That time Manstein managed to avoid a defeat. The SS Division "Dead Head" was given to him to restore the situation, and at the cost of heavy losses the 8th Panzer Division was unblocked, after which it had to be sent to the rear to be re-formed. The German troops were pushed back 40 kilometers, and the offensive of the Army Group North in Leningrad stalled for almost a month. It was then, at Soltsy, that Manstein first began to think seriously about the fact that things might not be as simple with this war as many German generals and politicians would have liked.
Then there were battles at Demiansk, and finally, in September 1941, Manstein was given command of the 11th Army, which by early November seized almost the entire Crimea and besieged Sevastopol.
While dealing with the problems of his own army, Manstein nevertheless closely monitored the situation on other fronts. The alarm bells started ringing as early as September, but they were barely audible then behind the roar of victory fanfares.
The Russians suffered a spectacular defeat at Kiev. Bryansk and Vyazma were next, but then something went wrong in the Wehrmacht machine, which was moving steadily eastward, to the point that it began to have a direct effect on the 11th Army, which did not seem to have directly related to the battle for Moscow.
At first the November attempt to capture Sevastopol failed. Manstein underestimated the power of the coastal batteries covering the city, and when a hundred and fifty heavy guns of the Sevastopol forts were joined by the volleys of the main guns of two cruisers and the battleship Paris Commune, which had come to the aid of the besieged city, he gave the order to stop the assault because of its obvious futility.
Manstein was deservedly considered one of the best strategists of the Wehrmacht. It was he who in 1940 proposed the plan to invade France with a tank strike through the Ardennes Mountains. Having crossed the Ardennes, the tanks were to cross the Meuse and, without waiting for infantry, reach the English Channel coast in a wide arc, cutting off the enemy's northern grouping. The German military command considered Manstein's plan too risky, but it was unexpectedly supported by Hitler, who categorically did not like the fact that the generals were offering him, in fact, to repeat Alfred von Schlieffen's plan, which the Germans had implemented at the beginning of World War I. Hitler, quite rightly, believed that the French and the British were expecting just that, and that the Wehrmacht would not be able to achieve any surprise. Manstein's proposal came just in time, and the Führer insisted on adopting his plan, which eventually led the Wehrmacht to such an impressive victory.
However, the talent of a strategist was not Manstein's only advantage. He was also a consummate specialist in squeezing reserves out of the command. No one else could so convincingly and persuasively explain to his superiors that he was the one who needed tanks, planes, infantry, and artillery more than anyone else now, and that if he was not given them, then, depending on the particular circumstances, either there will be a universal catastrophe or the Wehrmacht will miss the great victory, which he, Erich von Manstein, almost already has in his hands.
And now this tried and tested mechanism has begun to malfunction. The commander of Army Group South, Gerd von Runstedt, flatly refused to reinforce the 11th Army with tanks and aircraft, citing the fact that the grand battle for Moscow sucked out all the reserves, and he had already been stripped of too many divisions. The only thing Manstein was not denied was artillery. 200 batteries of heavy guns were placed at the disposal of the 11th Army. For the most part these were conventional large-caliber field howitzers, including 210-millimeter ones, but heavier artillery systems surviving from World War I came from Germany as well. Against their background, the Karl-Gerät self-propelled mortars with their caliber of 600 millimeters and the unique 800-millimeter railroad gun Dora, with its 7-ton shells, 32-meter barrel, and 250-man crew were perceived as real miracle weapons.
And still the assault failed. At the most crucial moment the Russians landed sea-borne troops in the rear of the 11th Army, they brazenly stormed the port of Feodosiya and landed the troops from the warships directly onto the piers. The 46th Infantry Division and the Romanian Mountain Rifle Regiment tried to halt the advance of the landing troops, but they were cut off at the Kerch Peninsula and almost completely destroyed.
The assault on Sevastopol had to be stopped in order to rush infantry and artillery to Feodosia. It proved extremely difficult to do this on icy roads, but the Russian forces were not limitless, and by mid-January the situation had stabilized. The Red Army continued to hold Feodosia, but was unable to move further west.
When the news came in early December that Army Group Center had been encircled near Moscow that shook everyone, Manstein realized that he would not wait for any more reserves. Nevertheless, the order to take Sevastopol by storm was still in force, and Manstein had to make do with the available resources in a rapidly deteriorating situation.
Manstein understood that there was no point in resuming an assault on the city while a strong group of Soviet troops was in his rear. He left a covering force at Sevastopol and concentrated his main forces against the Russian armies, which were entrenched on the Kerch Peninsula and constantly tried to break through from there into the interior of Crimea.
The Führer's order to begin using chemical weapons against the Red Army did not please Manstein. As a military strategist, he understood Hitler's motives – the Army Group Center, sitting in the Moscow Pocket, had to be saved by any means. Nevertheless, he did not expect a long-term effect from the use of chemical warfare agents. The civilian populations of Russian cities could indeed become very unhappy, but Manstein strongly doubted that chemical munitions would be more effective at the front than conventional shells and bombs.
Near Moscow, mustard gas was already flowing and clouds of phosgene and cyanogen chloride were swirling over Russian positions, while in the Crimea, both sides were in no hurry to throw chemical shells at each other.
Manstein had had his fill of this stuff during World War I, and did not seek to repeat that unpleasant experience, and the Soviets, who were not subjected to chemical attacks, were not the first to use poisonous substances either.
Stocks of shells and bombs with colorful rings on their casings had just been piling up in the front depots, and then went back to the Reich when, in late January, the Führer suddenly changed his mind and ordered the cessation of the use of chemical weapons.
The winter in Crimea was unexpectedly cold. Of course, the freezing temperatures here could not be compared to what was going on at Moscow and Leningrad, but the roads were first icy and then muddy, which made it very difficult to move the troops. And yet now, in mid-March, Manstein felt that he could not drag it out any longer. The problem of Feodosia and Kerch should have been solved immediately. The battle of Moscow ended in heavy defeat, but the front was stabilized, and the Führer finally remembered that there were other battlegrounds. After long arguments Manstein still managed to convince the command to allocate a tank division armed with new long-barrel cannons capable of penetrating the armor of Russian T-34s and KVs from a reasonable distance to strike the Kerch Peninsula. In addition, Colonel General Richthofen's Fourth Air Fleet was to support his offensive from the air. Manstein understood that this was the maximum he could get, and Hitler's best strategist no longer doubted – it was time to start.
Stalin did not let me go to the Crimea alone. Well, who would have doubted it. The Army Commissar 1st Rank, Lev Zakharovitch Mekhlis, went with me as the Chief's watchful eye, and, interestingly enough, also as a representative of the Headquarters of the Supreme High Command. Considering that the rank of my "colleague" corresponded to that of the General of the Army, I had great suspicion that my decisions would be challenged all the time by this comrade, who was very active and unconditionally loyal to Stalin, and who had very little knowledge of military matters.
From the very beginning Mekhlis looked at me with almost undisguised suspicion; he only kept his caustic remarks to himself, it seemed, because of the direct order from the Supreme Commander-in-Chief. But that was while we were in Moscow. The farther our plane moved from the capital, the clearer was the mixture of disdain and mistrust in the Army Commissar's glances he cast at me. I completely ignored these glances of his