Rise of the Bloodied Phoenix

by Andrew McGregor

  Stepping carefully towards the Hanomag, Hausser swearing under his breath as his boots slipped on the rutted iced snow, the snowflakes still fluttering around them as the sky darkened, ‘Is Tatu talking yet?’

  Petru shook his head, ‘It will take some time…this has really affected him…he was quite fond of Donatello I think, as was I.’ The Romanian sniffed heavily, his eyes filling with emotion, ‘So many young ones have fallen Hausser…a generation of young men that will not return to their homeland…’ He glanced at the officer as they approached the angled rear of the Hanomag, ‘Eventually we will fall too…’

  Hausser grunted in dismissal, lifting himself into the back of the carrier, his strained eyes fixed on the blanket, ‘Let’s drive to the Chaplain…then we will get some food. It will be a long day tomorrow and I want us to bed down early…’ He nodded as Moretti turned from the forward machine gun, ‘Let’s get this done…show our last respects.’

  The engine roared, ‘Hase’ engaging gear as the Hanomag jolted forward, turning slowly to head along the western track. As the tracks clattered across the frozen snow, Moretti stared across the units between the trees, numerous small stoves heating warm drinks, the soldiers now sitting inside the openings of their tents and preparing to bed down for the night.

  After a short journey, they had reached another small clearing, tents of the forward medical services on one side with the burial detail and Chaplain’s tent on the other. To the edge of the clearing, two Opel Blitz lorries were awaiting the seriously wounded for transport to the rear, several soldiers with sub machine guns standing in padded uniforms, their role to guard the lorries during the journey.

  On the opposite side, a number of covered corpses lay near the trees, three oil lanterns sat on the snow around the small area, the Chaplain standing before the covered bodies as he said a few words, the soldiers assigned to bury the dead leaning on their shovels with their heads bowed. Open graves lay nearby lining the track, with a pile of crosses next to the tent where small services were held, the Chaplain raising his right hand to form the sign of the cross before him, then stepping sideways to the next body.

  Moretti smiled grimly, his hand indicating to the left as the carrier slowed to a halt, ‘The Chaplain is Roman Catholic…that is better for Donatello.’ He turned to glance at the others expectantly, ‘I will ask if we can hold a small service…’

  They had stood before the makeshift table and candles within the tent, the middle-aged Chaplain dressed in a Wehrmacht uniform, a white band circling his left arm adorned with a violet middle stripe. A large wide decorative steel cross draped round his neck, he spoke softly as the candle light flickered across their frames, the body of Donatello lying on a small platform below the table before them.

  The cold seemed to bite at their faces, their heads bowed as the short service progressed and slowly came to a close, the Pastor accompanying them out into the darkness as the tent flaps closed behind them, the two orderlies inside gently lifting the body from the low bench.

  Leutnant Hausser nodded to the Chaplain, his voice withdrawn, ‘Thank you for making time for us…he was a young soldier, but a good one…’

  The Pastor smiled briefly, ‘It was my pleasure…the young man was a Roman Catholic too, we will ensure he is buried this night.’ The man indicated to the burial detail slowly lowering corpses into the open graves, ‘They will be very busy in the next few days, let us hope the loss of lives is not in vain…that the Russian hordes are pushed back…’

  Hausser’s eyes widened in surprise, his shoulders tensing as he glanced round, the five soldiers behind forming a line and snapping to attention in response to Tatu’s hissed command. Shaking his head, he indicated to the line, ‘I will address the men Sir…thank you for your help.’

  The Chaplain nodded, stepping towards the last of the bodies to complete his blessings, the commander turning to his men as his eyes narrowed. Clearing his throat, he sighed and spoke softly, his eyes filling as he glanced across the soldiers in front of him through the darkness, ‘We have lost another one of our friends today…’ He glanced at the solemn faces, ‘Donatello became isolated from us and was helping a wounded man when it appears he was attacked and fell…a valiant act and a cruel intervention of fate…if unavoidable…’ The commander stared determinedly at Tatu, ‘No one is to blame for his death but the viciousness of war and the barbarity of our enemy…he had come a long way from his native Italy and gave his life in the service of others…I am sure he is looking down upon us now and would want us to move on to preserve our own survival…’

  Leutnant Hausser stiffened, saluting formally as the others tensed, emotion filling their eyes, ‘Dismissed!’

  Nine kilometres to the south, Oleg and Pavel slipped from the trees of a small wood, their young bodies shivering in the ill-fitting padded jackets as they crept forward. Clutching their rifles tightly, they scrambled at a half-crouch up the slope from the ditch lining the trees, their breath held as cautious eyes glanced from side to side across the wide snowbound field.

  Pavel bolted forward as Oleg stared into the gloom, the last of the snowflakes falling across the expanse as he breathed heavily, the cold air biting at his chest. The young Russian ran at a half crouch, his brown eyes darting from side to side as he stumbled across the field, his chest heaving for air as he slowed and dropped onto one knee, indicating for the younger man to follow. Their bedraggled uniforms covered by oversized German padded jackets, their breath swirled around them, both deciding whilst concealed in the woods that they could no longer tolerate another night outside in the freezing cold.

  Skirting the edge of the trees, they had glimpsed the lights of a nearby farm to the south east, their bodies shivering as they debated nervously if German soldiers would be billeted there for the night. Finally deciding to approach the farmhouse, considering they could sleep in a barn, both agreed that they desperately needed to ask for food, their stomachs rumbling and uncomfortably empty.

  Oleg dropped next to Pavel, his rifle raised as the older youth glanced at him. With three years between them, the two young men smiled faintly in anticipation, their minds considering what food the farmer may have to spare. Pavel’s chest was heaving, his mouth gulping in the cold air as he whispered to the younger man, ‘We will see if the farmer knows the local partisans…escape to them before the fascists find us…’ He grimaced as the younger Russian nodded trustingly, ‘We will not last long alone…’ Glancing round into the darkness, he indicated to the low buildings ahead, ‘I will go to the door Oleg…you stay back until I call for you!’

  The younger man nodded, gritting his teeth as he shivered further, Pavel lunging forward and running towards the buildings, candlelight flickering across the snow from the windows ahead. The crunch of boots in the deep iced snow seemed almost deafening, the Russian soldier attempting to lower the noise as the shadows of the buildings rose up before him. Dropping to his knees next to a ramshackle broken wooden fence, he stared across the darkened structures, hearing the boots approach across the snow behind him.

  Pavel drew breath, rising to clamber over the fence as he stared warily towards the buildings, Oleg slipping on the snow behind as the Russian dropped to the other side of the obstruction, his rifle rising as he leant with his back against the farmhouse wall. Breathing heavily, he edged towards the small window to his right, ducking to glance inside, his heart pounding.

  The cracked glass was lined with dirt, smears across its surface as he stared inside, the lights from two small candles flickering on a small central table. An elderly couple sat either side of the table, sipping from their bowls of thick broth as the lights cast shadows across the walls.

  Pavel shivered, stepping round the low building and approaching the small door, his hand wrapping against the surface. A chair screeched against rough floorboards inside, muffled startled whispers from within as the farmer told his wife to move to the back of their small house, his shaking hand unbolting the door.

  T
he wooden door creaked open, a shaft of light emanating from within as the grey bearded older Russian stared out inquisitively, his eyes widening as he glimpsed the German padded jacket. Pavel coughed in the cold, his eyes dropping in respect, ‘Comrade…we are two soldiers hiding from the fascists…are you able to provide shelter and food please?’

  The older Russian farmer’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, his stare fixing on the blood smeared sleeves of the padded jacket before him then onto the rifle trailing on the snow as another Russian soldier appeared behind the first. The younger brown eyes contracting in the light as the soldier smiled, ‘Comrade Sir…can you help us please? We are very hungry and cold…we need to find a partisan unit nearby for safety.’

  The old man stepped to the side, indicating for the younger Russians to pass, his tone low as he glanced out into the darkness warily, ‘Come in quickly…the fascists are in the nearby farms, we will give you food and hide you in our barn…once they have passed you will have to leave…’ He sighed, ‘The Germans are clearing all the forests…you will have to head east or west to meet up with any remaining partisan groups.’

  The German quartermaster had ladled additional food into the men’s mess tins, the solemn faces and grim expressions causing him some concern as the soldiers had reached the front of the queue for food. Sitting with the steaming food in their mess tins, they had displayed little appetite to eat, the low crackle of the radio disturbing their thoughts as Hausser spoke softly into the microphone, reporting the day’s events to Major Wolff in the north.

  ‘Hase’ had driven the short distance to locate the designated place identified by Captain Huber for the Hanomag to sit for the night, pulling up under some trees as Petru pulled the tarpaulin over the top of the carrier’s rear compartment. Hausser had insisted the tired men eat the ample stew and bread provided, forcing himself to digest the delicious food with the knowledge of what was to come the following day.

  Tatu sat alone at the end of the carrier, ignoring even Petru’s carefully chosen words in Romanian as the others bowed their heads uncomfortably, used to the quartermaster lifting their moods. His expression drawn and subdued, he had only nodded thanks as Udet had handed him a warm drink, his eyes remaining fixed on the rear doors and corner of the Hanomag. Hausser had eventually risen at the alarmed expressions of the others and his own motivation, sitting next to his friend for some time as they sipped from their drinks in silence, the commander eventually offering him a cigarette, the two men smoking before Tatu indicated for him to move away with his hand.

  Gradually as the candles faded, each man wrapped themselves tightly in their padded jackets and blankets before the silent group drifted into a fitful sleep.

  Chapter Sixteen: The First Guards Army positions

  Engines burbled into life on either side, the muffled shouts and chatter slowly stirring the men in the back of the Hanomag. Then the voices got nearer as Hausser shook his head, shaking the sleepiness from his eyes, his stare slowly panning the inside of the darkened rear compartment.

  Tatu sat rolling a cigarette in his hands, his PPSH laying across his knees as Udet struggled to wake next to him, the young German wiping his eyes as he blinked continuously. Petru sat solemnly at the end of the carrier, his rifle between his knees as he pushed bullets into his side pockets.

  ‘Hase’ slowly emerged from the front compartment, nodding to his commander as he rubbed his eyes, is hands gathering the mess tins to fill with snow outside. Sergeant Moretti leant forward, cradling a match in his hands as he struck it, the light flickering as he lit Tatu’s cigarette before his own, the two men blowing clouds of smoke upwards towards the tarpaulin cover.

  Leutnant Hausser cleared his throat, the greyish smoke swirling though the back of the Hanomag, ‘We have a long day ahead of us…yesterday was yesterday and we have to move on…I want you all to focus on the struggle ahead, not the past…’ He drew breath, Tatu extending a cigarette towards him as the commander took it, nodding, ‘We have all lost men before…in Stalingrad and the battles of the Crimea…Russia is littered with the dead. We have to survive and support each other…’

  Tatu nodded grimly, his eyes widening in thought as the Italian leant forward and lit the commander’s cigarette, ‘Herr Leutnant…we are ready for this attack now. The war has changed beyond our comprehension, but now we are ready…we will not make another mistake again that costs lives!’

  Moretti nodded in agreement, ‘We now only have each other…’

  They spun round as a loud cracking against the rear doors startled them, the muffled voice of Hauptmann Huber resounding through the armoured plate, ‘Open up! It will be time to move shortly men…’

  ‘Hase’ unclipped the rear doors, the captain lowering his helmeted head to step inside, a grin spreading across his lips as he looked at the tarpaulin above, ‘Very cosy gentlemen…’ His eyes widened as the clouds of smoke engulfed him, indicating to Hausser, ‘Leutnant…shall we have a breath of fresh air and discuss the advance?’

  Hausser nodded, rising from the bench, his eyes falling on Udet, ‘Can we prepare rations for all and get the tarpaulin removed…’ He nodded as the young German smiled, stepping from the back of the carrier into the darkness, the captain withdrawing and awaiting him underneath the trees. Hausser glanced to either side as he approached the superior officer, soldiers cleaning their weapons and eating a meagre breakfast as lorries lumbered past on the track, several Hanomags and Self Propelled Guns warming their engines along the sides of the thoroughfare. The dark morning air was crisp, another snowfall having blanketed the terrain during the night as he pulled the collars of his padded jacket around under his chin.

  Huber turned sharply, grinning at Hausser, ‘You and your men will have my company during the advance. The 333rd and 387th Infantry Divisions will be supported by SPGs as we strike northwards.’ He indicated further along the track, ‘They are forming up to the east and readying to move forward…we will form the flanking units as we break through. The Luftwaffe will be active at first light…then we strike!’ The captain glanced at ‘Hase’ gathering snow, ‘Let’s move up to the forward command post and prepare for the assault!’

  The carrier engine whined as the Hanomag rose up the slope, Huber stood next to Tatu at the upper machine gun. The thirty-minute journey had brought them past several lines of marching infantry, four Marder II SPGs following the armoured carrier, their exposed crews wearing fully padded jackets and trousers, scarves across their mouths as the cold early morning light began to spread across the sky.

  The carrier rose up over a gradual rise, the occupants staring down into a collection of low buildings below, Huber exclaiming aloud as he pointed at the heavy artillery pieces between the dwellings, most covered by tarpaulin and camouflaged netting, ‘The field guns are preparing to fire…once the Luftwaffe fly overhead, they will open up on the Russkie lines ahead. Once we are north of Dobropillya, we will begin to form the eastern flank defences.’ Further along the narrow valley units were moving forward, several Panzer III and IV tanks outlined against the snow and supported by companies of infantry advancing across the fields towards the low ridge beyond, a number of farms and tree copses breaking the wide fields.

  The Hanomag slowed as it entered the small village, Huber indicating for the Marder SPGs to break off to the right, their commander waving in recognition as the tracks whined, the armoured guns turning towards the east and skirting the southern edge of the buildings.

  Numerous soldiers and officers were busying themselves around the low dwellings, several armoured cars and Kubelwagens warming their engines as the officers shouted instructions, a number clambering into the vehicles in preparation for the advance. As they pulled into the small square, an officer was inspecting two platoons of soldiers, barking instructions as the Hanomag clattered past, Huber indicating for them to pull up alongside the northern track, a space between two lorries available.

  The captain turned to Hausser, ‘I will be only a couple of
minutes…I want to check if there are any changes to our orders…keep the engine warm and prepare the rations, I will see if I can gain some more…’

  Leutnant Hausser nodded, ‘We will fill the fuel tanks and check the tracks and tyres. We also need some more ammunition…’

  Huber grinned, ‘Check the supply area to the east of the village…I will be back soon…’ He slipped from the back of the carrier, Udet attempting to light the small stove as Hausser leant against the forward machine gun with Tatu.

  Tatu and Udet lowered the ammunition boxes into the back of the Hanomag as Huber strode back towards them with an orderly walking behind, his arms filled with two more containers, the canned meat boxes provoking welcome smiles amongst the soldiers readying to depart.

  The Maybach engine roared as the rear doors closed, Huber lowering himself onto one of the benches, ‘We will move to the east…the advance will commence in a matter of minutes and we will join the infantry units as support. They have Stug and Marder SPGs and some Panzer IIIs apparently and we need to continue the drive to the north. Once we have cut through the 1st Guards Tank Army, we will head for Slavyansk and then on to Isyum.’

  Tatu glanced round as the activity amongst the buildings increased, a number of Kubelwagens slipping past the Hanomag towards the north, the lorry engines revving as hundreds of soldiers advanced slowly across the fields on either side.

  Sergeant Moretti whispered a translation in the front compartment as ‘Hase’ nodded, the tracks spinning briefly before the carrier surged forward, turning onto the track towards the east. Udet handed sliced bread across the crew, the surface lavishly spread with marmalade as the steaming metal mugs were passed round by Petru, the armoured carrier lurching as it bounced along the narrow track.