Wolf Dose, a German soldier supervising a POW work detail outside Leningrad, described with bleak detachment the fate of a Russian who collapsed while gathering wood outside a dugout: ‘He lay for a while in the frozen snow, at –20 degrees Celsius. He recovered somewhat…lifted himself up. But the cold had a strange effect on him. He threw himself forward [into the dugout] with such sudden vigour that he landed right on top of the stove. He just lay there, stunned, his skin burning away. Someone managed to pull him off and laid him on the ground. His head was resting on some of the wood he had gathered; his charred hand was soldered onto one of the pieces. He groaned quietly.’ Then someone hauled the man to his feet. ‘Because of the shock of the sudden movement, he emptied the contents of his intestines into his trousers, which swelled up and burst. I saw his thin, distended abdomen covered in blood, excrement and remains of clothing…His eyes stared into empty space. His face had a strange blue-green hue…One only hopes that a quick shot will bring his misery to an end.’
Men on both sides became inured to such sights, for each was overwhelmingly preoccupied with his own salvation. Dose shrugged: ‘Russia, a country full of cruelty, must be cruelly treated.’ The Red Army struggled to regain the initiative, but again and again was thrown back. The Wehrmacht’s iron professionalism was unbroken. Gen. Gotthard Heinrici asserted that the Russians had repeated the earlier German mistake of seeking to advance on too wide a front, and Zhukov was of the same opinion. It is unlikely that the Russians had the strength or skill to inflict absolute defeat on the Germans that winter, whatever course they had adopted. But Stalin’s clumsy interventions, matching those of Hitler, removed even such a possibility. The Soviet Twenty-Ninth Army, cut off west of Rzhev, fought almost to the last man. There was no repeat of the mass surrenders of the previous summer, not least because Zhukov’s soldiers now knew the fate awaiting them if they accepted captivity. The Germans claimed that 26,000 Russians died in the Rzhev battle, about as many men as Britain’s army lost in three years of North African campaigning. Evidence of the human cost lay everywhere. ‘As we picked our way through the carnage, the hard frozen bodies clinked like porcelain,’ wrote a wondering German officer, Max Kuhnert. But the Russians never grudged losses; what mattered to them was that the front had been pushed back 175 miles from Moscow. Between 22 June 1941 and 31 January 1942, Germany suffered almost a million casualties, more than a quarter of all the soldiers originally committed to Barbarossa. For the rest of the winter, the invaders dug in to hold their ground and rebuild their armoured formations.
The doctrine of blitzkreig evolved progressively, in the course of Germany’s 1939–40 campaigns in Poland and France. But in 1941, Hitler explicitly committed himself to destroy Russia by waging a ‘lightning war’. His armed forces, and Germany’s economy, lacked the fundamental strength to accomplish anything else. The Wehrmacht’s plan for Barbarossa was overwhelmingly dependent for success on accomplishing the defeat of Stalin’s armies west of the Dnieper–Dvina river line. The deeper within the country heavy fighting took place, the graver became the logistical difficulties of supplying Hitler’s troops, with few railways and inadequate numbers of trucks, which consumed precious fuel merely to deliver loads. The key battles of the 1940 French campaign took place within a few hours’ drive of the German border; now, instead, the Wehrmacht was committed to a struggle thousands of miles from its bases.
Few soldiers of the German army who survived the winter of 1941 ever regained the faith in their leadership that was forfeited by that experience. They saw Russian soldiers advancing to attack on skis, clad in quilted snowsuits such as they themselves lacked. German weapons and vehicles froze, while those of their enemies worked. Stalin’s soldiers never matched the tactical proficiency of the Germans: their attacks relied on the exploitation of mass and a willingness to sacrifice lives. But Soviet artillery was formidable, and their aircraft increasingly effective. The new katyusha multiple rocket-launcher and the T-34, probably the best tank of the war, shocked the Germans and heartened the Russians, though the first time katyushas were used men of both sides fled in terror. Wehrmacht officer Helmut von Harnack wrote: ‘The fact that we did not bring this campaign to a finish, and go on to take Moscow, is a massive blow for us. The lack of foresight about the weather…is of course an important reason. But the truth is we totally underestimated our opponent. He showed a strength and resilience we did not believe him capable of – indeed, resilience greater than most of us imagined humanly possible.’
Stalin’s personal direction of Russia’s 1941 campaigns inflicted disasters which at times threatened to become irreversible. His refusal to yield ground was responsible for the loss of many of the 3.35 million Russian soldiers who passed into German captivity that year. But his people revealed a will to fight, and a willingness to die, that owed little to ideology and much to peasant virtues, a visceral devotion to Mother Russia, and the fruits of compulsion. Soldier Boris Baromykin described the execution of a comrade from a Central Asian republic, charged with unauthorised withdrawal from his position: ‘The poor fellow was standing just a couple of metres from me, peacefully chewing a piece of bread; he could only speak a few words of Russian and had no idea what was going on. Abruptly the major heading the military tribunal read out an order: “Desertion from the front line – immediate execution,” and shot him in the head. The guy collapsed in front of me – it was horrible. Something inside of me died when I saw that.’
But Baromykin, acknowledging the chaos of one of their retreats, ‘like a herd of desperate cattle’, added: ‘The only thing holding us together was fear that our commanders would shoot us if we tried to run away.’ A soldier shot by his comrades as he attempted to desert swore at them as he lay dying in the dust: ‘They’ll kill the lot of you.’ He glimpsed Nikolai Moskvin, the unit’s political officer. ‘And you, you bloodstained commissar, they’ll hang you first.’ Moskvin drew his revolver and finished the man off. He wrote in his diary: ‘The boys understood; a dog’s death for a dog.’ To discourage desertion, the Red Army adopted a new tactic: dispatching groups of men towards the German lines with their hands in the air, who then tossed a shower of grenades. This was designed to provoke the Germans to fire on others who attempted to surrender in earnest.
The ruthlessness of the Soviet state was indispensable to confound Hitler. No democracy could have established as icily rational a hierarchy of need as did Stalin, whereby soldiers received most food; civilian workers less; and ‘useless mouths’, including the old, only a starvation quota. More than two million Russians died of hunger during the war in territories controlled by their own government. The Soviet achievement in 1941–42 contrasted dramatically with the feeble performance of the Western Allies in France in 1940. Whatever the limitations of the Red Army’s weapons, training, tactics and commanders, Soviet culture armoured its forces to meet the Wehrmacht with a resolution the softer citizens of the democracies could not match.
‘This is no gentleman’s war,’ admitted Wehrmacht Lt. von Heyl in a letter to his family. ‘One becomes totally numb. Human life is so cheap, cheaper than the shovels we use to clear the roads of snow. The state we have reached will seem quite unbelievable to you back home. We do not kill humans but “the enemy”, who are rendered impersonal – animals at best. They behave the same towards us.’ The spectacle of starving prisoners dehumanised Russians in the eyes of many Germans, in a fashion that destroyed any instinct towards pity. A Wehrmacht soldier wrote: ‘They whined and grovelled before us. They were human beings in whom there was no longer a trace of anything human.’
German savagery reconciled Stalin’s nation to the savagery of its own leaders: Hitler’s invasion united tens of millions of Russians who had hitherto been alienated by ideological and racial differences, purges, famines, institutionalised injustice and incompetence. The ‘Great Patriotic War’ Stalin had declared became a reality that accomplished more for the cohesion and motivation of his peoples than any other event since the 1917 Revolution. Even Hitler’s SS became reluctantly impressed with the Soviets’ indoctrination of their own soldiers. Whatever delusions persisted in Berlin, on the battlefield almost every German soldier now recognised the magnitude, perhaps the impossibility, of the task to which his nation was committed. Panzer officer Wolfgang Paul acknowledged: ‘We have blundered,