Rise of the Bloodied Phoenix

by Andrew McGregor

  Udet strained his eyes into the darkness to the west, his arm resting across the top of the MG34, ‘Oh…he trusts us. He just does not want us to make a mistake.’ He turned to look at the Italian sergeant knowingly, ‘There was a rumour I heard just after reaching Stalingrad. I was only with the 76th Infantry a short time…’ He grinned, recollecting the mere six hours he spent with the unit before being sent south with the Leutnant, ‘…I sat with a squad behind the line…they said he was exhausted, the deaths of three soldiers troubling him deeply.’

  His mind drifted back suddenly, the cold air sweeping though the broken and shattered windows, the grimy and dirt smeared Wehrmacht infantrymen sitting chain smoking in exhaustion along the wall as he nervously joined them, several sniggering at his cleaner uniform. Shells burst outside, the walls seeming to shake as the muffled chatter of machine gun fire and rifle cracks echoed in the distance. He had introduced himself, broken glass cracking under his boots as he informed the seasoned unshaven veterans that he was a proud Berliner, the group chuckling as one replied, advising Udet he was in good company…that they all were.

  Advising them he had been ordered to escort the young commander south, a couple had pursed their lips in irritation, then relented, realising the order would probably save Udet’s life, the life expectancy of new recruits now only a few days…two weeks at the most. A corporal at the end of the line had spoken out grimly, his face drawn and unshaven, the man smoking almost continuously, ‘We are glad Herr Hausser is going south…he is a good man, but physically tired…he has seen too much here, too many of his men die…it has nearly broken him.’

  Udet grimaced, his innocent curiosity high, ‘When? What happened?’ He stared at the blood smeared black triangle on the soldier’s arm, the white single ‘V’ barely decipherable.

  The grime covered soldier looked up, staring the young Berliner in the eyes, exhaustion clear on the man’s face, ‘We fought our way towards the river, smashing the Russkie positions, but they would not die or retreat…they would shoot us in the back as we passed, even when they were close to death.’ He spat in venomous regret onto the dirt caked floorboards, ‘Hausser secured a position in a destroyed bakery with his squad, created firing points and an upper observer, then Major Schenk called him to the rear for further orders and an evening briefing. We were going to cross a square the next day, take a three storey office building opposite…the Leutnant took his friend, Hase with him, telling the men they would bring back more ammunition and food for them. The square was quite open and the commander was reluctant to advance in one day, telling us he preferred to break through the buildings on either side, work our way round to the objective. Sixth Army wanted fast results and would not let him I think, despite his probable arguments. The target building was nearer the Volga and that’s all they cared about…take the objective, then drive the Russkies into the water...it was Hitler’s order.’

  The corporal shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck wearily beneath his helmet rim, ‘The Russians counterattacked after he had gone, stormed the building and drove his squad out. Three were captured and executed on the roof for all to see, Hausser watching through binoculars.’ The soldier stiffened, ‘That was more than he could take…I think he thought he had abandoned them, left them to their deaths…that they were alone because of him. One soldier said he had tears of regret in his eyes, that he and Major Schenk had a shouting match later and that is why he is being sent out onto the steppe. His squad were all dead bar one, five lying in the street outside from machine gun fire and the rest dead in the building…butchered. The man that survived was taken away by the chain dogs, questioned…we haven’t seen him since.’ Several men nodded solemnly, one removing his helmet, his hair heavily matted with dried blood as the soldier continued, ‘We know he had ammunition boxes and full ration boxes as he looked on…they were laying at his feet. They had been delayed getting all the stores, Hase was on his knees next to him in despair. They spoke in Russian…quite heated at one point, the Hiwi wanted to attack and retake the building, to take revenge.’ He shook his head, ‘I have never seen such hatred for his own countrymen…we knew then his ultimate loyalty was with Hausser and us…I think they met last year at some point, the commander apparently saved his life. Hausser refused to attack, although we could see he wanted to, but only with tanks and artillery…but we had been pushed back on either side…it would have been suicide with enemy flanking fire.’

  Tears filled Udet’s eyes, realising in confusion he had not seen any of the men in the room when they re-joined the 76th Infantry Division on the north western corner of the pocket, that the soldiers in his memory had probably all been killed whilst he sat in a warm bunker in the south. His thoughts drifted further as Moretti stared at him silently, the building in his recollection shaking as shells hit the upper floors, dust pouring from the ceiling above as the infantrymen simply looked up, a couple grinning as Russian artillery on the opposite bank of the Volga fired into the city. They had laughed as he had dropped to the floorboards, cradling his helmet in his hands in fear, the soldiers simply wiping the dust from their eyes, the corporal struggling upwards and stepping towards him at a half-crouch, his hand rubbing the young Berliner’s back as he shouted in a grin over the explosions, ‘These are sturdy Russkie buildings young one, they will not fall unless hit by a heavier calibre…’

  Udet had looked up into his blood shot eyes, seeing no fear, his own eyes widening incredulously as the man shouted above the detonations, ‘You will be safe with Hausser in the south, young Udet…just follow his orders and stay close to him. We respect him…he is for the men!’ The young Berliner had nodded, his ears hurting as explosions echoed from above and around, the soldiers seeming oblivious to the noise as they lit further cigarettes. Grins formed gradually as their adrenalin began to rise, the soldiers leaning wearily forward to grasp rifles, the time to go back into battle approaching…they had been ordered to attack.

  Udet shuddered as a hand grasped his shoulder, Sergeant Moretti’s face looming into his blurred vision, the Italian concerned as he viewed the young soldier’s startled eyes, ‘Are you alright Udet?’

  He nodded slowly, gasping in the cold air as his conscious thoughts returned swiftly, his chest shivering as he lowered to stare out into the darkness once more, ‘Just ghosts crossing my mind…’ He swallowed hard, pushing the rising nervous emotion back towards his stomach, ‘…I just remembered the dead…fallen loyal men from Stalingrad, they are all gone now...true soldiers of the 76th Division.’

  Moretti nodded solemnly, ‘Us Italians have lost many men too…young Donatello is one, I thought I could keep him from harm. His brother was killed in the Russkie attacks, Donatello with us when I could not see it coming, there are no more of the younger family left for his grieving parents.’

  The Italian sergeant considered for a second, wishing to move the thoughts from death and the fighting, ‘So…tell me about Berlin…I have never been to the city.’ He turned, ducking below the thick tarpaulin sheeting and feeling the warmth from the stove across his features, stepping carefully back to the rear of the carrier.

  Udet smiled, his thoughts moving back to the capital city, ‘My Berlin…let me think, it is beautiful. Parks and waterways…trams that crackle across their rails as they take people to work, the warmest bread and milk in the mornings from the local bakery and delivered churns. At lunch, we can eat hot sausages, saur kraut and potato salad, drink a cold beer while we watch the world go by. You will see marching soldiers, busy streets and playing children, their hearts full of joy.’ His eyes lowered slightly, unseen by the Italian, ‘Red swastika flags will be outside most of the buildings, but the architecture is stunning…beautiful structures with women hanging out their washing and the new cars sweeping by below.’

  Moretti turned from the rear position, grinning in engagement at the young German’s enthusiasm, ‘Your favourite place?’

  Udet seemed to consider for a second, then raised his hand
poignantly, smiling in recollection, ‘The Brandenburg Gate…it stands to face and warn our enemies, proud and tall, the horses galloping forwards above. My father would take me there to watch the rich and soldiers marching. The Adlon Hotel is near on Unter der Linden, very beautiful at night with all the lights and cafes,’ Then he grinned in excitement, reconsidering, ‘Maybe the station comes second…sitting on a bridge watching the trains beneath with goods and many people, the bustle and chatter from the platforms.’ His grin widened from fond memory, ‘During the Olympics, there were many different peoples…strange accents and languages…some with strange faces or darkened skin. We would wave and they would wave back, laughing at our grimy faces as the steam swept over us from the trains below…happiness filling our chests. The foreign peoples would giggle and shout at us as we were covered in soot and smoke, the heat flushing our faces as we waved further…some would throw coins towards us…I have a collection at home from the many countries. Many would hit the bridge, falling on the tracks below for us to collect later, the chain dogs making sure there were no trains coming before allowing us boys onto the railway.’

  Sergeant Moretti smiled faintly at the young German’s innocence and remembrance, turning to stare back out over the white field, the freezing light of day beginning to filter through the darkness as a cloud of exhaled breath swirled around him. Udet lowered to the machine gun once more, scrutinising the snow bound terrain to the west and hearing the shifting of animals in the barn next door, a low moo and hungry snorting from the cattle and Panje horses.

  Udet turned his head, curiosity clear in his voice, ‘So…what of Italy? What do you miss the most?’

  The Italian smiled in surprise, clearing his throat against the cold and then grinning, a snorted snore coming from Leutnant Hausser below him to his right as the commander stirred in deep sleep. He glanced round, sniffing as the freezing air caught in his nostrils, his mind becoming reflective, ‘What do I miss? Pasta and Ravioli!’ He chuckled as Udet smiled, his mind sweeping back to the Mediterranean coast, ‘I miss the sea…wine and women…dancing and the sounds of music spilling across beautiful villages and towns. The welcome from neighbours and warm bread fresh from their own ovens as a greeting. Sitting amongst trees eating olives and drinking as children play around us…’ His eyes dropped slowly, ‘I miss Donatello and his brother, always smiling and taunting each other…swimming with the sun beating down in cold water, the physical sense that comes when you emerge from the water…cold, yet warming muscles as you step through the sand.’ He sniffed once more, mostly with longing emotion, ‘I come from near the north east coast…winter is cold…’ Moretti chuckled once more, ‘…but not nearly as cold as this hell…summer is so warm, the sea green-blue waves sparkling in the sunlight as you sit and stare, the coastline breath-taking with trees and small villages.’ He shook his head in distant memory, ‘Tanned and shirtless we would dance in the surf with our lady friends, grasping them round the waist as the men on the beach then played instruments or gramophone records, the shrieks of passing train whistles ringing out. When the war started, we would see planes overhead, lone G50 fighters or groups of planes as the pilots were trained. Several times they would swoop down, flying across the water and waving their wings as we jumped upwards, some so low we felt we could almost touch them. Then they would sweep upwards, wings and glass sparkling in the sunlight as we cheered…an Italian air force that would surely beat all our enemies.’

  Moretti glanced back over the snow, glimpsing the outlines of several bodies in the distance across the white shroud, a low mist drifting across the field as his eyes glistened, a gloved hand sweeping across his nose as Udet lowered back down onto the machine gun silently, staring out through the slit above the freezing barrel towards the trees he knew were beyond the fog.

  Leutnant Hausser shrugged in his slumber, then stiffened, his eyes flickering open as he drew a sharp breath, gasping in the cold air and rising abruptly in disorientation and confusion, ‘I fell asleep…what is happening…are there any Russians?’ He glanced round in frantic despair, rubbing his eyes furiously, ‘Where are the others?’

  Moretti spun round, smiling grimly, ‘There is nothing…just low fog…the Russkies have escaped or are hiding in the woods and waiting for nightfall again.’ He glanced back over the bodies in the distance, exhaling heavily, ‘There are several dead…we and the machine gun company hit many in the dark as they tried to escape…they were only trying to get away.’

  The young commander nodded in silence, slowly rising as the blanket fell away, twisting his neck and stretching uncomfortably as he lifted the strap of the MP40 over his shoulder, ‘If the situation were reversed, we would be lying frozen in the field and they would probably have looted our bodies…that is the commissar’s leadership now…they would also have shot any wounded, none of us would have escaped.’ He shook his head, a hand rubbing the back of his neck wearily as he smiled faintly in reassurance to the despondent Italian sergeant, ‘Let’s get the others awake and have some food…then we need to head north.’ Winking at Udet, Hausser lowered towards the rear doors, his hand rubbing the back of the wiry terrier fondly as it danced before him.

  Slipping out into the cold air, the dog sniffed the snow next to him, lowering a shoulder to roll playfully in the deep flurrying blanket, Hausser grinning as the small dog pushed himself through the white powdered flakes. Crouching down, he grasped a handful of frozen snow, tossing it in the air as the terrier barked playfully. Turning he nodded to the smiling Moretti, ‘Let’s let him have a run around, but not too far…’ He chuckled as the dog yelped in fun, turning in a circle before running off as the Italian jumped out of the carrier, slipping the rifle over his shoulder and lunging after the terrier as he giggled.

  Leutnant Hausser stepped towards the farmhouse, glancing round towards the barn as the wide dishevelled wooden door creaked open, a member of the machine gun platoon stepping out into the cold morning air to relieve himself. The soldier stiffened and saluted, the young commander returning the gesture as the aroma of cooking food reached his nostrils, a smile sweeping across his face. The soldier stamped his feet and turned to close the door behind him, a grunt of dissatisfaction coming from within the dark confines as the two other crew members shivered, a low disturbed moo coming from one of the cows.

  The gunner stepped round to the back of the barn, grinning as he witnessed the Italian some distance away, chasing the small terrier as it barked excitedly, enjoying the game. Moretti’s greatcoat was covered in snow where he had fallen, rolling as part of the fun and covering his helmet, the terrier snapping playfully at his gloved fingers.

  Leutnant Hausser reached the farmhouse door, glancing upwards, grey snow clouds drifting overhead as the sky lightened further, dawn rapidly approaching. Smoke billowed from the farmhouse chimney, the rectangular structure formed on a heavy rock base with frosted stones as walls, one window sat in each wall, machine gun barrels pointing out from the west and northern openings, a sentry staring grimly eastwards, his face wrapped tightly with a thick scarf. The worn shutters for the windows were half closed, offering some protection against the bitter elements.

  Rapping his fist against the warped and weathered wood, Hausser pushed the door open, the smell of food engulfing him as the warmth of the cooking fire swept over his features. Two soldiers turned as he entered, both leaning next to the fireplace at the far northern end, a darkened doorway to the right side offering a bedroom for the farmer and his wife, their son having been conscripted into the army.

  In the centre of the room, an old table was adorned with flickering bottled candles, several stools around it, one occupied, the furniture sparse and rustic. The officer looked up, smiling widely as Hausser entered, several slumbering bodies lying against the room’s edges on either side, ammunition boxes and supply crates stacked along the left wall before the window. One heavily wrapped machine gunner stared outwards into the bleak landscape through the shutters, the MG34 placed atop sever
al boxes with ammunition magazines readied next to the barrel.

  Leutnant Hausser smiled, noting Tatu and Petru’s frames sleeping deeply against the right wall before the doorway, blankets wrapped tightly over their padded jackets, their heads resting on their helmets. Beyond them, the grey bearded farmer stared out warily from the doorway, his wife still asleep as the young commander nodded in reassurance, ‘No need to worry Sir, we thank you for your lodgings.’ The farmer nodded solemnly, slipping back behind the makeshift curtain he had arranged the night before when the unexpected guests arrived.

  The officer sipped from his canteen, clearing his throat as his eyes widened, ‘You speak fluent Russian…interesting. You have Romanian men, a young German and an Italian with you, all loyal with a driver that will not leave his vehicle and your squad’s dog…what kind of a war it must be for you…the soldiers from Stalingrad.’

  Hausser shrugged innocently, lowering himself onto one of the stools as the officer grinned, ‘We should have a good breakfast for you shortly…I think the food is nearly ready.’ He turned inquisitively, one of his soldiers nodding as he continued, ‘I would like to thank you for the advice yesterday…and for your return…I think my men would like to thank you too, we were concerned the Russkies would overwhelm us, but once they heard the engines, they ran. We will stay here until our orders change…I may have to move the guns up to the front line, but at present they wish us to cover the rear.’ He swigged from his canteen once more, eyes narrowing, ‘Where will you go now?’

  Hausser lowered the MP40 from his shoulder, holding it in his right hand, ‘We will continue to the north…the advance will go on and we need to get back to our commander at Grossdeutschland division…’ He smiled, ‘I had better radio him soon…he will want an update.’

  He glanced upwards as one of the soldiers turned from the fireplace to stare at him, the man seeming barely in his twenties, ‘The food for your men is now ready, Herr Leutnant….sausages with potatoes and local vegetables in a thick gravy.’