Chapter 247

< World War II - The Decisive Battle (3) >

April 3, 1942

Central Soviet Union, Kursk

A cannonade that shook the very earth thundered through the sky.

The roar of shelling and thunderous explosions filled the battlefield.

A German artillery force of 2,000 guns poured a rain of fire onto the defense line constructed by the Soviet Army.

The Soviets attempted counter-battery fire, but engaging in an artillery duel with the German Army, which had brought along a large number of Freiheit self-propelled guns, was extremely disadvantageous.

In that situation, the war situation grew even more desperate as the Luftwaffe, having completed its mission on the Dnieper Riverbank, was redeployed to Kursk, its thousands of aircraft blanketing the sky.

The Soviets did attempt to commit their last handful of air forces to somehow block the Luftwaffe's bombing.

However, against a Luftwaffe that had been steadily accumulating experience since the beginning of the war with minimal sacrifices—far from being depleted in the Battle of Britain—most of the inferior Soviet aircraft, lacking even Lend-Lease, were powerless.

The Soviet Air Force put up the greatest resistance they could, but the skies of Kursk were soon filled with burning, plummeting, and shattered Soviet fighter aircraft.

“Is it not enough…?”

Even amidst the chaos, Ivan Kozhedub, the top ace of the Soviet Air Force with 40 kills to his name, managed to survive to the end, putting up a great performance by shooting down two Bf109s.

But no matter how skilled he was, there was nothing he could do once all his comrades had been melted away.

In the end, Kozhedub turned the nose of his Yak-1 and began to return.

However—

“What?!”

An aircraft had appeared from far behind him, closing the distance at an unbelievable speed.

Flustered by the enemy aircraft's shocking speed, Kozhedub tried to execute a sharp turn and engage, but the absurd machine shot past him faster than he could turn his plane to get a firing solution.

“Ugh!”

By the time he registered the unimaginable surprise attack, his plane had already taken bullets to the wing.

Kozhedub bailed out of his plummeting fighter and deployed his parachute.

The aircraft that had shot him down slowed and approached him.

It was a bizarrely shaped aircraft he had never seen before, and painted on its fuselage was a Mickey Mouse smoking a cigarette.

As if observing him, the fighter flew slowly for a moment before accelerating to an incredible speed and disappearing into the distance.

Hanging from his parachute, Kozhedub felt a sense of powerlessness before this jet fighter he had never seen before and muttered hollowly.

“We’re going to lose this war.”

-

The anti-tank ditches, landmines, and defensive positions the Soviet Army had installed to block the German armored units.

The defense line established in the direction of Kursk had been built with the sweat and tears of the Soviet Army, which had suffered countless cases of frostbite in the severe cold of winter.

However, that desperate effort was reduced to a ruin-like state by the hours of shelling and bombing that had torn the ground apart.

Towards that tattered defense line, towards Kursk with its vast hills and plains, the German Army, led by thousands of tanks, began its advance.

-Advance, Panzer gentlemen! Let's show those commies what true armored warfare is!

Heinz Guderian.

-Our unit does not follow, it leads! In Britain, in Poland, and now here! Charge! Make the enemy remember the name Erwin Rommel forever!

Erwin Rommel.

-It's fine to be greedy for military merit, but don't overdo it. It's all meaningless if you die.

Begin the attack!

Hans-Valentin Hube.

The armored units of the generals leading the vanguard charged in unison, and the Army Group followed behind them, commencing the breakthrough.

“The vanguard again!”

With the cry of the unlucky war hero, Clemens Fleck.

Despite the defense line being considerably damaged by the overwhelming shelling and bombing, the Soviet response began immediately, having predicted a significant portion of the German offensive route thanks to intel from the NKVD.

“Don’t be afraid! The enemy's offensive is exactly as we predicted! Trust in Comrade General Zhukov! Fight for the Union of People!”

Konstantin Rokossovsky, the field commander for the Kursk sector, passionately encouraged his subordinates despite his own disabilities.

“The German Army’s specialty is the flanking breakthrough! Do not rashly try to strike the enemy's flank! There will surely be a unit prepared for it, so defend your flanks and wear them down from the front!”

Rokossovsky committed all his armored units to confront the German advance.

In the command room at Kursk, where all these developments were being frantically reported, Georgy Zhukov clenched his fist as he watched the German movements.

Most of it was as he had predicted.

The NKVD's intel was accurate, and his preparations were appropriate.

No matter how superior the German artillery and air force were, with the strength of the defense line and fortifications, they could be stopped!

But that illusion did not last long.

-

“General Rommel’s unit will bypass the forward defense line and detour to the northeast!”

“General Guderian’s unit has also faced strong resistance! They’ve requested a detour to the south!”

Reports flew ceaselessly into the headquarters in Gomel.

Erich von Manstein clicked his tongue.

“Georgy Zhukov is no pushover, it seems. Or perhaps our operation plan was leaked.

What do you think, Minister of Defense?”

“If tactical changes to the operation plan are necessary, you may proceed as you see fit.”

After all, the generals in the vanguard were the type to smash through any passable defense line without asking.

For them to request a detour meant the defense line was quite formidable.

When faced with a solid defense line, why would they ram their heads against it just to stick to the operation plan in this vast expanse of plains and hills? What kind of crazy act would that be?

“Thank you!”

No sooner had Manstein replied than he stuck a cigar in his mouth and began to revise the offensive plan in real-time, compiling all the intel and requests from his staff officers and overhauling the movement paths of all units.

For any other general, attempting to revise the operational plan for such a large-scale force in the middle of an offensive and respond accordingly would be next to impossible.

The rationality to coordinate the movement paths of all those units, analyze them, and revise them in an efficient direction, and the swiftness to do it all at incredible speed.

It was a feat only a man with a monstrous brain could accomplish—the kind of brain that could draw up the Anschluss plan in a matter of hours and devise Operation Sickle Cut on his own when everyone else was at a loss before the invasion of France.

With furious concentration, Manstein stared at the map, revising the operation plan in real-time and making immediate changes based on the status reports of each unit as they came in.

“Minister, the supply unit's movement paths will get a bit tangled. Will that be alright?”

So absorbed in his calculations, Manstein's usual sycophancy disappeared, and his tone became quite serious.

To think that such a monstrously capable person was the same man as that flatterer. Sheesh.

“Of course. We've already transported supplies in advance, with at least a three-day surplus.”

Manstein's insane improvisational ability, and the efficiency I could provide by giving immediate approval on-site as his auxiliary, with full authority delegated to me by Prime Minister Heuss.

“That's reassuring! Relay this to all units!”

“Yes, sir!”

And on top of that, the German Army, which was accustomed to mission-type tactics and could quickly relay modified operation plans mid-offensive and deal with any issues from hastily made changes on their own.

In the face of all these factors, a temporary operational advantage was meaningless.

The process of either stubbornly pushing ahead with a failed operation or halting the entire offensive to revise plans and waste time simply didn't exist for us.

What the Soviet Army was now fighting was, in the truest sense, a war machine capable of actively responding to any situation.

-

As the Tiger's heavy 8.

8cm main gun roared, the T-34's armor was pierced in vain, and it fell silent.

Although he had just taken down his sixteenth enemy tank, Otto Carius shouted urgently.

“Traverse the turret to the right! There's another one!”

Realizing they were outmatched in a firepower duel against the Tigers, the Soviet Army boldly attempted to close the distance for close-quarters combat.

But the T-34 that was rapidly closing in was soon struck by another shell and fell silent.

-Platoon Leader, you alright?

“Tsk, can't you see for yourself, Knispel? I would've gotten him even without you.”

-Haha, that's our Platoon Leader for you.

“You annoying bastard…”

Even as he said it, Otto Carius was repeatedly grateful for the performance of the Tiger tank he was in.

It was a bit slow, but from crew protection to turret rotation and reliability, there was nothing to complain about.

‘Should I be thanking General Model for this?’

-Enemy tank approaching from the front!

There was no time to rest, but it was still manageable. Carius shouted, full of confidence.

“Forward, advance!”

At that moment, the command vehicle leading them received a radio message from headquarters.

-This is Headquarters.

Fleck Regiment, new operation plan has been issued. Confirm and carry out the mission.

Over.

“This is Fleck Regiment.

Headquarters, confirmed. Over and out!”

At Staff Officer Roger Michael's reply, Clemens immediately clutched his head.

“Agh, does that madman of a Chief of the General Staff think we're chess pieces?!”

Of course, for those who had to roll in the dirt to execute a plan that was changing in real-time on the ground, it was not such a simple matter.

They were only managing it through the German Army's excellent communication system and the strength of its officers, but the very fact that they were pulling it off was a sign of their overwhelming capability.

While the radio operator worked hard to decrypt the incoming telegram, Clemens raised his binoculars and scanned the battlefield.

The battlefield was utter chaos.

On a plain and hilly landscape with few obstacles, thousands of tanks and millions of troops had been committed, and wherever the Germans felt the Soviet defense was too strong, they were immediately bypassing it.

Naturally, holes were appearing all over the front line, and as both sides poured into them, a free-for-all brawl erupted between friend and foe.

The sky was covered in rising smoke, and the hideously burned-out steel coffins were strewn about, becoming obstacles for the infantry engaged in their own firefights.

In this situation, pure tests of strength were inevitably breaking out frequently.

And once the battle devolved into individual engagements, the Tigers and Panthers, with their overwhelming frontal armor, were exerting great force in crushing the Soviet T-34s.

In places where frequent infantry battles broke out among the wreckage of burned-out tanks, the German soldiers armed with STG42 assault rifles and Panzerfausts were overpowering the Soviets.

And, above all.

“Decryption complete, Regimental Commander.

We are to move 2km southeast and annihilate the enemy unit entering from that direction.”

“Ugh, he’s working us to the bone! The 13th Battalion has taken heavy losses, so put the 11th Battalion in the vanguard! The Panthers' side armor is weak, so use the Panzer IVs to cover the wings!”

“Yes, sir!”

In a situation where both sides' operational plans were in disarray and the front lines were entangled, the side with the advantage was the German Army, whose communication system allowed for rapid communication between units and whose familiarity with mission-type tactics enabled quick improvisation.

The battlefield was certainly a mess, but the more chaotic the battle became, the longer the engagement continued, the more the war situation tilted in Germany's favor.

Clemens shouted, filled with hope.

“Alright, let's go! For a safe discharge!”

“Yes, yes…”

-

April 7, 1942

Central Soviet Union, Kursk – Soviet Command Headquarters

About a week after the battle began.

A flood of tragic news poured into the Soviet Command Headquarters.

The fall of Smolensk. The fall of Vitebsk.

The fall of Zaporozhye.

Countless loss reports, the fall of cities, and reports of army retreats.

Amidst the flood of grim reports, Georgy Zhukov sat at a desk in the stiffly silent headquarters.

He had made all possible preparations.

He had gathered a force that outnumbered the Germans in Kursk, at least in sheer numbers, and prepared the defenses with all his might. He had even correctly read the enemy's operations.

But despite all that, the Kursk defense line was collapsing.

While Zhukov and the Soviet Army had made every preparation to hold a numerical advantage at Kursk and defend the decisive strongpoint, the enemy had dispersed the Soviet forces not with the battle at Kursk, but with offensives on other fronts.

Simultaneous attacks on strongpoints the Soviet Union could not afford to lose, such as Leningrad, Moscow, and Ukraine.

He had been forced to send not only his strategic reserves but also a part of the Kursk forces, barely managing to halt their advance.

But once he had lost the numerical superiority at Kursk, all that remained was defeat at Kursk.

The enemy's initial operation had been exactly as Zhukov had predicted and as the NKVD's intel had indicated.

The defense line he had prepared was one he had poured his heart and soul into building to stop the German armored units, and even after being damaged by shelling and bombing, it was still capable of inflicting effective blows on the enemy.

Indeed, in the early stages of the offensive, Zhukov had received reports of military gains and repulsions and thought things were going according to plan.

However, the German Army began to adapt in near real-time, revising their offensive plan and repeating the cycle of bypassing defenses and annihilating Soviet units.

The Germans, who had been launching an offensive, would suddenly retreat and detour.

To the Soviet eyes, it merely looked as if the Germans were retreating, unable to withstand the strong resistance.

The Soviet Army naturally attempted a counterattack according to their pre-prepared operational plan, and that attempt soon led to their encirclement, annihilation, and a German breakthrough.

After this happened several times, Zhukov forbade counterattacks, but that, in its own way, further stiffened the flustered Soviet Army as the Germans pushed in and the situation devolved into a chaotic brawl.

The Soviet Army, which lacked real-time communication between headquarters and each unit, and was short on officers who could make independent judgments based on the situation on the ground, had no way to cope with such a scenario.

They were not defeated by some tactically unimaginable, fantastical flanking attack.

The enemy was simply finding loopholes in the defense line Zhukov had built, breaking through them, and repeating the process of defeating the Soviet Army after a fierce battle.

It was possible for the German Army to completely scrap their initial operation plan and respond quickly to the changing battlefield, avoiding chaos. For the Soviet Army, it was impossible.

Zhukov bit his lip.

The offensive the enemy was currently waging could hardly be called sophisticated.

It was merely a series of brawls that teetered on the fine line between improvised and utter chaos.

But that was precisely why it was impossible to counter.

By the time the Soviet Command Headquarters grasped the enemy's actions, made a decision, and relayed the response, the enemy's movements had already changed.

Georgy Zhukov had now realized just how preposterous the enemy’s actions were.

They were overturning a situation where the offensive plan had gone wrong from the start due to a leak, not with tactical finesse, but with a head-on victory born from superiority in equipment and skill.

No defense line, no operational plan could ever keep up with an enemy that adapted to it from moment to moment.

Only one fact came to the mind of Georgy Zhukov, who was seized by despair and powerlessness.

‘The Soviet Army cannot defeat them.

’