Counterattack

Chapter 91 Counterattack

Colonel Levitsky stood on the roof of a building in the west of the city, looking east through binoculars.

Daylight had broken. The sunlight streamed in from the east, blinding him. He squinted and adjusted his focus. Through his lenses, the streets of the eastern part of the city appeared in the morning light. Narrow, winding, like a maze. The buildings were very close together, some separated only by an alley; two people walking side by side would be cramped. The windows were dark and empty, some broken, some boarded up. There was no one on the street, no cars, no sign of life whatsoever.

But he knew there were people over there. He could sense them. It wasn't a feeling he got through binoculars; it was an instinct that only someone who had survived a battlefield could have.

"Colonel." The adjutant stood behind him, holding a report that had just been received.

Levitsky lowered his binoculars and turned around. His adjutant handed him the report.

"To the east of the city, the Soviet troops are putting up resistance. It's not organized resistance, it's sporadic. They're hiding in buildings and firing from behind the windows. When our infantry rush in, they run away, running into the buildings. There are many holes in the walls, and they crawl through the holes to the next building and then fire from the windows of that building."

Levitsky stared at the report for a long time.

"A hole in the wall," he repeated. "What kind of hole?"

"Not large, just big enough for one person to pass through. Lots of them, everywhere. Our soldiers went into the building like they were in a maze. They couldn't find anyone, didn't know where to fire, didn't know where the next shot would come from."

Levitsky handed the report back to his adjutant. He turned and continued looking eastward. The buildings, in the morning light, resembled a group of silent giants, their dark windows like eyes staring at him.

"Where are the infantry? What are they doing?"

"The infantry were chasing, but they couldn't catch up. They would crawl through the tunnels, and our soldiers would crawl through the tunnels too. After they crawled through, they would have already reached the next building. Our soldiers would crawl through again, and they would escape again. We chased them for several streets, but we couldn't catch up."

We also lost quite a few men. They hid in the shadows, while our soldiers were in the open. They could see us, but we couldn't see them.

Levitsky didn't speak. He stood on the rooftop, the wind blowing cold. He raised his binoculars, then lowered them again.

He lifted it up, then put it down. He didn't know what to look at. The buildings to the east, the caves, the people hiding behind them.

They weren't regular troops, not the kind of enemies he'd fought before.

"Colonel," the adjutant said, "should we call in the artillery? Blow those buildings up."

Levitsky shook his head. "We can't bomb it flat. There are too many buildings, and not enough shells."

"What should we do then?"

Levitsky was silent for a few seconds. He looked at the buildings, the dark windows, and the people hiding in the shadows.

"Proceed slowly," he said. "Don't rush. Go street by street, clean building by building. When you enter a building, search all the rooms first. Every building must be thoroughly cleaned. Once that's done, then move on."

He turned around and looked at his adjutant.

"Tell all battalions not to pursue them. If we do, we'll be put on the defensive. Let them run. We'll clear them out. We'll clear them out building by building, street by street. If we can't finish in one day, we'll do it in two. If we can't finish in two days, we'll do it in three. Once we've cleared the buildings, they'll have nowhere to run."

The adjutant wrote it down in his notebook, saluted, and turned to leave.

Levitsky stood alone on the rooftop. He looked at the buildings to the east, their dark windows, and the people hiding in the shadows.

He walked down the stairs and stood on the street. The street was littered with broken bricks and ash; the walls had holes, some round, some square, some crooked. He walked to one of the holes, squatted down, and peered inside. At the other end of the hole was another room, and inside that room were several more holes leading to further places. He couldn't see what was at the other end. Maybe someone was there, maybe not. Maybe there was a gun, pointed directly at the hole.

He stood up and dusted off his knees.

"Colonel." A young soldier ran up, saluted, and said, "The 2nd Battalion reports that they discovered a Soviet command post in a building in the east of the city. It's not a regular army command post; it's a militia post. Inside, there are several radios, some documents, and a map. The map has many lines drawn on it, between buildings and between holes. Each line is numbered."

Levitsky took the report and glanced at it. Map, lines, holes. He remembered something. In Warsaw, Poland, he had seen similar maps. Not Soviet, but Polish. They fought like that too, hiding in buildings, moving in and out of holes. They fought for a long time, fought fiercely, and ultimately lost. Not because of poor tactics, but because they didn't have enough men. When all their men were gone, they lost.

"Bring me the map," he said. "I want to see it."

The soldier saluted, then turned and ran.

Levits stood there, looking at the buildings. He suddenly felt a chill. Not the chill of the weather, but the chill in his heart.

The cold seeped in from within, impossible to block out. He thought of those numbers. His fuel would only last two more days, his ammunition was almost gone, and the infantry hadn't caught up yet. He had thought taking Mozhaisk would be easy. He looked up at the eastern sky. The sun was already high, the light white and blinding. He squinted, looking at the buildings, the dark windows, and the people hiding in the shadows.

"Pass on my orders," he said.

The adjutant ran over.

"Order all battalions to cease pursuit. Rest in place. No further advance is permitted before nightfall. After nightfall, clear out the enemy. They can't see clearly at night, and neither can we. But their tunnels are there, and our flashlights are there too. Use your flashlights to find the tunnels and blow them up."

The adjutant jotted it down in his notebook, saluted, and ran off.

Levitsky stood alone on the street. He looked at the buildings, the dark windows, and the people hiding in the shadows.

He suddenly thought of his daughter. She was eight years old, in Germany, at home. She didn't know he was fighting, didn't know he was in the Soviet Union, didn't know he was in Mozhaisk. She only knew that he was far away, fighting, killing and being killed.

He took the letter out of his pocket, read it once, and then put it back.

"Colonel!" a soldier ran up. "A large Soviet force has been spotted to the east. Tanks, infantry, artillery. They're heading towards Mozhaisk. Less than thirty kilometers away."

Levitsky was stunned. He looked at the soldier but didn't say anything.

"How many people?" he asked.

"Many. At least one army group."

When Dolmatov's command vehicle stopped five kilometers east of the city, the artillery fire had already begun. It wasn't German artillery, it was his own. The artillery regiment deployed three kilometers behind them, 76mm and 122mm guns roaring one after another. Shells flew overhead, landing west of Mozhaisk, exploding in bursts of light. Dirt and gravel flew up and fell like black rain.

He jumped out of the car, stood by the roadside, and raised his binoculars. The outline of the eastern part of the city was blurry in the morning light; the smog was too thick. But he could see the buildings, those grayish-white buildings riddled with holes. Some were still smoking, some were half-collapsed, and some were just walls standing. The walls had holes, one after another, like a honeycomb.

The chief of staff poked his head out of the command vehicle. "Major General, scouts report that there is still resistance in the east of the city. It's not our regular army, it's militia. There are also some stragglers, probably a few hundred. They are surrounded in a building in the east of the city, and the German infantry are clearing them out."

Dolmatov lowered his binoculars. He turned to look at the chief of staff. "There are others? In the city?"

"Yes. They've been fighting in the city all night. They're the ones who dug the holes in the walls and guarded the buildings. The German tanks can't get in, and even if the infantry gets in, they can't move fast. They've held the Germans off for a whole day."

Dolmatov remained silent. He gazed at the buildings in the east of the city—smoking, half-collapsed, riddled with holes. He didn't know who those people were, how many there were, or how long they could hold out. But he knew one thing: they were still alive, still fighting, still waiting.

"Where is the 244th Division located?"

"The vanguard has reached three kilometers east of the city. They are deploying and preparing to attack."

Dolmatov was silent for a few seconds. He remembered Zhukov's telegram. "At all costs." He remembered the faces of those soldiers, those young, expressionless faces. He remembered the men who chiseled through the wall, the men who hid behind the wall and fired, the men who had fought all night and were still alive.

"Change the plan," he said.

The chief of staff was stunned. "Major General?"

"Stop the siege. Attack directly. The 244th Division will attack from the front, while the 246th and 247th Divisions will flank from both sides. The tank regiment will follow the 244th Division and charge in without stopping, heading straight into the city. The artillery will continue to bombard the west side of the city to suppress German artillery fire. Tell the division commanders that there are still our men in the city. They are waiting for us."

The chief of staff was writing rapidly in his notebook, his face pale.

"And another thing," Dolmatov said, "send a signal to the people in the city. Tell them that reinforcements have arrived."

He got into the command vehicle. The vehicle started and headed west. The road was terrible, riddled with craters and gravel. The driver sped along, making the vehicle bounce violently. Dolmatov gripped the handrail, his body swaying with the movement. He looked out the window. The fields receded, grayish-black and uneven. In the distance, the outline of the eastern part of the city drew closer. He could see the buildings now, not through binoculars, but with his own eyes. Grayish-white, dilapidated, like a row of worm-eaten teeth.

The vanguard of the 244th Division had already deployed in the east of the city. The infantry, lined up in skirmish lines, bent over and ran towards the city.

Tanks followed behind, T-34/76s, their guns pointing west. The tracks churning the muddy ground with a dull thud. The swirling dust, like yellow flags, drifted in the morning light.

Dolmatov jumped out of the vehicle and stood by the roadside. An officer ran over and saluted. "Major General, the 244th Division has entered the attack position. The German vanguard is in the west of the city, about four kilometers away from us. They have more tanks than we do, but the streets in the city are too narrow for the tanks to move quickly."

Dolmatov nodded. "Let the tanks charge in. Don't stop. Infantry follow behind, clearing building by building. There are holes in the buildings in the city; our soldiers can go through them. The Germans don't know where the holes are, but we do. Have the soldiers follow the holes, go through the buildings, and attack the German flanks."

The officer saluted, then turned and ran.

Dolmatov stood there, looking at the buildings on the east side of the city. The artillery fire intensified; it wasn't his cannon, but the Germans'. Shells flew in from the west, landing on the 244th Division's advance route, exploding and kicking up clouds of mud and rubble. Soldiers lay down, then got up again, and continued running. Some fell, some didn't.

He turned around and got into the command vehicle. "Drive forward."

The driver glanced at him. "Major General, it's too close ahead. German artillery can hit us."

"Drive forward."

The driver gritted his teeth and stepped on the gas. The car lurched westward, the jolting even more violently. Bullets whizzed overhead, buzzing. Dolmatov didn't look down. He looked out the window, watching the soldiers running through the artillery fire, watching the tanks weaving through the shell craters, watching the buildings getting closer and closer.

The car stopped behind a partially collapsed building. Dolmatov jumped out and crouched down against the wall. He raised his binoculars and looked towards the city.

The vanguard of the 244th Division had already entered the city. Tanks led the way, T-34/76s, guns pointed forward. The tracks screeched as they ground over gravel and broken glass. Infantry followed behind, rifles at their sides, searching from one building to another. They crawled through holes in the walls, emerging from one after another. They moved quickly, much faster than the Germans had anticipated.

The German response was swift. Their tanks, Panzer IVs—gray, boxy, with long gun barrels—marched in from the west of the city. They lined up in a row on the street, their guns pointing east. Infantry followed behind the tanks, crouching against the walls, rifles at their sides.

Both sides opened fire almost simultaneously.

The T-34's shell struck the frontal armor of the Panzer IV and ricocheted off. The Panzer IV's shell struck the T-34's turret and ricocheted off as well. Neither tank stopped; they continued forward. The distance closed, less than a hundred meters. The T-34 fired again, this time hitting the Panzer IV's tracks. The tracks broke, and the Panzer IV froze, unable to move. The Panzer IV's turret rotated, its gun barrel pointing at the T-34. It fired. The shell struck the T-34's hull and penetrated. A plume of white smoke rose from the T-34, followed by a plume of black smoke, then a burst of flame. Fire erupted from the hatches, and the tank crewman crawled out, engulfed in flames, rolling on the ground.

More tanks surged in from both sides. T-34s and Panzer IVs, gray and green, clashed together on the narrow street like two iron beasts, tearing at each other and firing their cannons.

The infantry were also fighting, taking cover inside buildings. Soviet soldiers crawled through holes in the walls and peered out of windows in other buildings, firing at the German soldiers on the street. The Germans didn't know where the bullets were coming from; they could only watch their comrades fall one after another.

They rushed into the building, trying to find the shooters. But there was a hole in the building, and someone was inside; the person had already run to another building. They chased after them, but the person escaped again.

Levitsky stood atop a building in the west of the city, peering through binoculars at the east. His face was pale, his hands trembling; his troops were retreating. From the east to the city center, from the city center to the west. With each street retreated, a pile of corpses remained. Tanks, infantry, one after another, vanished. His fuel was running low, his ammunition was running low, and his men were dwindling. Meanwhile, the Soviet army continued its advance, with tanks, infantry, and artillery piling up.

"Colonel!" the adjutant ran over, panting. "The Soviet tanks have broken through the city's defenses. The 2nd Battalion has suffered heavy losses; the battalion commander was killed. The 1st Battalion has also been scattered. We don't have enough anti-tank guns, and we're running out of ammunition."