Rise of the Bloodied Phoenix

by Andrew McGregor

  Hausser screamed at the Romanian quartermaster, seeing the large jacket disappear further along the ravine, the trees and thicket obscuring his vision, ‘Get back here you fool!’

  He dropped to one knee, gasping, then turned as he heard the groans behind, a familiar voice shouting ‘Medic!’ as the shooting died down, several distant Russian voices declaring pitifully that they surrendered. His senses reeled, then he felt the pain sweep down his arm, his head turning to shout frantically, ‘Udet? Petru?’

  Chapter Fifty: Rasputitsa and Decisive Victory?

  The BMW engine droned around him, Ernst Brandt staring down onto the terrain below, a worn map sitting in his lap as he matched the terrain with the contours on the waxed paper. Observing the passing villages below, he watched the lines of billowing smoke extending behind an armoured train, the steel sides camouflaged with interlinking brown and green patches, a red brick dappling effect breaking the two primary colours in places.

  At seven thousand feet altitude, he grimaced as he glimpsed some of the tracks, reflections of the sky sparkling on wide pools of rainwater and melted snow, the terrain a quagmire of glutinous mud. Farmers and their wives or children stood outside their houses or walked set routes across the soaked land, animals gathered in small groups on raised ground as the hay and feed was brought to them.

  Glimpsing another train on the lines below as they converged, he smiled to himself, the FW190 banking slightly as he turned to follow the tracks, double checking the map and grinning in triumph as he realised the railway would lead him near to his destination.

  The motor burbled on, an emotionally warming sound from the BMW engine seeming to tune with his psyche as he continued to stare downwards, lowering the front of the fighter to reduce altitude, Ernst keen to observe more of the landscape. Gesturing with his gloved hand as several waves from the ground pleased him, the fighter droned past crews pushing trucks and carts through thick and fluid mud, their greatcoats smeared and caked with dirt as they straightened to acknowledge the passing single seater plane.

  Gradually the villages and buildings became more frequent, the fighter now flying at three thousand feet, the horizon filling with dark grey as the city came into view. Several more trains belched smoke beneath as the lines became more numerous, stretching in from north and south towards the vast city.

  Pulling back on the stick, the FW190 began to gradually climb, the larger tracks and roads below stretching out towards and from the approaching tall grey buildings, numerous supply trucks and lorries grinding forward below as they converged towards the tarmacked roads. The drivers would grin as their wheels and tracks ground onto the cement roads, thick mushed mud falling from the underneath of their vehicles as the engines roared, the progress rapidly increasing.

  Ernst followed the roads and railway tracks into the city, the fighter plane rising further into the cold March air as he stared out over the grey buildings rising before him. Seeing the wide river in front of the dark grey structures, he stared further, glimpsing heavy artillery positions and anti-aircraft guns set along the raised riverbank, the Dnieper defences a final collection point before replacement equipment was assigned to the forward units.

  He stared at the ME109 fighters circling in the distance further to the south west, the FW190 now flying over the Dnieper River, a company of soldiers marching over one of the stone bridges below, a medical train progressing slowly across the next crossing as steam swirled between the steel upper supports, the red crosses on the white roofs of the carriages smeared with dirt.

  Progressing over busy streets and high buildings, Ernst banked the plane slightly, heading for the circling ME109s as he realised his destination was below them, Kiev’s main airport boasting a heated runway for the winter months. His eyes strained as he realised the reason for the fighters circling ahead, two JU52 transport aircraft lumbering slowly above the buildings and beginning to gradually bank away to the west, his thoughts drifting as he considered who could be the dignitary requiring such treatment, Messerschmitt Bf110 fighter bombers rising behind the transports to escort them across the western Ukraine.

  The Focke-Wulf banked once more, circling the airport in a wide low arc, Ernst observing the large hangars as they came into view, two lines of fighters before the biggest, others fronted by a line of larger Heinkel HE111s and Junker JU88 bombers. Trucks and lorries were unloading near a number of Junker 52s at the far end, Ernst’s eyes straining as he saw more Luftwaffe personnel lined in an honour guard before another dull grey building, a lone officer seeming to address them.

  Realising the visiting dignitary must have been a high ranking Luftwaffe general, he smiled faintly, embracing the rising feeling of relief within him that he had missed the opportunity of a chance meeting by accident. Turning his plane for landing, he winced as the wheels screeched down from beneath the near wings, the fighter descending towards the tarmacked runway below, his hands gripping the controls tightly.

  The wheels bounced once, then settled on the surface, the engine roaring as the fighter slowed to the end of the runway before taxiing off to the side, a padded uniformed Luftwaffe ground crewman gesturing over towards an assembly area. Ernst noticed three more Fw190s ahead, his heart beating furiously as he realised the flight was at an end, his mind drifting back to the final briefing at the forward airfield.

  His commander had sighed, lowering himself painfully into a seat on the other side of the desk, his walking stick leant to rest against the battered chair. Shaking his head, the senior officer had pursed his lips, sighing once more, ‘Ernst…I have no choice. The Reich require experienced pilots to protect the skies over Germany…I have requested we complete this on rotation, so it is best you go first…the rest will follow you so that you can return.’ The commander shuffled the orders on the desktop, moving some of the reports onto a pile, ‘I don’t want to lose you, but new pilots require flying experience and training…that is what you will be assisting with before returning to the front…your exploits recently have drawn special attention not only from the enemy, but also from the Luftwaffe high command.’

  The engine burbled, then cut out, Ernst slumping back in his flight seat and exhaling heavily…from Kiev he would probably have to take a train or transport plane back to Germany…his beloved FW190 was to be left in Russia.

  Thunder rumbled deeply overhead, Hase gritting his teeth as the Hanomag engine roared, the tracks spinning in mud before jolting forward once more, the young Hiwi whining in frustration as the armoured carrier bounced and slewed through the mire. Tears filled his eyes as the SdKfz 251’s Maybach engine roared once more, the tyres spinning before gaining grip, the vehicle finally lumbering forward. Crina sat in the passenger seat next to him, the small dog whimpering and shaking in frightened shock.

  Leutnant Hausser stumbled into the front compartment, his left hand grasping the wound on his right shoulder, blood dribbling between his grimy fingers as he winced painfully, lowering to steal a glance through the forward viewing slit, rain droplets bouncing off the front of the carrier, ‘How much further? We don’t have much time left…’

  Hase grunted in irritation, glancing over his shoulder, ‘Maybe twenty minutes, Herr Leutnant. The road is a mess…the forward medical station is only a couple of kilometres from here I think…the policemen directed us!’ He glanced round, the engine roaring once more as the carrier swayed, ‘How is it back there?’

  Hausser shook his head, ‘Petru has lost a lot of blood…Udet is unconscious. Moretti is badly wounded…Tatu is beside himself, helping his friend with the medic…’ He hesitated as he heard the groans from behind, the medic tightening the tourniquet around the Romanian’s crotch, Tatu holding his fellow countryman tightly to his chest as his body jerked and shook, the rain pouring down onto the blood drenched metal floor of the carrier beneath.

  Opposite the two Romanians and frantic German military medic, Sergeant Moretti was slumped against the rear doors, his hands across Udet’s shoulders, the young Ger
man soldier’s breathing shallow, his head bandaged heavily as he lay on one of the benches. The Italian glanced down at his own open bloodied tunic, crimson soaked bandages rising and falling with his sharp breathing, the intense pain seeming to fill his body as he gasped.

  Hase gulped as he heard Tatu whine behind, tears welling in his eyes as the Romanian quartermaster shouted desperately, ‘Stay with me my friend…we are lost without you! I am sorry…’ Hausser spun round, gritting his teeth against the jolts of pain shooting through his shoulder, staring desperately at the two Romanians, the German medic’s tunic now soaked crimson as he twisted the belt tourniquet further, his strained face aghast and splattered with blood.

  The young commander’s eyes drifted to Moretti, the Italian sergeant gasping as tears ran down his face, his arms cradling Udet’s head as he shook, Hausser shaking his head in dumbfounded shock as his hands grasped the overhead metal plate for support. Rifles lay across the steel floor, their barrels glistening with rainwater and speckled blood, discarded packs and jackets stained crimson.

  Hase revved the engine once more, his eyes straining through the viewing slit, rain water dripping across his view as the downpour became heavier, the tracks spinning and whining beneath for grip as the heavy vehicle lumbered forwards. Soldiers struggled through the sucking mire on the right side, their boots sucked into hollows and deep mud, several supporting wounded countrymen, the other side of the track filled with grim faced grenadiers, the soldiers advancing towards a new front line behind.

  The dull muffled thumps of artillery firing filled the rain soaked air, the Hanomag rear skidding sideways as the tracks lost grip once more, several grenadiers jumping out of the way, the others showered in wet mud as the tracks and wheels spun.

  Leutnant Hausser forced himself upwards, grasping the front armoured shield to support himself, his teeth gritted, ‘You men! Push us free…we have severely wounded that need to get to the forward medical point!’

  Several soldiers glanced up in surprise, their uniforms and padded jackets soaked. Glimpsing the blood soaked arm of the officer’s uniform, a number lunged forward in response, their gloves sliding on the wet armoured surface as they pushed the Hanomag, boots slipping and sliding in the mud. The engine roared once more, exhaust fumes billowing behind the carrier as Hase increased the power, another Hanomag stuck in deep mud some distance behind.

  Branches cracked beneath the wheels, the carrier jolting forwards once more, this time gaining traction, several of the walking wounded on the opposite side of the track turning to observe the officer above the plate raise his hand painfully to his helmet in thankful salute as the Hanomag lumbered on.

  The young officer leant against the upper armoured shield, water collecting and dropping from the front of his helmet as he bit his lower lip, the track ahead seeming even more treacherous, the carrier lurching sideways once more. He noted many of the advancing infantrymen were now stepping off the thoroughfare, finding progress easier on the other side of the overflowing ditch or through the trees that bordered the track.

  Then a jolt of excitement filled his frame, glimpsing distant buildings through the downpour, thunder rumbling again overhead as he lowered to shout into the driver’s compartment, ‘Medical collection point ahead…keep a steady pace!’

  Hase nodded grimly, hearing further loud groaning from the rear, his eyes narrowing in dread as he drew a sharp breath, his heart pounding as the engine whined, the tracks throwing wet mud up in their wake as they clattered forward.

  Hausser was willing the armoured vehicle to keep moving, each shudder or sideways movement filling him with concern and dread, his head twisting round, Moretti nodding painfully as his vision dropped to Petru, the medic now bandaging the open gash on his leg with meticulous concentration. Tatu was applying pressure to padding over the deep wound as the cloth swept across to either side of his bloodied fingers, the Italian at the rear groaning loudly as his chest shuddered.

  Leutnant Hausser stared across at Udet, the younger soldier’s skin seeming a deep concerning white, the commander’s head shaking in despondency as he glimpsed the rain water running across the young man’s features, Moretti groaning once more, his helmet drooping forward.

  The commander’s chest shook, his vision misting as he turned away to stare forward, the low grey buildings of the farm nearer, several lorries and a Kubelwagen jeep parked on the other side of the wide entrance, two military policemen stood warily behind a sandbagged position.

  Hausser glanced round through the heavy falling rain, the line of woods and bushes on the left coming to an abrupt end, drenched fields beyond with military tents protecting the wounded skirting the darkened trees, several soaked sentries in greatcoats stepping behind.

  Glancing to the right, his heart sank, a line of several bodies covered by tarpaulin drenched in rainwater by the side of the ditch. Puddles were forming beyond as the droplets poured down, bouncing off the waxed material as the Hanomag ground forward, lumbering upwards onto a more stable track, tree trunks laid across the mud to create traction.

  Slowly before the wide entrance to the farm, Hausser nodded to the first military policeman, water dripping from his gorget, the man wearing a large waxed jacket, ‘Urgent wounded for the doctors…probable surgeons…’

  The policeman grimaced, stepping to one side and indicating for them to continue, his tone rising, ‘Pull over on the left to drop them off…then drive out the other side and round to the right…more lorries will be coming.’ He continued as the Hanomag squealed forward, ‘They will be assessed and seen when the doctor is available….’

  Hausser’s eyes widened in horror, his hand rising to protest as the military policeman turned away in disinterest, the man immune to sympathy after all he had experienced. The young commander dropped lower, indicating to Hase towards the low building as the medic behind rose up, shouting frantically to the orderlies at the low building opposite, ‘Severely wounded! Stretcher bearers!’

  Two figures ran out into the rain, their eyes strained against the downfall, crimson water pools across the dark cobblestones of the courtyard. The surrounding buildings were grey and mostly single storey, low sturdy wooden barns at the far end with several alleyways leading off to other structures between the buildings on either side. Glancing into the back of the carrier, one turned, shouting back for assistance, the medic indicating to Udet and Petru desperately.

  A collective in peacetime, the buildings had also housed the local NKVD headquarters, commissars supervising the local inhabitants and harvests of the immediate area. Numerous brick and stone constructions had been added to the farm over the years, providing administrative buildings, a small barracks and accommodation blocks for visiting soldiers or farm workers.

  Hase slipped from the front compartment, his head bowed and shaking as he glimpsed Moretti’s limp body being carried onto a stretcher beyond the Hanomag’s open rear doors, Leutnant Hausser helping the medic with an orderly move Udet onto another, the young German’s dislodged metal helmet bouncing onto the wet cobblestones with a clatter. Broken from his inaction, Hase lunged forward, grasping the ends of a stretcher thrust through the rear doors, frantically kicking the rifles and packs to one side to lower the medical support, Tatu holding the unconscious Petru tightly to his chest as he sobbed uncontrollably.

  Chapter Fifty One: Aftermath

  Major Wolff turned from the radio, smiling as he glimpsed the dirt laden figure struggle down the wooden stairs into the dust filled basement, the soldier clutching his shoulder painfully, ‘Herr Leutnant…finally we meet again. It has been a while.’

  Hausser glanced up, his body shivering as the opposite shoulder slid down the wall, his eyes darkened from sleep deprivation and stress, ‘Herr Major, I report as requested…’ He grimaced, the pain from the wound sweeping across his chest once more as he gasped in agony, ‘I have to report two severely wounded and one dead…I have one man left, the other unaccounted for…missing since the forward medical po
int.’

  His body shuddered once more from the cold as he reached the bottom step, attempting to stiffen as his vision blurred with pain, ‘H-Herr Major…may I request this is brief…I wish to see to my wounded men…accompany them to the rear and attempt to locate the other.’

  Major Wolff’s eyes widened, realising the soldier before him was perhaps hurt more than originally anticipated, ‘Certainly Hausser…my apologies, I presumed you were in full health…the initial reports were incorrect.’ He stepped forward instinctively, his brow creasing in concern as he glimpsed the blood seep through bandaging, the gash on his forehead as he grasped the soldier’s rising hand to salute, ‘I will be brief Leutnant…you and your men have performed admirably…a credit to you all.’

  He drew breath as the exhausted soldier slumped heavily against him, ‘I am relieving you of duty to attend the rear…you will have an extended furlow with your men until they recover.’ He grimaced, ‘I have just heard word that you had little respite from actions at Stalingrad…you will be stationed to the rear until at least the end of Rasputitsa, that is an order and I will draft the relevant paperwork…do you understand?’ He indicated to his radio operator, the man stood formally nearby, ‘Get this man some schnapps and food…make sure he and his men once fit enough are put on the first transport to the rear…have him receive the best medical attention, I want his shoulder re-bandaged now!’

  Leutnant Hausser’s helmet lolled forward, exhaustion overcoming him momentarily as the major continued, ‘I am assigning you a company of soldiers when you return…there is a further task at hand, but at present I consider this to be not until mid-May at the earliest.’ He smiled warmly as the young commander’s head rose briefly once more, the major’s hand quickly gripping the man’s upper arm tightly to steady him, ‘You have a rest with your men Leutnant and go to the rear…we will be ready to advance once you return. Eat well and put weight on your bones…get them fit again.’ He grasped the extended glass from his operator, thrusting it in front of the wounded man’s face as he reconsidered, ‘Come…have a drink with me and my staff Hausser…I will arrange for a Hanomag to take your men to the rear field hospital immediately, you can join with them as they pass these headquarters.’ Turning back to the operator, his eyes narrowed, ‘Arrange a section of soldiers to find his missing man…I want him sent to the rear also…after I have spoken to him.’