Rise of the Bloodied Phoenix

by Andrew McGregor

  In the driver’s compartment, Petru glanced across at Hase, shaking his head in suspicion after the solemn expressions he had witnessed, Tatu and Hausser unwilling to speak of what they saw on the battlefield. Fondly stroking the dog sat on his lap, he whispered softly to the terrier as he rubbed his chin against the wired hair, ‘So far from home now…’

  Chapter Thirty One: Partisans Revisited

  The forest was quiet, the fresh smell of pine, ferns and the lush vegetation that stretched above the snowed surface creating an almost intoxicating aroma. Nearer the southern edge of the trees, a small group of deer grazed on the extended vegetation in a large depression crossed by a narrow track, their coats glistening as steam rose from the matted fur, the eight animals guarded by an impressive stag, their herd leader. The track was deeply grooved, the snow slewed and frozen to either side, deep footsteps torn into the flat surface heading to the south, the marks of two retreating Germans and a Romanian long since gone.

  Lowering his majestic head, the stag snatched some leaves from a low bush, grinding the sustenance between its teeth as it glanced across the other animals, condensation dripping from extended antlers as the large beast turned its head to either side cautiously. Eyes fixed on the extended ponds and stream nearby, the animal snorted as it glimpsed a couple of mink and then some otters emerging from their burrows, sniffing the cold air cautiously before slipping forward between the smooth rocks into the freezing water, seeking food.

  With the ample tree cover overhead, the stream and ponds did not suffer from bleak exposure to the elements, the water temperature still below freezing as it wound its way through the large snowed and frosted forest, crusted ice to either side. A thin mist twisted between the close trees, remaining throughout the day in the hollows and depressions, the higher ground that skirted any deeper areas often clearer, the air colder.

  The distant crack of a branch, the sound echoing through the trees as the stag stiffened, glancing round in alarm. Snorting deeply once more, the does looked up once more, a male calf stiffening instinctively with its father, the deer bolting as one and lunging back into the forest, hooves rising through the billowing deep snowflakes as the startled animals fled. The otters and mink glanced furtively out of the water at the disturbance, their sleek bodies powering through the freezing solidifying liquid in fear towards their burrows.

  Several darkened figures struggled through the trees, emerging at the brow of the slope, their thin greatcoats covered in dusted snow, mouths concealed behind scarves. Breathing heavily after the exertions, they held their Mosin Nagant and Kar 98 rifles at chest height, several of the older middle aged men gasping for air, their leather padded caps frosted and matted.

  Behind them, a stout SD (Security Service - Death Squad) officer emerged red-faced, his padded greatcoat glistening with condensation as he mopped his cold sweated brow, the oversized German helmet insulated with interior leather hide. Moving the MP40 strap to his side, he opened the collar of his greatcoat, the black emblems adorning his neck visible to the others as he grunted breathlessly to the twelve men, ‘The Germans wish us to patrol the forest up to the track below…see if it has been used. They will send three hundred more troops including Cossacks in behind us to sweep the further trees tomorrow.’ He gasped in the cold, ‘They believe there are rebels in the forest…perhaps some of Stalin’s sympathisers and lost soldiers.’ He wiped his mouth, wheezing cold air and raising the scarf back over his lower face, ‘We will kill them and drive them out into the open, prevent the local raids…tomorrow we will clear this and the next forest…that is their order!’

  From the opposite side of the wide depression, Pavel lay staring across at the figures behind some frozen bushes, the running water below and distance preventing him from hearing their conversation. Oleg was behind the youngster, signalling further into the forest, the observer some two hundred metres deeper into the trees.

  Dropping to a crouch, Oleg approached his countryman, hissing a whisper, ‘What are they doing? Are they coming towards us?’

  Pavel shook his head, turning to look at his friend, ‘They are skirting the edge of the trees…old men from one of the nearby towns…they are afraid. There is one fat man with them, I think he is the local Nazi organiser…looks Security detail, his clothing is better than the others.’

  Oleg nodded, edging further towards the bushes, his eyes straining as he stared out over the undergrowth, a cold breeze sweeping through the trees as flakes fell from the branches. His hand clutched his rifle tightly, the other falling to his friend’s shoulder, ‘We will wait…keep an eye on them. The others will come I think…they will want to scare them off and kill the Nazi.’

  Pavel looked round once more, grinning in the cold, ‘We will have to move from here…stay with the fascists so they don’t slip past us.’

  Oleg smiled back, his slim frame shivering beneath the uniform and tightly wrapped animal skins, ‘If they turn into the forest we will shoot the leader…’ He gritted his teeth as the distant figures moved out of view, pushing Pavel’s shoulder once more and indicating to the trees on the left, ‘Let’s keep low…follow them.’

  The two youths carefully rose, stepping to the left as they stared out over the depression, their frames lowered behind the bushes, breaths held as they gripped the rifles tightly.

  The old men and the stout commander continued along the upper inside of the lowered land, struggling through the drifting and iced snow, their worn boots digging into the frosted surface as hands reached out for the branches and trunks on either side to steady their footing. Glancing furtively into the snow filled trees on either side, a number were breathing heavily, the older bodies not as able to resist the cold as the younger men’s.

  Biting cracked lips against the encroaching frost, several were wide eyed, collective fear rising as the light beneath the high trees became darker, the temperature dropping further. The stout SD officer wiped his brow once more, gasping in the musky air as he glanced round, staring across the lowered land and shaking his head in disapproval, the track bending further into the forest.

  Indicating towards the wide path as it rose up the slope opposite, he grunted, ‘We will skirt the trees opposite, check beyond…then head back to town.’ He adjusted his collar, pulling it up further around his chin, ‘This forest is very quiet…too quiet. There is no fresh air here and I want a drink.’ Grinning, he looked across the group as they trudged further, ‘I will request hot rations and a warming drink from the German garrison back in town for all of you.’

  Faint smiles swept across the drawn faces, the prospect of warm food and the chance of an alcoholic refreshment encouraging the mood to lighten. The SD officer swept the MP40 round to his back, indicating to the track opposite and then back towards the front of the small group along the lip of the depression, cold rocks and thick undergrowth lining the raised ground, ‘Make our way round that edge to the track as it goes over the brow of the hill. Keep alert and look for tracks…have your rifles ready.’

  Oleg and Pavel had fallen behind, the lack of effective cover forcing them to move away from the depression and back through the forest, losing sight of the patrol. The cold air gripped their chests as they pushed through the deepened snow, attempting to move quickly to make up for the distance they had lost.

  Staggering and wading through a deep drift, they grunted and pulled at each other, forcing their legs through the deepening flakes, boots struggling to gain grip as they forced their bodies back towards the edge of the depression, the snow rising steeply before them. Ahead of the two young men, the patrol turned northwards, making their way along the uneven ground before the track and heading straight towards the young Russians.

  As the twelve volunteers reached the edge of the track, they stopped in the trees as their robust SD officer approached from behind, the open thoroughfare before them, the snow crunching beneath their boots as they shuffled forward. The older man in front lowered, placing his rifle across his knees and s
taring at the grooves in the snow, his hand outstretched. The stout officer gripped his MP40, quickening his pace, his boots slipping in the snow, ‘What is it? What have you seen?’

  The experienced local tracker turned to look up at the officer, his grey beard matted with condensation as he lowered his scarf, ‘There has been a cart through here a few times…perhaps as late as yesterday.’ He pointed at the indents on the white carpeted track, ‘Several on foot…maybe ten or more, it has snowed since they passed. The wheel marks of the carts are deep, they must have been carrying heavy supplies. The horses’ hooves are going into the forest, not out…there is probably a partisan camp here, deeper into the trees.’

  The large officer behind wheezed as he strained his eyes, staring over the man’s shoulder at the marks in the snow and nodding, ‘Good…we will report back once we have finished the patrol.’ He grinned in triumph, glancing at the solemn faces behind, ‘My commander will be pleased…’ Noting the smirks, the red faced officer continued, ‘This will guarantee a warm welcome tonight from our German allies…food and drink for all.’

  He stepped out backwards onto the track, the frozen snow grinding as he turned, his frame above the rise as the track rose out of the depression, ‘Let’s keep moving…I can already sense the victory we will accomplish tomorrow.’ Glancing round to the trees opposite, he nodded in personal triumph as the men stepped forward behind him, the older tracker hesitating beneath the trees, his eyes straining in instinctive suspicion.

  The crisp shot barked through the forest, the scoped Mosin Nagant rifle kicking backwards into the sniper’s shoulder. From one hundred and fifty metres along the track, the man in his late twenties had ducked into the undergrowth to the side, studying where he knew the brow was ahead. With the rifle raised, his deep brown eyes had stared through the scope, moving his weapon slowly from side to side as he sought the intruders of the forest.

  Knowing other men were coming after the alarm was raised, he had chosen the track as he knew he could make better speed, his ultimate fear being for the safety of the two young Russian forward scouts. In a heavily padded grey uniform with thick felt cap and ear protectors, he had spent most of the day stalking the edges of the trees, looking for singular distant targets and unsuspecting individual German soldiers. Covering several miles, his interest had waned in the cold as most targets seemed keen to stay in armoured vehicles, wary of the darkened tree lines and the possibility of accurate lone shooters. On this day, there had even been a shortage of supply lorries or patrolling Kubelwagens, their exposed drivers usually making good targets in still freezing weather. He had adopted the tactics of venturing to the edge of the trees in a different direction each day, thus over a week covering north, east, south and western areas of the large forest, allowing the enemy just enough time to become complacent after his last visit.

  Finally considering the day a loss at a tally of only one, he had wondered why the Germans seemed to have changed their tactics, driving further to openly avoid nearing the forest edge all together, the few vehicles he had seen being out of range or using tracks further from the trees. He had also noticed a suspicious increase in armoured cars, several of them captured Russian models, the vehicles seeming to patrol sections of the roads around the forest repeatedly.

  Even the one success had proven lucky, the soldier dropping from the rear doors of the Hanomag to inspect the track ahead, concerned a mine had been planted along their route, the bullet only wounding the man in the leg before he crawled back behind the armoured carrier for safety. The sniper had disappeared back into the trees as he heard distant engines, the Hanomag radio operator calling for the nearest assistance.

  The stout SD officer dropped forward onto his knees, dark crimson liquid splattering across the snow from the open pumping neck wound as the head lolled sideways, his neck broken and blood rapidly filling his lungs as gurgling came from his throat. The men behind gasped, a couple raising their rifles as the body before them toppled forward onto the track, the others glancing round desperately in fear, the older tracker backing into the trees.

  Another shot rang out, one taller man screaming as his body twisted, the bullets tearing through his shoulder and ribcage, blood splashing against the men next him as they turned to run, his arms flailing across them as the legs buckled beneath him.

  Pavel and Oleg reached the other side of the depression, their rifles raising as they heard the shots and disorganised shouts of panic. Glimpsing two bodies twitching in the blood stained snow, they gasped for breath, seeing several darkened figures scrambling towards the south through the trees.

  Pavel fired first, the rifle bucking upwards as the bullet cracked against a tree trunk, splintered bark tearing across the exposed face of one of the fleeing men as a muffled shriek of pain rang out, the man scrambling on in panic. The second muzzle flash next to the young Russian, Oleg’s bullet smashing into the back of one of the men, his arms outstretching as the body twisted, spine shattered and imploding as the bone fragments tore through internal organs.

  The men’s boots slipped and slid across the iced snow in panic, the distant crack of bolts pulled back as the two young Russians dropped to their knees, the Mosin Nagant rifles raised once more. Two more bodies twisted from the violent impacts, the silhouettes easily targeted against the white snow through the trees, Pavel and Oleg rising to chase after the panicked older men.

  The sniper lunged forward, gritting his teeth as he realised the danger, the inexperienced two young men outnumbered and overeager. Running as fast as his worn boots could gain grip, he panted in the cold, slinging the rifle strap over his head as he grasped for the pistol wedged into his belt.

  Oleg dropped to one knee again, the rifle bucking as he fired, the bullet zipping past the fleeing men, Pavel firing from a standing position, his aim wide as the projectile smacked into a tree. The older tracker slipped further back into the darkened undergrowth, raising his rifle warily before him as he glimpsed the two young Russians advance across the track, both men glancing down at their weapons as they reloaded.

  The remainder of the scrambling men whimpered as two glanced round, the older bodies unable to maintain a high speed through the deep snow. Eyes widened, one dropped to his knees, his Kar 98 rifle rising as he realised there were only two gaining pursuers, a shout of alarm emitted from his lips. The shout was cut short as a bullet penetrated his chest, his frame jolting violently as he fell backwards into the snow, the remainder of the men running on and out over the lip of the depression, their frames disappearing from view as they descended the slope behind.

  The sniper reached the brow of the track, shouting frantically at the two younger men, Pavel and Oleg turning in startled bemusement as he ordered them to stop, aware if they emerged over the top of the hollow, they could meet a volley of bullets.

  Pavel shouted back in determination, lunging forward once more, ‘We have them! Let’s kill them all!’

  The sniper raised his pistol, Oleg’s eyes widening in horror as he ran forward, tripping his friend as he passed, the two falling and rolling into the snow as Pavel shrieked in surprise, their rifles dropping into the deep flakes. The sniper ran down the slope, dropping to his knees next to them and shouting, ‘Let them go…’ Oleg nodded in horror, the older man pushing himself upwards and lunging after the fleeing men, his hands reaching for the scoped rifle once more as he muttered, ‘…I will get the fascist traitors!’

  Pavel stared at the figure running away, the sniper rifle sweeping round as he veered at an angle, heading over towards the west, knowing he could outrun the slower older men, that they would be easy targets once they left the trees…if any of them got that far.

  The two young soldiers slumped back into the snow, hearing the running water nearby, the shrill call of a bird through the forest as silence descended once more. Gasping for breath and through shock, they giggled simultaneously, relief filling their rising chests as they sighed deeply, clouds of condensed breath above them.

/>   Then Pavel sat bolt upright, his eyes straining as he glimpsed the hunched figure emerge from the trees, a crunch of nearby snow alerting him. Glancing round frantically, he realised the rifle was out of reach, Oleg rising next to him as they both stared at the approaching elderly tracker, the man holding a rifle menacingly as he glanced around cautiously.

  Tentatively he approached, shaking his head as Oleg looked for his own rifle, his voice low and grating, ‘No…leave it.’ Reaching the stream, he stood firmly, straightening, ‘I shot the man that was aiming towards you…tomorrow, three hundred fascists will swarm through the forest seeking to kill you all…ambush them or leave…it is the choice of the partisan commander, but you must tell him.’

  Oleg nodded silently, the man turning away as he spoke, ‘I must get back…tell the Germans that we were ambushed and that there are very few of you in the hope they will call off the attack.’ He grinned, ‘I will probably be the only survivor…your sniper friend is very accurate and deadly.’ The older man’s hand raised in farewell, ‘Don’t be so eager next time, your friend probably just saved your lives…tell him old Viktor was here, I remember him as a young boy.’ He turned abruptly and strode off to the east, stumbling briefly as he mounted the steep slope behind.

  Pavel turned slowly to face his friend, the two grinning in relief as they hugged, the snow caked uniforms and torn greatcoats shaking as they laughed.

  Chapter Thirty Two: The Advance North

  The sky dulled, dusk beginning to spread across the clouds as light faded, the Hanomag lumbering onwards along the heavily snowed track, the speed limited due to drifts, covered roots and abandoned equipment. Two long lines of German soldiers trudged north behind them, their officer having briefed the carrier’s commander of troop positions in the area.