Soviet Europa Read online

  © Max Lamirande, 2022

  Published by Max Lamirande

  © 2022 Saguenay, Quebec, Canada

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or modified in any form, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Credits:

  Kindle publishing

  Cover credits:

  References:

  Wikipedia, Wikicommons

  FOREWORD

  Dear readers,

  THANK YOU FOR READING MY WORK.

  I welcome you back to the Blitzkrieg Alternate Series. Interestingly, world events mirror the situation I envisioned in the Series, with the Second World War ending with the Russians being aggressive toward the West. The action is not in Ukraine, but Stalin’s behavior is similar to Putin's.

  With the story going into new territory, I am looking forward to your reaction to it. Germany is almost finished, but a new war looms with the Soviets brewing up trouble. And interestingly enough, the Reich still has a few cards to play and might yet just survive.

  Things are going well for my book series. A growing fan base, lots of sales, and plenty of ideas still left for me to write. I believe I will do another two books with this story, and after that, I will see. I do not have a script for the whole thing. I just write with a general idea of where I want the story to go. But I never know how much writing I will do with any given concept. So, the story might go fast or slow, depending on my mood. In this book, only four months go by (April to the first few days of August). But trust me, there is plenty to read.

  Make certain you also read the parallel Pacific Alternate story, relating the events happening in Asia between the Japanese Empire and the Allies. Some of the heroes in books 9 and 10 (MacArthur, Tanaka, Takeshi) are crossing over from the Pacific Alternate Series to the Blitzkrieg Alternate Series.

  Ok, well, let's go; I am certain you are impatient to see what will happen!

  PROLOGUE

  Somewhere in Poland

  Out of gas, April 13th, 1947

  He walked slowly under the tree canopy in the large trail their Tiger III had simply stopped because it was out of gas. Not the ideal situation, considering that Walder and his men were on the run and trying to rejoin German lines.

  For the last week, they'd been driving hard westward to try and get some distance between them and the damned Red Army that started its offensive a few days earlier(12th). The Panzer Lehr Division had retreated on April 4th, but Walder's tank had broken down on the way, and they'd been stuck for the better part of two days in a small patch of forest located on the Vistula's west bank. It was located at the end of a farm field near the city of Wloclawek.

  They'd eventually repaired the Panzer and then proceeded to shoot some Ruskies on the other side of the river. They'd been pretty successful at it, but from there, it only had been a running battle, with Communist tanks on their heels.

  Erich's main problem had been to keep the Tiger running since it gobbled up gas at a prodigious rate. The powerful Panzer was a magnificent machine of war, but it needed to stay close to its supply base since it required a steady stream of gas to keep running. They found some oil along the way and had been able to manage to keep their distance from the lead enemy columns.

  While they were still about twenty kilometers from the German lines, the tank had ground to a halt for lack of petrol. Again. At least they were able to get the Tiger under the tree cover before it stopped altogether so that they would be safe from the Soviet planes.

  "Colonel," said the tank driver, walking up briskly beside him. "Yes?" "The other tank down there," he pointed toward the other Panzer on the side of the road, "has no gas. Probably why it's there as well. No signs of its crew." Of course, there was no sign; they were probably long gone. "What do we do now?" asked the soldier. Walder had no idea what they should do apart from walking back toward the Reich or else miraculously finding some gas…

  "Get the men together. We'll try to move on foot toward the west." "Yawol, Herr Colonel," finished the driver. Without gas, the Tiger was stranded. Without a tank, they were vulnerable to enemy fire. It was better to be long gone by the time the Red Army forces got to their position.

  He, however, had no idea how he would make this work, as the enemy was sure to overtake them without anything mobile with which to go back to Germany.

  The Vistula-Oder Offensive part 1

  Soviet Forces advance April 12th to 17th, 1947

  At dawn on April 12th, 225 Red Army divisions crossed the Vistula on the numerous still-standing bridges, pontoons, and boats. Some of the units had already been across for a few days, establishing solid beachheads and secure areas for the softer units to cross.

  The Wehrmacht was nowhere to be seen, as Erich Von Manstein had operated a strategic withdrawal out of the exposed Polish plains. So, the first days of the offensive were quiet, and nothing major happened apart from a few minor skirmishes.

  What bore down on Germany was the most potent land force ever assembled in one concentrated offensive. Stalin ordered Zhukov to send everything the Red Army had. The Marshal had thus assembled a staggering four million men spread across six "fronts": 1st Baltic, 3rd and 4th Bielorussian, 1st Voronezh, 1st and 2nd Ukrainian Fronts.

  On the other side of the coin, the Wehrmacht had 92 divisions to face the onslaught. They had arguably the best tactical general of the war in Erich Von Manstein. And they had desperation on their side. It would be the end if the German soldiers could not stop this mighty Russian offensive.

  German intelligence had estimated that the Soviet forces had a 3:1 numerical superiority over the Wehrmacht; there was, in fact, a 5:1 superiority. While Zhukov attacked large and wide (everywhere, in fact), Von Manstein opted to defend from 'strongpoints' in some areas, as he lacked the infantry to man a continuous front line...

  The offensive commenced all across the Vistula at 04:35 on April 12th with an intense bombardment by the guns of Russian Fronts against what they thought were the enemy's positions on the other side. But the day before, the Wehrmacht evacuated the area, as Manstein judged the central German position too risky, and finally had a German Fuhrer that understood strategy (Guderian).

  By 0800 AM, Zhukov got the relevant reports telling him that his forces faced emptiness, so he ordered the all-forward to his four million men.

  The Red Army thus poured into the central Polish plain west of the Vistula, with the full intent of reaching the German lines some distance away.

  Manstein understood modern mobile operations— particularly the employment of tanks—as well as anyone in the business. He could out-think and outmaneuver opponents with the focus of a chess player, and indeed chess was one of his obsessions. Fellow officers recognized him as a master operator. General Alfred Heusinger of the Operations Section thought that Manstein "could accomplish what other military leaders would take weeks to do in a single night." But in the case of the Vistula-Oder Soviet offensive, there was not a lot he could do.

  Extracts from Von Manstein's 1958 book, LOST VICTORY

  Defensive warfare, April 12th-17th, 1947

  Defensive warfare is an art I was able to execute well in the defensive battles of 1942 to 1945. It is a balance between defensive lines, strong points, and counter-offensives. The main difference with the opening campaign (i.e., the fight for Germany) was that I didn't have any room to maneuver or counter-attack. It was a relatively simple plan. Entrench the men and tanks and tell them to fire at anything that moved. I kept some Panzer divisions in reserve to plug the gaps for the unavoidable Russian breakthrough in our lines.

  After the successful conclusion of the Polish Corridor offensive at the beginning of April,
the German forces under my command switched to a relentless defense. It was not because of my choice or out of any strategic maneuvering of mine. It was what we had to do in the face of the renewed Soviet offensive over the Vistula on April 12th.

  As I entered into the last phase of the war for Germany, I knew full well that the result was a foregone conclusion. There was no more smarting us out of trouble, no fancy blitzkrieg outflanking. In fact, there was no more ground to retreat westward. No real natural obstacle. No real fortifications. And the Western Allies were also closing in from the West.

  The Reich was indeed hemmed between two gigantic hammers and could only defend in place. I issued my orders accordingly; fight to the last man, to the last bullet. The defensive line I organized ran from the Baltic Sea to Slovakia (in the Sudetenland regions). The troops were issued all the necessary ammo and tanks. At least, my strategic retreat just before Zhukov's offensive enabled my forces to prepare as best as possible for the final attack.

  The red tide splashed over our defenses like a great flood hitting a wall. It slashed, recoiled, and stopped. We were no pushover, and while we didn't have any hopes of final victory anymore, we had the men to make the Russians pay for every inch of German ground they wanted to conquer.

  General George Patton's mobile HQ

  Saarbrucken, Western Germany, April 12th, 1947

  When a pair of mules blocked a bridge during the Sicily offensive in August 1945, halting his armored convoy and making it vulnerable to enemy fire, Patton personally shot the animals and ordered them pushed off the bridge. Sometime later, two of Patton's men were tried in connection with the killing of dozens of Italian and German prisoners of war in southern Sicily on September 14th, 1945, which came to be known as the Biscari Massacre. Both claimed they were following orders not to take prisoners that Patton himself had set forth in a fiery speech to their division a month earlier. Patton denied responsibility, and he was exonerated of any crime.

  "Old blood and guts," as the troops affectionately called him, was not what you could call a friendly and calm personality. His fiery and mercurial temper was not to be trifled with. Patton believed that it was critical for a general to stand out and to be seen by his troops, a philosophy that conveniently coincided with his ego. He dressed impeccably in a colorful uniform and knee-high boots and always sported his twin ivory-handled pistols. He had that hard look about him, and nothing seemed to bother the man in the least apart from what he perceived as cowardice under fire.

  Whether one liked him or loathed him, no one forgot him. He was a devout Christian who prayed morning and night, yet he was liberal with his use of profanity; Whatever demons he struggled with, and likely there were many, Patton possessed a genius for war like few others in history. In short, he was the best of America's fighting generals.

  Later during the Italian campaign, he visited the 15th Evacuation Hospital outside Salerno, where he encountered a soldier who appeared to be unwounded. When asked what he suffered from, the soldier replied, "I guess I just can't take it." Patton cursed at the soldier, berating him as a coward, then slapped his face with his glove and kicked him out of the tent. The soldier was later diagnosed with chronic dysentery and malaria. A few weeks later, Patton repeated the scene at the 93rd Evacuation Hospital near the Gustav Line. Another G.I. had been diagnosed with combat fatigue, and upon seeing him cry, the General repeatedly slapped him, cursed him, and threatened to either send him to the front lines or have him killed by firing squad.

  Medical officers and several journalists quickly reported the incidents to Eisenhower, who reprimanded Patton by letter and ordered him to apologize to all concerned. Patton grudgingly did so, and Eisenhower, who could ill afford to lose Patton, asked reporters to bury the story for the sake of the war effort. Nonetheless, the news of the dreadful events had just broken through to Congress and the mainstream press in the USA a few weeks ago. It caused an uproar that Eisenhower had hoped to avoid.

  Many in the U.S. government and the press called for Patton to be sacked. So far, Patton kept his job because the Allies needed him at the front and leading the troops to victory. Even if he was tough as nails, he was a little worried that the assholes in Washington somehow could get Eisenhower to remove him from command. The only way he saw how to fix the problem was to continue winning. He was an asshole, all right, but a fighting asshole, so he figured he'd get away with anything he could do.

  The damned Germans had finally broken, and his forces were pouring into Germany proper. On that day of April, he was touring the frontline in his proverbial jeep to make sure the troops pushed as hard as they could toward the Rhine River, where the Wehrmacht was retreating in disarray. If General Rundstedt were allowed to move there and get a few days' reprieves to install his defenses, the Allies would again be stuck, and Patton was making sure this would not happen.

  "What are you doing, private," he said, yelling to a soldier that was on the side of the road. The soldier had his head hemmed in between both his hands and didn't answer. For that, he received a powerful kick in the ribs from his general. "Move, you maggot!" Patton yelled so loud that it startled everyone around, from the soldiers already going about their business (marching eastward) to the tankers driving by the road that their commander had parked his jeep beside.

  The kick finally spelled the end of the soldier's impotence, and he picked himself up and joined the ranks walking by the road. "Sorry, General. Sorry…" "You better be sorry, son. We've got a war to win." And at that, he stepped into his jeep again and signaled the driver to go. His next target was someplace a few kilometers ahead, where some problem had been reported with a unit struggling to advance over a pontoon bridge.

  Wolfchanzze, Eastern Prussia

  The Wolf’s lair in Russian hands, April 15th, 1947

  Marshal Zhukov walked the impressive ground that hosted the former Fuhrerbunker, or the Wolf's Lair. The place had been ordered built by Adolf Hitler just before his Barbarossa offensive. Not many places represented German militarism more than this one for the Soviets.

  A German Pioneer battalion had demolished the place with an estimated 8000kg of explosives a few hours before the first Russian units arrived. The matter was more for pride than for real use, for when the late Fuhrer Hermann Goering (now dead) left the place before the Eastern Prussian offensive, everything had been evacuated along with it.

  The Krauts only left the mines and many booby traps all across the site. The Russian commander could still see the immense proportion of the HQ. The monumental bunkers strewn around the landscape were damaged beyond useable, but the concrete remained. Parts of the large camo net that towered above the structures were also there. The large airfield built for the Reich's leadership was pockmarked and unusable, as several big explosions had destroyed it.

  Anti-aircraft gun emplacement still adorned the area all around, with remnants of machine-gun positions. Soviet intelligence and NKVD had estimated that over two battalions had defended the place. The destroyed leftovers of a rail track were also snaking their way on the outer edges of the facility.

  Buildings within the complex used to be camouflaged with bushes, grass, and artificial trees on the flat roofs; netting was also erected between buildings and the surrounding forest. The installation looked like unbroken dense woodland from the air. Most were still there apart from the areas that explosives had blasted.

  The Russian Marshal was walking at the heart of the former Wolf's Lair. The perimeter was ringed by broken and gutted steel fencing. The zone contained the Führerbunker, and ten other camouflaged ones built from 2-meter-thick (6 ft 7 in) steel-reinforced concrete. These shelters protected Fuhrer's inner circle members such as the OKW Generals (Halder, Paulus, Leeb) and Albert Speer. Goering's accommodation (formerly Hitler's) was on the northern side of the Führerbunker so as to avoid direct sunlight. Both bunkers had additional rooms where military conferences could be held. He stopped in front of what used the biggest construction of them all and imagined the
German leader walking out, seeing the destruction around him. He smiled inwardly as he decided that it would have been a great sight to behold. As per Englishman Churchill's own words, who sow the wind reap the whirlwind. "You damn German deserve it," said Zhukov in a barely audible voice. "I'm sorry, Marshal, what did you say?" One of the colonels responsible for the unit occupying the Wolfchanzze grounds walking beside him had heard his voice. "Nothing, nothing." The officer seemed to accept his leader's answer as it was.

  Zhukov crossed his arms behind his back, basking in the glorious destruction all around him. Germany was finished, he was sure. The offensive against the Third Reich was underway, and it seemed that it would be the last one. Already, with the new Fuhrer Heinz Guderian, most believed that the man would eventually surrender. Stalin made sure he made his mind quickly, hence why he ordered Zhukov to push as hard as possible for Berlin.

  He knew that the Wehrmacht was still very strong and that some hard fighting awaited his beloved Red Army somewhere on the edges of the Polish plains and into Germany proper, but he did not doubt that the Soviet Union would prevail.

  There just was too much pressure applied on the Germans. If they'd only faced the Russian hordes, Zhukov would have believed it possible that they could stop his offensive. But with the Western Allies' attack that pushed equally hard from the other side of the Reich and from the south in Italy and Austria, there was no hope for the Nazi leaders.

  Over Essen

  Recon mission, April 15th, 1947

  As Lamirande's jet took to the sky, the Meteor's wheels lifted off the Juvincourt airfield tarmac in a thunderous roar. The French-Canadian pilot climbed as fast as he could toward his squadron, assembling over the area.