Rise of the Bloodied Phoenix

by Andrew McGregor

  Hans Scharf placed the headphones over his ears, listening intently to the radio traffic buzzing between the forward units as the front lower gunner spun round, a wide smile forming across his oil-smeared face as he pushed his black cap back, greased matted hair appearing beneath the small silver death’s head symbol. Raising a large metal flask to his lips, the younger man swigged greedily, a loud satisfying swallow following as the gunner offered the flask around, ‘A drink to warm us in the cold…the Russkies will be cut off to the south soon…another army destroyed!’ He raised the flask to his lips once more in toast before extending it upwards, ‘They have obviously not fought the SS before…they will be shitting themselves when they find out we are behind them…that the Third Reich is once again at their throats!’

  Scharf nodded, raising the offered flask to his own lips as the grins spread around the darkened cabin, his head moving forward to the viewing slit as he swallowed the fiery liquid. The dull and darkening sky was filled with heavy snow clouds, the white landscape beginning to dim as the light faded.

  Small flames flickered from windows in the distance, the candles lit by local residents as they readied for a meagre evening meal. The gunner reached upwards to push the turret hatch of the Panzer IIIL open, his hand grasping binoculars before nodding to the rest of the crew, ‘Time to have a look around…there have been no Russian troops for over an hour now…’

  The freezing air embraced his exposed features as he rose up through the cupola, his upper frame shivering briefly as his hands reached for the tunic collar, pulling the material up around his chin. Resting his back against the turret, he smiled as he heard their young commander’s voice burst through the atmospheric static, ‘We will progress to the next village then stop for the night with some of the Panzer IVs. Form the tanks up on the outskirts facing outwards…no Russkies will escape past us.’ The voice hesitated, ‘SS-Stabsscharführer Scharf, progress with your command to the village beyond…tomorrow we will advance further and join up with the Wehrmacht...it’s not too far now.’

  Hans grabbed the radio microphone around his neck, a brief cough as the cold caught in his throat, ‘Jawohl, Herr SS-Untersturmführer …’

  The familiar voice came again, ‘Keep to the middle of the tracks and be careful, we have reports of Russkie units and tanks in the area from aerial reconnaissance…shoot at anything suspicious…Wittman out.’

  Hans Scharf grinned, seeing the village ahead as the convoy of Panzers rumbled forward, engines whining as they skirted a low hill on the right, his eyes straining across the white terrain to either side. Raising the binoculars to his eyes, he grimaced, realising the glasses were little help in the descending gloom, the heavy clouds above obscuring any illumination from stars or the moon.

  The lights across the buildings loomed into view, the glows flickering in windows as he stared outwards, moving the glasses from side to side. The land to the left rose gradually towards a darkened tree line, the track continuing onwards past the fifteen or so low buildings as the leading Panzer IV pulled over to the right side to face south, a frozen fence shattering as the tracks rose above a ditch, the tank bouncing back into the snow. As it’s barrel rose to aim up the slope, other tanks ahead swerved outwards from the track, Wittman’s lead Panzer IIIL pulling between the buildings, the commander rising through his turret ahead as Scharf grinned, whispering to himself, ‘No fear young Wittman…let us hope Ivan respects your bravery!’

  Four Panzer IV’s rolled on as the lead Panzer IIIL pulled over at the outer edge of the hamlet, Wittman raising binoculars to his eyes to scan the terrain beyond, Scarf waving as the black uniformed young commander hesitated, then turned to gesture forward, towards the south east. Hans imagined his friend was grinning as the Maybach engine roared, increasing speed to follow the more powerfully gunned tanks out into the cold night.

  Lowering himself slightly against the cold, Hans pulled the collar around his neck once more, shivering as they ventured into the falling darkness, his head now just above the hatch. The track ahead wound round the base of the low snow coated hill to the south, the dark treeline to the north beginning to descend downwards towards the narrow thoroughfare, the track then turning left around the base of the slope and out of sight.

  Glancing down as a hand nudged his legs, Hans grinned as a thick scarf was thrust upwards between his thighs, the gunner below grinning and shivering, his tone low, ‘Here, Herr Stabsscharführer, some comfort against the cold…we are freezing while you consider it best when to come back in and close the damn hatch!’

  The tank commander grinned, clouds of exhaled breath swirling around him, ‘Just a few more seconds my friend, I don’t like this terrain…if the Russkies are about, they will be here!’ He glimpsed the gunner’s eyes strain before looking up, staring at the heavy cloud cover above, ‘It will snow some more, we need to get to the next village…how far is it?’

  The crewman grinned, still shivering below, ‘I will keep my eye to the sights…and check the map, you will know soon enough.’

  The Maybach engine roared as the driver dropped a gear, tracks slipping on the iced snow as Hans Scharf stared towards the nearing treeline, the four Panzer IVs ahead lumbering onwards as forward exhaust fumes filled his nostrils.

  Hans strained his eyes towards the numerous trees as they approached, a nervous twist of his stomach as he raised the binoculars again, the light too poor for effective visibility. Shaking his head, he lowered the glasses despondently, glancing at the Panzer IVs ahead, their turret motors turning slowly towards the north.

  The flash made him shudder, a glowing shell sweeping out from the trees and zipping down the slope. The first Panzer IV shuddered, jolting to a halt as the side seemed to glow, flames whipping upwards from its turret, the hull punctured on the right as muffled screams filled the air, Hans shrieking in desperation, ‘Fire on trees…enemy sighted!’

  Flashes filled the black treeline, the tank commander slumping downwards as rough hands grabbed and pulled his legs, frantic shouts filling the cabin as the electrical turret motor whirred. Bullets clanked against the hull and turret above, Hans gasping and frantically pulling the hatch above, the metal crunching down just above his skull.

  Panzer engines roared, his body thrust back into the seat as the tank surged forward, Hans shaking his shocked mind from inaction and pushing his eye to the targeting sight, the clunk of a shell into the breech next to him, the turret still turning as the tank lurched into the ditch by the side of the track, the crew’s bodies thrown violently sideways.

  The engine roared once more, the exterior metal plate clanking as bullets bounced off the hull, Hans shouting, ‘Keep moving! Stall and we are dead…they are reloading!’

  The Panzer turrets behind churned round, crews squinting through sights as the upper 50mm guns belched flame, explosions erupting across the slope as the tanks bounced across the track. The three Panzer IV long barrelled muzzles in front shuddered, red hot shells sweeping into the trees before eruptions flashed through the darkness, glowing tracer fire from MG34s zipping up the slope and peppering the tree line, distant screams filling the air as the Russian gunners ducked or were hit.

  Hanomags from the rear of the column and village behind swept outwards across the snow, bouncing across the ditches as the SS forward upper MG34 machine gunners squeezed their triggers, tracer bullets pouring through the darkness towards the Russian positions.

  The Panzer III bounced back onto the track, passing the disabled tank as the flames lit up the cabin through narrow viewing slits, the stench of burning flesh and acrid smoke seeping into nostrils as the crew winced, the tank accelerating after the heavier lead Panzers.

  The concealed pak gun belched flame, the shell zipping narrowly above the Panzer IIIL as it shuddered, the tracks squealing as the driver grimaced, his voice rising in terror, ‘There will be more ahead…we need to get to the village!’

  The Hanomags tore across the snow, ice and snow flurries billowing behind as the
y neared the trees, several swerving to stop as SS Grenadiers jumped from opening rear doors, shouts of hatred filling the air as the padded figures charged forwards into the darkness. Bullets ripped through the trees as the SS neared their prey, rifle shots pouring out in defence as several crumpled and fell, the covering MG34 bullets scything through the branches as the defenders shuddered and fell, many hit several times from concentrated fire, branches cracking and debris pouring down on the survivors.

  The muzzles of MP40s and bayoneted rifles flashed, several defenders rising to flee as they were cut down, bodies twitching and smacking against tree trunks as the SS soldiers swept into the darkness, their officers shouting in venomous encouragement to ‘Kill all Russkies’, that ‘No one should survive’.

  The Grenadiers tore through the undergrowth, bayoneting and shooting the second line troops at close range. No quarter was offered or prisoners taken, even when isolated groups raised their hands desperately, the rattle and flashes of MP40 fire filling the forest as the survivors of the supply unit were hunted down. Five escaped…out of nearly sixty inexperienced soldiers, the brutal tactics effective but gaining little favour, many Wehrmacht soldiers would pay for the merciless killings…the advancing division lost seventeen killed and one Panzer IV, another disabled due to a mine…the compliments of disgruntled local residents.

  Hans Scharf breathed deeply as the Panzer III continued along the track at high speed, the forward higher powered tanks nearing the next hamlet as the last of rifle and machine gun fire smacked against the hulls. Glancing through the viewing slits, he smiled to himself as he glimpsed figures stumbling through the snow towards the north on the slope, the flickering lights of the village beyond. He briefly considered the Russian rifle platoon was evacuating the village after hearing Panzers of the SS were approaching.

  Then he stiffened, glimpsing the outline of a tank emerge between the single storey snow covered dwellings, further figures in the hamlet against the lights from a fire, his adrenalin surging as he stared further. Then a smile swept across his face as he recognised the dark outline, the familiar shape of a Panzer IV, its forward machine guns raking a house further into the village as the upper gun flashed, flames and smoke billowing upwards in the distance.

  The electric turret motor whirred once more, the 50mm gun turning as he clenched the MG34’s trigger, his eyes narrowing as he stared out at the distant struggling silhouettes in deep snow…there would be no mercy. The Liebstandarte SS Division had just joined with the most western elements of 4th Panzer Army, the Russian main force further south was doomed.

  Chapter Thirty Nine: Northwards

  The Hanomag surged forward, the engine whining as Hase accelerated, snow thrown up from the tracks billowing behind. Tatu stood above, staring into the cold air to the north, his large jacket buttoned up to the chin, a scarf across his mouth. Sporadic distant gunfire sounded to the east, the rumble of artillery further north as a battle raged, the Russians desperately attempting to prevent the trap that was forming around them.

  After the men had eaten a large breakfast, the armoured carrier had once again joined the track north, lines of German soldiers advancing on either side as they lumbered onwards, sitting behind the trucks of a supply convoy before reaching the village. Some of the lorries were captured Russian models, interspersed with the Opel Blitz trucks of the Wehrmacht, the grey hulls splashed with whitewash paint for camouflage, MG34 machine guns sited on the forward cabs for protection from any roaming enemy aircraft. The exposed gunners braced themselves against the cold morning air, most with heavily padded white jackets and insulated hoods.

  Udet had made tea for the men in the back of the Hanomag, Moretti inspecting the bandages across the young German’s chest and adjusting some, to ensure the tightness was constant, assuring all that the binds would help reduce the pain from movement if indeed his ribs were cracked. As they sipped from the large steaming metal ration mugs, Hausser explained that the offensive seemed to be progressing well with the movement of so many supplies northwards, but that he would know more once he had spoken to Major Wolff and perhaps the commander in the village ahead.

  Tatu had complained bitterly about the speed of the lorries ahead, the tyres struggling to gain grip in the frozen snow. Nearing the outskirts, they had glimpsed the destroyed T34s and Russian tanks once more, realising the darkness had concealed more in the distance, the Russian machines attacked by roaming Luftwaffe aircraft and Panzers as they attempted to form a defensive line. Above, a Fiesler Storch spotter aircraft circled, the drone of its engine just audible over the muffled voices across the snow, the Romanian quartermaster nodding grimly as he glimpsed numerous Cossack and SD soldiers march out in line and then head to the south west across the snow, a heavily armed patrol to clear the local forests.

  The entrance to the village was now manned by military policemen, the gorgets hung round their necks glinting in the morning light as they inspected papers and briefly looked in the back of the lorries with the assistance of the crews. The Maybach engine idled as the queue nudged forward, exhaust fumes hanging in the cold air as the soldiers coughed, their cheeks beginning to redden in the poor air. After nearly twenty frustrating minutes, Tatu indicated back to Hausser that they were nearing the military checkpoint, the young commander rising to stand next to the Romanian quartermaster, papers from Grossdeutschland Division held tightly in his gloved hand.

  Hase gunned the engine, the tracks squealing beneath as the armoured carrier ground forwards, slowing as it drew level with a young military police sergeant, the soldier below stiffening and saluting as Hausser returned the gesture. With a heavy padded uniform and hood, the young man in his twenties smiled courteously as Hausser leant down with the papers, offering them with an outstretched hand, his tone curious as he indicated to the lorries pulling away between the low buildings, ‘Very busy this morning…’

  The sergeant nodded, staring down at the paperwork in surprise as he glimpsed the unit they were attached to, ‘Yes Herr Leutnant, the Russkie spearheads have apparently been virtually destroyed in the south and west…we have captured over 600 tanks and nearly 400 artillery pieces with many machine guns and mortars. A lot of the enemy soldiers have been killed or captured…’ The military policeman looked up, his blue eyes wide and bloodshot from the cold as he grinned confidently, ‘…although some are hiding in the forests and trying to escape to their lines…’ The young sergeant nodded, ‘…we will find them and capture or kill the communist cowards.’

  Tatu grunted, turning away in disgust as Hausser smiled, collecting the offered papers, ‘Good news then…tell me, where may I find the Fallschirmjager Sergeant, Erwin Stein…is he about?’

  The young policeman shook his head, ‘Nein, Herr Leutnant. The sergeant and his unit were picked up earlier…new orders apparently…they are heading north to support the advance.’

  The officer grimaced, disappointed as he had been looking forward to meeting the brave soldier again, ‘Very well…how about the fighting in the north…are we progressing well?’

  The policeman grinned widely, his white teeth seeming to sparkle, ‘The SS divisions are advancing from the west, Herr Leutnant. One is heading south west to join in the drive north…apparently they may have already joined with the Wehrmacht units…more Russkies are cut off.’ He glanced upwards, staring at the spotter aircraft and pointing, ‘They are checking the enemy defences to the east on the other side of the river…we had better quicken our advance I think...there are rumours of an early thaw in the south…rasputitsa may be upon us quicker than we thought.’

  (Authors Note: The Rasputitsa or ‘Muddy season’ occurred twice a year in Russia, but was far worse in the spring due to the snow thawing. Heavy Spring or Autumn rains would turn all tracks and fields into virtual morasses of ground, with only tarmacked roads offering any form of progress transport wise…there were very few cement roads in Russia at the time. Wheeled vehicles would simply struggle to gain any grip, the oozing mud inflic
ting considerable wear and tear or damage to most engines. Animal movement would also be severely challenged during the season, further hampering any advance or even movement of rations. The war in Russia would therefore virtually grind to a halt during both rainy seasons.

  It is considered that the delay on the advance on Moscow during the first year of war in the east was then further delayed by Rasputitsa or ‘General Mud’ as the French of 1812 and Germans of WW2 called the season, eventually perhaps preventing the capture of the city in December 1941.)

  Leutnant Hausser’s eyes strained as he shook his head, recalling the previous muddy seasons and the strain it caused to men and animals alike, ‘That is not good news…I considered we had until the end of March at least after that bitter winter.’

  The military policeman sniffed, his eyes falling on the approaching trucks behind before shouting to the checkpoint ahead, ‘Alles in ordnung! Let them pass…’ He stepped back from the Hanomag, raising a hand to his hood formally once more, ‘I wish you luck in your endeavours to the north, Herr Leutnant. I hope you reach this Major Wolff of the Grossdeutschland Division and in the city of Kharkov itself.’ He raised his hand as the Hanomag engine roared, the tracks spinning as the wheels turned, a crunch of deep snow as the vehicle gained grip and lumbered forward, heading into the village outskirts.