Rise of the Bloodied Phoenix

by Andrew McGregor

  Hausser swept forward, the machine gun chatter in the distance ceasing abruptly as two grenades detonated next to the gunners, their bodies peppered with shrapnel as they shook, then slumped over the broken weapon. The MP40 fired again, then clicked empty, Hausser fumbling for another magazine from the leather pouches attached to his belt as he dropped next to a tree.

  Staring out as he attached the fresh ammunition clip, his eyes narrowed as he glimpsed the clearing ahead, a number of bodies lying motionless on the iced snow. Udet lowered to one knee near to him, his eyes widening as he glimpsed the corpses, his rifle raised and jerking from side to side in anticipation.

  Tatu reached the clearing, his jaw tightening as he recognised the frosted Luftwaffe uniforms and field grey tunics, the bodies contorted and scattered across the disturbed iced ground, the individual soldier’s possessions thrown from the corpses as they were looted. Discarded and half-eaten rations lay across the area, some of the bodies half covered with a thin layer of freshly fallen snow. Wiping his hand across his scarf, he glanced across the five dead infantrymen and two flyers, noting most had been bayoneted, the small patrol ambushed as they crept through the trees, their surrender simply delaying an inevitable fate. Frozen and congealed blood lay on pools around the corpses, two of the shivering troopers having begged for their lives as their captors sneered and tortured their victims, their padded and leather flying jackets removed and now worn by the Russians.

  Leutnant Hausser stepped into the clearing, shaking his head in despondency as the other soldiers emerged into the weakened rays of light from above, snowflakes fluttering to earth as they assumed positions next to the trees surrounding the bodies, their rifles raised. The commander slowly inspected each body as the rifle fire got nearer, Huber’s men pursuing the remaining defenders to the north and west of their position.

  Tatu lowered himself next to the officer, his tone grim, ‘They have been dead for a couple of hours Hausser, probably soon after they were captured…they had no chance…they were butchered.’ He glanced across at a young dead infantryman, the brown haired youth no older than nineteen, his throat cut wide open from a deep incision at the side, the assailant then pulling the blade forward brutally whilst he stared into the victim’s eyes, ‘This was cold-blooded murder Hausser…has it got this bad?’

  One of the infantryman turned slightly, his rifle still pointing cautiously into the trees, a thirty-three-year-old’s eyes narrowed in hatred and frustration, ‘This is what it is like now…the Einsatzgruppen or black collars have butchered civilians and prisoners alike behind our lines…they are animals…the Russkies then take their revenge on us!’

  The younger soldier some feet from him spun round, his expression fearful, ‘Heinrich! Be quiet! These are officers…’

  Tatu grunted in exasperation, his eyes scanning the bodies once more in distain, ‘Do not be fearful of us…’

  The second soldier, a twenty-six-year-old, spoke again, his tone rising with emotion, ‘I am sorry Herr Leutnant, we mean no disrespect, nor are we defeatist…it is just the nature of this war now…we cannot sleep soundly knowing we may be attacked at any time, and from any direction…partisans and the Russkies seem to be everywhere!’

  Hausser sighed deeply, the gunshots beginning to fade to either side as the defenders were chased down, his tone seeming despondent, ‘We were in Stalingrad for a long time…it was hell there, but we had no idea how bad it had got outside…do not be afraid, we are thankful for the information…I have no interest in persecuting honesty.’

  The soldiers tensed as a figure approached through the trees, a determined German shout causing them to loosen the grips on their rifles, ‘Hauptmann Huber…stand down…’ The captain strode forward, stepping into the clearing and dusting the snow from his shoulders, exhaling heavily with his MP40 strapped around his neck, ‘We should have them all soon…they have taken flight, but my section is hunting them through the trees.’ He stopped abruptly, eyes widening at the spectacle of bodies before him, his jaw stiffening menacingly, ‘They will pay for this…savages!’

  Shaking his head, he approached Hausser, the Leutnant kneeling by one of the bodies with Tatu, ‘Now you know the war we face…it is not like the last two years…even if we advance, we are defending behind our lines.’ He sniffed the cold air despondently, his lips piercing as he stared across the bodies, ‘There is no respite now…we fight them twenty-four hours a day in a battle of extinction…’ Wearily removing his helmet, he wiped his brow with his lower arm, his greying hair matted with cold sweat, ‘Place the bodies near the carrier…we will take them back for burial, that’s what they deserve at least.’ Several distant gunshots echoed through the trees, then the woods fell silent, Hausser and Tatu turning to stare at the captain.

  Slowly the soldiers carried the frozen bodies towards the Hanomag, ‘Hase’ shivering as he glanced away near the open doors, his collar pulled up tightly under his helmet as the snowflakes fluttered around them. Petru lowered his head with respect as he looked down from the forward machine gun, Udet and Hausser carrying the pilot of the Fiesler Storch, his cold lifeless eyes staring up at the dark grey sky as if in longing for the life he had once known. Four wounded soldiers were helped from the trees, their bullet and shrapnel injuries covered by makeshift bandages as they painfully struggled into the back of the armoured vehicle.

  One by one the cold corpses were laid by the back of the Hanomag in a line, Leutnant Hausser sat by the radio as Hauptmann Huber advised of the radio frequency required, the commanders requesting a lorry come to collect the deceased. Udet crouched to cover the corpses with the tarpaulin, the snowfall beginning to thicken as he weighted the edges of the covering with rifles.

  Sergeant Moretti, the motorcyclists and two other soldiers inspected the twisted wreckage of the plane, their eyes straining to inspect the cockpit instruments in the dimming light, several of the numerous glass panes of the spotter aircraft shattered or cracked from the crash.

  Huber slipped from the back of the carrier, stretching his back as Tatu began pushing back the tarpaulin, leaning forward to snap the identity tags from around the necks of the bodies. The snow fell around them, a thin layer forming across the covering as the soldiers stood around the bodies, some staring into the darkness of the trees, others bowing their heads in respect as Tatu attempted to close the dead soldiers’ eyes.

  The captain stiffened, his eyes narrowing as he considered the events of the late afternoon, ‘Hase’ preparing warm drinks in the back of the Hanomag as Hausser sat slumped despondently on one of the benches, his MP40 lain across his knees. As ‘Hase’ extended the warm drinks to the wounded men they drank greedily, their moans and blood-soaked bandages temporarily forgotten as the soldiers forced grim smiles of thanks. Hausser refused his drink, indicating that the men outside should receive some before him, his thoughts drifting back into solitude as he considered the bitter desperate war that they were now fighting.

  Sergeant Moretti strode across the snow towards the Hanomag, dusting the snow from his shoulders as he reached the open doors, his eyes widening in surprise as he stared inside, glancing across the faces looking curiously at him, ‘Where is Donatello? Did he not bring back the wounded men from our section?’

  ‘Hase’ spun round as Leutnant Hausser stiffened, the commander’s frame tightening nervously, ‘I thought he was with you by the plane…’

  Moretti shook his head, his expression darkening, ‘Tatu and I sent him to help our wounded back to the carrier…has he got lost in the trees?’

  Hausser rose up from the bench abruptly, swinging the strap of his MP40 across his shoulder, his tone grim, ‘Let’s find him before it gets dark…’Hase’, with me, I will take Tatu and Udet…’ His expression darkened with determination, glimpsing the Italian sergeant’s rising fear, ‘Moretti stay with Petru in the carrier…’ The Italian nodded wide eyed in obedience, Petru shaking his head in increasing discomfort as he stared through the falling snow towards the darkenin
g trees, an uneasiness spreading across his stomach.

  The commander slipped from the back of the Hanomag, striding across the snow towards Captain Huber, his voice escalating in urgency, ‘Herr Hauptmann…my section has a missing man and two wounded…I am going to look for them!’

  Huber spun round, his eyes straining in despondency, ‘Of course…take who you like…I will move back into the wood with some men, make sure we draw any survivors that may have escaped towards us…’

  Hausser nodded in understanding, the snowflakes falling heavily around them, ‘Thank you Sir…’ He glanced across at the collection of soldiers, raising his voice nervously as ‘Hase’ stood behind him, his rifle raised across his chest, ‘Tatu and Udet! Come with me…’

  The captain stepped back, raising his MP40 from round his waist and unclipping the slim ammunition clip from the weapon, inspecting the bullets within before turning and barking orders, ‘Seven men with me…the rest spread out…defensive perimeter around the Hanomag and wounded! We will move back into the trees and complete a sweep…we are missing some men…’

  Leutnant Hausser trudged determinedly to the right, the three others following as Tatu glanced round frantically, whispering to ‘Hase’, ‘Is it Donatello? He doesn’t seem to be here!’ ‘Hase’ nodded warily, Udet glancing nervously through the falling snow into the trees, his hands clenching the rifle tighter as the Romanian quartermaster sighed reflectively, a deep dread rising within him, ‘He was just supposed to bring back the wounded…it was meant to remove him from the fight…’

  They skirted the side of the trees, trudging through the falling snow along the edge of the woods, their eyes glancing cautiously to either side through the snowfall as they progressed. As the boots crunched through the iced deep covered ground, the lowering temperature became apparent, clouds of exhaled breath swirling around their padded figures.

  Leutnant Hausser then slowed, the three soldiers behind him glancing at each other with dread as their commander’s stance lowered, his eyes fixed on the freezing landscape before him. His right arm extended, indicating for them to stop as he stepped carefully forwards, following blood smears just visible through the settling snow.

  Hausser dropped to a crouch, his gloved hand reaching out to touch a deepening crimson patch across the white ground before him, his breath becoming shallow as he swallowed hard, the bloodied snow still wet. Glancing upwards and beyond the immediate trail, he drew breath further, glimpsing a still silhouette through the thickening snowfall.

  The commander moved forward pensively, his eyes straining to dismiss the deep fear rising within him, his eyes widening and breath drawn as he realised the inevitable, the body before him being Donatello. Half covered from falling snow, the still frame lay with arms outstretched, the young Italian now lying in a deep pool of congealing blood. Hausser gasping as he knelt next to the helmeted head, the injuries almost beyond comprehension as he stared downwards, his eyes straining with the emotion, the twisted revulsion and hatred that seemed to swell within his heart and chest.

  Donatello’s throat had been torn diagonally across the centre by a bayonet, the wound deep and bloody with deep crimson snow covering the immediate area, several deep puncture marks across his chest. The freezing blood hung from the deep wounds, the white padded jacket stained deep crimson across the torso, the young Italian seeming to have crawled for a short distance in intense pain. Disorientated in shock and blinded by a lack of oxygen, he had been unable to comprehend the direction of the Hanomag and had struggled back to where the attack had taken place, finally collapsing and rolling over as the light faded from his eyes.

  Hausser shook his head in deep dismay, his hand slowly reaching for the MP40 across his waist in determined and rising hatred, his eyes scanning the snow ahead and glimpsing another body. Wearily he rose and stepped over the corpse of the Italian, his voice a resolute hiss, ‘Take Donatello back to the Hanomag…he travels with us tonight…’

  The commander slipped forward cautiously towards the next corpse, several stab wounds outlined in the padded white jacket as blood congealed across the chest, his head shaking in disbelief as he glimpsed the deep thigh wound, realising the young Italian had probably been supporting the injured German soldier as they were attacked viciously. Udet and ‘Hase’ approached Donatello’s corpse slowly, their expression darkening as they swallowed deeply, Tatu staring down as he passed to join Hausser. ‘Hase’ lowered to one knee, his rifle rising warily as he peered to the right, into the swirling snow, his eyes narrowing.

  Tatu’s grip tightened across his shoulder as the commander tensed in surprise, the breaking voice behind withdrawn and emotional, ‘I sent him to the rear for safety…they must have slipped past us…’ Tatu sniffed as he felt the extreme nausea rise from his stomach, his mind swirling as he coughed to hold back the increasing acidic phlegm, ‘I am sorry Hausser…I failed you and ultimately, Donatello…it is my fault!’

  Hausser sprung up, spinning round and desperately grasping the large hide jacket, his voice virtually a sneer of anger and frustration, ‘Stay with me…keep your concentration, I need you…this war is beyond our understanding now! I am not losing any of the others!’

  Chapter Fifteen: Supper of Kings?

  Udet slowly raised the spoon to his mouth, the steaming stew filling his nostrils with warmth and the pleasant aroma of braised meat and vegetables. Glancing round the others in the rear of the Hanomag, he noticed they were only picking at the food, their appetites and morale suppressed with the loss of the young Donatello.

  The tarpaulin above them moved in the cold breeze, snowflakes falling across the covering that offered some limited shelter from the elements. The dim light flickered across their features as they ate, Sergeant Moretti having lit the last of the candles in remembrance of the younger Italian that had managed to scrounge them at the railway supply depot. Udet swallowed some more of the delicious stew, the morose silence in the rear compartment of the carrier almost overbearing for the young soldier.

  The journey from the woods had been completed in grim silence, Petru staring down in disbelief at the gruesome wounds the Italian’s body had sustained, the corpse placed on one of the side benches as Hausser covered the Italian with his own blanket, the commander having carried the body with ‘Hase’ back to the armoured carrier. Tatu was sitting hunched at the end of the Hanomag, his eyes averted from the others as his conscience struggled with the death of the young Italian. Guilt ridden, he seemed unable to break from the darkest of moods, Petru deciding to leave his companion for the time being, the same behaviour adopted by the others.

  As the carrier had lumbered back through the trees, Moretti had silently acknowledged the concealed positions from the upper machine gun position, units of the infantry divisions preparing for the advance the next day, their trucks and armoured cars half hidden from any reconnaissance aircraft under the snow laden branches. The mood of the assembled infantrymen seemed encouraging, many grinning as they ate or smoked, chatting happily in their padded insulating uniforms as they cleaned their rifles and collected snow for boiling water.

  Eventually arriving back at the clearing, Leutnant Hausser and Captain Huber had trudged wearily to the command tent, advising the major of the loss of his patrol and flyers as well as the casualties they had sustained. The others had sat in the rear compartment, staring silently into the falling snow through the open rear doors, ‘Hase’ slipping from the driver’s compartment and prodding the Romanian quartermaster on the arm with his fist, ‘Come on…let’s get Donatello to the Divisional Chaplain, he should be around here somewhere…he can be laid to rest then…’

  Tatu glanced upwards at the young Russian, his eyes bloodshot and dark as he swallowed, nodding slowly in agreement. Petru stepped forward, patting his companion on the shoulder and indicating to Moretti, ‘I will find out where the Chaplain is…the rest of you wait here?’

  The Romanian stepped through the rear doors, slipping onto the snow and striding t
owards the nearest soldiers, Tatu watching after him solemnly, ‘I should never have let him go on his own…’

  Sergeant Moretti bit his lower lip in determination, glancing down at the corpse, ‘It doesn’t matter now…he would have forgiven you.’ He sniffed solemnly, ‘Donatello is with his brother now…they will be laughing at us!’

  Tatu glanced at the Italian, nodding his thanks as Petru stepped back to the open doors, indicating to the western track, ‘The Chaplain is back through there…about one kilometre and past the forward medical tents…’ He shook his head, ‘The burial unit are preparing all the dead in readiness for tomorrow, they say we need to move quickly as the Chaplain will be coming for a late evening briefing…I will go and get Hausser…’ The Romanian turned abruptly away, striding towards the main command tent across the iced snow.

  Standing uncomfortably at the entrance to the command tents, the Romanian glimpsed the large map table, flickering candles placed on the corners as the assembled officers and commanders studied the papers scattered across the surface. He indicated furtively towards Hausser, the German officer stood towards the back of the tent, his arms resting across the MP40 slung round his neck.

  Petru’s eyes widened as he caught Hausser’s attention, the commander stepping round the assembled men and towards the Romanian, his voice lowered to a whisper as the Major and other officers glanced round, ‘We are going to take Donatello to the Divisional Pastor, Herr Leutnant…are you able to come?’

  Leutnant Hausser nodded, glancing uncomfortably across at Huber, the captain indicating for him to go as he realised the situation, removing his helmet to place under his arm as he leaned forward to look over the maps, the major indicating their route of advance for the morning.