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Rating: Summer 1942. After putting Moskva aside, to attack at a later date, the Germans crush every enemy resistance, aiming towards the southern area of the Soviet Union. The capital will perhaps be hit from behind in due course. Crimea is now wrapped in swastikas, and the German alpine troops can lounge on Elbrus. The Red Army is forced to retreat while fighting, but it still manages to leave a bitter surprise for the Wehrmacht: blowing up the oil fields of Groznij and Majkop, which the "Fritz" rely on for their triumphant advance towards Stalin's City. Some panzer divisions will run dry, practically unable to continue the march. After the fall of Rostov, the tyrant issued the deadly order number 227: "Ni shagu nazad! - Not a step back!". Surrendering and even less deserting were forbidden. Every battle action will become a dangerous obstacle course where those who manage to cross the finish line must dutifully light a candle to Saint Basil. There is almost no alternative to death. No one to cover your retreat, indeed. Either the German bullets or the relatively friendly fire of the NKVD.
From Italy, the ignoble little dictator, not content with the disaster suffered with the CSIR, not wanting to end up empty-handed, sends 229,000 elements of the better youth to the peaks of the Caucasus. Hitler, who has proudly sent his star players against Stalin, does not need cumbersome reserves. The unbearable "manciaspachetti" will be redirected to the Don bend to fight in the steppe with hobnailed boots, iron coffins, and cannons with bell-tower ranges. Brilliant.
On August 23, 1942, the city on the Volga is shredded by at least 2,000 Luftwaffe air raids, which will decree the Führer's first major strategic mistake: the panzer cannot advance among those ruins which will become fertile ground for Russian snipers. Zaytsev teaches. Between August and November, 90% of the urban area of Stalingrad, now almost completely wiped off the face of the earth, will fall into the hands of the Jerries. The Red Army will be left with a landing stage, some sectors of the industrial area, and the gullies that adorn the eastern bank of the river. To be defended despite the very high costs to pay.
From the clay loopholes, the worn-out chewers of the pestilential kuritel'na mahorka are forced to a daily, terrifying spectacle. Regarding this, a German officer will say that: "…Stalingrad is no longer a city. The streets are no longer measured in meters but in corpses. During the day, it is a huge blinding cloud of smoke from fires: a vast furnace illuminated by the reflection of the flames. And when night falls, dogs dive into the Volga and swim desperately to the other shore…". And it is in this infernal circle that the Red Army will organize the mighty counteroffensive. If in Stalingrad time is blood, it means that there is no land beyond the Volga.
Georgy Zelma does not want to take a step back, although not advantaged like the soldiers he assists in counterattacks. They have at least a Mosin-Nagant and cartridges to launch with precision against a steel wind, he has a Leica and films to protect from the heat of death. For every square centimeter conquered, you take home a clod of earth and some drops of blood. If you manage to multiply a meter to the square, you gain a handkerchief that collects a sad mosaic of mud, iron, concrete, some scratched still-smoking casing, and in the most probable hypothesis, an inert body that will tend to cool down after a strangled scream that can only remind you of the swan's lament.
And it is in this context that the brave Zelma shoots, in every sense. By pressing the right index finger or with the propulsion of the Achilles to save his skin behind a shapeless wall at the whistle of the German flashes. The men with the gait of those committed to dodging are the actors in a ghostly scenario. Masonry spikes resemble the roots of a neighborhood crumbled by bombs. Concrete skeletons resist solely to serve as macabre scenery. Running on such rugged terrain is a daunting task, but it is necessary to hurry. Every step forward is a piece of land reclaimed. The bathtubs will become sniper beds, and the bed headboards will delimit Soviet mass graves when they are covered by snow blackened by gunpowder fumes. The sewers will never be so populated again, the children will continue to play ring-a-rosy among the crocodiles, and the rats will run at night on the terraced roofs to gnaw at the enemy's back the next day.
Meanwhile, from the northern area of the city, Zhukov will launch the right slash to clench the enemy. From the south, the weak protection lurking on the Don will be easily conquered by the armies of Vasilevsky, forcing the Italian units to a disastrous retreat. The less fortunate will fall asleep walking under the blows of "Davai! Bystro!". The infamous German VI Army will be encircled, and attempts to free it will be in vain. Among Goering's aspirations, Hitler's stubbornness, Manstein's insolence, and Paulus's submissiveness. Soon, the Germans will no longer have time to bury their fallen on the field. Thousands will be consumed by frost and gangrene or gnawed by lice and crows.
At Christmas, while Goebbels' fierce propaganda is busy boasting victory unbeknownst to Radio London, the Russians, with the help of German communist refugees who will later find fortune in future East Germany, will dedicate their holiday song to those trapped in the pocket. At 03:30 on December 25, a horrendous silence at 38 degrees below zero will be disturbed by an unsettling message broadcasted over the radio. The German radio operators trying to tune into Soviet frequencies will be the first to shiver. What sounds like a wooden stick hitting a cold, empty surface will mark seven beats. To these, a voice clarifies the sound prelude: "Alle sieben Sekunden stirbt ein deutscher Soldat. Stalingrad Massengrab... - Every seven seconds a German soldier dies. Stalingrad mass grave...". And so on infinitely.
The Battle of Stalingrad will officially end on February 2, 1943. Paulus surrendered at 07:45 on the last day of January after 162 days of siege and about 250,000 corpses on the pavement. The Red Army will count over 485,000 dead and just over 652,000 wounded. From this moment, if Germany can no longer win, the Soviet Union can no longer lose.
And so it will be.
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