The padded uniformed figures in the square spun round, the barrel of the Hanomags MG34 smouldering as snowflakes billowed around the armoured vehicle, Leutnant Hausser shouting a warning as Udet and Petru raised their rifles instinctively, the machine gun burst having been fired into the freezing air.
The great coated officer stared menacingly across at him, striding forward as several of the Fallschirmjagers ran into the square behind the carrier, a sergeant emerging from the narrow street shouting to his men on either side as they raised their rifles and MP40s, their boots crunching in the snow, ‘The Wehrmacht are taking command of this village…there will be no more executions by order of the Luftwaffe!’
The officer neared the front of the carrier, his men standing uneasily as the nine parachutists drew level with the armoured bonnet. Hausser stared down at him, realising the slim officer was probably in his mid-forties, ear muffs covering the sides of his lined face, snow resting across the shoulders of the grey jacket. The man’s lips pursed in hatred, the Luger still in his hand, ‘I am in command here! I am a captain in the Einsatzgruppen…’
The young Fallschirmjager sergeant stepped forward defiantly, interrupting the officer, his MP40 held across his chest, ‘You are rear area troops in the forward combat zone and therefore fall under military command. You must report to the senior Wehrmacht commander in a combat zone…’ He hesitated, glancing up to the carrier and indicating towards Hausser, ‘…I believe that to be this officer…a Leutnant.’
The captain glared furiously at the young sergeant, snow settling on his furred great coat collar, the parachutist continuing unabated, ‘If you wish to clarify this, a Luftwaffe adjutant from Fourth Air Fleet, Von Manstein’s headquarters are on our radio in our billet…I requested they explained the situation earlier and they have just called back…’ The sergeant leant forward, staring the officer defiantly in the eyes and gesturing upwards once more, ‘No more innocent Russians will die here tonight…unless this officer commands it!’ He looked up, Udet swallowing hard as the SD soldiers lowered their weapons, a couple stepping back nervously.
Leutnant Hausser drew breath, raising his voice and pointing to the firing squad, ‘Collect the dead…both civilians and the soldiers…ensure the town is cleared. The Russians are to be returned to their homes with some rations…no further harm will come to them!’ He lifted his hand to the armoured shield, wiping flakes from his forehead, the relief surging though his chest as Petru exhaled heavily, ‘This village lies on one of the main routes north…we should be encouraging the locals to assist us, not persecuting them for their existences.’ He leant forward meaningfully, ‘They can assist you in finding the local partisans…but not if you treat them like this!’
The SD officer chuckled in contempt, shaking his head and thrusting the Luger back into his waist holster before reaching into his jacket pocket, retrieving and raising a cigarette to his mouth, ‘They are scum…nothing more. My soldiers have a job to do…to hunt out rebels and to punish acts of subversion against the occupation and Reich. Our soldiers are being attacked behind the lines regularly and with increasing intensity and force…the enemy spares no one and is merciless, torturing those that are captured…’ He flicked his lighter, drawing deeply on the cigarette and pointing upwards towards Hausser, blowing smoke into falling flakes, ‘…you idealists are a dying breed, this is the reality of the war now…not your beliefs and pompous Prussian imposed chivalry!’ He drew on the cigarette once more, shaking his head further, ‘I pity you for the day you finally realise the world around you and embrace National Socialist ideals completely…it may be too late then!’
The Einsatzgruppen officer turned away, abruptly waving to his men and coughing as the flakes swirled around them, ‘Move the Russkies back into their houses…take the dead from the village…’ His footing faltered as he glanced across the square, staring briefly towards the dead German soldier, ‘…ensure that corpse and any others of our race are taken inside and secured…we will bury them tomorrow…full military honours.’ He glanced cautiously round at Hausser and the Fallschirmjager, seeing only silhouettes through the billowing snow, ‘Burn the Russian bodies on the outskirts as a sign to all…we will sweep the local woods tomorrow morning!’
Udet grimaced, turning to Hausser as he lowered his rifle, ‘I am glad we are leaving this town now…I don’t like it very much…the neighbours are unfriendly…’
The Fallschirmjager sergeant banged his fist on the side of the carrier, startling them, ‘With your order, Herr Leutnant, my men will patrol the village during the night…we will keep the SD unit guarding the entrances to the village, that should keep them busy.’
Leutnant Hausser looked down, nodding, the young parachutist grinning back at him as he spoke softly, ‘That will be acceptable…keep them very busy…sentry duty and patrols first thing.’ He stiffened, a faint smile crossing his lips, ‘Thank you for your intervention…I was concerned for the safety of my men…’
The soldier in his mid twenties shrugged, his expression darkening as he stared back across the square towards the bodies, ‘It took too long…the radio reply. We called several times, but no one was available…they were all in briefing so we couldn’t get the orders in time to save them…’ He pulled his padded collar up against the cold, the soldiers around him ushering the dishevelled villagers past, a few glancing nervously at the Hanomag and troops surrounding it as the parachutist sighed, ‘What hell these people will have seen over the last two years…it just goes on and on…’
Hausser nodded grimly, glancing down as Udet fired the stove up once more, Petru slipping into the front compartment to reassure Hase, the commander’s voice weary, ‘One day perhaps…’ He stepped back, raising a gloved hand to his helmet in salute, ‘I thank you for your invaluable assistance…we will return tomorrow morning. When are you and your men moving on?’
The young sergeant shook his head, stiffening and saluting back, ‘Our orders are to billet here…ensure there are no partisan incidents and set up radio communications. There will be a field hospital arriving in the next few days along with a military police unit, there should be extra supplies for the residents then…they should have some stability for a short time.’
The young commander smiled, ‘Good…I am Hausser and we will hopefully meet again tomorrow on our way through…’ He slapped the armoured plate, raising his voice, ‘Let’s find those renegades, Tatu and Moretti and get back to the farm…’
Glancing down once more, his eyes widened as the sergeant raised a gloved hand in offering, ‘Erwin Stein…we did well, thank you, Herr Leutnant…your arrival prompted us.’ The young commander nodded, leaning down and grasping the man’s outstretched hand as their eyes met through the snowfall, a smile passing between them, the sergeant grinning further, ‘We will have a breakfast ready for you tomorrow then, Herr Hausser!’
Chapter Thirty Five: Return to the Farmhouse
The Hanomag lurched sideways, the steel tracks cracking over concealed roots as the armoured carrier lumbered southwards. Darkened trees passed on the left, the destroyed T34s some three hundred metres behind. Tatu stared out with bleary eyes from the top armoured shield, a scarf wrapped tightly across his mouth as he glanced into the thick snow flurry on either side. Sipping from his mess tin, he allowed the steam to flow across his face, Udet continuing to provide warm drinks from the stove in comfort against the encroaching frost.
Hausser sipped from his own drink, feeling the warm liquid surge through his throat and then stomach and nodding back at the young Berliner in satisfaction, Sergeant Moretti preparing sliced bread next to him and attempting in vain to prevent the falling snow from landing on the meagre food.
Tatu stared up into the pitch black sky, the flakes falling towards his vision from on high as he sighed, the carriers front slit lights providing limited visibility forward, the Hanomag making painfully slow progress along the track. Sipping from his mess tin once more, he half turned, ‘No lights ahead, or anywhere
Hausser…I don’t think we will see this farm though the blizzard…it’s very quiet.’
The Leutnant nodded, ‘At this speed it should be another ten or twenty minutes, perhaps a little longer.’ He rose wearily upwards, blinking into the falling flakes and leaning against the front armoured shield, ‘We may see no one on the track…our men will probably be bedding down in the villages or foxholes…let us hope our machine gun company is warm and comfortable.’ He slapped the Romanian’s shoulder in encouragement, his own uneasiness rising, ‘It is very quiet…no shooting or artillery…limited visibility. Ideal weather for escaping Russians to try and get through our lines…’ He turned, indicating to the others, and noticing Tatu grimace at him nervously, ‘We will take it in turns…two keeping watch at all times…I don’t want a surprise attack.’ He stared out to the right, darkened trees only twenty metres away across the snow, ‘That is the side they will come from…let’s keep alert just in case.’
Hausser turned back, squinting forwards into the heavy falling flakes, the engine burbling below as Tatu lifted his PPSH, mechanically removing the ammunition barrel and shaking it to check the weight before re-clipping it to the underneath of the weapon, pulling the bolt back with a satisfied grunt, a cloud of exhaled air billowing between them.
The young officer blinked furiously, looking out into the snow and stiffening as he glimpsed two figures before they disappeared to the rear, the familiar outline of Cossack headwear as their arms rose briefly in greeting, four further blurred silhouettes behind as they emerged from the trees on the right, sabres drawn. It appeared the Ukrainian soldiers had found several fleeing Russians, their hated enemy too weak to resist.
Further south, blood shot sullen eyes stared out from the trees, the few shivering figures steeped in darkness as they cowered in drifting ditches and hollows. With dishevelled jackets and torn uniforms, most of the fleeing Russian soldiers were now showing signs of exposure with blank stares and lack of responsiveness. Many of their comrades lay still and cold further to the south, a high number killed or wounded, the speed and viciousness of the German advance catching their fleeing commanders completely by surprise.
Demoralised and hungry, the few escapees from the fighting and cunning trap had formed small groups, attempting to get back to their own lines. Skirting villages and German positions, they hid in the cold forests during the day, walking north eastwards at night through the freezing snow, many shivering continually. Some had begged for food from wary local farmers, terrified of attracting the attention of roaming SD and Cossack units whose hunger to track down the young broken soldiers was spurred on by bloodlust and hatred.
With limited ammunition to offer resistance, they gathered at the edge of the forest, knowing from the few scared locals that would talk that there were now only a few kilometres to go, that across the track and through the next trees would lead them to a declining slope that led to a frozen waterway. Somewhere in the darkness would be hidden German positions, but that the River Donetz lay now enticingly only three or four kilometres away and beyond it, the Russian lines.
One kilometre south of the village, three cold young infantrymen sat warily in the trees and undergrowth, attempting to pluck up the courage to venture out into the open. They had originally been a group of seven, four of their comrades captured and executed as they fled northwards, the Einsatzgruppen and local Ukrainian security forces sweeping the trees further south with deadly efficiency. Terrified as they were chased, they had eventually found a small cave in the forest, sitting shivering in fear as the enemy soldiers could be heard swearing outside in the undergrowth, amazed that they were not located.
As darkness fell, they emerged into the freezing night, shivering and shaking from the cold as they struggled through the woods northwards. Recalling the relentless Luftwaffe strafing and bombings of their unit, they had remained in the forests and woods, too afraid to venture into open country as they witnessed numerous enemy patrols, tanks and armoured cars moving past on the many tracks and vowing to only walk at night when the Germans billeted in the villages and farms.
Taking five days to reach their current spot, they had all visibly lost weight, their bodies now struggling against the cold and deprivations, all suffering from slight dizziness and headaches, the conversation now a minimum as they withdrew mentally. Their uniforms torn, their exposed skin had become burnt from the cold, the surface discoloured and irritable, some areas causing intense pain. Collectively vowing that this night would have to be the one they made a bid for the Russian lines before more enemy forces came to the area, the three waited with baited breath, desperately hoping in vain for additional troops to join them.
Having reconnoitred the local area, the two teenagers and their older friend had considered moving northwards and exiting the forest there, slipping into the nearer trees opposite. But after glimpsing the SD soldiers move local residents out onto the exposed snow, they had discounted the idea through fear, resolving to make the crossing of the Donetz further south, narrowly avoiding the last Cossack patrol of the day.
The three whispered wearily to each other as the darkness closed in around them, their resolve and bravery depleted as tears of fear and exhaustion filled their eyes. The heavy flakes fell to the snow outside the bleak cover as they urged each other to move forward, the muddled consideration of the last few hundred metres chilling them further, the confusion in their minds sapping any motivation.
They stiffened as the sound of an engine labouring through the snow resounded around them, the track only some twenty five metres away through the snow flurry and trees. Raising their rifles, they swallowed in nervousness, the whining of metal tracks churning through iced snow as the Maybach engine rumbled in ferocity, a cracking of branches as the armoured carrier roamed into view, the angular dark silhouette slowly progressing across their snowed vision.
The two younger soldiers raised their rifles to their eyes, glimpsing two figures above the side armoured plate, leaning on the front hull, their heads turning from side to side warily. Fingers stretched towards the triggers, the excited breathing lowering as they readied to fire, the older youth suddenly raising his hand across the muzzles and pushing them downwards, the younger men turning to stare at him incredulously in the gloom. The soldier in his early twenties grinned in the darkness as the engine noise receded to their right, his gasping voice a hiss in the cold, ‘We have seven bullets between us…that enemy carrier can hold ten or twelve men and a driver…wait…’
The youngest soldier gritted his teeth, tears welling in his eyes, his spirit broken, ‘B-but they would have had food…’
The older Russian grinned, slapping the youth’s shoulder, his mind finally focussing on the task at hand, ‘Food? We have no need of food just now, it will only slow our progress, make us tired…just a childish whim. There is ample food and a feast awaiting us just a couple of kilometres from here…across the frozen Donetz…that is where our comrades are waiting to welcome us.’ He struggled forwards, exhausted legs and muscles screaming as his body reached the edge of the trees, his chest heaving from the brief exertion and vision blurred.
Gasping, the bedraggled soldier glanced from side to side, cold hands gripping his rifle tightly as the frost bit into his fingers, afraid to tell the other two that his palm had been frozen to the weapon for most of the evening. Seeing the area was clear in the falling flakes, he turned painfully, indicating with a jerk of his head for the younger and older men to cross, ‘Come on comrades, warm food and drink awaits us…just three more kilometres…let us move now!’
The two figures pushed out behind him, darkened shadows in the flurrying flakes. They stumbled ahead, dragging exhausted frames through the snow as they lunged across the thoroughfare, boots clipping the Hanomag tracks grooves in the ice. The older youth followed, keen to ensure his younger countrymen reached the safety of the forest on the other side, his legs and toes searing in pain as he struggled after them into the freezing embrace of the trees.
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Tatu stared round through the billowing shroud, an uneasiness beginning to surge through his stomach as visibility remained very poor, the Hanomag now rumbling southwards more slowly as Hase strained his eyes through the viewing slit below. With the driver’s vision now almost completely obscured, Petru attempted to clear the obstructing flakes with the end of his bayonet, the armoured carrier slowing further for fear of veering off the narrow track. Crina rose inquisitively from the dogs bed behind the seats, the small canine wrapped in a blanket.
Leutnant Hausser looked into the looming trees on the left, the right side now open fields as a freezing breeze enveloped the upper figures, his hands gripping the MP40 nervously as he strained his eyes to see signs of the markings of the earlier defences. The Romanian next to him held the PPSH submachine gun leant against the upper plate, his body lowered to scrutinise the heavy snow flurry as he stared into the enveloping darkness of the fields.
Beneath them in the exposed rear cabin, Udet braced his hunched body against the encroaching bitter cold as Moretti wrapped an army blanket round the young German’s shivering shoulders. The Italian sergeant bit his lower lip in irritation, rising up behind the other two, ‘We will need to stop soon…cover the top of the carrier…it is getting too cold!’
Tatu grunted in impatience, ‘Cover him with more blankets and move him into the front…that will shelter him more, get that rogue corporal out here to man the forward machine gun!’
Petru’s muffled shout echoed from the driver’s compartment, ‘Very well…’
Rise of the Bloodied Phoenix Page 33