Chapter 793: Minsk

Zhukov, who had just left Minsk by train, received a telegram from Stalin in Moscow. The content was very vague, but one point was clear: Stalin had changed his mind. He hoped the frontline troops could hold Minsk, or at least hold Smolensk.

“The German army has just bombed Stalingrad, and Comrade Stalin sends such an ambiguous telegram. What does it mean?” Vasilevsky, of the 3rd Guards Tank Front, whose combat strength was the most intact in the entire central region, was sitting next to Zhukov. He looked at the telegram and seemed to be asking, and also answering.

Zhukov took a sip of the plain water in his teacup and looked at the scene outside the window. “What other reason could there be? If Minsk is handed over, then the distance from the German army to Moscow will be about the same as to Stalingrad. If the German army also bombs Moscow, the problem will become complicated.”

As the capital of the Soviet Union, the city of Moscow was not like London or Paris. It was a city deep in the Soviet heartland, with the greatest strategic depth in the world. If this city were to be attacked by the enemy, it would be a devastating blow to the entire country’s will to resist.

So Stalin had changed his mind, hoping that Zhukov could defend Minsk and Smolensk to the death. This way, Moscow’s depth would still exist, and at the very least, it would provide a buffer zone for air defense warning for Moscow.

Thinking of this, Zhukov gave a bitter smile and then withdrew his gaze. “Comrade Vasilevsky, Comrade Stalin is not very familiar with military matters. The order to retreat has already been given, and the troops in the entire central region are falling back. If we were to withdraw the retreat order at this time, I’m afraid we would have chaos on our own side before the Germans even came to cause trouble.”

“Abandoning Minsk is already an established strategy. There is no benefit in holding it now. We have already destroyed the field airfields, and the bridges have all been destroyed according to the plan… To stop the retreat now is no different from suicide,” Vasilevsky said.

Everyone at the front knew that Minsk could not be held now. Germany’s policy of differential treatment in Ukraine had given Belarus hope. The civilians here believed that as long as they could get rid of Soviet rule, they could become a part of the beautiful Third Reich, a people liberated by the German army.

And the retreating Soviet army had also proven the correctness of this view. They had taken away all the grain, daily necessities for the winter, and even the horses and cars without leaving a single one. The slightest resistance was met with gunfire and murder. They had forced the local people to serve as labor to destroy the roads and their own homes.

Compared to these continuous crimes, the German bombing of Minsk was selectively forgotten by everyone. After all, these local people were more willing to believe that the bombing was aimed at the Soviet army, not at the local civilians. They were looking forward to the arrival of the German army, praying that the Germans would treat Belarus as they had treated Ukraine.

“Have the local Belarusian troops act as the rear guard. Once their hometowns are lost, then these troops will become a burden to us in the future, a burden of having to be constantly on guard against their defection,” Zhukov said after a moment’s thought. “Throw these troops onto the battlefield, one batch after another, to block the transportation and to affect the speed of the German pursuit. I think these troops can only be used as roadblocks now.”

In any case, since Moscow hoped to hold the defense line as far away as possible to create obstacles for a possible German long-range bombing, then as the frontline commander, Zhukov had to give Stalin an explanation. He had to do his best to compromise with the tasks assigned by Stalin, to consolidate Stalin’s trust in him.

To turn back now and defend Minsk to the death was an absolutely impossible task. Even if Zhukov dared to give such an order, Minsk would definitely fall within a dozen days. This went against Stalin’s hopes and would also waste hundreds of thousands of troops. Zhukov was no fool and would naturally not choose such an idiotic option.

So now, where to set up the first line of defense had become a test for Zhukov. If it was too close to Minsk, they might not be able to establish a foothold before they were caught up by the Germans and their defense line was broken, putting the entire line in danger of collapse. And if it was too far from Minsk, it would make Stalin unhappy. The Soviet leader was now worried about Moscow being attacked by the German Air Force.

“The first line of defense will be set up between Vitebsk and Mogilev. We will commit our rear guard forces there to fight a battle with the Germans, and then voluntarily give up this line of defense and stabilize our own defense at Smolensk. This is the best choice,” the secretary said, bringing over the operational map. After studying it for a while, Zhukov finally chose this line as the main defensive zone against the German army.

“Now, it all depends on our opponent, Rundstedt, and just how good his appetite is!” Zhukov murmured, looking at the map after he had finished drawing up the defensive positions.

…

“Of course I have a good appetite! Give me enough troops, and I will even list Moscow as a target of attack,” von Rundstedt said, standing in front of a map, holding a meeting with all his armored unit commanders. “The southern region has been forced to stop its offensive due to continuous combat. What about us? Do any of you gentlemen here need a rest?”

All the officers burst into laughter. They had only advanced a few dozen kilometers. If they were to start clamoring for a rest now, they would be laughed to death by their colleagues. What they needed now was not rest and replenishment, but to eagerly exchange their artillery shells for medals to wear on their chests.

“Since none of you gentlemen need a rest, then the speed of our offensive must be accelerated. The 13th SS Panzer Division, after occupying Minsk, will continue to attack in the direction of Borisov… The 1st SS Panzer Division, the direction of attack is Berezino… The remaining armored units of the 2nd Panzer Corps, after capturing Krupki, will attack north towards Kholopenichi! Bypass the Orsha Heights and attack in the direction of Vitebsk!” he said, pointing at the map and beginning to assign the offensive tasks. If Army Group G was the fist of the southern group’s offensive, then Army Group A was the number one ace in the central region. This army group had two Waffen-SS panzer divisions, and their combat effectiveness was quite terrifying.

“The infantry will advance rapidly with the armored units and catch up with the retreating main force of the Soviet Red Army. Zhukov is no fool, so while we are engaging the enemy, we must pay attention to our own position and not advance too far on our own,” von Rundstedt instructed all the officers and generals attending the meeting. “Any unit that gets carried away, advances rashly, and falls into Zhukov’s counter-attack will be sent back to be a rear guard for the rest of their lives! Understand?”

“Alright! That’s all for the meeting. After you all go back, begin the attack. The infantry must be cautious when entering Minsk. Although our reconnaissance units have confirmed that the Soviet forces in the direction of Minsk seem to be retreating, this intelligence can only be used as a reference for now,” von Rundstedt said, taking the marshal’s baton. His aide then draped a greatcoat over his shoulders, and he turned and walked out of the conference room.

All the officers quickly stood up, raised their hands, and saw him off. “Heil Akado Rudolph, our Führer!”

…

“The order has come down. The attack continues,” Wittmann said with a smile, putting the notebook in his document bag after returning to his tank from the meeting. He then extended his hand, and the loader, who was standing on the tank hull, also extended his hand. The two hands clasped together, and with a simultaneous effort, Wittmann easily jumped onto the side of the Tiger tank.

“Driver! Start the tank. We have been ordered to pass through the city, to be the first to enter Minsk!” Wittmann said, ducking into the commander’s hatch and skillfully putting on his headset. He then ordered, “Follow the armored car in front closely. Pay attention to the movements on both flanks. We are responsible for covering these grenadiers. Prepare high-explosive shells, ready to load at any time.”

“Hey, I say, Commander. Are the Soviets really just handing Minsk over to us for free? Are we going to win? Win the whole war?” the loader asked Wittmann as he climbed into the tank.

“Win? If they had fought us in Minsk, then we would have won,” Wittmann said with a bitter smile. It seemed that not only for Christmas of 1938, but also for Christmas of 1939, they would probably not be able to go back and be reunited with their families.

However, as a soldier of the Empire, to spend Christmas with his family or to spend Christmas with his comrades was actually the same. It was just the difference between spending a wonderful Christmas Eve listening to the sound of bells or a cruel Christmas Eve listening to the sound of cannons.

The tank started to move, and Wittmann’s body swayed slightly with it. The tank rolled over the gravel and began to head in the direction of Minsk. In the armored car in front, the grenadiers held their weapons and watched their surroundings vigilantly. And further ahead was a Panzer III assault gun from the grenadiers.

With the bright morning sun, the vanguard of the German army drove into the streets and alleys of Minsk. The citizens, carrying baskets, looked with bewildered eyes at these enemies they had never seen before, with their handsome steel helmets and their dirty white field camouflage uniforms. Unlike what they had imagined, the appearance of these soldiers was even more casual than that of the Soviet Red Army that had just left. They carried their weapons slung over their shoulders, stood at the corners of the streets, leaning against the walls and talking, their necks shrunk, their eyes, deep in the shadows of their helmet brims, carefully observing every pedestrian around them.

On the armored car, the hand of a grenadier was still resting on the MG42 machine gun that was fixed to the roof. The ammunition belt was still hanging casually on top of the machine gun. The roar of the tanks made some of the residents in the buildings push open their windows. Children, in groups of three to five, watched as the German soldiers hoisted a huge German national flag onto the flagpole of the city hall building.

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