Harder than Krupp Steel [CC:COI] *On Hold*

[Santini]

June 19th, noon:
All manner of Staff Officers have congealed about our camp, making work impossible. Have spend the last few days keeping the gold and silver thread out of the noncoms hair, but I’m running out of distractions.

Found some important news, however- Lt. Eberhardt distracted a Major long enough for me to… rummage through his satchel. Long enough to discover Case Blue… our planned operation for the summer. I was surprised, to say the least.

It seems we’d been moved to Orel to join XLVIII. Panzerkorps, 1. Panzerarmee, to form the left flank of a massive thrust into the Caucasus, hinged by an advance to the Don. We’ll be leading an advance across the Tim, then the Don, culminating in the capture of Voronezh. Thereafter, we’d post and make a sharp right, encircling the broken Soviet elements left in the wake of Sixth Army, freeing them to capture the city of Stalingrad.

It was an ambitious plan, however…
There was no demarcation line for Armee Group Center, implying we’d be advancing only in the south. Perhaps the Generalmajor will have more information, tomorrow?

[Santini]

4th July:
I sat in my hole this morning… rats… fat from the flesh of the dead… scurried at my feet, over the toes of my boots… I sat, with my rats… and wept. Vehicle 2 is packed, from headboard to tailgate, with our dead and wounded... the wounded wrapped in bandages, the dead packed with salts...

They are packed… packed like cord wood… cord wood that screams and moans and begs for morphine with every bump and jolt from the road. When I walk, it is a trudge… and my pockets jingle. They jingle for they are filled with the tags of my dead boys.

I have lost my touch… at times, I place my P38 at my ear, and jerk savagely on the trigger, again and again… I envision my guilt, my failure… their screams… leaving my head in a pink mist. The Hauptmann came to talk to us… pat us on the back, hand out trinkets, alcohol, cigarettes… he told me the Fatherland was grateful for what we’ve done… I saw that very same pink mist… leaving his fat swollen head.

I was too weak. The Hauptmann left, alive, and here I sit, atop a Stug, rumbling towards the Don.

What right… what purpose… has God, who lets me live while they die by my command? I feel… empty.

The Hauptmann asked me what I had learned… I was silent. He looked at me, at first curious, and then nervous, then ashamed.

There is nothing to learn in Russia. You cannot devise a tactics against an enemy that feels no pain… you cannot create a strategy for a foe with whom the more you kill, the stronger they grow...


A part of me… a small part… wishes I were home.

But in truth, peace would be far more alien than… than the piles of dead, and the screaming terror of the fresh recruit… the burning, shattered hulks of formerly proud armor, and the quiet, stoic grunts of the hardened veteran at the bullet strikes flesh. How can you even... even speak... let alone communicate... with anyone whos never seen it?

I shant fool myself… I could no more handle the streets of Berlin than the crop fields of the Bolshevik fiend.

The Stug rumbles under me, rendering my writing all but illegible, and it is photo of Elise that I clutch… my most prized possession.

I must bring it together... somehow. I must. I owe it... to those that yet survive. I no longer feel that I will outlive this war... but some must survive.

[M D]

Sehr Gut!

[Santini]

July 4th, 1942:
Gefreiter Huber, Unteroffizier Nagel, Gefreiter Hubmann, Soldat Stader, Gefreiter Toth, Gefreiter Lorch, Soldat Kress, Obergefreiter Freudemann, Obergefreiter Stortz…

These men I trained with, laughed with, joked with, and marched with… from that fateful June day. Today, they lie, dead or wounded, killed by my own ineptitude…

Gefreiter Michl, Unteroffizer Kellenbach, Soldat Morgenstern, Obergefreiter Ehmann…

These men joined us, as we struggled to repulse the human waves that crashed upon us, on those hot August days. Some will never breath again, some will never walk. Their pain is my guilt.

Soldat Pister, Gefreiter Von Schmeling, Obersoldat Marx, Gefreiter Heitz, Soldat Schultheiss…

These men joined my platoon in the mud, the snow, and the blood…

And I killed them.

I cannot even remember the names of the recruits that now lie, crammed in the back of that hated truck. I try… but I cannot.

Voronezh… like a dark bruise upon the earth… sits across the river… we are to take it. What is it worth…

[bomberboy]

Good

[Santini]

July 4th, Evening:
We had made first contact on the 27th of June- as we approached the bridge at the Tim, Aufk. reported that fortifications and entrenchments had been spotted atop a hill overlooking the crossing. Signs indicated that it was occupied, and therefore Ivan had the majority of the western bank covered… recon also reported, however, that there was a fordable location just north of the bridge, sheltered by a forested hill on the east bank.

About 2 clicks from the Tim, I split up the platoon. Zug 2, with both Stugs, went south at the fork, where they found cover amongst a sunflower field. I took Zug 1, with the Panzer, north, where we road across on the engine deck, then deployed at the base of the hill.

Zug 2 sprinted in groups across the field and into the west bank village… I watched from the hill. Squad 2.3 worked their way up, in burst and spurts, until they were in a wooden hut just to the south of the bridge itself… Unteroffizier Nagel leaned out the window, and waved up the rest of the squads and the Stugs. 4/1 was about level with 2/3’s hut, when, from across the river, a Soviet AT gun opened up, and from the hilltop trench and bunker, about 6 mg’s and too many rifles to count began to flash, and pick at Zug 2.

Lt. Petersohn found himself pinned, and his radioman was shot in short order… I watched him drag the wounded man to cover. I called in the fire mission, and 8cm was bursting on the east side in short order. Rather than sit, and let Zug 2 continue to get chopped up, I rushed my Zug and the Panzer up to the ridge, to lay down fire on the hill and village. I ordered 3.1 to open up, then we deployed... into a trap… as 1.2 found their cover, the Soviet infantry, hidden on the reverse slope of the hillside, let fly with 7.62 and grenades.

Gefreiter Toth fell, shot through the shoulder, and as Hurst crawled forward to drag him into the tree line, he too was shot… in the head. I recall it clearly… his shatter helmet flew free, and struck me on the leg…

Meanwhile, in the village, the 45mm continued to fire, and Zug 2 remained pinned. When at last we had cleared the SMG squad from the hillside, and started to divert our fire south, the battle began to swing. Soviet infantry started to stream out and attack from the town to the east, and a T-26 poked its snout around the hillside, but the damage was done. Between the two Stugs and the Panzer, the 45mm was finally silenced, and Zug 2 advanced across the bridge, engaging the southern end of the Soviet trench.

My own Zug advanced piecemeal, through the forest, until at last it became clear that we had routed the Russians. We had taken 6 casualties in 10 minutes… 2 of them KIA… Gefreiter Von Schmeling, and Gefreiter Hurst. We gathered our wounded, and our dead, and left the village at the crossing in flames… advancing east, at breakneck pace.

Digging foxholes is difficult for men that already know themselves to be dead… but it is done anyhow. Tomorrow, we attack across the river.

[Santini]

July 4th, Night:
I cannot sleep… I try… I close my eyes… I lie in my hole… I do not sleep.

After crossing the Tim, there was a surreal period… we advanced for two days, without seeing a single live Russian… we were sniped at, from time to time, but that was the fullest extent of Russian resistance. Signs of them were all about… abandoned supplies, vehicles, weapons… nothing.

At night, we stopped, and I spoke with my officers and noncoms… we needed to rethink our tactics. Something the Russians were doing… something I couldn’t quite grasp… had eroded our fire superiority. Hence forth, on offensive operations, the Zug would no longer conduct separate supporting operations. Instead, their efforts would be conducted against a single schwerepunkt, thereby permitting the isolation and destruction of Soviet pockets of resistance. At some Communal Farm 212, about 100 kilometers from the Tim, we had our chance to prove the idea… and we failed.

On the 29th, we advanced upon a farm building surrounded on all sides by massive crop fields. Rather than approach up the road, which I feared would have exposed us to unwelcome eyes, we dismounted, and advanced across the fields on foot, followed by our armor. Something about the area gave me a feeling, and I followed it.

Advancing through fields nearly 2 meters high was… terrifying. Seeing further than 50 meters was impossible without exposing your head over the grain, and standing upright left you exposed to the first Ivan ready to be a hero.

Perhaps a hundred meters from the farm proper, we started to take fire… at first, a few cracking shots, but within moments, the crackle of the papasha, and the boom of the DT… we had walked into an ambush. From 50 meters apart, we unloaded upon each other, flinging grenades, calling in danger close fire missions, desperately calling the Armor forward…

The actual combat was a blur… the initial contact was relatively soft, so each Zug was advanced in a leapfrog, pressing on the enemy… 1/1 used the flamethrower… I remember the black smoke, and the screaming Ivans… I remember shooting them as they stood and ran, like flaming, animate scarecrows…

I remember a counterattack… 3 BT’s covered with infantry, roaring up from the south… then one by one, blasted by the Stugs, and the screams… reached a fever pitch. With that, they came… miserable, illshaven Ivan, hands held high… we left them behind, and loaded our 6 casualties... 3 dead, 3 wounded.


After that, it was east, ever east...

[Santini]

July 5th, early morning:
Sleep… has been abandoned.
On the 1st… I well and truly committed the worst mistake of my entire career… I don’t know how I let it happen… sleep deprivation, depression… excuses, excuses.

Somewhere north of Kurst, we started to take potshots… poorly aimed, single shots, pinging off the Stug, puncturing two radiators… I quickly deployed. I took just Zug 2… Zug 1 had taken 9 casualties already, and was but an echo of itself…

The idea was stupid: We’d punch through the resistance, and advance up the road. We fell into a onesided ambush… from the right, several squads opened up on us as we trod downhill on a dirt road… I chose to deploy and commit. Whereas I should have found the flank, and turned them… I committed to a front on assault. In a three part deployment, 2.1 and 2.4 went to the right to pin the Russian left flank, while I took the Pz IV and 2.2 up the road, with 2.3 clearing the left.

2.1 and 2.4 found themselves in the shite… 6 men against 30 Russians. Franticly, they summoned up the Stug… yet by the time it had arrived, the Russians had fled into the crop, leaving their dead and wounded… I had 2.4 remain in position, and 2.1 move east to close the gap between their group and mine, and the Stug rolled up the road. As I sat with my squad, awaiting the Stug, it happened: we ran into Soviet positions…

They had the drop on us… they opened up from within the fields, and we dropped into the dirt, franticly pressing our faces into the soil, as round after round tore overhead… Michl was shot, right before my eyes, the round bisecting him just under the armpit… he was dead before I could even reach him…

The Panzer IV immediately swung right, and hit deep into the flank, as 2.1 ran up behind, trying to slow the fire, or limit its accuracy… it crossed to our front, while the Stug swung round our left, pouring hell into the fields. Then, I saw it… one Ivan stood, holding aloft a satchel charge… he screamed as he ran… I shot him, I saw the bullets strike him… yet he somehow leapt atop the tank, and detonated his charge, blowing flaming bits of himself in all directions…

2.1 and my own squad moved up rapidly, ready to pull the crew free of the wreckage… yet somehow, the tank was in one piece… the turret askew, the fenders, tools, storage blown clean… but in one piece…

Both the commander, Ehrmann, and the Gunner, Stortz, were in bad condition… Ehrmann was unconscious, so we extracted his limp body with the help of the loader, no problem… but Storz… he had somehow gotten his left hand under the turret ring, and both his eyes were swollen shut… he couldn’t hear us, his eardrums were blown… he screamed, he struggled, he bit, kicked and punched… as we sawed his hand off with bayonet… then crushed the bones with wirecutters... pinning his blind, deafened, screaming and begging self... we at last freed him. We pulled him, screaming, from the turret, and lay him by the corpses of 2.4, caught in the blast.

The Russians… they attempted to flee. Then… they attempted to surrender…

We hitched the Pz IV to the Stugs, and drug the broken wreck behind us as we advanced…

2.3, unbeknownst to me, had been wiped out… when we reached their position, we called for them, but got no response… their foxhole was surrounded by the dead, but they themselves had perished... just 200 meters away, alone, silenced by the din of battle

The truck grows full… at stops, when we drop the tailgate, a brief wave of blood rushes out the back, and soaks the soil…

Perhaps someday flows shall grow in this soil I have watered.

[Ariovistus Maximus]

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO...

What will happen to them now???

Very good chapter. Suspense, reality, the list goes on.

[Santini]

July 5th, noon:
I must have fallen asleep… for I awoke at dawn, to a gunshot… took us about ten minutes to find the source… I had forgotten to update the watch tables, and Obersoldat Marx, sole survivor of 1.2… took his life, alone in the security perimeter. My touch has killed, again…

I’m delaying the attack, one day… we cannot go forward, not in this shape. We have the manpower- regimental has been flooding us with fresh bodies- we have simply lost our fighting spirit.

We’ll have a formation.

July 5th, afternoon:
On the 4th, we had run into the last Soviet defense between us and the Don… the evening before we had reached some minor tributary… we had collapsed into sleep without even digging holes. Two of our wounded had died on the road, and another died overnight.

In the morning, a Junkers finally arrived from battalion, and we loaded the wounded that had survived… it was a relief, but a tearful event none the less… amazingly Stortz had survived… we were told he might even regain some hearing and sight… he smiled as I put his wedding ring, smashed into an oval by the turret race, into his remaining hand…

Aufk. ran up and down the tributary, but were unable to locate any additional crossing points… meaning that this one was undoubtedly defended. Our side of the river was flat, but on the immediate other side, a ridgeline rose, topped with a wooded area… we crossed the bridge quickly, and split into two combat groups: I felt that our tweaked roster packed sufficient firepower to operate in two wings.

Historical note:
Between the 3rd and 4th of July, 2nd Platoon received two Panzer IV Ausf. F’s, several recruits, and additional equipment. Ob.Lt. Santini chose to not reform 1.4, but instead attached 3.1 to Zug 1 (as 1.4), and upgraded the survivor of 2.4 to a heavy machinegun. Undoubtedly, this gave the Platoon considerably more firepower, but the actual fighting power was eroding – bled out as veterans perished, battle after battle.

My Zug leapt off the hull decks, and boots thundered across the yellowed grass… we sprinted, breathless, panting, trying to make it to the hillside before Ivan could catch us in the open… we made it. We crouched, huddled, in the shadow of the hill, grinning sheepishly at one another. Our Panzer and Stug in position, we waited for a moment, panting… then Zug 2 radioed in – in position, awaiting orders. With that, we were all business: go time.

Zug 2 acknowledged, a began cross ridge deployment. My own Zug ran about 5 meters up the slope, and crouched. I gave 1/1 the wave, and they stood, making to charge over ridge and into the forest fringe; immediately they came under fire, and dropped, seeking cover- pinned. I rolled onto my back, and waved up the Pz and the assault gun- they gunned their engines, then pulled up to the hilltop, and began to unleash on the tree line. Now or never…

We charged up to the hilltop, taking cover by the lip and behind our armor- and the situation became clear: a squad of Russians in a trench at the edge of the treeline. 1.2, 1.4 and my own squad lay out suppressive fire, 1.1 and 1.3 probed for the flank. Quickly, another problem arose: a second Russian squad, out to our left, had 1.1 pinned again- and this time Zug 1 was fully engaged.

Fortunately, Lt. Petersohn quickly determined the situation, and turned his own right flank to put fire into the rear of the Russian formation. With Zug 2 in their rear, the Russians found themselves between a rock and a hard place, and nowhere to run. Those that didn’t die where they lay, came out with hands up and terror widened eyes.

Ridge in our control, Zug 2 was ordered to resume pushing, advancing across a dirt road, and into a second grove. They crossed, taking cover at the fringe of a grass field, then came under fire… from a Russian squad in a trench on the opposite end of the fields. Petersohn shifted his squads to pin the Russians, then brought up his armored support. At that time, from their right flank, they once more came under fire- a group of Russians had hidden themselves in the forest.

Ready to return their earlier favor, I moved Zug 1 up, looking to smash the Russians in the arse. Zug 1.1 crossed, then my own, and then 1.2… and we came under attack. From the east, our own right flank, it seems like a hundred Russians charged from the woods. 1.2 took it full on the flank, smg and rifle fire… two men dropped, shot dead or nearly so, and the other two fell to the ground, desperately hunting cover behind their fallen comrades. As the Russian fire continued to pour into us, I was shouting, desperately… I need the Panzer and Stug up here, immediately. With engines roaring, they charged across the clearing and into the woods, followed by the rest of Zug 1. I had rolled over, and was yelling, to Marx and Hubmann… I told them, stay down, act dead, the Panzers were coming!

They were fighters, however… both got up to a knee, attempting to return fire… Hubmann got shot through the neck, and he fell, an astonishingly large spray of blood leaving the exit wound, hitting Marx in the face… Marx too fell, pawing at his eyes, blinded… and then the Panzer arrived.

It crashed through the trees, 75mm and both MG’s blazing… and a Russian stood, from the right of the tank, and hefted a grenade- it was a perfect shot. It fell down the open hatch of the Pz IV’s copula, and moments later, a perfect smoke ring blew from the top… and then the ammunition began to cook off. We tried to get to the vehicle… we tried. The Russian fire was too great… they had brought up additional squads and a BT.

It was painful, horrifyingly so, to pull back… we left 1.2, we left the blind Marx and the crew trapped within their exploding beast… we pulled back, and reformed, about 20 meters north in the woods. The Stug had reached us… it boomed out a quick shot, and I could hear the BT blow from nearly 200 meters.

We had reformed, and Zug 2 delivered a left hook, catching the Russian thrust from flank and rear. They broke… some ran, and were shot… some surrendered, and were shot… and we pushed, back up to the Panzer. From the wreck, we pulled one member, surprisingly alive… from the ground, we pulled several dead, and Marx… at first, he had seemed dead, but then he began to scream and struggle as we rolled him onto the stretcher.

At that point, the Russian forces that remained, began to withdrawal, and from our huddled, miserable position, we could hear the tank engines as they fled.

Field formation was a mixed bag… it served to bond the recruits… but it made it impossible for the rest of us to not realize just how many new faces there were among us. Once dismissed, they gathered… but in two separate groups… the newjoins, laughing, joking… the veterans, silent, puffing at limp cigarettes. They’ve never done that before…

Soon, it will be nightfall… and we’ll move out, ready for action in the morning.

[Santini]

For those of you curious about the current OOB, here it is:

I'll do a pretty-er version in a bit

[Santini]

Volia! Fin!

[abbews]

nice!

[Santini]

July 8th:
Spent the entire awards ceremony with my head between my knees, vomiting up morphine tablets, rye bread and vodka. I imagine the Hauptmann’s surprise, trying to find Hitler’s darling boy, the real hero of the front, and pin some oak leaves on him. I can’t do this any more…

But there is no escape.

July 8th:
We took Voronezh, in two days. We did it despite the presence of the most determined Soviet resistance I’ve ever seen, and against terrain entirely unsuited for our attack. Voronezh is a town at the base of several hills, spanning over a river and containing two crossings over the Don. For the Caucasus to be taken, Voronezh need fall – it would form the lynchpin of the northing front of the salient. I understand, full well, why it needed to be captured… I just ask if I was the man to do it.

Our losses were heartbreaking… 18 men, 7 of them dead. That makes… 19 dead, 31 maimed… in just 9 days… in the entire platoon, only 15 crossed the border with me on that fateful day. 15, of 60. Under my “heroic” leadership, three quarters of the men of my deployment class have lost their lives or lively hood. All told… 40 dead, 54 wounded… against a foe that will never succumb… the division turns south, and they expect me to command.

Perhaps if I drink enough, I might be shot for cowardice.

July 13th:
It’s quite amazing how fast a rifle butt to the face, and several days inforced sobriety, will bring clarity to a man’s mind… the Chaindog will not remove my cuffs, but he will permit me to write…

I have decided… we are all dead men, all of us: this struggle with the bear is a fight to the death… and we cannot win. These Russians… are without pain, without compassion, without any but the most animal of fear… and without number.

This Reich, this dream… it has been lost. It has slipped through our fingers, and we shall never again grasp it…

But I must fight. It is inevitable: the Yanks and Tommies shall eventually join the party… this business at Dieppe aside. It will therefore be a race… which front will collapse first?

It must not be the east. It cannot. An occupation by the western powers would be by no means benign… but an occupation by the hordes of the east… would be the end of the German peoples.

I live on borrowed time… by shot or shell, Ivan will end me. But it is my duty, my overreaching, god given objective, to see that the Bolsheviks be held, as long as possible.

I should be returned to my unit, tomorrow, or the day after… in deference to my command history and ability. I shall go, not happily, but willingly. It must be done, for the sake of whatever future Germany may have.

[Ariovistus Maximus]

Ah, I gotta get this game. Been too long.

Probably the best tactical simulation out there for this period. Most of them are very arcade-oriented.

Dangit, Santini, you're making me spend money.

[Santini]

Finals + product soft launch = update delayed, probably by a week. Sorry folks

[Hesus de bodemloze]

Wow nice to see an AAR about CC III, i played this game for ages single player and MP back in the day's when Microsoft Gaming zone still existed. Very nice AAR enjoyed the read.

If you don't mind i am going to nominate this AAR in the MAARC for this month.

[Santini]

Dammit.
Well, I said I'd do it if I could churn out an update.


Buuuut....

Yeah, if you feel like it, do it, and I'll make sure to get an update out there.

[Maximinus Thrax]

You call this an AAR? This is a whole friggin' short story! There is too much awesomeness in here for me to give a satisfying comment

[Hesus de bodemloze]

Did you ever play MP games with CC III?