1942 P. P. Dmitriev, Soviet 327th Rifle Division

We were known as “Antyufeev's men”
P. P. Dmitriev

Lieutenant-Colonel (ret.), former platoon commander, 6th Battery, 2nd Battalion, 894th Regiment, 327th Rifle Division.

Our battalion of horse-drawn 122mm 1938 model howitzers formed up at Somovo station near Voronezh and arrived at the Volkhov Front in the latter half of December 1941. The majority of the men had still not seen battle and what we saw left us staggered: destroyed villages, scorched and burnt bodies, dead horses and smashed vehicles...

Leaving the town of Bol'shaya Vishera, east of the Volkhov river, we arrived at our staging area at the villages of Bol'shoe Vyazhishche and Lyubovtsevo. The command for lights out rang out and orders for military security posted: “No fires to be lit, no matches struck, you are not to be detected!”

My first night in the field has remained preserved in my memory. It was intensely cold. Among the gun crews were elderly soldiers with previous experience. They advised us how to dig trenches in the snow and erect shelters from sticks and twigs. The snow was so deep that it afforded both a place for rest as well as cover from the wind. We even managed to arrange small camp fires. That first night passed uneventfully and there was not a single case of frostbite. We became confident that we could endure the most difficult conditions.

In the morning, the battery commanders left to reconnoiter our combat positions, while we spent the entire day engaged in preparing the equipment, adjusting the sighting mechanisms, getting the ammunition ready, and looking after the horses. We all strained for action, although, speaking honestly, we were poorly prepared for it mentally.

The gun positions for our battalion were set out 1.5 km east of the village of Gorodok, while the artillery observation point was located within the infantry combat positions on the eastern bank of the Volkhov, in our division's offensive zone.

On New Year's Eve, 1942, we took up our combat positions and committed our first error by bringing up all of our equipment. Dawn had hardly broke and we were discovered by the Germans. We suffered unnecessary losses in men and especially horses, for while a man will hit the ground when fired upon, a horse will remain standing...

After this lesson, we dug entrenchments for our guns, shelters for the men, slit trenches for the shells and – most important – led the horses to a spot further off. According to field regulations, the horse teams were to be located no more than 250 m from the guns, but it was already clear to us that quite different rules were observed during war.

Everyone without exception – rank and file, platoon and company commanders alike – worked around the clock. The winter was severe and the ground was frozen solid to a depth of 70-80 centimeters. One can imagine how much effort was needed for digging shelters using only shovels and crowbars! Still, there were no complaints. Many of the men displayed considerable talent in outfitting the dugouts, with camp stoves, protective plates, canopies and portable shelters being fashioned from pieces of broken equipment. After carrying out the heavy work around the guns, the troops had the opportunity of having a short rest in a warm dugout.

The new year came upon us and we wished each other quick success in smashing the Fascists and ending the blockade of Leningrad.
The gun positions were arranged in such a manner that allowed them to fire at any time of the day. I was lucky with the gun commanders I ended up with. One of them, Shapkin, was an educated and even-tempered man who had been the chairman of a collective farm before the war. He never raised his voice, yet his commands were obeyed without question. Another junior commander, Malikov, a former railway worker, was somewhat impatient but also enjoyed standing among the troops.

The battery commander, Gunin, a second lieutenant who had already seen battle, gave out his orders in a clear and confident manner. He informed us that we would be part of a combat group and would be surrporting the 1098th Rifle Regiment, which had the task of crossing the Volkhov and taking the German first line of defense – the settlements of Kostylevo and Yamno. This was to be followed by an attack upon the village of Spasskay Polist' and a subsequent advance to Lyuban' to link up with the forces of the Leningrad Front. Artillery fire was to be directed against the German defenses by sector, rather than specific targets.

On 7 January, our guns announced the beginning of the offensive. The opening barrage, however, was too brief and the intensity of fire low due to a lack of shells. Suddenly, next to us, appeared some unfamiliar pieces of equipment. They let loose a volley and then immediately moved off. We learned later that these were katyushas.

The infantry rose for the attack, but, having quickly reached the middle of the frozen river, hit the ground: the artillery had been unable to suppress the enemy's firing points. Why did this occur? During preparations for the offensive, we had been told that we had been equipped with a new, “secret” telephone system – TAT. Over short distances, up to 100m, there was some degree of audibility. The firing positions, however, were located 1.5 km from the OP, and with a single-line telephone cable for these TAT sets, nothing could be heard. As a result, the observers and signalmen of the observation posts, which were located in the infantry combat line, were reduced to riflemen, while the gunners became a target for enemy aircraft and artillery. The battalion signal chief, Second Lieutenant Ushakov, and the signals chief of the regiment, V. I. Nikolaevskiy, spewed threats, but there was no increase in audibility. We tried to deliver and transfer commands by passing them on verbally from man to man, but it was useless. Commands intended for the firing positions reached them at a significant delay and in a distorted state. It was impossible conduct artillery fire according to them. The offensive broke down and the infantry returned to their jumping positions, incurring losses along the way.

After a careful review of the failure, the Front Command planned to repeat the attack in a week's time. Intensive preparations began. Our scouts along with the battery commander Gunin and the commander of the headquarters section, Lieutenant Goryanskiy, stayed at the OP, conducting a thorough reconnaissance of the German defenses, studying the location of the enemy's weapons emplacements, command and observation posts – everything subject to destruction by our artillery. Preliminary firing data was prepared and written down at the gun positions. Signalmen sought out aluminum wiring from destroyed German communications lines, unwound them and ran new lines which were suspended above ground. As a result, a weak audio connection was established with the TAT receivers.

At the firing positions, munitions were taken on and prepared for use. Drovers hid the horses in ravines so that they could only be killed by a direct hit.

On 13 January, a red flare and a volley of katyushas signaled the beginning of the artillery barrage. It lasted longer than the previous bombardment and targeted specific sectors of the German defenses. After the barrage, the infantry rose to the attack with a hearty urrah!, crossed the Volkhov and assaulted the first trenches. Hand-to-hand fighting broke out. Our troops captured the first trench line and continued the attack, while the artillery gunners switched their fire into the rear of the German defenses.

When we captured Kostylev and Yamno we received orders to change firing positions. It was a pity to have to abandon the dugouts we had fashioned, but we were encouraged by our success. Having quickly pulled up stakes, we crossed the Volkhov and made our way to Kolomno and further along the motor road towards Selishchenskiy settlement and Spasskaya Polist'.

The road was overloaded with all the units of our 327th Rifle Division moving along it. There were frequent traffic jams and shifts in position among the vehicles. Everyone wanted to move faster, and as a result got in one another's way. Fortunately, the day was cloudy and prevented the appearance of enemy aircraft.

With the onset of darkness we received orders to take up firing positions among some undergrowth 3 km east of Spasskaya Polist'. We cut down trees which blocked our firing and began digging entrenchments for the guns and men. The battery was ready for battle in a very short time, but the position turned out to be very unfavourable. It was was open marshland with the motor road to the left, bordered by snow fences.
The Germans had withdrawn in good time to a prepared defensive line along the Leningrad-Novgorod motor road, near the villages of Tregubovo, Spasskaya Polist' and Mostki.

The 327th Rife Division began its offensive against Spasskaya Polist', but the attacking troops were met with strong machine gun, mortar and artillery fire from the front as well as the flanks. We were also subjected to bombardment and shelling at our firing positions, and were not even able to avoid the gunfire from manual weapons. On one of these days, the scout, Kretov, arrived from the OP and brought us an unpleasant message: Platoon Commander Goryanskiy had been killed and I was ordered to replace him.

I collected my dufflebag, put on my camouflage smock, bid farewell to my fellow gunners and set off with Kretov to the observation point. The closer we approached the forward positions, the more often the bullets whistled by. Kretov, already accustomed to them, would reassure me, that none of the bullets were intended “for us”. When we walked alongside the snow fences, the fear had disappeared on its own, even though there was a series of dead and frozen soldiers laying in a variety of poses. I suppose, if help had been given them in a timely fashion, many of them would have remained alive...

Despite the heavy machine gun and automatic fire, Kretov and I, by means of short dashes, safely reached the forward observation point amidst the infantry combat positions. It was situated on the icy bank of the Polist' river, and there was no possibility of digging in for cover. I had to fashion a parapet out of snow and make embrasures in it for observation. This was at least some sort of defense against the wind, but provided no cover from bullets. There, one could only lay prone on the ground, raise yourself but a little and one was done for. Many were killed in such a manner....

I set about to my new responsibilities: observing the enemy and correcting the fire of our batteries.

The division command undertook numerous attempts to attack Spasskaya Polist', utilizing both artillery fire and smoke screens, but success was not achieved. The Germans had a well-organized system of defensive fire. As soon as our infantry would rise for an attack, heavily destructive fire would open up and the attackers would be forced to the ground. At night, the enemy would illuminate the forward positions with flares, and any movement within our combat positions would immediately be hit with fire. Air support was negligible, and tanks – for the most part – did not reach the forward positions.

To support the battalion's advance, we had been given three T-70 tanks – fast vehicles, but weakly armed and thinly armoured. During the attack on Spasskaya Polist', the three tanks made their way onto the motor road. In the open terrain, they became nothing more than moving targets for the German artillery and were quickly dealt with on the road. It was a bitter sight to see our tank crews killed needlessly, carrying out their orders. We spotted the enemy guns and our batteries opened up with armour-piercing shells, as we had no high-explosive rounds. Despite firing numerous shells, we failed to hit the mark, and the Germans calmly pulled their guns into cover.

There was a constant lack of shells. They would arrive at a delay all way from Bol'shaya Vishera and in quantities insufficient for the demands at the front. There was a shortage of vehicles and frequent traffic jams, along with snow drifts, which impeded movement. Provisions were insufficient for the troops and were augment with horse meat. Indeed, all the the vehicles were horse drawn and the losses among the horses were great and keenly felt. Each gun crew had a cook and gunners did not starve. It was worse, however, at the OP. There, food was delivered only at night and was frozen, with no possibility of warming it up (It would only be in 1943 that we came to have paraffin-alcohol lamps).

After several unsuccessful attempts to capture Spasskaya Polist', our division went over to the defensive. I was granted the opportunity of returning to the firing positions for a short rest and get myself cleaned up. A new problem then emerged – lice. A large tent was set up at the gun positions, equipped with iron tubs for warming up our linens and boiling them thoroughly. This reduced the number of insects for a time, but they would re-establish themselves later in hordes.

My furlough passed quickly and I once again returned to the front lines. I had made friends there and they awaited my return. I brought them newspapers and news from the rear. The brave and unruffled scout, Kretov, became my assistant, as well as a loyal and devoted comrade. I was convinced, that he would not abandon me, if the situation became dangerous – which was subsequently confirmed.

At this time, the neighbouring forces on the left had broken through the German defenses in the vicnity of Mostki and Myasniy Bor. Into the breakthrough was inserted 13th Cavalry Corps under General Gusev. At the beginning of February, our division received orders hand over our defensive positions near Spasskaya Polist' to other units and to advance in the direction of Finev Lug and Lyuban'.

Our companies had lost some 70% of their personnel. Having received
reinforcements, we advanced behind the cavalry forces. There was no fodder for the horses, and the decision was made to maintain only the minimum number for the hauling of artillery and boxes of shells. The remainder were sent to pasture. The horses, however, finally became exhausted. I had to part with my beloved Terazka. I had wanted to shoot her, so that she wouldn't suffer, but changed my mind. Perhaps someone would take her up and provide her food...

Reaching Ol'khovka, the division deployed for offensive operations. The artillery regiment took up combat positions, but did not have time to open fire: orders arrived to form up in marching columns and move out along the left flank of the breakthrough in the direction of Krasnaya Gorka.Ahead of us, moved the 1100th Rifle Regiment, followed by the 1098th Regiment and our 894th Artillery Regiment. In the rear echelon followed the 1102nd Regiment.

The path ran along forests and bogs, devoid of any sort of roads. We moved only by compass. Surveyors went ahead establishing down the route. The snow was deep and thick, while the swampy land below it remained unfrozen. Both wheels of the 2400kg howitzers would immediately sink and the horses became exhausted. Men – both gunners and staff – put on straps and with the assistance of makeshift materials would drag the guns through the swamp. The speed of the advance was measured in meters, nevertheless, we tried to keep pace with the infantry. All along the line we encountered large numbers of dead horses, signs left behind by the cavalry corps. It was an awful sight. Our advance took place amidst continuous battles with the retreating enemy. During daylight there would be attacks by German aircraft. True, the bombs, falling into the swamp, would burst at a significant depth and the splinters caused little harm, while direct hits were a rare occurrence. .

At the beginning of March, the 1100th Rifle Regiment, under the command if Lieutenant-Colonel Kovtar', arrived at the vicinity of Lyuban' in order to link up with the forces of the Leningrad Front. The latter, however, did not turn up and the offensive was unsuccessful. The enemy, meanwhile, concentrated significant forces and with the support of aircraft and tanks counter-attacked our units in the vicinity of Krasnaya Gorka. As a result, the 1100th Rifle Regiment, finding itself cut off and encircled, was engaged in extremely heavy fighting. The two other rifle regiments and our artillery regiment attacked in the direction of Lyuban', attempting to link up with the 1100th Regiment. The Germans brought up fresh forces, mortars, artillery and tanks and set up a bitter resistance.

During the first days of March, our beloved battery commander, Second Lieutenant Gunin, was killed at the OP. We carried him to the firing position and buried him with full military honours, swearing revenge upon the invaders.

Lieutenant Bulavin took over as battery commander. The Germans shelled our positions fiercely with mortars of all calibers. The mortar shells burst on the ground and in the tree tops, forming a mass of splinters which caused us significant losses.

I was positioned in the forward OP, amidst the combat positions of the 1st Battalion, 1098th Rifle Regiment. Visibility through the solid mass of birch trees and bushes was very poor. I tried to provide targeting information for two of our batteries, but the our fire became weaker and weaker. Every shell had to be counted.

On March 8, the division commander, I. M. Antyufeev, visited our combat positions. By chance, I happened to be nearby. The divisional commander called out my name. I presented myself and there and then received orders to lead a combined force to attack the motor road. My unit consisted of 16 men in total – signalmen, drovers, cooks and eight soldiers. I assembled my men, examined their weapons and ammunition, and we took up our starting positions. The machine guns went to work and with a cry of urrah! we rose to the attack. At this moment for me, time stood still.

I regained consciousness only on 25 March, when – through a dull mist – I caught sight of people in white smocks and heard the sound of someone moaning. I grasped that I had suffered a concussion and found myself in a field hospital, overflowing with wounded. The corridor at Myasniy Bor had been slammed shut and no one was being sent to the rear hospitals. The medics could provide no assistance other than encouraging words.

I rested for a while, and then secretly headed off to my unit. Through walking and hitching rides, I reached my battery, where they had already written me off. It turned out that during the battle I had received a concussion, and my comrade, Kretov, had carried me from the forward positions to a medical unit, from where I landed in the hospital.

The attack of March 8 was not successful, and those who remained alive returned to their initial positions. Shortly afterward, the entire division passed over to the defensive. The 1100th Rifle Regiment, having lost the majority of its personnel while encircled, destroyed its military vehicles and during the night of 9 March eighteen men fought their way out to our division's sector.

We equipped our forward defenses with protective walls made from logs with slits for firing and organized around-the-clock surveillance of the enemy. The delivery of shells ceased and those remaining were parceled out only with permission of the divisional commander. We still had small arms ammunition for the time being and periodically exchanged fire with the Germans.

At the end of March, the situation at Myasniy Bor was restored, and 5 Studebaker trucks arrived for hauling the howitzers. Those horses still capable of moving were sent off beyond the Volkhov along with the veterinarian.

The spring thaw ensued, and the only road supplying the army with all of its requirements was transformed into one continuous morass, while the surrounding terrain was an impassable bog. The forces received only small arms ammunition and small caliber mortar shells. The food situation became serious and horse meat ran out. Dry rations were sometimes dropped from aircraft but there was not enough. The decision was then taken to mobilize all forces for the construction of a road made from improvised materials. Each unit was given its own defined section of the road. It involved very heavy labour. The men were exhausted, and our entrenching tools were not suitable for such a purpose. We even lacked files for sharpening the saws, indeed, how much wood can be sawed with a blunt instrument? Yet, we worked without letup, day and night. Only the commander and the gun-layer would remain at a gun, all other were employed in road construction or in the delivery of shells and provisions. It was more than 50km to the supply stores in the rear and it would take five or six days to go there and back. One can imagine how much one man could bring, if a single shell with fuse weighed 30kg.

The labour invested in building the road did not pay off in full, however. Vehicles often fell through, knocking the wooden planking into a heap. In some places, the planking would sink into the swampy ground, and needed to be continuously restored. Road workers were posted along the entire route, pulling out vehicles that had become stuck. This was truly hellish work...

Only the battery staff, located at the OP, were engaged in their actual work. No man's land was only 100-150 m and the Germans made constant attempts to penetrate our positions, but we were on the alert.
Washing facilities were set up at the firing positions, where the men could clean up and do laundry. They had been living in dugouts constructed with logs but in the springtime they began to fill with water and the men had to relocate into tents. The guns started to sink and it became necessary to lay logs under the wheels and shore up the trail spades. All of this required labour, at a time when the food situation was progressively deteriorating. Rations had been cut to half, and then to a quarter, while on some days there was absolutely no food at all. ..

At the end of May, the order to withdraw was issued. During one evening, we abandoned the OP and our firing positions. The Germans opened fire with all weapons, but we were incapable of replying – there were no more shells. The enemy attempted to pursue us, but the shattered roads turned out to be our allies on this occasion: the German tanks and vehicles were incapable of traveling along them. While the Germans built roads, we held on at the next line of defense at the town of Finev Lug. The terrain here was completely different, with meadows and arable land. Trenches were dug in quick order, observation posts established and firing positions occupied. Then we hoped for a miracle – would shells suddenly be brought up?

On May 30th, however, the corridor at Myasniy Bor was closed. We had one shell remaining for each gun – set aside for blowing them up. German tanks reached the heights outside the village and began shooting at close range, sparing neither shells nor cartridges. A German soldier drove me out of my trench and destroyed the rangefinder. I barely managed to flee to the edge of the forest.

The gunners still managed to haul their guns into the woods, while the battery staff remained within the infantry combat positions, receiving an allotment of cartridges for a carbine or automatic. The strength drained from the men and the soldiers moved with difficulty. Unaware of one's own appearance, it was very painful to look upon one's exhausted comrades.
The order arrived for the gunners to transfer into the rifle units.

The exhausted and hungry men defended their positions until their last last breath. The wounded, bandaged with scraps of linen, did not depart for the rear, but fought to the last cartridge. I do not remember a single instance of voluntary surrender – despite the German leaflets with their promises of good treatment.

Four days later, we received order to blow up the guns and head off to an assembly point near Myasniy Bor. A mass of men had collected here, which was devoid of any possibility of combat operations due to continuous bombardment and complete lack of defense. Hunger left them without any strength. Several of us commanders took up positions around a thick aspen. Each of us had a foxhole between the roots, our heads towards the tree, and each day someone would be killed...

On June 21st, it became known that a pathway had been forced through to the pocket. The division's communications officer, N. F. Ushakov, who had severe tuberculosis, and myself, with serious dystrophy, had been authorized to make our own way out. Authorization aside, where was one to muster the strength to do so? My legs were swollen and refused to move. Ushakov could walk and promised to help me. We were issued a chunk of undercooked horse meat. It was almost impossible to chew, but a nutritious juice could still be obtained by doing so. I pleaded that my assistant, Kretov, be allowed to leave with me, but the orders covered only the wounded and the seriously ill.

Walking here and crawling there, we made our way towards the corridor. The route along the narrow-gauge railway was between 200 and 250 meters wide and around 4 kilometers long. I remember, that our only T-34 tank sat there, knocked out. The Germans conducted well-aimed fire so as not to kill their own men, who were along the entire length of the corridor. Taking our time, we would choose the next shell crater, to which Ushakov would run, while I would roll across the ground towards it. Halfway across, Ushakov was cut down by a burst of machine gun fire. I tried to crawl up to him, but was fired upon. The bullets grazed my clothing, but I remained unharmed and continue to crawl my way out.
The river Polist' was filled with corpses right up to the bank. The living crawled over the bodies of the dead. It was not without reason that this “corridor” was named “the Valley of Death.” It could have been called “hell,” “the meat grinder,” or even “the punishment by fire” - but no words can express what took place there.

Fate took pity on me, however, and at the end of the corridor I was picked up by medics while in an unconscious state and taken to the hospital. I regained consciousness, was treated, and returned home to my 894th Artillery Regiment, with whom I shared all the paths of the war up until Victory.