Rise of the Bloodied Phoenix

by Andrew McGregor

  Tatu winced, shaking his head as he grinned, ‘Fool! They are all Russian lice...that is why they bite so much. If they were Italian it is unlikely they would have even found us, let alone cause any discomfort...’

  Moretti laughed out loud as Udet leant forward, enjoying the escalating argument, the Italian retorting, ‘If they were Romanian, they would have broken down by now...or would only like spicy people!’

  Udet chortled, slapping his thigh as the Romanian quartermaster rounded on him, his eyes sparkling in glee, ‘If they were German lice, they would eat any food as long as it was prepared by someone else, the lice selecting the worst tasting bodies...they would travel for miles around our bodies without eating anything at all and fight amongst themselves most of the time for no reason.’ He chuckled out loud as Udet’s eyes widened, ‘That’s you Germans...no humour and could start a fight in an empty barn!’

  Moretti interjected, ‘At least they appreciate good food when it is given to them...you Romanians always add to much spice to it!’ They glanced up as engine droned overhead, the Bf110 fighter bombers heading back south, further Stukas and Me109 fighters above heading north towards the river.

  Tatu glared at the Italian, hearing the dog bark from the front, Petru blowing air into the terrier’s face, the quartermaster gritting his teeth, ‘For your information...infamous Romanian spices come from our time in the Ottoman Empire when we were very highly regarded. Our civilisation has provided excellent food sourced from not only the east but western cultures…’

  Sergeant Moretti raised his hand, grinning widely, ‘I understand all that…where do you think Italian culture comes from? The Roman Empire lasted for hundreds of years and we ruled most of Europe, including your beloved Romania as it was back then…a backward land of peasants I believe.’

  Tatu shook his head dismissively, ‘Bah! That was the last time the Italians did anything…then they used the locals to fight for them until their beloved empire collapsed…’

  Moretti’s tone changed, his irritation rising, ‘You cannot dismiss the existence of one of the most civilised cultures of the world just because it does not fit in with your argument…’

  Udet interjected, his puzzled expression causing the Italian to smile fondly as Petru glanced back from the front, ‘What exactly is the argument? You were both talking about lice and now we have moved on to culture and history?’ He giggled as he glimpsed Petru wink at him in fun, ‘May I remind you that you are both speaking German and sitting in an armoured carrier made by the greatest country on earth?’

  Tatu waved his hand, chuckling once more as he nodded across to Moretti, ‘The youngest country in Europe has interrupted…seventy years ago you were only a collection of smaller states. Had it not been for your Bismarck, you would still be arguing amongst yourselves…’ The distant rumble of artillery fire swept across the terrain, German gunners firing from west of the village further south, the shells flying overhead towards Russian defences on the river.

  The rear doors of the Hanomag creaked open, Leutnant Hausser staring into the compartment, a wry grin across his face, ‘When you men have quite finished bickering…the order to advance has come.’ The young commander lowered his head and clambered into the carrier, dusting snow from his shoulders, ‘The forward command tent has been set up in a small clearing in the wood, a very beautiful spot…’ He stepped between the other soldiers’ knees, the men glancing at each other suspiciously at his unusual retort, Hausser lowering to push his head into the front compartment, a grin on his face as the terrier panted at him, his tail wagging at the game with Petru.

  Slapping Hase’s shoulder, the commander grinned at Petru, whispering, ‘That should have confused them…’ He turned back towards his Russian friend, ‘We will be attacking in thirty minutes…the tanks will move up first, the armoured carriers to follow. Our orders are to join with the others, but to stay with the Panzers during the river crossing…the drive will continue into the outskirts. The SS are not going to stop, they will let the follow up infantry and reserves clear any remaining defences.’

  Engines roared outside, the other Hanomags jolting forward as Hausser stepped back, rising over the upper armoured plate and glimpsing the Panzer IV’s tracks spin ahead, the tanks pulling forward across the snow to move into formation, Panzer IIIs moving from the western edge of the snow bound field to join them. To the east, behind the trees, several more engines burst into life, the Marder and Sturmgeschutz III self-propelled guns preparing to move forward.

  The muffled thuds of artillery resounded across the snow, the heavy guns from further south firing continuously towards the river. Above, a large formation of Stukas droned northwards, Me109 and FW190 fighters flying in formation below to escort the two seater dive bombers.

  Tatu rose slowly from the bench, the others following in awe, his eyes widening as he stared upwards, a wide grin forming across his face as he glimpsed further Stukas and fighters emerging over the horizon, BF110 fighter bombers flying on their flanks as he drew breath, ‘This is fantastic…there must be over one hundred planes…’

  Leutnant Hausser slapped his friend’s shoulder, ‘They will be clearing the way to the city… any Russkie armour or defences had better be well concealed if they want to survive…’ His body swayed as Hase engaged gear, the tracks spinning below as they grasped the side armoured plate to steady themselves, the Hanomag grinding forward as frozen snow billowed in its wake.

  The young commander cleared his throat, ‘Moretti on the forward gun again, Tatu and I will cover him…’ He glanced across at the younger German, ‘Udet, swap with Petru…I want you to help Hase.’ He turned to look across his men slowly, his eyes straining, ‘This will probably be very rough from now on…the Russkies will not want to give up the city easily. We have a mission that involves us moving through Kharkov and then into open country to the north, to re-join with Grossdeutschland Division.’

  Chapter Forty Four: The Crossing and Onwards into the Outskirts

  The Panzers roared towards the river to the north, snow billowing across the fields as the Hanomags accelerated behind, a cold breeze sweeping across the terrain. Artillery shells flew overhead, the eruptions tearing across the northern and southern sides of the River Mozh, ice fragments and debris tossed into the air as the defenders cowered in the forward foxholes.

  Stukas began their deadly descent, mechanical screams filling the cold air as the horrified defenders glanced upwards, fighters banking hard to the west and east in preparation to strafe the lines. With defences dug on the north and south banks, the remaining Russian tanks were placed five hundred metres behind the frozen waterway, the buildings of the city beyond clearly visible through the binoculars of the Red Army tank commanders.

  Sited amongst the trees and villages leading to the city, Russian pak guns and tanks were concealed as best they could be from above, nervous gun crews pushing their bodies into the snow, the deafening scream of over thirty five Stukas searing through their eardrums, even with hands over their ears.

  Captain Medvedev crouched amongst the trees north of the river, his binoculars raised from behind a pak gun forward shield, tracers rising from the battlefield before him in a vain attempt to deter the attacking aircraft. With a dirty and torn greatcoat, his face smeared with dark oiled smoke and blood, several of the defenders had viewed him with suspicion, the officer obviously having experienced quite a challenge returning to the north. Sited next to a radio, the forward artillery observer was hunched next to him, preparing the order for heavy rear guns to open fire once the German armour were observed.

  The dive bombers swooped down, Medvedev closing his eyes briefly as the black dots dropped from beneath the wings, his head turning towards the observer as vast explosions tore across the riverbank, shattered equipment and torn bodies tossed into the air as the two seater planes roared overhead, large dark crosses visible under the wings as the aircraft began to climb dramatically, the motors roaring overhead.

  Moving
to stare back through the glasses again, his eyes darkened and strained through the smouldering terrain, scorched snow and burning equipment littering the riverbank before him. Glimpsing dazed soldiers rise from the slit trenches, he shook his head at the carnage, the helmets ducking down once more as warning shouts echoed across the line, the German fighters tearing across the terrain with machine guns blazing, the dull light glinting off their canopies as they swept past.

  The distant thumps of artillery reached his ears, Medvedev sighing as he turned to the forward observer, the last of the BMW engine fighters sweeping back towards the south, his voice almost a croaked shout, ‘The fascist main force are coming…the defences are not enough, it will be up to your artillery.’ He shook his head despondently, ‘Where the hell is our Red Air Force? The German Luftwaffe is not even afraid now…’

  The young artillery observer shrugged, raising his own binoculars and grimacing as he glimpsed the devastation, the young soldier shaking his head, ‘I don’t know their strength yet Captain…but we cannot sustain this level of casualties and hold them. If they do not break through, the planes will return…I will call for more air support, I believe they are engaging the fascists planes to the south east, the enemy is bombing and strafing our defences along the Donetz River. We are weak there…if the Germans break through, then I am afraid of what could happen.’ He glanced round, ‘Once the river thaws, we should be safe to reinforce the line with our air force…at the moment it is frozen and the fascists could drive across at any point. That is why our comrades in the Red Air Force are there…to stop them.’

  Captain Medvedev swore under his breath, shaking his head in disapproval as his voice rose in anger and distain, ‘That is just not good enough…’ He lunged forward, snatching the headset from the radio and raising it across his ears, the forward artilleryman turning to stare at him as the captain twisted the buttons, his tone determined as a startled radio operator in the city responded, ‘This is Captain Medvedev…place this radio message through to the city command immediately…I am the forward observation officer for the southern and western defences!’

  The artillery soldier’s eyes widened in alarm, ‘Captain…this is most irregular. There could be repercussions…your safety is…’ His voice tailed off as the determined captain’s head spun round, a glare silencing his cautious disapproval.

  The operator’s voice at Kharkov command rose through the static, further shells bursting across the riverbank below as Medvedev grimaced, ‘Get me the Comrade General immediately…’

  The Hanomag roared forward, the snowbound terrain gradually declining from the woods and forests behind. Panzer IVs and IIIs surged in front of them, flakes billowing behind as Sergeant Moretti wiped his eyes, pulling the scarf up over his mouth in protection, the air temperature dropping dramatically with the frozen particles. To either side, the SS armoured carriers followed the tanks, their tracks slewing across the snow in the ruts left before them, upper gunners hunched behind their armoured shields.

  On the right flank, the Stug and Marder IIIs roared north on the other side of a copse of trees. The crews readied their gins whilst the snow churned beneath, branches shattering and splintering as the machines broke through another line of trees, the self-propelled guns bouncing as they traversed a narrow ditch beyond the bushes and undergrowth.

  Terrified residents of the few dishevelled farmhouses and dwellings hid in barns and outer buildings as the engines roared nearer, the few Russian forward defenders frantically readying machine guns and grenades, their eyes straining towards the south as the squeal of tracks neared.

  The roar of BMW engines swept across the landscape, German fighters screaming overhead as the second wave headed towards the river, the planes seeming to skim the treetops, the motor noise deafening as the single seater planes tore down the slope towards the Russian defensive line.

  The Russian forward defenders’ eyes widened as numerous tanks roamed into view across the snow, officers shouting desperately at their men, several bolting in panic, scrambling across the snow towards the north. Tracers swept towards the advancing tanks, the few anti-tank rifles opening fire whilst sporadic rifle shots filled the air.

  The German tanks fired on the move, the single storey dwellings erupting in fire and flame as the wooden buildings ignited and burned one by one across the steppe. The few defenders were quickly subdued, tanks tearing through the building remains and crushing gun positions beneath their tracks. Bodies of the fallen littered the snow, several still scrambling away to the north in fear, desperate to reach and cross the river to perceived safety.

  Captain Medvedev stared through the binoculars, panning them across the white terrain on the slope opposite, thin plumes of black smoke rising into the air beyond his view as nervous adrenalin began to rise within his chest.

  His lips curled in frustrated hatred as he glimpsed the dots in the distance, the second wave of fighters roaring towards the river positions, the planes tearing low across the terrain. A few lorries and jeeps burst into view on the horizon, the drivers desperately attempting to escape with some of the forward defenders, one truck on fire as it swerved back and forth.

  As the fighters swept nearer, Medvedev could almost see the canopies, the dim late afternoon light glinting across the glass as the forward machine guns blazed, a couple of fighters targeting the retreating vehicles and troops, the rest sweeping round in a wide arc to strafe along the defensive lines. Medvedev glimpsed the light blue paint that covered the underbelly of the fighters banking east and west, the black crosses surging to his left and right as the sound wave of screaming engines engulfed the pak gun position.

  Turning to face the young forward artillery observer, his tone rose to an excited shout over the din, ‘Get your guns ready…they are coming!’

  He raised the binoculars once more, thick black smoke now filling the sky in the distance, darker plumes rising from below as he heard the fighters begin their sweep, several targeting the rear positions, the gun crew and soldiers next to him thrusting themselves down into the narrow emplacement.

  The deep roar of engines and rattle of machine gun fire was almost deafening, planes sweeping past across his view as he ducked down, the fighters surging upwards and spinning in the air, the screaming motors terrifying the defenders as bullets and cannon fire tore across the snow in lines, the pilots taking it in turns to strafe the enemy lines.

  Medvedev stared to west and east as the planes banked away, smoke rising from the smouldering defensive positions as the helmets rose from shallow slit trenches, the soldiers staring defiantly out towards the south, survivors preparing their weapons once more.

  Raising the glasses, he stared across the river and up the gradual slope opposite, burning vehicles and farm buildings dotted across the snow fields, his eyes straining as the furthest points seemed darkened, his heart rate soaring as he realised the reason. Raising his arm to point through the billowing smoke, he shouted aloud, ‘Smoke on the horizon…the fascists are here!’

  Leutnant Hausser’s eyes narrowed, the smoke canisters puffing before them as the Panzers rumbled forward. Reaching the brow of a rise, the terrain below roamed into view from the forward upper protective shield, Tatu gasping next to him as they glimpsed the smouldering river defences down the slope.

  Torn and smashed vehicles were burning fiercely on the long slope, the undulating terrain comprised of a number of brows on the decline as the landscape lowered gradually to the frozen river below. They glanced around in awe as Moretti wrenched the bolt back on the machine gun, the forward Panzer turret jolting as flame belched from the muzzles of 50 and 75mm guns, smoke sweeping back over the advancing hulls as high explosive shells shot northwards.

  The Hanomag bounced and slewed across the snow, engines roaring as the armoured vehicles swept through billowing smoke, the distant terrain drifting in and out of focus. Twin engine bombers roared overhead, the Messerschmitt BF110s so low the carrier crews and soldiers gasped, feeling the down
surge from propellers as the smoke twisted around the aircraft wings above.

  20mm cannon fire cracked as the forward high powered machine guns on the aircraft chattered into life, Hausser glimpsing the tank shell detonations all along the distant riverbank. Tracers rose upwards, Russian flak batteries finally opening fire from the flanks as glowing 20mm shells swept into the sky, the BF110s banking and rising to avoid the ground fire. The bombs dropped from their underbellies, fire and billowing black smoke engulfing the river bank ahead, several eruptions tearing through the trees on the opposite bank.

  The Panzers roared on, bullets cracking against their armoured hulls from hidden machine gun positions in the side bushes and trees, the Russian positions to be targeted by the following foot infantry. The Hanomags and tracked armoured cars bounced after the tanks, veering from side to side across the snow, streaks of flame rising into the crisp air behind as Nebelwerfer batteries opened fire from the upper slope, their rockets targeting rear defensive positions as smoke filled the terrain below.

  Captain Medvedev gasped as the slope opposite filled with clouds of thick smoke, the brief glimpse of the German armour through the shroud causing him to draw breath further as he realised the full strength of the enemy opposing them. Streaks of fire and smoke trails rose towards them across the distant sky as the roar of BF110s swept overhead, the planes banking round to attack guns on the flanks. He turned aghast, the heat from detonations on the northern side of the river sweeping through the undergrowth with falling debris peppering their defensive position. His voice rose to an almost shriek as he saw the young artillery observer shaking with fright, the man’s eyes wide in shock as he stared out to the south, ‘Call in your artillery…Now!’ The young man’s head spun round, his vision seeming confused as he nodded frantically, hands fumbling for the radio headphones and microphone between them, the radio set covered in fallen dirt.