any more,” the radio announced, while
Hitler elatedly declared to a visiting general: “No sow will ever get me out of
there!”
Field
Marshal Rundstedt’s troops were pushing toward the rich oil fields in the
Caucasus. When Rostov was taken, Hitler declared it the greatest victory in the history of the world. It confirmed his
conviction that no Greater Conqueror than he, Adolf Hitler, had ever lived.
From his underground bunker in Berlin, he ordered divisions from the Ukraine to
march North toward Moscow. He wanted Moscow without delay before the Russian winter
set in. He also wanted the oil fields in the South. And he wanted Leningrad,
the capital of Tsar Peter the Great, a thousand miles to the North. “Wipe it
from the face of the earth,” he ordered.
No farther. Hitler’s
field marshals objected. They had achieved the nearly impossible. They could not be pushed any
further. They tried to reason with their Commander-in-Chief.
They wanted to attack one area at a time, not over a
thousand-mile front. Their troops were exhausted. They were cut off from
supplies and repair parts. In short, they were spread too thin over too large
an area. Further advances would have dire consequences.
Hitler
refused to listen. He knew better. He was in charge.
Several
generals flew to Berlin to talk with Hitler in person. Yet Hitler wanted no
discussions. He wanted absolute obedience. His orders were to be executed
precisely as he gave them. He flew into violent tantrums during the meeting.
His eyes bulged, his face flushed. His fist kept pounding the table while he
roared at them like a man possessed.
“Slimy
cowards you all!” Hitler shouted at his generals. Possessed by his fantasy of
greatness, he wanted Leningrad in the North, Moscow in the center, and the oil
fields in the South. He wanted them now! He
wanted his greatness confirmed and the world awed by his might. He threatened
to recall any general who dared to differ with his strategy, and did not
comply with his Wunschliste, his list of desired conquests
conceived in the safety of his Berlin bunker far removed from the realities of
the battlefield. With absolute determination Hitler stuck to his guns—and many
of his generals lost their command or their life for daring to differ.
The first reversals. The Russian colossus shifted into gear and mobilized
division after division. They fought with unexpected
resilience and fierce resolve. Rostov fell back into
Russian hands. Hitler furiously recalled Field Marshal Rundstedt who had brilliantly led the southern advance. Rundstedt had pleaded with Hitler
for a different strategy, but Hitler had stubbornly refused to listen, he wanted nothing but accelerated victories.
Rasputiza, the Period of Mud, set in. Heavy rains turned the Russian roads into quagmire. Everything on wheels sank meter-deep
into the mud and could not be moved. The men had no cables to pull them out, nor replacement parts to make repairs. They were cut off from supplies and ran out of fuel as well as food.
Yet
Russia was far from being done with. It trained division after division, and four years of the
most harrowing and deadly warfare ensued. Slowly, Russia annihilated
Hitler’s mighty Wehrmacht.
No food, no winter clothing. A
month after the Period of Mud, the barometer dropped to 30 degrees below zero.
The men had no winter clothing—Hitler had denied it as unnecessary, and many,
many thousand men in the prime of their life starved and froze to death. Among
them two of my uncles.
Tears
are clouding my vision. Until next time,
Rosi
(Much
of this post is taken from my book, The
Madman & His Mistress—History in the Making)
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