Chapter 713: A Plan of Idiots
In the binoculars, shell after shell landed on the high ground in the distance, kicking up sheets of black earth. The number of cannons the Germans had committed to the Crimean Peninsula was large, and their calibers were bizarrely varied. There were large-caliber artillery pieces from the Belgian army, as well as the war-behemoth railway guns brought from France. These cannons blasted one huge crater after another into the Crimean soil, their thunderous roars tormenting the Soviet defenders here.
In fact, the Soviet Red Army in Crimea was not only being tested by the incessant German artillery fire but was also being ravaged by the cold. Although the temperature here was still warmer than in northern Ukraine, it was, after all, New Year’s Day, and the wind was still bitingly cold.
And because Khrushchev and Voroshilov were hoarding troops in the Crimean region for their own purposes, Stalin in Moscow had not provided the Soviet Red Army under their command with winter clothing. As a result, these soldiers had to find their own ways to cope with the cold winter. Most of them were huddled inside the fortresses, wearing thin clothes and listening to the rumbling of the cannons overhead.
“General, why is the Führer in such a hurry to attack this godforsaken place, Crimea? Is it for those few broken-down Soviet ships that can’t even go to sea?” a colonel standing behind Manstein asked with a frown. “You know, if we were to appear behind General List, it would be more advantageous for the overall battle situation.”
Manstein heard the complaint from behind him and stood up straight from behind the battery commander’s scope. He turned around, patted the man on the shoulder with a smile, and said, “You are Marshal von Brauchitsch’s son. He sent you here for me to teach you what I know. I hear you graduated from the Imperial Military Academy, a prize student educated by those old die-hards.”
As he spoke, he walked back to a table set up in the trench. Unlike the command posts of other generals, this table was not covered with a messy operational map, but with a clean lunch tablecloth. The blue checkered tablecloth gave this semi-submerged frontline command post a very stylish feel, and the entire room was so clean it felt like a holiday cabin in the forest.
Unlike other generals, Manstein had his own unique command style. He liked to prepare his plans in as much detail as possible before a battle began, setting the order and direction of the attack. Then, after the battle started, he didn’t seem to care much how his subordinates carried out the plans he had made. To him, those plans were a matter of course and did not require his personal supervision.
He wore a respectable general’s uniform, spotless, even his leather boots were clean. Compared to the scruffy Rommel and Guderian, who was constantly at the front line with his troops, Manstein was like a refined and elegant aristocratic gentleman.
Amidst the rumbling of exploding shells, he walked to the table and sat down in a chair that looked quite comfortable. Due to the explosions of large-caliber shells in the distance, the table trembled slightly, causing the porcelain cups on it to clink softly, a very pleasant sound.
Brauchitsch’s son stood behind Manstein, his gaze still fixed on the shells that were landing and blossoming not far away. He was calculating in his mind that if these shells could be used to support General List’s Army Group E, then the northern front would not have suffered such heavy losses. However, as a traditional Junker aristocrat, he still did not interrupt Manstein’s words. He stood with his hands behind his back, quietly waiting for the commander of Army Group M to express his thoughts.
“The entire operational plan for the Eastern Front, from the offensive half a year ago to the current situation, was drawn up by me, your father, the great Führer, and countless staff officers of the High Command and generals of the General Staff,” Manstein said, picking up a cup of coffee from the table. He stirred it gently with a spoon, blew on it, and continued, “You don’t think this is an idiotic plan drawn up by a group of idiots, do you?”
He looked at Brauchitsch’s son, his eyes full of teasing. Before the other could speak, he continued, “In March and April, we could have clearly continued to advance. Even if we didn’t advance, taking Minsk from Timoshenko would have been a piece of cake. Haven’t you ever thought about why we created a prominent wedge in the south, yet allowed the Soviet rabble on the northern front to continue to control the fertile region of Belarus?”
“…” Brauchitsch’s son was taken aback. He suddenly realized that he had only been worrying about the current battle situation but had forgotten to analyze the root cause of this situation—why, in April, when the German army could have clearly continued its offensive in the Belarusian region, had they left this land to the then-fragile Soviet Red Army.
Seeing that the officer’s son seemed to have understood something, Manstein laughed. He took a sip of coffee, nodded, and continued, “We have set up a huge trap in Belarus, waiting for the Soviets to walk into it. So now, I just need to concentrate on taking Crimea, don’t I?”
The territory of Russia is vast. If you don’t understand the extent of this land, you will be overwhelmed by the terrifyingly large feeling when you first arrive. How vast is this territory? So vast that when the Ukrainian plain is covered by dark clouds and snowflakes are falling, the sky over the Crimean Peninsula is clear and bright, with not even a few clouds.
And so, the air support that List had been hoping for for so long, but which had been unable to sortie, was a completely different story in the skies over the Crimean Peninsula. Just as Manstein was speaking, dozens of Stuka bombers were diving down on a strong ground-based gun battery, dropping massive bombs with a whistle, turning the target area into a pile of rubble.
At the same time, in his Wolf’s Lair, Akado was receiving Marshal von Brauchitsch, who had rushed over to report on the situation on the Eastern Front. He carefully listened to the results of the frontline battles and reconfirmed the current positions of the various army groups.
He looked at the map, turned back to Marshal von Brauchitsch, and said slowly, “Our preparations on the Eastern Front can be said to be very comprehensive, and the entire campaign plan is also perfect. In fact, Guderian’s current direction of attack, which is turning north, is also part of our plan. When we unleash our real killing blow, perhaps our enemies will be greatly surprised.”
Brauchitsch nodded, then shook his head, and said with some reluctance, “They will indeed be greatly surprised by our attack, but in order to make the preparations for this attack, the price we will have to pay will be very heavy—it would not be an exaggeration to say that it will be the heaviest in history.”
“My Marshal! Every sacrifice will have its reward, won’t it? At the very least, we can make the war on the Eastern Front develop in a direction we can control. This is worth the risk, worth us committing more sacrifices to complete this plan!” Akado said firmly to Brauchitsch. “For the future of all the German people! We will not allow failure! Absolutely not!”
“Yes! My Führer!” Marshal von Brauchitsch saluted and answered loudly.
…
In an office in the Soviet Red Army’s general headquarters in Minsk, cheerful laughter could be heard. Zhukov and a group of his staff officers were talking and laughing, letting out such laughter from time to time. For a commander-in-chief to be able to laugh like this after the start of such a large-scale battle was definitely a reassuring thing for his subordinates.
“A toast to the General for being commended by Comrade Stalin in a telegram!” a Soviet Red Army staff officer said loudly, very happy that Zhukov had received praise from Stalin.
“Guderian wants to outflank my side, thinking that by heading north to Kharkov he will force me to send troops back to the rescue. He has miscalculated! Or rather, all the German generals have miscalculated! I have no intention of going to the rescue of Kharkov, or rather, that place doesn’t need rescuing at all!” Zhukov said proudly, pointing at the map.
Another Soviet general nodded and said, “That’s right. To secure our rear, we reinforced the defenses near Kharkov three months ago. No matter how skilled Guderian’s armored forces are, once they get bogged down in urban warfare, there’s not much they can do. We have prepared 300,000 defenders in Kharkov, just waiting for the Germans to walk right into it!”
Zhukov looked at a huge map hanging on the wall, on which the dense defensive works in the entire city of Kharkov were marked, as well as the minefields and underground tunnels that had been laid out. He nodded and said, “Kharkov is a huge trap, just like the trap the Germans have prepared for us in Kiev! I have enough soldiers who dare to attack the trap of Kiev. If Guderian’s armored forces also dare to charge into Kharkov, I guarantee the Germans will lose their elite tank units. At that time, we will have won!”
And while Zhukov was hoping for Guderian to attack Kharkov, in the small town of Lozova on the eastern front, by the side of a collapsed house, by a stopped armored command vehicle, Guderian was unfolding an operational map with his aides. He looked at the markings on it, then at the tank units rumbling past him on the road, and a confident smile appeared on his face.
He folded the map in his hand and handed it to his aide. He then ordered the commander of the 3rd SS Panzer Division, Freericks, who was beside him, “General Freericks, I order you to continue to attack north! Along the road, north! Go as far as you can! I want you to capture the important town of Shebelynka, south of Kharkov, as soon as possible. Can you guarantee it?”
“Your Excellency, General!” Freericks saluted. “The SS will do its utmost to capture Shebelynka!”
Published: 2025-09-21T03:19:29.000+00:00
Last Edited: 2026-03-05T18:59:45.000+00:00
URL: https://www.patreon.com/caleredhair/posts/mtr-c713-plan-of-139372754
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