Rise of the Bloodied Phoenix

by Andrew McGregor

  The tanks ground further down the slope, the forward guns belching fire, shells zipping towards the defensive line. Explosions tore through the trees, snapped branches and shrapnel peppering the defenders as the screams resounded through the undergrowth.

  The pak guns fired back, two more tanks grinding to a halt as back smoke billowed upwards, one exploding in a fireball as the fuel ignited. Russian infantry swarmed from depressions and cover in the terrain as more smoke grenades detonated, a swirling shroud beginning to fill the opposite bank of the Donetz River.

  Hausser’s eyes narrowed, realising the tanks and armoured cars would soon be at the river’s edge, the water heavily frozen and able to bear the weight of the vehicles. His body tensing, he glanced round as the parachutists joined the pensive great coated infantry on either side of the Hanomag, raising their rifles and submachine guns.

  He gritted his teeth as Tatu lowered into the trench nearby, the Romanian’s voice raised, ‘Aim at the silhouettes in the smoke…bring them down! Get your grenades ready!’

  Hausser raised his MP40, the smoke now billowing into the mistiness across the frozen water, tracer fire sweeping into the murk, the rumble of engines and squealing of tracks getting louder as the smoke intensified, the young commander raising his arm, ‘Hold fire! Get ready!’

  The engines roared, the shrieking of ice as the heavy machines lumbered onto the frozen water, their forward machine guns firing short bursts into the swirling mass, the ice cracking further as the tanks advanced. The armoured cars bounced in behind them, their crews bracing themselves as the vehicles lurched, the upper gunners nervously grasping the interior sides of their cupolas for support.

  Hase spun round as one of the rear doors of the Hanomag creaked open once more, Petru pushing the small terrier back as he clambered inside breathlessly, his tone rising as he dropped to his knees, dragging an ammunition box from beneath one of the benches and levering it open, ‘We have two satchels I got from the engineers…they are in the front compartment underneath Crina’s bed…get them please!’ Hase nodded in shock as the Romanian grasped three stick grenades, thrusting two onto his belt and one into his boot.

  Tatu grunted as the Italian sergeant slipped into the trench next to him, Moretti raising his rifle as the defensive line lay low, the helmeted heads staring furtively into the swirling smoke just over one hundred metres away. Glancing along the line, he glimpsed Udet lying between two Fallschirmjagers, the parachutists staring nervously out as bullets flew above them, the cracking of branches above with falling debris and snow covering their shoulders and backs.

  Shouts echoed across the thin defensive line, German officers rallying their shocked men as shells burst before the trees, dust and frozen dirt thrown into the air. Several men glanced round in fear hearing ‘Hold your fire…aim high at silhouettes!’ A small number lunged desperately towards the rear, their gloved hands shaking as they grasped teller mines from shallow caches, their bodies turning in grim resolution as they turned back towards the improvised defences.

  The diminishing smoke billowed over the line, wisps and tentacles twisting between the branches as more canisters erupted on the river bank, engines roaring to almost deafening levels as the Valentine and Matilda tanks ground forward, armoured cars lumbering behind with the infantry. Cracks of small anti-tank rifles rang out followed by the distinct clanks against steel turrets, a few screams as unlucky infantry were hit by the larger projectiles, a number losing limbs and two beheaded by the impacts, the loud blood chilling shrieks cut short as the fallen were dragged under the wheels of the following armoured vehicles.

  Hase stared out into the swirling smoke, his helmet ducked behind the upper protective shield as he tensed against the MG34, the barrel moving from side to side as he strained to see. Then he gasped, Petru’s silhouette disappearing forward into the shroud, his hands laden with two satchels as he struggled through the snow, more figures emerging from the trees on either side with teller mines and stick grenades, their weapons slung over their backs. Further shouts rang out, an officer slamming his hand against the rear armour plate as he ran down the line, ‘Fire high and near the flanks of the tanks…avoid the nearest figures that rise…they are our men! The riflemen will pick off the infantry when they approach!’

  Tatu grimaced, realising his friend’s intent as he glimpsed the disappearing figure, his hand running over his moustache nervously as he raised his PPSH further, a Fallschirmjager lunging forward with two anti-tank grenades. The terrified advancing Germans dropped into forward shallow emplacements, pushing their faces into the snow as the nearing tracks squealed louder, shouts of ‘Hurrah’ ringing out as the Russian soldiers surged forward from behind the vehicles.

  Petru threw himself forward into the iced snow, spitting phlegm from his mouth as he swallowed, the nearing shadows of tank hulls and figures ahead as he glanced upwards. Rolling in the snow, he positioned himself between two roaring tanks as the infantry lumbered forward, raising their boots from the drifting snow as the tracks ground on. Loud clanks echoed around him as the anti-tank rifles found their mark, screams from the wounded as ricochets hit some of the advancing men, the bayonets rising as they charged towards the German line shouts of hatred swirling around him as boots crunched past, one painfully jarring his shoulder, his breath held as he lay limp.

  Machine gun fire erupted behind him, the deafening clanking continuing as engines roared nearby, screams from the Russian infantry as their bodies were hit, the gunners and riflemen channelling fire between the lumbering hulks as his hand swept into the first satchel beside him. Cold shaking fingers grasped the priming device, twisting hard and pulling the igniter, the nearest tank only five yards away to his right as the engine screamed. Tossing the bag to the side, he pushed his head further into the snow, another infantryman falling over his body as the Russian yelped in surprise, several others scrambling past.

  The tank lumbered on, wheels grinding as it passed over the charge, his breath held further, lungs screaming for air as he opened his mouth and covered his ears, the boots of the rising Russian grinding against his lower legs as the man pushed himself upwards. The muffled blast punctured the weaker lower hull, the shock wave searing through the interior, killing the crew instantly as shrapnel swept between the spinning wheels, slicing into Brown clad bodies on either side as screams intensified,

  The machine guns rattled, two flashing MG42’s obliterating the unfortunate soldiers before them, the high rate of fire shredding limbs and chests as bullets poured forth, the crews having reloaded their powerful weapons with ammunition belts that were less likely to cause a jam. Red hot copper bullet casings flew from the heavy machine guns, showering the riflemen to the right as the guns spewed fire onto the advancing troops.

  Hase squeezed the trigger as Leutnant Hausser’s arm dropped, his screamed words indistinguishable, ‘Feuer (Fire)!’ The butt of the weapon shuddered into Hase’s shoulder, his helmet ducking as bullets rattled against the front of the carrier and armoured shield. Machine gun fire and rifle shots tore into the tree line, several defenders thrown backwards from impacts as the young commander threw his body down, twisting the MP40 sideways to avoid exposing his body, the extended lower ammunition clip proving a disadvantage in direct fire, his feared shout as the submachine gun bucked, ‘Scheisse!’

  Rifle shots cracked in a virtual volley, the shrouded figures twisting and falling into the snow as surprised screams and shrieks rang out, the roar of engines behind as explosive charges and grenades detonated across the line. Bullets poured from the Hanomag upper machine gun, Hase wincing as he glimpsed the silhouettes crumple and fall, the protective shield swinging back and forth as he fired short bursts into the advancing infantry. Bullets clanked against the forward plate, his head ducking as he winced in terror, explosions rocking the front of the Hanomag as a grenade bounced back off the shield, the ‘Hiwi’ gasping in fright. He looked up, seeing the hulk of a tank emerge from the smoke, his eyes widening in horror as
he realised it was advancing straight towards him, some thirty metres away. Bullets clattered against the front plate, his head ducking back as he fired out blindly, shrieking in fear as he awaited the expected explosion, his eyes glimpsing the cowering whimpering dog nuzzling against his boots below, the vision disrupted by smoke and billowing flakes.

  He closed his eyes as the machine gun clicked unresponsively, dropping to his knees, a hand reached down in brief comfort as the deafening clanks filled their ears, the terrier shaking uncontrollably as he held the dog tightly, the muffled explosion sweeping overhead, the darkness of the trees lighting up as he pulled the animal closer, man and beast whimpering in fear.

  Flames roared upwards from the tanks, the rear hull breached as black smoke soared into the sky, ammunition cracking inside as the crew were torn to pieces, a satchel charge tossed onto the back as the armoured vehicle passed Petru, the timer running down before erupting. Nearby infantrymen were simply shredded in the blast, many bodies disintegrating or thrown into the air towards the rear, their frames perforated with shrapnel.

  Hase held the small dog to his heaving chest, feeling the fear within its innocent shaking body, a terror of unknown excruciating proportions overwhelming the animal’s mind as the human instinctively covered the dog’s ears, the ammunition canister on the machine gun above empty.

  Several Russian soldiers reached the line, their bodies falling onto the defenders as vicious hand to hand fighting broke out. Tatu rose upwards defiantly, firing bursts from his PPSH as he clawed forward, several soldiers around him firing and reloading desperately with shaking hands at the silhouettes as screams and shrieks of hatred filled the smoke filled air.

  Machine gun bullets from armoured cars cut through the trees and bushes, defender screams and shouts erupting through the shroud in panic as the fire continued, many smashing rifle butts against the attackers or grappling with bayoneted rifles and knives. The fighting became desperate, machine guns still pouring fire within their arcs as the gunners shouted frantically for more ammunition, riflemen defending their guns determinedly, knowing if they fell they would be overwhelmed. Sweat stung the eyes of the gunners and loaders in the freezing cold as steam from the red hot barrels poured over their faces, grenades detonating to their fronts and sides as they continued to fire, the merciless ravage of bodies before them terrorising their souls as the Russians continued to advance.

  One gunner to the right shrieked in fear as he glimpsed the tell-tale signs, the barrel arcing under the intense heat from sustained fire. The loader lunged forward, pressing his helmet deep into the frozen snow, the freezing ice tearing at his face as his basic gloved hands grappled with the red hot barrel, intense heat searing through onto one palm as he prized the barrel free, desperately inserting another as he had in training many times, this time without the benefit of asbestos gloves. Slamming the barrel back into place, he winced in agony, tossing the used metal to the side and screaming as the skin and gloves of his hand were torn from the flesh, the machine gun instantly opening fire once more.

  Black acrid smoke filled the line, pak gun commanders screaming at their crews to get their personal weapons as smouldering disabled tank hulls sat before their positions. Two tanks advanced into the treeline, their tracks squealing and engines roaring as the hulks turned, attempting to roll along the defences and crush the infantry. Several desperate German soldiers rose up, grappling onto their hulls as they primed stick grenades, forcing the hatches open with bayonets and rifle butts and tossing the explosives inside, the pitiful screams of countrymen torn beneath frontal tracks in their ears as the armoured beasts shuddered and ground to a halt, muffled explosions killing the occupants.

  Udet scrambled forward, following Tatu into the diminishing smoke as he raised his rifle, the butt bucking back into his shoulder as he fired at a nearby group of three Russians, one falling, a scream from his lips as he charged into the other two, swinging the weapon from side to side. One fell, his jaw shattered as the man cried out in alarm, the other ducking and thrusting upwards with his rifle, Udet gasping as the butt crunched into his stomach, winding him. Collapsing backwards, the young German soldier squealed in horror, a middle aged Russian looming into view above him, his rifle raised menacingly as he swept it downwards towards his face, Udet instinctively closing his eyes as his hands shot upwards in abject fear. The great coated body above him bucked, blood pouring from the chest as a rifle bullet swept through his ribcage, shattering the bone and imploding his heart, the man slumping over the prone German as Udet tasted the warm flowing crimson liquid splattering onto his clenched lips.

  Tatu tore forward, the long dirt encrusted coat flowing behind him as he fired short bursts into the advancing infantry, men falling to either side as he wailed in determination, his eyes frantically scanning the ground for his beloved countryman.

  Leutnant Hausser lunged upwards, glimpsing the familiar figure struggle out, his eyes widening as a loud engine roar above filled the terrain, his almost incoherent panicked shout almost inaudible, ‘Alarme! Enemy planes!’ He forced himself forward, grim loyalty filling his pounding heart as he scrambled after the figure, flashes filling the dispersing smoke before him as he desperately chased the Romanian, the Hanomag’s machine gun chattering out once more.

  Explosions ripped through the smoke ahead, the flashes tearing through the shroud as he gasped, the scream of BMW engines filling the landscape as Bf110s and FW190s screamed low across the terrain, rising up the slope ahead and dropping underwing bombs over the assembling Russian infantry in the hamlet ahead. Reserve armoured cars and bodies were thrown upwards, tossed from the snow and shattering wooden buildings as the eruptions filled the obscured horizon, the planes banking hard right or left and even soaring upwards to continue their attack.

  Commissars stared upwards in hated frustration, realising the fate of the attack was now sealed, the angular wings of a high Stuka squadron distant in their high vision as they raised flags and shouted frantically for a retreat, shouts of alarm from surrounding infantry filling their ears. Personal fear rose as they realised their failure…two succumbing to a below chin personal bullet as the local infantry commanders stared on in shock. Radio messages confirmed the inevitable, the Yaks and Sturmoviks were still rearming and refuelling far to the rear, unable to respond to urgent requests for support, the German planes now in complete control of the local skies…the counter attack and attempted breakthrough had failed.

  Chapter Twenty Nine: The Luftwaffe Cometh

  Ernst Brandt grinned as the adrenalin intoxicatingly swept through his body, the FW190 twisting and spiralling upwards as the BMW engine screamed, vapour pouring from the wings as the remaining ice across his outside cockpit windows splintered away. Pulling back on the controls further, the fighter banked sharply then onto its back, the taut seat belts tightening across his shoulders and waist as he scanned the smouldering and smoke filled terrain below, the fighter aircraft skimming southwards across the sky upside down.

  Flashes across the white landscape, tracer fire sweeping into the dissipating shroud as he stared further, glimpsing tiny dark figures beginning to run back to the north, the Russian soldiers fleeing. Muffled mechanical screams filled the bitterly cold air, Stukas flipping over to begin their deadly descents from on high as he smiled widely, briefly recalling the exciting initial attacks in the summer of 1941 as a younger flyer.

  Skimming further south, he chuckled as he glimpsed the brief flashes on the horizon, a German artillery battery concealed in trees finally firing forward, the four dark square shapes on the white terrain below powering through the snow, Sturmgeschutz III tank destroyers responding to the call for support with small dots struggling behind, a company of infantry urgently moving up.

  Twisting the controls, the fighter flipped and spun, banking dramatically as he felt the force across his upper face and chest, the engine roaring in response as the small single seater aircraft twisted and turned in the chilled sky, Brandt grinning in exh
ilaration as he spun round, streaming back towards the battlefield. Feeling the force of the forward acceleration in his lumber region, his hands grasped the controls tightly, lowering the stick as the plane bucked, sweeping downwards towards the iced river at a thirty-degree angle.

  The high powered engine roared across the smouldering landscape, Ernst gritting his teeth as the fighter sped forward, his eyes narrowing as the landscape swept beneath him, a hoarse cheer from the soldiers below as the plane charged towards a point the pilot had identified. His thumbs pressed hard, flashes from the wing mounted machine guns and cannon searing towards the target, glowing projectiles skimming the terrain and tossing snow and frozen dirt into the air, the FW190 surging further as Ernst Brandt’s eyes twisted into a cold stare.

  The bullets and cannon fire tore through the wooden and stone barn, Russian infantrymen thrown from windows and the walls as the thick wooden planks were shredded. Many were hit, their bodies torn and almost dissected under the intense fire, several whining in terror as they clasped hands across deep wounds, their eyes widened in shock as the mechanical screams from Stukas outside engulfed their senses. The cowering surviving soldiers screamed in torment as the roof imploded, struts and beams collapsing under the ferocity as the cannon shells erupted, flames surging through the structure as the dried hay and grain ignited, the deep engine screaming overhead as a several bodies collapsed under falling debris. Roof planks were thrown skywards, black smouldering smoke billowing into the sky as surviving snipers and riflemen broke from the rear doors, scrambling across the deep snow in fear, glowing projectiles sweeping before them as the German machine gunners fired in reaction once more.

  Many shocked troopers were simply buried as the building shuddered violently, then fell suddenly inwards, the struggling wounded smothered under heavy iced snow from the roof or crushed by the falling beams and upper structure.