Chapter 1062: Black Technology

“Bombs away!” On a jolting DO-217 bomber, a German bombardier pressed his eye to the sight, centering the crosshairs on the cheap-looking buildings on the ground below. He pressed the release button, felt the slight shudder as the bombs left the plane, and then a second, and a third, until he himself had lost count.

Row after row of aerial bombs was dropped from the DO-217’s belly, arcing through the air toward their impact points. Due to the altitude, some of the impact points were not important targets at all, but given the bombing accuracy of World War II, this waste was a necessary evil.

The bombs walked from the edge of the city inwards. One building after another collapsed. The flat roads were now pocked with one after another of massive craters, these craters over ten meters in diameter. The surrounding buildings trembled and shuddered in the explosions, and finally caught fire and collapsed.

The city of Kursk had become an unsafe place. The German Air Force, replenished with fuel, was like a man possessed, circling from morning until dusk, blasting every target they could see to pieces, as if to prove just how civilized and friendly they had been before.

Because they were no longer restricted by a lack of fuel, the number of German fighter patrols was finally proportional to their vast numbers. Every day, dozens of German fighters roamed the skies over the battlefield. Sometimes, these pilots, unable to bear the boredom, would dive down and empty their 30mm cannon shells into the targets they saw.

“Comrade Marshal, Oboyan has fallen…” A staff officer brushed the dust from the roof off his shoulders and handed a telegram to Marshal Zhukov, who was busy reviewing the supply lists for the Korenevo and Rylsk sectors. Outside the window, German bombers were still flying past in formation, but the place they were bombing was still a little distance from their command post.

Zhukov took the document, glanced at it, and then placed it in the pile of reviewed documents on his desk. “I know. Send a telegram to Moscow. Tell them that Oboyan has been captured by the Germans. From this moment on, the situation for our army in Kursk is very bad.”

“A message from Comrade General Konev of the 1st Front. At a station under his control, a passing train has 30 SU-76 self-propelled anti-tank guns, destined for us. He is asking for your permission, Comrade Marshal, to take this equipment.” An officer, clutching another piece of intelligence, came in. He was clearly not as calm as the staff officer who had come in first. He had a steel helmet on his head and was cautiously observing the cracks in the ceiling.

“Trust me, comrade,” Zhukov said, taking the document. He then pointed to the cracks in the ceiling and said, “If it collapses and buries us all, then you and I can truly rest in peace. It is the living who are truly in torment, is it not?”

He glanced at the document, then nodded and instructed the officer, who was still smiling foolishly, “Reply to Konev immediately. Tell him I completely agree with his view. Have him distribute all that equipment to his own troops! Go! Send this telegram at once!”

“Yes, Comrade Marshal!” The officer saluted at attention and then quickly exited this room, which had almost become a deathtrap. In fact, the outer walls of this courtyard had been piled with sandbags. It was one of the safest places. If it weren’t for a direct hit, it would be very difficult for this one-story building to collapse.

“Comrade Marshal, that bastard Guderian’s grenadiers are advancing along the highway towards Medvenka. Our soldiers have been in continuous combat for more than ten days. Ammunition is in short supply at the front, and we have no way to stop the German advance,” the staff officer who had reported the fall of Oboyan said, his voice anxious as he stated the facts to Zhukov.

Zhukov glanced at his subordinate and then laughed. “The Germans have also been in continuous combat for more than ten days. So the main problem you’re talking about is ammunition and supplies. If we had enough ammunition and tanks, the German offensive would have been stopped long ago, wouldn’t it?”

“You are right about everything, Comrade Marshal. But the Germans are now approaching Medvenka. If we don’t think of something, that place will also be quickly captured by them,” the staff officer said with some grievance. “If that place is captured by the Germans, then Kursk will be indefensible.”

“Comrade Staff Officer,” Zhukov said with a bitter smile, and then interrupted the other’s monologue. “Kursk has been indefensible for three months now. This is a fact we had anticipated long ago. For the Germans to only now begin their attack, they are, in fact, a little slower than I had expected.”

At this moment, the sound of the explosions outside had already faded. It was clear the German bombing was nearing its end. He walked to the window and looked at the German bombers in the sky, which had formed a triangular formation and had already flown far away. “It seems the German generals are still more concerned about the lives of their soldiers than I am. They postponed the time of their offensive, and therefore their soldiers were more fully prepared.”

As he spoke, he pointed to the several documents that he had placed in a prominent position on his desk, and explained to his subordinate, “Look at those documents, the scale of the German armored units encountered in various areas. This intelligence shows that the armored units of the German G Army Group, which were confirmed by reconnaissance a few days ago, have almost the same designations as the G Army Group of half a year ago. At least 1,000 tanks have been deployed in various sectors of my defense line.”

This number was one that made Zhukov feel very desperate, because the number of tanks in G Army Group before the first Battle of Kursk was about this size. And after experiencing a defeat, the German army had quickly replenished its losses, and had actually allowed G Army Group to maintain its original combat effectiveness even after its losses.

And compared to his opponent, Guderian, the number of tanks in his, Zhukov’s, armored group had been cut in half. Including the light tanks that had been lost, the originally massive armored force of Zhukov’s group now had only the two units that had been transferred north as a large-scale force. This huge disparity in the speed of equipment replacement, how could it not make Zhukov lose heart?

“Report, the main force of Guderian’s G Army Group on our flank, the 3rd SS Panzer Division, has suddenly advanced north. Overnight, they have advanced to the outskirts of Vorovo, and have just captured it.” An officer, holding the latest battle report, walked into Zhukov’s command post. He did not give this marshal much time for sorrow, but reported a catastrophic piece of news.

Vorovo was a town in the Lipetsk Oblast. If the German army had captured it, it was possible that in the process of advancing north, they could bite the tail of the Soviet 1st Guards Front, causing Konev’s troops to suffer huge losses, and perhaps even preventing them from successfully advancing north into the Moscow theater.

“What’s going on? Weren’t the Germans still in the Kursk Oblast a day ago?” Zhukov was first taken aback by the news, and then he immediately felt that there was something very strange about this battle. The German army would generally not carry out such a large-scale movement at night. This was the experience he had summed up from fighting the German army for more than a year, and it was a very reliable one.

Generally, a force that had an advantage in firepower and heavy weapons was unwilling to encounter and fight the enemy at night. To use a more-expensively-built heavy force to fight a war of attrition with the enemy at night was an extremely idiotic thing to do. So the main reason why the side with the advantage was unwilling to fight at night was not because they were not good at it, but because they preferred to use their firepower during the day.

But the German armored forces had, in one night, traveled such a long distance and had directly captured the relatively distant Vorovo. This made the sensitive Zhukov realize a hint of danger. “There’s a problem here! There must be a problem!”

In fact, the reason was very simple. Because the 3rd SS Panzer Division had been re-equipped with the new King Tiger tank, and had also made concentrated use of the expensive night vision devices. It was precisely for this reason that they could carry out a large-scale dash at night, and it was precisely for this reason that they had dared to raid a target so far away at night.

Although this night vision system was very expensive and was not suitable for use in tank combat at night, the German army had still found a way to use it. They used this expensive infrared night vision device to guide their troops as they advanced at night, rather than consuming this expensive equipment on a high-risk battlefield.

In fact, the night vision systems that were currently equipped were very fragile and needed to be installed on top of the tank’s turret in advance, like a searchlight. This kind of equipment was not suitable for use on a battlefield where stray bullets were flying everywhere; it was very easy to damage. And the first generation of infrared equipment was easily interfered with by various light sources in the dark, and its actual combat performance was very average. But to use it to travel at night, it was really very convenient and safe and reliable, which was why it had also made the German army more confident in driving their tanks at night.

Of course, at this stage, this kind of equipment was still in a confidential stage, so it was impossible for Zhukov to know that the German tanks were actually equipped with such a “black technology” device as a night vision system. He just instinctively felt that it was strange, that the German army had some new toy again.

“Also, Comrade Marshal, a telegram from Moscow, asking you to, as soon as possible, with the last batch of evacuating troops, to go to the Moscow theater, to preside over the defense work there,” the officer who had delivered the telegram said, taking out a second telegram. He spoke to Zhukov, who was still in thought, “A personally signed order from the great leader, Comrade Stalin. When will you be leaving?”

“Just… now, I suppose,” Zhukov said, his train of thought interrupted. But he didn’t say much. He stood up, looked at the room he had lived in for a long time, and finally, his gaze lingered on the portrait of Stalin hanging in the center of the wall.

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