Ernst wrenched the stick, the Fw190 BWM engine roaring as it banked hard right, explosions ripping through the village below as Stukas swooped down then back upwards, tracers and machine gun fire chasing them back into the sky. His head twisted round in the cockpit, a wry adrenalin fuelled grin sweeping across his features as the fighter banked harder, his body jolting under the intense force, the plane sweeping round to run along the terrain from east to west.
As the wings shook and levelled, his eyes strained, glimpsing the rising dissipating smoke and the small dark figures against the iced river and snow ahead, the surviving Russian infantry scrambling away towards the north. Sunlight broke through the clouds behind, bathing the cockpit in glowing light, his pupils contracting as bullets swept upwards from his right, clanking against the fuselage as a couple found their mark. Glowing projectiles swept through the smoke below, sweeping across the landscape as several figures fell, Ernst pressing his thumbs onto the firing buttons once more as the guns blazed, the FW190 sweeping downwards.
Several figures turned to stare upwards, their rifles raising in futile resistance as the dark fighter swept downwards through the angled beams of a March sunlight. The wings flashed as the 20mm machine guns poured fire towards the snow bound terrain below, the iced River Donetz peppered as ice fragments were torn from the surface, shattered figures twisting and turning as others crouched in tensed fear and fired upwards.
Ernst Brandt gritted his teeth as the small flashes below swept past his cockpit, knowing a lucky hit was unlikely, but not impossible…the recounts of accurate Russian riflemen causing damage to planes frequently recounted at the flight debriefs over numerous drinks.
Chapter Thirty: The Romanian Quartermaster
Tatu struggled forward through the drifting snow, thinning smoke obscuring his vision, hands reaching out from blood splattered snow for blind assistance as wounded Russian soldiers struggled to turn and move away. Several shadows lay still across the whitened terrain, some twitching as he glimpsed the smashed bodies…open chest and stomach wounds and some missing limbs from explosions and high powered fire.
His boots forced their way through the iced powder, some of it ominously smeared and stained as he pushed towards the river, darkened silhouettes in the smoke crawling or moaning loudly and whimpering as gunfire to either side seemed to sweep through his senses and mind. A figure suddenly rose up before him, the shadow stumbling as he neared, a padded hat and brown uniform looming into view as he fired a short burst of his PPSH 41, the body shuddering violently and falling backwards out of sight.
Lunging forward further, he stumbled over the outstretched legs, his hand sweeping downwards to prevent a fall. The body jerked beneath, a heavy exhale of air and twitch as the middle aged Russian soldier coughed blood across Tatu’s helmet, the body seeming to sigh deeply and fall backwards, succumbing to impending death.
Gasping, the Romanian quartermaster thrust upwards, grasping his PPSH tightly as droplets of blood fell from his gloves and jacket, his heart pounding as he glanced frantically from side to side, seeking his beloved countryman.
Leutnant Hausser dropped to one knee in the deep snow, the deafening roar of a plane engine and machine guns firing sweeping from his right to left as he glanced round, the MP40 raised to the right side of his face in nervousness as he jerked it from side to side. The sounds of muffled explosions from the north swept forward, his frame tensing as he strained his eyes into the swirling shroud, the retreating infantry dropping further smoke grenades to cover their progress.
He became aware of the pitiful moaning and screams from all around, black acrid smoke sweeping into his nostrils from the passing fighters backdraft, tanks burning to his right and left causing him to swallow deeply in apprehensive tension, the distant flashes of explosions seeping through the shroud as he jerked back to the left. A body dropped to its knees next to him, the shaking and gasping voice virtually inaudible as Udet stammered, ‘W-where are the o-others? Are they alive?’
Hausser glanced round briefly, grimacing as his voice deepened resolutely, ‘I don’t know…stay with me and behind…we move forward!’
Udet nodded obediently, his rifle held outwards painfully in one hand as he rubbed his cracked ribs in agony, whispering a gasp, ‘Jawohl, Herr Leutnant…’ His hand moved forward with pained resignation, grasping the cold wooden underbelly of the weapon before looking round pensively.
The young commander grinned grimly, thrusting upwards, black smoke billowing around them as Udet grunted and followed, his legs and chest straining in agony as he rose, gloved hands gripping the Kar 98 rifle painfully as he winced, pushing his boots through the snow.
The two figures stumbled, another figure struggling upwards to join them in the billowing smoke, Petru screaming next to them, ‘Where are they?’
Hausser shouted back, his voice curtailed as he coughed in the overpowering smoke, ‘Ahead…we drive them back! Stop at the river and stay together with your heads down, the machine gunners behind are very keen!’
Udet dropped to his knees, his chest heaving in pain as he spat blood onto the iced snow, the explosions ahead and gunfire continuing around them, his voice severely strained as he bowed his helmeted head, ‘Hausser…I am struggling…I will only slow you down. Let me follow or I will go back to the Hanomag…send others out!’ He gasped, coughing and retching uncontrollably as crimson stomach acid spilled onto the snow, the young commander turning and dropping next to him in concern.
Gritting his teeth, Leutnant Hausser glanced into Petru’s strained face, the Romanian lowering in shock, his hands grasping Udet’s shoulders fondly as the kneeling young infantryman vomited, his body shaking and chest heaving as freezing cold air swept into his disturbed stomach and lungs. Bullets whipped above them as the commander grimaced, his gloved hand gently patting the youngster’s helmet as Udet shook his head in dismay, the voice above stern, ‘Petru…take him back…I will find Tatu. Lay him on one of the benches and get a medic…something is not right.’ He winced as Udet’s slim shoulders shook violently once more, the younger soldier spitting blood onto the steaming mush below on the snow, ‘Cover him with blankets…he is going into shock and losing body heat…make sure he is kept out of the wind as much as possible.’
The Romanian nodded in concern, his helmet lowered next to Udet’s as his arm swept round the young German trooper to comfort and support the shivering frame, his voice determined ‘Very well Hausser, I will take him back…be careful, find my Tatu and bring him back…he is too stubborn!’
Tatu struggled through the deepening snow, his boots dragging in the drifts as he neared the riverbank, a few silhouettes lumbering on either side in the murk causing him to glance round. The drone of aircraft engines filled the distance, resounding down the slope towards him as the smoke began to clear, the moans of the wounded filling his ears as he slowed alongside the hull of an abandoned armoured car. In front of him, the bloodied crew lay contorted in death, killed as they attempted to escape. The vehicle had become stuck on the slope, wheels digging and spinning in a rut as their commander had shouted venomously at his crew to advance, the order to retreat coming shortly before the strafing run, the men cut down as they attempted to cross back over the ice behind.
Several bodies lay across the white landscape, many having been hit as they retreated by the passing fighter aircraft or from defensive fire, a number of wounded clawing their way painfully back towards the frozen river. Tatu dropped to one knee in weariness, the Romanian stared further out onto the clearing slope ahead.
The darkened incline was pitted with scorch marks, numerous explosions having torn the cold earth and advancing troops, his eyes scanning up towards burning buildings and plumes of black smoke. The hulls of six smouldering tanks offered some cover for the retreating enemy soldiers, a number dropping behind the burning hulks in shock as they stared warily further up the slope, the cover limited from scything machine gun fire.
Looking out to either side, he
grimaced as he glimpsed the sparkle of light against an airplane canopy, the drone of engines heightening as distant high black dots banked sharply, the two seater Stukas descending rapidly as mechanical screams filled the air, the planes hurtling almost vertically towards the village ahead and beyond. Tatu stared outwards as the aircraft became bigger, sweeping downwards before levelling and beginning to climb steeply once more, black dots falling from their angled wings as they twisted in the cold air and banked sharply back towards the south.
Thunderous explosions ripped across the land beyond the slope, the sound waves engulfing him soon afterwards as debris and bodies were tossed upwards, flames billowing skywards with black smoke as the buildings were ripped from their foundations, the roofs and walls disintegrating under the force. The dive bombers rising further into the air as they droned over the river, the large dark black crosses emblazoned across light blue under paint.
Wiping his moustache of freezing spittle, his chest heaving as he glimpsed the FW190 fighter sweeping behind the retreating Stukas, the pilot covering their return as the small plane swept across the landscape. More fighters swept after the first, spraying the terrain below in a strafing run as Tatu winced, glad the twisting winged FW190s were allies as he imagined the carnage and terror beyond the brow of the hill.
Shaking his head as he glanced across the clearing terrain, he glimpsed four armoured cars and five tanks lumbering up the hill to his far right, the German pak gun commanders behind urging their men on as the artillery pieces were manhandled round, several painted rings around their barrels indicating previous kills. Shells were thrust into the breeches, the gunners eagerly lowering their eyes to sights as they feverishly spun the arcs of the guns, their helmeted heads ducked below the front armoured plate.
Machine guns rattled behind, rifle shots joining the rapid fire as he cautiously lowered himself further, the surviving Russian soldiers desperately scrambling up the blood smeared slope opposite, a number falling as they were cut down. Tracers swept towards the retreating armour, the distant clanks as small anti-tank guns were brought round causing Tatu to rise slightly, glancing over the rear hull of the abandoned armoured car.
In a copse of trees and bushes just below the brow of the hill, the young Russian panned his sighted Mosin Nagant rifle across the terrain opposite, glimpsing numerous numbers of his countrymen pushing themselves up the slope, several tossing equipment to either side in attempts to lighten their load. Having lain in cover for most of the morning, he shivered as muffled explosions detonated behind, ammunition and supplies igniting after the bombing raid, muffled shouts of alarm and for medics chilling him further.
The roar of engines below to his right as exhaust plumes billowed upwards, the retreating tanks and armoured cars struggling up the slope before him, the narrow track providing little grip. The numerous distant dark figures in the snow provided little comfort, many still with a small number crawling towards the river, blood smear marks across the white pocked terrain in their wake. As he scanned for a possible target, dark plumes of smoke rose from burning armour, destroyed armoured cars and lend lease tanks lying before the German positions.
Panning the sight across the terrain, he glimpsed the fires raging in the defensive treeline, biting his lower lip in frustration as he realised the distance was too great for a successful shot as he saw small silhouettes against the flames, the German infantry firing out at his retreating countrymen. Further movement, his eyes narrowing in hatred as he recognised the source, several soldiers moving to the sides as a shadow filled the trees.
Sturmgeschutz III self-propelled guns cracked through the undergrowth, their barrels protruding from the bushes and undergrowth as ducking commanders viewed the fleeing vehicles through binoculars, the whine of tracks as the vehicles slewed round to aim after the retreating armour.
Moving the rifle further, he hesitated, doubting himself and panning the sight back, his adrenalin rising. Near the low riverbank, an armoured car seemed wedged into a snow drift, heavy snow laden bushes and trees beyond, bodies lying around the hull. He adjusted the sight, straining his eyes as he moved it slowly across the pock marked and scratched armour plate, the hatches open as he stared more intently.
Then he saw it…the top of a helmet, the soldier obviously taking cover behind the abandoned vehicle as he watched the Russian infantry retreat. Shrugging in grim curiosity, the young sniper stared further considering the man was a forward observer, wondering why the soldier was not firing on the fleeing soldiers before him. Glimpsing the helmet rise further, the soldier seeming to stare out towards him and the retreating armour, he raised the rife closer to his eye, lowering his breathing and staring out through the scope.
Noting the dark smoke beginning to billow slightly to the west, he adjusted his aim, a gloved finger moving around the trigger as he drew breath.
The commander of the lead Sturmgeschutz III lowered the binoculars, staring down through his open upper turret, the black uniform complimented by a thick padded jacket, his cap furnished with ear muffs as he shouted into his microphone, ‘Feuer!’
The angled armoured vehicle shuddered, three others jolting as the 75mm guns belched flame from the muzzles, discharged smoke billowed over the upper commanders. The glowing shells whipped across the frozen river, sweeping towards their targets, the pak 40 guns opening fire seconds afterwards as the artillery commander’s hand dropped.
The sniper glanced round, the nearby clanks then muffled explosions distracting him as two tanks erupted, one armoured car disintegrating as the 75mm armoured piercing shell punched a hole in its side, the detonation sweeping the vehicle mesmerizingly into the air and tossing it back onto the snow, the frame cracking and splintering as it imploded, flames roaring upwards from the wreckage.
The tanks burned brightly, the surviving commanders screaming for their drivers to increase speed, the tracks spinning and whining as the engines roared. Hatches swung open on one Matilda, the metal wheels grinding as the right side track wrapped round the rims, screeching and snapping as the tank lumbered to a halt. Machine gun bullets peppered the sides as the crew scrambled from their disabled machine, one slumping onto the armour as his body jerked, another collapsing into the snow.
The young Russian felt the heat sweep over him, raising the rifle once more…
Leutnant Hausser grimaced in irritation, shaking his head as he lunged forward through bushes, his arm outstretched as he grasped the dirt smeared overcoat, pulling Sergeant Tatu back forcefully in anger, ‘I have been up and down the line for thirty metres on either side looking for you, old fool! I thought you were dead…you should not go off on your own…that’s an order!’
The bullet clanked loudly against the turret above, Tatu and Hausser jumping in surprise as they fell back roughly into the snow, the round ricocheting off the metal plate. The Romanian exhaled heavily as Hausser groaned under him from the impact, gunfire resounding around them as they lay gasping, Tatu shaking as he realised how close the sniper bullet had been.
Slowly, he forced himself onto one elbow, spitting into the snow, his body half across the young commander’s as he swallowed hard, ‘Well, Herr Leutnant…I think it is time we headed back north…the Russkies don’t seem to like us here!’
Hausser gulped air, winded slightly, his helmeted head falling back into the snow in relief as he grunted in displeasure, ‘Damn fool…I could be dragging your dead renegade body back through the snow now…what would Petru say? He would be devastated!’
The Romanian quartermaster nodded solemnly, then poked Hausser in the ribs playfully, shaking the fright from his mind as he leant over for the machine gun, ‘Come on…let’s get out of here, before the Russkie planes come back…I am hungry again!’
The young Russian cautiously moved backwards through the thicket, covering his rifle in half frozen cloth as clouds of exhaled breath swirled around his chiselled features. Staring with open brown eyes back towards the German line, he gritted his teeth, glimpsing the
flashes from anti-tank guns again, the sound waves sweeping towards him as he struggled through the undergrowth, turning and scrambling away towards the rising black smoke plumes.
Fighters swept south above, the Luftwaffe planes sweeping back towards their lines for rearmament and refuelling. Sighing, the young Russian ran at a half-crouch, his boots crunching in the snow as he progressed past bodies and the wounded. Staring straight ahead, he closed his ears and mind to the moans and pleas for assistance, knowing if he stopped his emotions would be overwhelmed…that to help one was futile, he would then attempt to help them all…that it was not his duty as commanded.
The Hanomag engine roared as it reversed, tree roots and branches cracking and squealing as the armoured plate broke free from the undergrowth, Hase turning the vehicle as sporadic fire echoed out behind, the tracks churning snow before surging forward across the field. Snow billowed in their wake as Sergeant Moretti examined Udet’s exposed bruised chest and ribs, winding bandages tightly across his frame as the young soldier winced and shivered, his hands stretched outwards towards the burning stove. Tatu sat smoking opposite as his mind relived the firefight, scolding himself for not being more careful as he glanced suddenly upwards, Hausser manning the upper machine gun.
Above them, a lone FW190 circled slowly, the engine burbling as the pilot inspected the carrier and surrounding terrain, his gloved hand rising as he glimpsed the figure wave from the front protective shield, another more robust man rising next to him to stare upwards. The fighter twisted in the air, the pilot banking hard round and flying along the front line once more, his duty to protect the soldiers below whilst more Luftwaffe planes were despatched to hunt the enemy aircraft.
Rise of the Bloodied Phoenix Page 29