Rise of the Bloodied Phoenix

by Andrew McGregor

  The young officer slapped the Romanian quartermaster’s shoulder as the armoured carrier slowed to a halt, shuddering as the heavy vehicle drew up abruptly. Hausser glanced down over the armoured sides, the seven soldiers looking up expectantly, one dropping the hood back over his rounded helmet and smiling as he glimpsed the collar of the soldier above, ‘Morning, Herr Leutnant…’ The young man stiffened, saluting as he smiled widely, his cheeks flushing faintly in the cold, his German impeccable, ‘We are moving up…we have just landed…’

  Hausser’s eyes widened with surprise as he returned the gesture, ‘Landed? We heard no planes…landed from where? What about your uniforms?’ His suspicion mounting, his hand reached discretely for the MP40 slung over his shoulder, unseen by the men below.

  The young blue eyed soldier stared upwards innocently, seeming to stiffen further in pride, ‘Fallschirmjager special operations squad…we are here to support the defence to the north…we were dropped by Junker 52 to the south two hours ago, Herr Leutnant. Our orders are to establish and consolidate a defensive line before the Russkies, preventing trapped units from breaking out and any more divisions from driving south…the operation to the north takes priority.’

  Leutnant Hausser nodded, a faint smile sweeping across his face as Tatu nudged him nervously, two of the heavily clad soldiers’ hands nervously and furtively moving towards their weapons, the officer’s voice rising commandingly, ‘Lower your arms…let me see some papers!’ He gritted his teeth, whispering softly to Tatu as he turned briefly, ‘Be ready in case…’

  The young soldier’s eyes widened at the officer’s tone, one hand reaching slowly upwards, the other waving to the side for his men to stand easier, the man glancing round briefly in warning. Dragging his white camouflaged jacket open, he revealed the dark blue tunic of the parachute regiment, yellow winged embossed collars adorning his neck, his voice becoming urgently apologetic as he exhaled heavily, ‘Herr Leutnant…we are Fallschirmjager…I have a letter that I can show you with my papers…’

  Tatu turned his head suspiciously, hissing quietly in warning, ‘The uniform is just too clean Hausser…’

  The young officer nodded, Hase rising abruptly next to him with his Kar 98 rifle, the bolt rasping back as he lowered it onto the armoured plate side, the young parachutist smiling as he indicated to his white camouflaged jacket, ‘My papers are inside…’ His eyes widened further as the helmeted faces of Udet and Sergeant Moretti raised over the armoured vehicle side, the young German glaring disapprovingly down at the soldiers as he slowly raised the butt of his rifle upwards.

  Hausser raised his hands, his voice reassuring, ‘Very well…show me your papers and this letter…’ His gloved hand swept across Udet’s upper arm, a low whisper emitted from clenched lips, ‘Good timing…keep watching them…it’s not clear yet!’ Udet nodded in solemn response, raising the rifle further to his face and gritting his teeth.

  The soldier below reached cautiously into his padded white jacket, smiling reassuringly and nodding to Hausser, his eyes deep blue as he raised an army identification booklet. Hausser leant down and collected the card booklet with a folded page inside, his eyes sweeping across the other troops as they stared up at the carrier. The young Fallschirmjager coughed nervously as Hausser opened the page, smiling widely, ‘As you can see…our papers are in order, several other units have landed in the area further north and are moving up to support the forward line.’

  Leutnant Hausser nodded, reading the page and handing it to Tatu for inspection, ‘A letter from Von Manstein’s headquarters no less…’ He glanced up, ‘…apologies for doubting you, but your equipment is far superior to those in the line…and ours.’

  The soldier shrugged, ‘Natural response, Herr Leutnant…best to be careful. There are not many of us, but we are all that could be spared from the southern front in support. Our new equipment had just been delivered when we were withdrawn from the line…’

  A burst of gunfire from the north caused them to stiffen, the camouflage padded soldiers stiffening warily as the occupants of the carrier lowered, the low drone of aircraft just audible through the snow laden trees and bushes. The parachutist listened carefully, then turned sharply to his men, his voice raising, ‘Russkie planes…not ours.’ He gestured towards the trees by the side of the track, the soldiers lunging and running forward as the gunfire intensified, the rattle of a distant heavy machine gun echoing across the snow, ‘Set up the MG34 in cover…we will open fire as they bank round the front line…’ He spun round, glancing up at the carrier, ‘Perhaps your forward gun can assist, Herr Leutnant?’

  Hausser nodded, slapping Petru’s shoulder and staring ahead, ‘Get Hase to pull forward…’ He glimpsed a gap in the trees, a slight slope leading into the bushes, ‘…pull up on that hillock…that should raise the machine gun…’

  Branches cracked as the parachutists forced their way into cover, Tatu grinning as he checked the drum on his PPSH, ‘Those uniforms won’t be clean for long now…’

  Petru grimaced, smiling briefly as he ducked down towards the front compartment, the drone of aircraft from the north becoming louder as one of the parachutists shouted back from the trees, binoculars in his hands, ‘Russkie Sturmoviks and Yaks…several of each…circling high, they are preparing to attack our front line.’ The young trooper’s voice rose with excitement, ‘They seem unsure exactly where our soldiers are…best get the carrier under cover!’

  The drone of engines above intensified, the single seater fighters and two seater fighter bombers circling once more high above the lines, flares sweeping upwards from the Russian positions, the lights arcing and pulsing across the snow as they fell into the land between the two forces, an indicator to the thinly held German line ahead.

  The Hanomag lumbered forward, figures above clutching for the sides as support as Petru lowered himself into the front passenger seat, grimacing as he fell backwards uncomfortably. Tatu grasped the front MG34 machine gun, Udet pulling additional ammunition boxes from beneath the rear benches, grabbing at the seats for support as the armoured vehicle jolted and swerved to the right.

  The wheels spun on the snow bank, tracks whining before gaining traction, the engine roaring as the Hanomag surged up the slope, branches and roots cracking and screeching to either side as the weighted vehicle pushed upwards. Jolting to a halt, the front wheels skidding slightly, the front armoured plate scraping against the trees before it, shrill cracks of bark and branches filling the soldiers ears as snow and foliage flew into the rear compartment. Udet sighed as the dirt and debris scattered across the metal plate below, his efforts to clean the floor earlier now negated as frozen earth cracked and crunched beneath his hob-nailed boots.

  Depositing the ammunition boxes next to Tatu, the young German soldier rose up smiling, ‘Enough for a firefight…there is more behind sergeant…’

  Tatu nodded, pulling the bolt back on the machine gun and raising the elevation further, staring upwards into the snow clouded sky in the distance. Through the snow laden branches, disturbingly familiar distant black dots circled below the sullen grey clouds, the pilots and rear gunners staring down onto the white terrain seemingly for signs of the German front line.

  The Russian officer lowered his field glasses, turning and nodding to his subordinate, the fifty soldiers in padded grey uniforms around them crouched below a low bushy rise on the south side of the River Donetz, the men having crept there during the night. Armed with PPSH submachine guns and Mosin Nagant rifles, the soldiers stared up at their commander expectantly, his voice low, ‘Scouts report the German line ahead is poorly manned…that their main forces are fighting further south. We are ordered to break through their defences with the help of planes and artillery…to organise partisan activity in the many forests beyond and to assist straggler units in escaping. We will use this attack as cover…infantry is preparing to our rear on the flanks to move forward and we have some armoured support. Once we are through the lines, the attack might be ca
lled off and they will retreat…or they will break through if it is going well and we will then continue the attack southwards…’ His eyes scanned the grim faces of the young and some quite old faces, nodding a welcome as his nine snipers joined the back of the assembled soldiers, the men having completed a visual reconnaissance of the defences before them prior to crossing the ice behind cautiously, ‘The German planes are too strong here at present for many daylight supply drops, so we will have to make do with the kit we have and food from local farmers and villages. It is unlikely we will receive much support, so we will need to organise the locals effectively…harass and kill German supply convoys and patrols…this will force them to deploy more men from the frontline to watch the rear areas.’

  He glanced back to the river behind, a low iced fog hanging over the frozen surface, the markings on the ice indicating safest areas the troops could cross, the river frozen solid from mid-December to late March. Across the snow on the north bank, the land rose gradually from the river, several tracks skirting trees and bushes before heading towards a low hamlet on the summit of the distant rise, the undulating terrain perfect for concealing a small number of soldiers, but probably not an advance. A lone barn sat perched on the gradual slope, ice and snow hanging from the eaves and wooden fencing that extended to either side, forming the field that grazing animals had once occupied.

  The commander smiled grimly as his men nodded, ‘Check your weapons and ammunition…we move out once the artillery has finished. Snipers…pick your targets carefully.’

  Tatu shook his head as he saw the planes begin to bank out of the circles, the engine noise heightening as the pilots organised their run along the hedge-hogged German positions, most hidden by trees and bushes, the shallow makeshift trenches and emplacements all that could be achieved in the short time and frozen ground.

  Tracers began to rise into the air, the rattle of machine gun and rifle fire erupting as the swooping planes descended. Tatu lowered his head to the side of the MG34, awaiting a suitable target to fly across their front. In the bushes nearby, the Fallschirmjager machine gun elevated across a tree trunk as the parachutists crouched in readiness.

  The Sturmoviks banked sharply to the left, descending at a thirty degree angle to fly along the line, their forward guns and cannons flashing as the bushes and trees below erupted in smoke, foliage thrown into the air as detonations of the small underbelly bombs fell onto the defences. Tracers and bullets swept up to meet the fighter bombers, mostly MG34 machine guns with a couple of MG42s rattling in the distance as the aircraft swept along the terrain.

  Yak fighters followed behind the two seater planes, their machine guns blazing as smoke billowed upwards from the defences. Tatu gritted his teeth, awaiting the rear Sturmovik as they roamed into view from the right, the tactic to draw least attention. Aiming at the furthest arc of the gun shield, he stared grimly at the chosen distant fighter, Hausser watching through binoculars beside him as the Fallschirmjager MG34 to the right burst into life, glowing projectiles sweeping forward across the snow, the gunner aiming at the plane in front of Tatu’s.

  The Romanian quartermaster bit his lower lip, squeezing the trigger of the heavy machine gun, the butt shuddering into his shoulder as it fired, the red hot copper rounds soaring out towards their prey, Tatu moving the MG34 slowly to maintain an aim ahead of the fighter.

  Debris tore and splintered from the side of the plane as several bullets clattered against the reinforced armour, the pilot and rear gunner instinctively ducking in shock and alarm as several cockpit panes shattered on the left then right, the rear gunner jerking before slumping forward, his head lolling sideways as blood poured across his leather flight jacket. More fragments clattered and screeched from the plane’s fuselage, some from ground fire as the pilot fought the controls, the plane weaving as the bullets smacked deafeningly around him.

  Then the aircraft swept upwards, twisting in the air as Tatu swore, the bullets flying harmlessly beneath the Sturmoviks and Yaks as they banked dramatically round, preparing to repeat their strafing run, the crumps of artillery sounding in the distance. Smoke billowed from the defensive line ahead, Hausser pursing his lips in irritation as he imagined the torn positions, the pitiful shouts for medics. Turning, he hissed at Tatu, the Romanian slamming another ammunition cartridge onto the top of the weapon, ‘The Russkies are preparing to attack…we will move up once the artillery has dropped…provide some support.’ He spun round, indicating to a wary Udet as he raised his voice, ‘Go and tell the parachutists to move up with us…get them to keep the MG34 set up here for cover fire until we reach the positions ahead…then they follow on!’

  Udet’s eyes widened as he nodded obediently, a gloved hand grasping for his rifle as Sergeant Moretti opened the creaking rear doors, the young German scrambling out. Hausser twisted back, the detonations of a brief artillery barrage landing amongst the trees and bushes across the wide snow covered field, flashes through the trees, the sound waves reaching them a second later. Black smoke billowed upwards, plumes rising into the sky from where equipment and wood burned, the frozen earth and broken branches torn from the ground descending back to earth to crash onto the snow.

  The crumps in the distance once more, Hausser ducking down to shout into the front compartment, ‘Get ready to advance…Petru, get back here with us!’ He glanced briefly at the wired terrier behind the driver’s seat in its bed, the dog staring up at him excitedly and wagging its tail, ‘Stay there, little Crina. Hase…man the machine gun when we get there and close the doors…keep our dog in the front!’

  The engine burbled into life, Leutnant Hausser glancing up as the explosions detonated in the distance once more, several soldiers thrown upwards as one shell landed in a foxhole, Tatu staring along the barrel of the MG34 once more, his tone concerned, ‘If the planes complete another strafing run whilst we are out in the open field…we will be seen and targeted!’

  Hausser nodded, wincing in uneasiness, ‘We will see…’ His voice trailed off, a distant mechanical squealing and rattle of machine gun fire, ‘Tanks! The Russkies are advancing!’ He raised the binoculars, scanning the grey cloud filled sky, the fighters attacking further to the east on his right as he banged his fist down onto the armoured plate, ‘Forward! Make it fast!’ His view dropped to the distant hill, seeing the low buildings on top of the slope, the whine of tracks coming from beyond the dwellings.

  The engine roared, tracks churning as branches cracked and squealed on either side, the armoured vehicle lurching into a ditch, then surging forward into the field, snow billowing in its wake. Udet scrambled from the bushes, grinding his teeth as he realised he no longer had transport, his body lunging into the open field as the Fallschirmjagers struggled after him with their equipment.

  Chapter Twenty Seven: Early Morning Rise

  Ernst Brandt stirred in his sleep, the drowsiness forcing him back into a deep dream, the clouds filling his mind as the plane twisted in the sky. In the slumber, he looked down, seeing the snow covered fields and small houses far below. The cold seemed to bite at his features, the mask over his mouth providing little comfort as the distant terrain slowly passed underneath.

  Lines of black smoke filled the horizon, thin plumes rising into the cold winter sky as his flight progressed, a low sun glinting off the canopies to either side. The radio burbled in his ear, his eyes instinctively dropping to the instruments below and checking fuel, oil temperature and height, his ears straining to listen to the flight leader. The voice was muffled, a grin spreading across his face as he considered the experienced flyer to his right was straining to look below, ‘One sweep over the enemy trenches…then we head back for Schnapps…try and find some enemy fighters to add to our tally!’

  Adrenalin began to rise through his chest, the breathing becoming shorter and more forced as his heart rate rose…then he shifted again, the clouds drifting away as he was drawn rapidly towards consciousness. His senses sharpened, the prodding on his shoulder becoming more forc
ed and urgent, another voice drifting into the last seconds of his slumber, the clouds falling away in his mind, ‘Come on sleepy Kamaraden…flight checks have finished, we are due up in ten minutes!’

  He shook himself awake, sitting bolt upright on his bunk, the weariness sweeping over his eyes as he glanced round startled. A grin extended across the face of the young pilot bent over him, his countryman chuckling as the young man awoke, ‘We are all tired…let’s get up there and wake up, the cold from the Steppe is bitter this morning!’

  Rubbing his matted black hair, Ernst smiled groggily through his hangover, ‘W-what’s the brief? Has it changed since last night?’

  The blonde German above him smiled warmly, used to his wingman’s slow starts, ‘Kommen sie junge Rottenflieger…’ He chuckled some more as the young man swung his feet from the bunk, ‘Time is short…we have escort duties! Nothing has changed…’

  The loud roar of aero motors outside startled both of them, first a cough, then the rising power of the BMW engines as the ground crews waved at the already seated pilots, alerting them to fully fit machines, Ernst jumping from the bunk and reaching for his uniform. His countryman stood back, watching the young flyer get dressed with amusement, ‘You have missed breakfast…again…so I put some food in your cockpit, just a little, don’t want you getting too comfortable!’

  Ernst sniffed disapprovingly, his slender frame slipping into his tunic, his arms thrusting through the leather sleeves of his flight jacket. With high cheekbones and deep brown eyes, the flyer was a keen drinker and aviation enthusiast, loving the thrill of aerial combat and the celebratory parties that followed. With numerous ‘kills’ to his name, he was often afforded a little extra time in the mornings, the superior of the squadron overlooking his inability to attend earlier briefings knowing he would always be present once the engines were started, the mechanical roar enticing him from his bunk.