Rise of the Bloodied Phoenix

by Andrew McGregor

  Rise of the Bloodied Phoenix

  By Andrew McGregor

  Two Books in One:

  Bloody Kharkov I

  Bloody Kharkov II

  Act I: Bloody Kharkov I

  Prologue

  Major Schenk stumbled, his breath caught in the extreme temperature. Forcing himself upwards, he struggled on, grasping the tattered uniformed shoulder of the soldier next to him to steady his stance, his breath coming in short sharp gasps as he gazed forward through heavily bloodshot eyes. The dark line of dishevelled and beaten soldiers extended into the distance across the wide white expanse as far as the eye could see, the bitter wind tugging at their shattered frames as they trudged forward in misery. The land on either side was virtually barren steppe, the frozen snowflakes billowing around the miserable lines as the defeated shuffled forward, men huddling against each other for what little warmth or shelter could be snatched.

  The grey and grim snow clouds above were thick and unforgiving, the dark tattered uniforms extending towards the white horizon, snaking around natural obstacles as each man shuffled forward, the pain from the cold and bitter wind biting at their undernourished frames and joints. To their flanks, the frozen snow extended into the distance, the smooth surface broken occasionally by a frozen hand, arm or even leg extending from the iced embrace of death where the victim had fallen in agonised futility. Occasionally passing through a small farm or hamlet, the dishevelled residents would stand and stare, lips pursed in hatred, some shouting abuse or taunting the wounded and psychologically beaten men. The Major shook his hooded head, the wind chill biting at his lips as he realised he was witnessing the penultimate and merciless death throes of one of the most powerful armies that had ever existed.

  The remains of the German Sixth Army trudged on in the most inhospitable conditions to humankind, most faces and expressions ultimately subdued into personal withdrawal, their individual minds unable to comprehend not only the disaster that that befallen them, but the deprivations that now embraced their existence and future. Men that had starved for weeks were now force-marched to rear assembly areas in the most vicious of weather, dragging injuries and their countrymen along a considerable distance beyond the physical reach of most soldiers now considerably weakened or wounded, their resolve eroded along with any hopes of survival or ever seeing their homeland again.

  Russian soldiers walked on either side of the miserable human convoy, their heavily padded and insulated uniforms contrasting completely with the war ravaged, thin clothing of the prisoners, with wind whipping through strained seams and holed uniforms and eating at the core warmth of flesh. The unfortunate soldiers that fell were offered no comfort, no mercy, their desperate pleas ended with a single shot that resounded across the freezing terrain and their countrymen, the sound spurring some on…providing a small number with temptation to end the seemingly endless misery.

  The Major stepped forward again, his head slumping down to stare beyond the worn and tattered greatcoat at the scuffed and scratched boots that seemed to trudge below, his eyes struggling to comprehend the scuff marks and deep grooves in the iced snow, the footsteps of hundreds, perhaps thousands of men before him. His body shuddered, the sudden physical grip on his shoulder seeming a contact too great to perceive as his cold face spun round instinctively, the exertion causing him to almost fall as his knees strained agonisingly.

  Major Schenk glanced round further, his cold mind seeming mystified as to what had happened, his body struggling upwards as the muscles in his legs stung and stretched. His eyes stared into the cloth wrapped face, the frosted iced flakes hanging to the eyebrows and outer scarf as the figure that had grasped his shoulder drew close to him, clenching his arm and pulling him upwards, the strained and wheezed breathing seeming distant as clouds of exhaled air billowed between them. The soldier spoke, a voice distant…almost alien to the commander, ‘Herr Major, are you alright? It’s Oberleutnant Baumann…I have checked some distance to the rear…there are some soldiers from the 76th Division, we can group together at the next stop…’ The soldier sighed, shaking his head as he saw the vacant and uncomprehending look in his commander’s eyes, ‘You asked me to go back and check…see if we could gather any men from the division to bolster their morale…to keep them alive. I think I was too long; I am sorry Sir!’

  The Major gradually nodded distantly, his eyes suddenly flickering with vague recognition as they trudged on, his mouth moving slowly as his teeth chattered uncontrollably, ‘G-good…when we stop to rest…w-we will join with them…’ The iced wind picked up, snow billowing and swirling across the human convoy as the starving men hunched their bodies further, huddling closer together as shots rang out further forward, two men having been mercilessly despatched by the guards as they fell in total and utter exhaustion from the column.

  Baumann grasped his commander’s shoulders, pushing them both forward, ‘Come on Sir…let’s not let it end here in this misery…the men need us!’ The Major nodded grimly, his eyes straining against the freezing wind, his body stiffening as he straightened defiantly, his teeth biting against his lower lip in attempt to sharpen his senses as the column continued into captivity.

  The Story So Far

  The announcement that Stalingrad had fallen swept across the world. Jubilation and hope spread through the hearts of the British, Americans and their allies with the potential turn of fortune on the Eastern Front, a warzone that was fundamental in announcing victory after victory for the Germans. Doubt and deep concern beginning to dwell and grow in the minds of the Axis allies of Berlin, the future beginning to darken menacingly.

  In North Africa, the British and Americans were driving back the German Afrika Corps, buoyed by news of victory in the most inhospitable of climates on the furthest side of the Mediterranean, polarised from their own experience with exception of some of only the most extreme night temperatures in the desert.

  The most powerful army believed to be in existence had simply ceased to exist, destroyed by tactical incompetence in the High Command, unimaginably merciless weather and a cunningly superior enemy. Some of the most experienced fighting soldiers of the Wehrmacht had been killed, wounded or taken prisoner in the greatest defeat inflicted upon the German nation to date.

  The 76th Infantry Division at Stalingrad…along with many others…was ultimately destroyed. Leutnant Hausser and the remains of his small squad surviving through sheer luck and a last minute intervention by a now lost friend and comrade, Oberleutnant Baumann.

  Having been with the unit since at least the breakthrough with the Sixth Army from Kharkov the year before, the young officer is a natural choice to be involved in any follow up campaign. Speaking fluent Russian and Romanian as well as his native German and with knowledge of the terrain, he is selected from the survivor muster stations after Stalingrad by intelligence officers. Impressed by his existing military profile and alleged exploits of survival in the city before the Russian counter offensive, his small squad is moved back to active duty.

  First approached in Stalino by superior officers, he was noted as being ‘exhausted’ on reports, but soon to be recommended for further combat duties with his undernourished unit, albeit in reserve duties as two were suffering from minor wounds…the shortage of manpower in the southern sector of the front removing the likelihood of any respite. His potential involvement in the forthcoming planned ‘Charkow Operation’ soon escalated as further reports were read and disseminated from the Sixth Army despatches. His small unit eventually becoming designated as ‘recognised’ in a liaison support role due to their loyalty and specialist uses. Being assigned a limited number of new personnel, they were to be attached to a division to be involved in the for
thcoming offensive…temporarily utilised in rear security duties in the interim.

  Character Overview.

  Leutnant Hausser

  A serving officer in the now annihilated 76th Infantry Division, Leutnant Hausser has had a varied military career for his 27 years of age. Having been born in Dusseldorf, his parents moved to Potsdam, a suburb of Berlin when he was a teenager. His father served in the previous war, also fighting in Russia and unknown to the young officer was also stationed on the southern part of the front. Leutnant Hausser has seen action in the Crimea and central Russia before the unit’s participation in the drive on Stalingrad. Due to his language skills…speaking Romanian and Russian as well as his native German, he has been deployed across Army Group South during the ongoing months of Operation Barbarossa, with a brief spell assigned to Army Group Centre. Hausser has been decorated with the Iron Cross, but as yet it is unclear what actions lead to this recognition.

  Quartermaster Sergeant Tatu

  Tatu is in his early forties and originates from Bucharest. He has been close friends with Petru and his family for some considerable time and they used to work together in a furniture business in their home city before the war. Enlisting in the army, he was deployed to the Romanian 20th Infantry Division, a unit destroyed in the Russian offensives around southern Stalingrad.

  Corporal Petru

  Petru is in his mid-forties and also originates from Bucharest where he worked making furniture with his close friend, Tatu. He is a family man and has three children…one of which, the youngest boy, has experienced some medical problems. Joining up with his friend, Tatu, he also enlisted in the Romanian 20th Infantry Division.

  Private Udet

  Udet is twenty-two and from Potsdam, a suburb of Berlin and also a member of the now non-existent 76th Infantry Division. Having recently joined the unit as a new soldier, he was assigned to the southern front of Stalingrad with Leutnant Hausser. His loyalty and close proximity to the officer enabling his survival.

  ‘Hase’

  Little is known about this soldier. A Russian ‘Hilfswilliger’ (‘Hiwi’ for short) or volunteer that grew up in Kiev. He has been with Hausser for some time and it is currently uncertain exactly where they originally joined forces, but this probably occurred in the Crimea. At 28, he is a year older than the commander, and seems to respect him immensely, displaying considerable loyalty.

  Private Donatello

  A soldier in the Italian Eighth Army, Donatello lost his brother in the battles of the Don Bend against ferocious Russian onslaughts. Finally surrounded and cut off in the Russian Little Saturn offensive, the Italians, outnumbered nearly 9:1 finally broke out and fought their way back to German lines. Suffering horrendous casualties, the German allied units have now been moved to rear area security duties. Speaking fluent German and his own Italian, Donatello has remained with Sergeant Moretti on their new posting.

  Sergeant Moretti

  Donatello’s immediate commander, Sergeant Moretti, was instrumental in ensuring the younger Italian’s survival and escape from the Don Bend. Having a fondness for the younger soldier, the older Italian volunteered them both for specialist liaison duties when the opportunity presented itself, his knowledge of German, Italian and Russian assisting them in being assigned to Leutnant Hausser’s unit shortly afterwards.

  Captain Medvedev

  A captain in the Russian army, Medvedev has met Leutnant Hausser twice, once south of the city of Stalingrad when the German officer outwitted him and again south of the factory district. After some time in a penal battalion, he mysteriously regained his rank as captain, being decorated for mercilessly storming the last remaining German positions within the Red October Factory in the north of the city.

  Introduction: Ten days later: Central Russian Front, February 18th 1943

  The binoculars were slowly pushed forward through the frozen foliage, the lenses covered to avoid glare and discovery. Panning the glasses across the snow covered slope ahead to the north, the officer drew breath, painfully exhaling to avoid displaying any rising condensed air. He smiled faintly as he spotted the tell tail signs…the oiled smear marks in the snow, the packed ice around the emplacements, complimented by deliberately placed broken branches and frozen foliage against the walls. Counting the heavy concentrations of leaves and torn bushes with distortions in the snow, he glanced down, the white camouflaged smocked soldier next to him listening intently as he began to whisper.

  The young man jotted the coordinates down, crudely marking them as crosses on the dirt encrusted map, indicating the places on the slope ahead. The captain glanced back through the binoculars once more, his voice lowering further in anticipation, ‘The machine guns have been oiled to avoid them freezing, but the gunners have applied too much, worried about the mechanisms jamming…the oil has marked the snow…so we have six placed machine gun positions across our front. There are two or three tank positions, the high iced walls to cover the turrets and the pak guns have been dug in, the snow scraped from the front of their positions and branches added to cover the muzzles…mark them all…’ He lowered the glasses, grinning in satisfaction to his subordinate, ‘The Russkies are complacent…they think we are a spent force on this front whilst they advance to the south…their attention to detail is lapse…’ He chuckled silently, glancing at the young soldier next to him, ‘They have no idea what is coming…I cannot wait to see them pay for their incompetence!’

  The young blue eyed solder stared up at his commander, his matted blond hair sitting beneath his tight helmet as he smiled in admiration, his voice cautiously low, ‘So…when do we advance, Sir?’

  The Captain looked down, a playful wink at his protégé, ‘Not long…they will announce it in the next few hours.’ He glanced back through the binoculars, ‘Now let’s check the next section…map it out for our Panzers…’ He grimaced in satisfaction, checking the snow bound terrain once more, ‘It seems they have not had time to plant mines yet…even better…I also think they are at the end of their supply lines…’

  The young soldier nodded eagerly, his first assignment to the front filling him with pride and excitement as he stared out across the snow, straining his eyes before glancing back up at his commander. The officer indicated that they drop back from the slope before moving along to the left, the straps from the binoculars tugging at his white camouflage jacket, the white outline of a helmet on his collar shown fleetingly, the marks of the unit, ‘Gross Deutschland Grenadier Division’.

  The General stood on the frozen raised wooden gallows, staring out across the numerous lines of troops before him. Dressed in a military grey leather overcoat with a furred collar, he glanced upwards, seeing the frost gripped rope wrapped around the upper beam, a gloved hand rising to the Iron Cross around his neck nervously as he swallowed, the cold air biting at his chest. Clearing his throat, he addressed the hundreds of soldiers stood to attention on the snow covered cobblestones below, ‘Loyal grenadiers of the Das Reich Division, we are tasked with a momentous mission…the destruction of the Russkie armies around Kharkov.’ He gritted his teeth in distain, ‘The regrettable fall of Stalingrad has given ‘our friend’ Ivan the idea that his Mother Russia is still in the war…that they can defeat the invincible German Army poised to inflict the final blow in the defeat of the Russian Bear.’ The General’s voice rose further with adrenalin, ‘We are to show these Slovak underling hordes that this is not the case…that they are clinging to nothing but a false hope…the Third Reich will once again regain the initiative and crush their delusions and dreams. We will show them that one setback created by luck does not defeat the greatest army on earth!’

  The General glanced across the soldiers, the adrenalin sweeping through him as he sensed their eagerness through determined stares, ‘We have been instructed by the Fuhrer to provide the people of the Reich with a victory…one that will show the world that the German Army is far from beaten.’ He glanced across the grim pale expressions, a bitterly cold wind sweepin
g across the cobblestones and assembled soldiers, ‘The Reich now stretches from the French coast into the depths of Russia, from Norway to the north of Africa. We will show these weaker humans that they have no hope…that their destiny is only death or subordinate to our wishes.’ The General stepped forward, raising his hands onto his hips in eagerness, ‘We will show them that Kharkov will once again fall under our control and that the coming summer campaign is the last that they will ever fight…that they are finished!’

  The commander straightened, smiling confidently, his gloved hand rising to point to the east, ‘Tomorrow morning we will commence our advance…show no mercy to these Russian pigs…drive them from the city and the surrounding land. Tonight you will have additional rations and some rest…the next few days will prove decisive to the campaign in the east…the whole of Germany, our soldiers and the world will be watching you.’ The General’s voice rose, his eyes staring across the winter camouflaged padded uniforms in front of him, ‘We will not be found wanting…we will destroy the enemy completely! The fear will return to the hearts of Russian soldiers all across the front, a fear of the German soldier and his resolve…a fear of final and total destruction…a terror of the superior fighting spirit and capability of the Reich! Heil Hitler!’ The General’s arm shot forward, his fingers outstretched with his palm facing down.

  The crunch of hundreds of hobnailed boots resounded across the frozen square, the buildings surrounding the cobblestones heightening the sound as the soldiers snapped to attention, their faces staring upwards at the General as he turned sharply, marching from the frozen platform, his figure disappearing from view as their commander descended the steps behind the gallows. Sergeants marched briskly forward, standing before their representative units and barking orders as the soldiers spun as one to dismiss, their rifles and machine guns lowering from their shoulders as they fell out from parade.