Chapter 1111: The New Command Post

Even advancing only a few meters each day, the distance separating Stalin and the German vanguard troops was indeed being rapidly consumed. After repelling the frantic Soviet counter-attacks, the German forces, under the cover of tanks, launched a fierce offensive along Kiev Street towards the center of Moscow. Although the results were not significant, they had already firmly established their foothold in the urban area of Moscow.

“Marino?” A German soldier leaned against the ruins of a building by the roadside, looking at a nameplate inscribed with Russian, embedded in the only remaining wall. He was the only soldier in the entire infantry company who understood Russian, so an old veteran was following beside him, specifically responsible for protecting him.

“Marino? Is this place really Moscow?” The old veteran hunched his neck, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, and asked his Russian-speaking partner indistinctly. “Any further ahead is the front line between both sides. We have to be more careful; it’s not safe here.”

The two of them were already beside the buildings on both sides of the road. At this time, there were many friendly infantrymen resting against the walls around them. Some were preparing their meals for later, while the rest were either setting up temporary shelters or gathered in groups of three or five, enjoying a rare moment of leisure.

“This is a civilian area in the suburbs of Moscow. There might have been some taller buildings, but it seems our artillery units were afraid they would become observation posts for enemy artillery. So now, it looks like there’s nothing very tall here.” The Russian-speaking soldier skirted around two dead Soviet civilians lying by his feet and followed behind the veteran, walking cautiously towards their company headquarters.

This was a battlefield still smoldering with light smoke. Common sense from everyday life was completely useless here. An artillery shell could fly in at any second, or a deadly landmine could be buried around a seemingly calm street corner. Therefore, every step here required extreme caution, and every decision could affect life and death.

On one side of the road, several Panther tanks were parked. In the shade of the tanks sat their crew members. They wore black tank uniforms stained with grease, their chests adorned with the most common campaign medals and other miscellaneous commemorative badges. These emblems, which had to be carefully identified, represented the various battles these crews had participated in.

The barrels of the parked tanks were painted with several white rings, clearly indicating they were not new recruits just joining the battlefield, but armored veterans with experience in destroying enemy tanks. These crew members scanned the various German infantrymen walking past them with deep-set eyes, watching them head straight towards the bloody and cruel battlefield.

If soldiers who had participated in the Battle of Stalingrad came here, they would be extremely familiar with the scene before them: the same rubble, the same dilapidated streets, the same nerve-wracking ruins, the same battle-scarred positions. Everything here was a nightmarish memory, causing countless goosebumps to appear all over their bodies every time they remembered it.

…

Directly behind the German positions, inside a reinforced bunker, Kluge, who had just been promoted to Field Marshal, held his marshal’s baton, watching with satisfaction as his subordinates set up his new command post.

Several non-commissioned officers helped unfold a huge map of Moscow’s urban area and hung it on a board made of wooden planks. Above them was a ceiling constructed from timber and sandbags, covered with a layer of waterproof material to ensure it wouldn’t leak on rainy days. A pendant lamp connected to a diesel generator was fixed in the center of the room, but even so, the entire command post still seemed somewhat dim.

Sunlight filtered through several observation windows facing Moscow. A few staff officers were adjusting the artillery telescopes set up next to the windows. Other officers were placing stacks of documents on newly acquired desks, while two soldiers, following orders, were moving locked file cabinets.

A German Field Marshal’s command post was definitely not lacking in items. Even before his promotion, a German General’s command post would have had a shockingly large amount of documents and equipment. Just as everything was ready, two officers placed a half-unfurled Army Group banner in a corner of the command post. Not far away, a small photo of the Führer, Akado, was hung.

Once the telephone lines were laid and everything was set up, Kluge finally picked up the phone to confirm the locations his troops had reached. Two hours ago, his forces had broken into the Marino district of Moscow. According to a message just delivered by a runner, the Soviet army was launching a fierce counter-attack there.

“This is Kluge. Connect me to the 82nd Corps headquarters.” Kluge gripped the phone and ordered loudly, “I need to know which part of the Marino district his troops are attacking.”

After a moment, a resolute voice came from the other end. It was clearly the commander of the 82nd Corps who had picked up the phone. His voice, even over the phone, had a thick Munich accent. “Heil Führer Akado Rudolph! This is Lieutenant General Karikov, commander of the 82nd Corps.”

“Heil Führer! This is Kluge!” Kluge spoke into the phone. “My command post was moving earlier, so I didn’t get a detailed report on your offensive results. I hear your troops have entered Marino. What position have you reached exactly?”

“Your Excellency, Field Marshal! My troops are engaged in a fierce battle with the Soviets at the intersection of the Kiev Highway and the Ring Road. One of our units attacked in a southern detour, but they also met resistance at a place called Yadlan.” The general named Karikov replied calmly. “Our offensive has been halted, and we are currently consolidating the defense line we’ve secured.”

After hearing this report, Kluge raised his head and looked closely at the lower-left corner of the Moscow map. He found the exact location of the Marino district, then extended his finger, pressed it on an intersection, and frowned.

That was the area where the German and Soviet forces had just been fighting fiercely. To the north of this 82nd Corps was the most elite armored unit in his, Kluge’s, Army Group F—the 5th SS Panzer Division. To the south of the 82nd Corps was the Wehrmacht’s 3rd Panzer Corps. The grenadiers under these units had already attacked nearby areas, forming a stable defensive formation with the 82nd Corps.

Just looking at the currently marked positions of the various armies, the 82nd Corps was in fact more advanced than the friendly forces on its flanks. If this unit rashly continued to attack, it would put itself in danger of being flanked and surrounded by the enemy.

He had to stabilize the rhythm of his attack. Like Küchler, Kluge also felt that rushing deep into the city during urban warfare was a very irrational decision. He preferred to annihilate as much of the Soviet effective strength as possible on the periphery, to conserve troops for the subsequent assault into Moscow.

After considering these issues, Kluge gathered his thoughts and gave his orders: “Don’t be in a hurry to continue advancing. You can coordinate with the two main forces on your flanks, solidify your defensive line, and then advance slowly. At the furthest… the furthest…”

As he spoke, he glanced at the map in front of him again, his gaze falling on a marked location. It was an ancient cathedral named the Cathedral of the Archangel Michael. This cathedral could be considered a landmark near Marino and was a very important node.

“You can only advance as far as the Cathedral of the Archangel Michael! Not one step further! Understand?” Kluge finally spoke, giving the order that was on his mind.

“Yes! Understood!” General Karikov, commander of the 82nd Corps, replied solemnly. “Our troops will advance to the vicinity of the Cathedral of the Archangel Michael at the furthest! And not one step beyond!”

Hanging up the phone, Kluge turned his attention back to the map. He saw the places his troops had already captured, and these locations were only a short distance from Moscow’s central Red Square and the Kremlin. As long as they crossed this short distance, they could plant the flag of victory on the ramparts of the enemy’s capital.

As long as they won this war, they would all become Germany’s greatest generals, and their era would become the greatest era for the German nation. Kluge clenched his fists, feeling incomparably excited and honored, believing he was one of the creators of this era, a hero who would be buried in the heroes’ cemetery, carved into a statue, and placed beside the Führer!

“God bless Germany! Long live the great Führer!” he murmured to himself. Then he grabbed the phone on his desk again. The rumble of artillery from a distant attack rolled in; it was another unit attacking the Soviet defenders at the city of Moscow.

He got a call through to the Wolf’s Lair Eastern Front General Headquarters and spoke slowly, “Heil Führer! Connect me to Field Marshal Brauchitsch! … Heil Führer Akado Rudolph! Your Excellency, Field Marshal! This is Kluge! My troops have secured a defensive position in the southwestern corner of Moscow’s urban area… Yes, the enemy’s counter-attack is very fierce, but we are still holding our ground.”

After a moment of silence, he continued: “Yes! Field Marshal Brauchitsch… My troops will maintain their current pace of attack! Victory is only a short distance away from us! We will be the final victors, of that there is no doubt!”

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