Rise of the Bloodied Phoenix

by Andrew McGregor

  Staggering forward, the Romanian raised his PPSH, explosions shaking the trench walls as he fired out blindly, the German infantry ducked within the defensive positions. Petru scrambled behind, his hand grasping Moretti’s jacket to steady him, earth, dust and powdered snow pouring down upon them as they struggled forwards.

  Udet swore as he heard the shouts of attack, rising from comforting the wounded soldier, his screams of ‘Medic!’ having gone unanswered. Having removed his padded jacket and wrapped it tightly around the man’s wounded shoulder, he shivered, raising his rifle as an explosion rocked the building remains behind, the Flakvierling smashed as two more of the crew screamed in wounded agony.

  The soldiers along Udet’s section of the trench tensed, screams of hatred echoing around them as silhouettes appeared through the fog, rifles cracking across the line as the figures charged towards them. Several shadows fell, the increasing numbers still advancing as muzzle flashes filled the mist, bullets zipping across the trenches as the defenders fired out desperately.

  Tatu reached Udet, his PPSH blazing outwards as screams filled their ears, the pak gun firing into a mass of Russian infantry as the dug in Marder engaged the silhouettes of Russian armour. Petru and Moretti thrust themselves against the trench wall either side of the young German, their rifles cracking outwards as shadows fell in the fog. Tatu screamed, ‘Throw grenades…break their will!’

  A rush of air, the flashes in the fog throwing infantry and dirt into the air, mortars firing from below the ridge to the south carefully aiming into the fog, the trajectory landing 80mm shells just outside the trenches having passed over Dobropillya almost to the limit of their range.

  The defenders ducked back, priming and tossing grenades over the trench walls as blast waves swept across the defences, terrible screams of shock and pain filling their ears from just outside the entrenched positions.

  Several Russians fell into the trenches, some wounded, others jumping on the defenders, their bayoneted rifles slicing from side to side. Udet’s eyes widened as he screamed in hatred, charging past Petru and raising his rifle butt, the Russian rifleman twisting his bayonet into a fallen German soldier’s abdomen. The base of the rifle crashed against the Russian’s back, the man half turning as Udet slammed the rifle into him again, the sickening crack of bones as the man’s vertebra shattered, his body collapsing forwards as his mouth sucked for air.

  Petru fired outside the trench, Moretti lunging towards Udet as Russian riflemen jumped either side of the young man, his stance lowering as he swung his rifle into the first assailant, the Russian’s body doubling before he landed, the barrel cracking against the man’s stomach. Moretti crashed into the Russian behind, the bayoneted rifle swinging towards Udet before falling into the trench, the Italian screaming in hatred, a vision of Donatello filling his subconscious as the two men fell forward. Frantically grasping the Russian’s helmet, he cracked the head forward onto the floor of the trench again and again, spittle flying from his clenched teeth as Udet grappled with the next intruder, parrying the thrust bayonet and cracking his rifle muzzle under the man’s chin, the jaw cracking as screams filled the air.

  Blast waves swept over the trenches as the soldiers fought hand to hand, dust and dirt flying across the padded grey and white jackets as bayonets and knives slashed back and forth. The mortar shells rained down, the Russian riflemen sprinting forward in attempt to gain the cover of the trenches, fully aware a machine gun was positioned behind them as a deterrent to retreat.

  Tatu fired burst after burst from his PPSH, slamming a new magazine into the base as he tossed grenades, his jaw tensing as he considered the deteriorating position. Then a slap to his shoulder, Hausser advancing past him with his MP40, the barrel shuddering as controlled bursts were fired at the infiltrators, ‘Hase’ firing single shots over the trench wall with his Kar 98 next to the commander.

  Heavier detonations erupted before the trenches, German long range artillery targeting the ground before the hamlet from the south, the shock waves and shrapnel tearing through the remaining attack. Udet and Moretti fell under a weight of frantically jumping Russians, the terrified soldiers thrown by detonations and terrifying fear into the trench.

  Desperately struggling, the mass of bodies fought and slammed against each other, Hausser advancing with ‘Hase’ and now Tatu, cutting down the attackers as they scrambled upwards. Udet felt his arm twist painfully, two bodies struggling above him to rise, their hands scratching at his tunic and trench walls. Striking out hard and in desperation, he felt the body above him jolt as bullets cut through the soldier’s chest, a rifle butt smacking against the side of his face as blood splattered across the young German. The man above clawed to escape, his strength weakening as he gasped in pain, his knee crunching into Udet’s groin as the young man screamed in response.

  Distant whistles blew through the confusion, the call for a retreat initiated by frustrated commissars. To the west, four Stug IIIs surged forward into the thinning fog, the tank destroyers targeting and engaging the T34s that had broken between the two hamlets. The heavy artillery began to drop more frequently, vast explosions throwing shattered men and dirt high into the air, the surviving Russian riflemen fleeing across the snow to the north east as rifle fire cracked after them.

  The roar of engines swept overhead, Bf110 twin engine fighter bombers sweeping across the terrain and engaging the Russian infantrymen, their cannons cracking against retreating tanks. In the trenches, most of the remaining attackers struggled upwards, realising their chances of escape were limited. Most simply raised their hands, understanding an attempt to run would result in a bullet or instant death from mortar or artillery fire.

  Leutnant Hausser marched along the trenches, stepping over outstretched limbs and arms of both fallen attackers and defenders, his MP40 held menacingly, blood running down the side of his face from a debris impact. Udet struggled painfully upwards, his eyes weeping as smoke and dust billowing around him, the right side if his face beginning to swell as the intense pain in his crotch seemed to twist in his stomach. ‘Hase’ gripped his elbow, the young German wincing as he rubbed his arm and dropped to his knees, his chest shaking as he vomited uncontrollably.

  Tatu knelt next to Moretti, the Italian’s eyes half closed in pain as the Romanian inspected his bleeding shoulder and arm, the result of a slashing bayonet, the assaulting Russian now sitting with his arms over his helmet, a swelling bruised left eye and cheek beginning to blister as blood dripped onto his tunic.

  Captain Huber glanced upwards as Hausser approached wearily, his leg and arm being bandaged by the hamlet’s only medic. Forcing a grin, he nodded, ‘Herr Leutnant, it seems we have survived against Ivan’s wishes…’ He ducked as an explosion erupted outside the trenches, showering them with dust and dirt. Spitting to clear his mouth, the captain continued, indicating to his wounds, ‘It seems you will be travelling on alone…I will be needed here to coordinate the defence.’ He winced as the medic tightened the bandages before rising to move to the next wounded man, ‘I doubt we will have any supplies to give you, but I will radio ahead to ensure you receive some if needed…’

  Hausser nodded, wiping the blood from his face, his eyes widening in surprise as he glanced at his gloves, ‘Thank you Herr Hauptmann…I will gather my men. Will you receive reinforcements soon…or do you wish us to remain for a while?’

  Huber grinned, offering his uninjured arm for Hausser to assist him upwards, ‘I think there will be more men here soon than we can imagine…’ They glanced upwards as ME109 fighters swept low over the hamlet before banking off to the east after the retreating Russians, Huber giggling ironically and with shock as he thrust an arm round the commander, limping back up the trench, ‘Better late than never…’

  Eventually reaching the bend at the north east corner, Hausser’s eyes narrowed as he glimpsed Udet, ‘Hase’ and Petru sitting with the wounded Moretti, ‘Where is Tatu? We will need to move soon…’ He stared at the Italian’s wound
s, ‘Do you want to stay with us or go back to a medic station…?’

  Moretti winced and stared into his eyes, ‘I stay, Herr Leutnant…the last Italian will stay…’

  Udet grimaced, his expression becoming concerned, ‘Tatu told us to stay here…he was very worried…’ Looking up into Hausser’s eyes, the young German shook his head, ‘He has gone to check on his little ‘Crina’…he left her in the Hanomag!’

  Chapter Twenty Two: Re-joining the Fray

  The Hanomag’s tracks clattered along the frozen tarmac, Petru staring out from his upper vantage point on the forward machine gun, the cold air whipping across the flat snow coated steppe. Opel Blitz lorries lumbered along the highway leading north, supplies and soldiers being conveyed to the advancing units further ahead. Several Sdkfz 7s towing artillery pieces lumbered along the side of the highway slowly, the Hanomag moving to the left to overtake.

  In the distance, buildings burned on either side, smoke rising into the grey cold air, ME109 fighters sweeping low over the terrain to the east and west, their pilots keen to sustain their support of the forward units ahead.

  ‘Hase’ stared through the narrow viewing slit before him, Sergeant Moretti snoring softly next to him, the Italian’s wounds bandaged heavily after the morning’s battle. Having set off shortly after the medic moved from Moretti, the men had inspected the hulls of two smouldering and destroyed T34s near the northern corner of the hamlet, their armoured plate pierced by Stug III tank destroyer shells with crews dead inside.

  Bodies lay all across the eastern approaches to the trenches, some of the badly wounded attempting to crawl away, their frames shaking as the cold swept over them, a small number of German defenders offering water. Many bodies lay shattered and still, blood splattered across the snow from the broken bodies and deep wounds as lorries approached from the south to transport the wounded and prisoners back to the recently captured Dobropillya.

  As ‘Hase’ had started the Hanomag’s engines, his grin had widened, the Maybach six cylinders roaring in the cold morning light, his satisfaction renewed as the role of driver remained his…a love of engines stretching back into his early youth. He had briefly inspected the repairs to the bent and penetrated bonnet, hammer marks clearly visible where the repair crew had pummelled the warped steel back into place, new parts clearly evident beneath the bonnet.

  The radiator welded and repaired, he had moved to inspect the deep groves and scorch marks on the exterior upper and side armoured plate, the scratches and dents from bullets clearly outlined against the white washed mottled paint and dark grey under-colour, the side black crosses outlined in white now scratched and worn.

  Tatu had been playing with the small terrier in the back of the carrier, giggling as the dog jumped on and off the benches, her tail wagging furiously as the Romanian leapt from side to side, copying the animal as he giggled. On the brief rests he had blown soft ‘raspberries’ at her ears to lovingly taunt the animal, providing a periodic snack to sustain the animals interest.

  As the other stumbled wearily into the back of the Hanomag, Tatu had lifted the terrier carefully, moving to the front compartment and lowering the small dog into a large open cooking tin lined with sacking and cloth, a wide smile on his face as ‘Crina’ turned round and round on the bedding before lying down comfortably, the makeshift bed situated behind the driver’s seat.

  Udet had slumped onto one of the benches, the right side of his face bruised and swollen, his eyes clearly ‘puffed’ from the pain. Moretti limped into the carrier, his shoulder and arm bandaged as ‘Hase’ helped him into the front passenger seat, Hausser checking the fuel canisters before seating the five men across the benches before him, the Italian listening from the driver’s compartment.

  Smiling warmly, he spoke enthusiastically, ‘The first part of our advance is nearly complete…Major Wolff wishes us to report from the railway line before Slavyansk…that is some twenty or thirty kilometres to the north.’ He produced the map, indicating with a finger their route along a line on the tattered paper, ‘We will follow the main road to the north, then cut across tracks to complete the journey…the area should be full of our advancing troops, so there should be little need for concern. We keep alert and follow our route…most of the Russian units are cut off to the south and south west, we are north of there now…’ He indicated towards Kharkov further north, ‘The SS Divisions and Gross Deutschland will be fighting hard towards the city, the operational plan is for Wehrmacht units from the south to link up with them, thus trapping more Russian units outside…isolating and destroying them…then advancing towards Belgorod.’ He shrugged, ‘After that, they have talked of Kursk and renewing a bigger operation in the south…’

  Leutnant Hausser leant back, nodding as Petru began to light the small stove, ‘Once we have had a drink and something to eat, we will head off…we should be at the railway by mid-afternoon at the latest.’ He grinned towards Tatu and Udet, ‘I don’t think there will be many trains there though…’

  The Romanian shrugged, slapping Udet’s thigh in amusement and smiling at Hausser, ‘We will find more trains soon, Herr Leutnant…I think the SS will have some new tanks too, that would be good to see…’

  Hausser nodded in amusement, suddenly realising one more man who would have liked to see the trains, a young Italian that was now gone. He continued talking, cautious he may have upset the men before him, ‘We will see my friend…now, let us have a warm drink and some food…’

  As the carrier lumbered northwards, the soldiers drifted into slumber or thoughtful silence, Petru staring towards the smoke filled horizon to the north. German Panzers and forward infantry now fighting on the outskirts of Slavyansk.

  Glancing into the sky, he stiffened, his eyes straining as he saw the vapour trails from dogfights in the distance, the Red Air Force now re-joining the battle in heavy numbers after the initial surprise attack. Shaking his head, he whispered solemnly to himself, ‘I think the opportunity to win has now slipped from our grasp…there are just too many of them now, they have become too powerful, a whole country rising against the invaders…a world of hatred to engulf us…’ He sniffed, his eyes filling with melancholy emotion as the more burning buildings came into view to the north, ‘…then what hell will they inflict on us in the name of vengeance?’

  Chapter Twenty Three: Partisan country

  The two lorries and covered Kubelwagen jeeps skidded across the frozen tracks as they passed over a crossroads, the young German captain in the rear of the back car shaking his head in irritation at the slow progress. Leaning forward, he tapped the driver on the shoulder, the guard in the passenger seat glancing round, ‘Can’t we go any quicker…we were meant to be there two hours ago! This is my new posting…and I am late!’

  The driver shrugged, his moustached upper lip rising in apology, ‘I am sorry Herr Hauptmann…we were delayed setting off and the snow has become frozen…the tyres have little grip…we have to go slower!’

  The captain sat back in irritation, glancing across at the smirking middle aged senior sergeant sat next to him, his voice a whisper, ‘I don’t like being out on the roads at night…I have been told the partisans are too active…’ The young officer shook his head, ‘The train was late on arrival…we had to stop several times to check the tracks…’ He turned to stare at the sergeant, ‘Is it like this all the time in Russia?’

  The older sergeant grimaced, his head nodding, ‘We should be perfectly safe…the lorries have mounted machine guns and all the forests in this area have been cleared back from the track apart from a short section ahead near a farm.’ He glanced out of the frosted side window into the darkness, seeing a hamlet some distance away across the snow, ‘We have ten local policemen in the trucks with the supplies and four soldiers in each car…local security has been enhanced and many of the woods cleared…’

  The officer slumped back in his seat, running his gloved hand across his shaven face nervously. Then he leant forward, collecting the MP
40 from the foot well and laying it across his knees, his eyes darting across to the sergeant as the older man nodded, collecting his own machine gun from alongside his thigh.

  The lead Kubelwagen slewed to the side, its wheels spinning as it began to climb a gradual rise, the two lorries behind following as their upper gunners glanced nervously up the cleared slope to their left, several shadowed stacks of logs littering the frozen ground amongst the sawn low tree trunks.

  The vehicle pin lights swept across the snow covered track, high packed white walls on either side where labour crews had cleared the route. As the track wound and began to approach the trees on the left side, the machine guns swung round, their heavily clad crewmen straining their eyes into the darkness as the candle lights of a small farm approached on the right.

  The captain shifted nervously in his seat, staring out of the window into the pitch blackness beyond the snow, the close trees seeming menacing in their silence and darkness as the vehicles lumbered upwards towards the crest of the low rise.

  The driver of the lead Kubelwagen dropped a gear, the engine whining as the small jeep lurched forward, the tyres spinning as they gained grip and pushed the vehicle over the last part of the slope, the soldier’s eyes widening as he glimpsed the logs obstructing the track beyond, his foot instinctively moving towards the brake pedal.

  His body jolted backwards, the flashes ahead splintering the windscreen, glass shards sweeping across the occupants, bullets pouring into the small car. Rifles cracked from the darkness of the trees, the first machine gunner slumping forward as a bullet penetrated his helmet and skull, the soldiers below him ducking down and bracing themselves as the lorry slewed sideways, smashing into the iced wall at the side of the track.