Chapter 1015: Northward Retreat

Shells slammed into the ground, blossoming into flowers of fire and steel in the soft earth, shaking everything and tearing at the air. Then, another massive crater would be left on the once-flat ground, its bottom still faintly steaming.

Immediately, Soviet soldiers would jump into this still-warm crater, using it as a natural shelter. The German artillery had destroyed the village, shattered the fortifications, and had also taken a great number of lives—some Soviet soldiers, some civilians from the village.

Strictly speaking, the German army was still a long way from completely encircling Moscow. At the very least, the areas directly east and south of Moscow were still firmly in the hands of the regular Soviet army. And near Kursk, south of Moscow, there was even a massive Soviet armored corps with over a thousand tanks.

Unfortunately, this armored corps was now caught between three German army groups, unable to move. To Zhukov’s far right was the flank of Model’s D Army Group. Directly in front was a mixed group of Italians, Romanians, and Ukrainians. To his far left was Guderian’s G Army Group, watching him like a tiger, preparing to launch a war of revenge.

These three combat groups surpassed Zhukov’s southward-advancing armored group in numbers, equipment, and even in supply and troop quality. Just managing to hold the defense line without it crumbling was already giving Zhukov a splitting headache, let alone breaking away from the line to march north and rescue the precarious situation in Moscow.

From the outbreak of the war until now, this was the first time in a specific sector that the German army had held an absolute numerical advantage against a large-scale enemy armored group. This, from one perspective, proved that the German armored forces had truly become the number one in the world.

In Zhukov’s command post, the rumbling of cannons landing on the forward defensive positions could still be heard. Officers bustled about, each attending to his own work. After all, the entire southward-advancing group was a massive entity. An army of hundreds of thousands had far too many affairs to manage, so the entire headquarters was a hive of activity.

“Comrade Marshal! A message from the 6th Armored Front. They report that their fuel and ammunition are nearly exhausted and are requesting resupply,” an officer in charge of logistics reported loudly, holding a document and standing behind the Marshal.

Before Zhukov could look up to answer the officer, another entered the room. He snapped to attention as he entered and also brought up another vexing problem. “Comrade Marshal! A message from Comrade Konev, commander of the 1st Guards Armored Front. He is asking when they will be resupplied with new tanks.”

Zhukov waved his hand, signaling them to be quiet. He continued to listen to the voice on the phone, ignoring the two high-ranking officers who had just entered. He then spoke, his voice slightly hoarse, to the person on the other end of the line. “Comrade Stalin, my forces are caught between three German army groups. If we were to rashly retreat… it could very well lead to the collapse of the entire southern Moscow theater…”

“Yes, Comrade Stalin. I firmly support any decision you make. Even at this critical juncture, I am willing to abandon Kursk if necessary,” Zhukov, who seemed to have aged considerably, said to the other end of the line in as calm a voice as possible. “But I must first present you with a fact. The result of doing so will be that the fate of the troops in the entire southern Moscow theater will be no better than that of the Leningrad group.”

“Very well, I will await your final order. If we are destined to endure what fate has forced upon us, then at the last moment, I will lead as many troops as possible back to Moscow. Yes! May you be in good health.” After saying this last sentence, and hearing the dial tone, Zhukov finally hung up the phone. He turned around and looked at the two officers standing before him.

He gave them a look to continue, and then sat back down wearily in his chair. The desk in front of him was piled high with documents, and the lines of several telephones were tangled in a mess, drooping from a corner of the desk onto the dirt floor.

“Comrade Marshal! The 6th Armored Front sent a message. They say their fuel and ammunition are almost exhausted. They request an urgent resupply of food, fuel, ammunition, and other materials,” the logistics officer had to repeat what he had just said. He then stood there respectfully, waiting for Zhukov’s reply.

Zhukov did not speak, but motioned for the other officer to state his business. And so the second officer could only repeat what he had just said. “Comrade Marshal! A message from Konev’s armored front. He’s asking when the replacement tanks will be delivered.”

“Tell Konev that there will be no new tanks for him. I can only send him 4,000 new recruits, but he must hold the main defensive positions! He is not to retreat a single step!” Zhukov did not answer the first officer’s question, but directly refused Konev’s request.

He then rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers and looked at the first officer. “Approve the ammunition for the 6th Front as soon as possible, and then arrange for the transport troops to send it to them. As for the other supplies, put them on hold for now. Remind me again at this time tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir!” The two officers had both received their answers. They saluted and left. In the office, several other officers from the logistics department were checking forms, sorting out the weapons and ammunition they had just received, and the new troops that had been sent up as replacements.

Even the most massive reserve system had, by this point, been all but consumed. The Soviet Union’s famed “shadow units,” the so-called “reserve divisions,” had mostly been annihilated or captured by the German army.

The troops that the Soviet army could now mobilize, apart from the young and strong with no combat experience, were the over-age retired old men, and a large number of women and children. The quality of these new recruits, by comparison, was probably even lower than that of Hitler’s Volkssturm. This had allowed some of Germany’s vassal units, for the first time, to surpass their fierce Soviet opponents in combat effectiveness and fighting will.

It had been almost a month since Guderian’s G Army Group had failed in its northern advance. Germany had replenished G Army Group with over 200 King Tiger tanks, 50 Jagdpanthers, and various other armored vehicles. Zhukov, on the other hand, had received 70 American-supplied Sherman tanks, and a pitiful 50-odd T-34s and Stalin tanks.

In both quality and quantity, Zhukov’s forces could no longer be compared to the German armored forces in front of him. His only remaining advantage was the time the Germans needed to lick their wounds. The Soviet line at Kursk was being held up only by this brief period of German recovery.

What no one knew was that, far away in Germany, P Army Group, which General von Bock had been ordered to form, had quietly completed its basic organization, was undergoing training, and was awaiting its heavy weapons and equipment. Counting this army group, the German army, not including its garrison forces, already had 16 field army groups, with a total strength of over 6 million men. Including the scattered garrisons, the total German military strength exceeded 7.3 million, reaching its absolute saturation limit.

This was the limit Akado had reached even after vigorously mobilizing female soldiers. And in Germany, on average, one in every ten people was serving in the military. This ratio could no longer be described as terrifying; it should be called the “limit.” Germany had even begun to downsize its recruitment departments, because the Führer had privately confessed to his aides: “If any country can annihilate the current German army, then it will have won the war.”

The German-Soviet war had not only exhausted the Soviet Union’s lifeblood, but had also consumed the German army’s effective strength. In fact, the total number of German casualties in the Soviet Union had already approached 700,000. In other words, on average, one out of every 100 Germans had been killed or wounded in the Soviet Union.

Of course, Zhukov did not know all this. The intelligence he knew was basically: we’ve lost here, we’ve lost there, we lost this many men today, we’ll lose that many tomorrow. So he helplessly picked up the phone to his tattered reserve force. “Get me General Vasilevsky… This is Zhukov… Yes, have your two armored divisions begin to move north… Yes, we will all collapse sooner or later. You and I both know this. Comrade Stalin hopes we can fall back towards Moscow, to buy him a little more time. I think in a few more days, or perhaps as soon as tomorrow, the order for me to transfer troops north will be given… So I am having you move out in advance, to avoid the panic when the time comes.”

“But, Comrade Marshal, if the 3rd Front, as the reserve, leaves its support position, and the Germans launch an attack, won’t your defense line…” On the other end of the line, General Vasilevsky’s anxious voice came through. After all, the safety of hundreds of thousands of troops was at stake. He had to be cautious and consider the consequences of his troops retreating ahead of time.

“I will soon be transferring the 1st Front to join the northward retreat,” Zhukov said helplessly. “This bridgehead of ours, this southward advance, is now dispensable. After all, Stalingrad has fallen, and it is only a matter of time before the Baku oil fields are captured by the Germans. Since the entire southern theater has already collapsed, then for us to hold out here is not as good as trying to get back to Moscow. After all, Comrade Stalin is still there, and it is still the capital of our entire Soviet!”

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