Tatu sipped from his mug, the infantry lines ahead now complimented by a number of tanks, the Panzer IVs lumbering across the snowed terrain with their commanders stood upright in their turrets. Huber’s voice resounded across the vehicle compartment once more, ‘The Russkie lines are over the next rise…the attack should start shortly…’
They drove behind the first wave, the soldiers on either side trudging slowly across the snow and the land began to climb gradually to the north. The early morning air was sharp, clouds of exhaled breath coming from both the advancing troops and the occupants of the carrier as Huber rose and pointed towards a hamlet ahead, ‘Go past the houses, then turn to the north…we will be between our divisions then.’
Tatu stared up the slope to the north, two thin black lines of slit trenches dug just before the rise, several circular mortar pits behind the line as crews moved shells near to their weapons. Around the low hamlet of some six or seven buildings, the four Marder II SPGs were preparing to advance, infantry moving between the dwellings as they readied to advance up the slope, a number of officers checking their men and glancing furtively across the snowbound terrain towards the out of sight enemy positions.
More Hanomags and lorries emerged from the south, their engines whining as they began to progress down the slope to either side of the hamlet, Tatu swigging from his mug once more before lowering it, the armoured carrier approaching the edge of the houses. Three Stug IIIs rumbled over the rise to the south, their engines burbling as they began to descend the slope, the Self Propelled Guns beginning to part and move into formation as they accelerated downhill.
Pulling between the buildings, ‘Hase’ slowed the engine, the carrier pulling over to one side as Huber emerged over the armoured plate, nodding to the soldiers around, another younger captain turning from his men and stepping towards the Hanomag, his gloved hand rising in informal salute, ‘Huber…you are late!’ The younger man grinned, approaching the side of the carrier, ‘We are about to set off…take the right flank and drive into the enemy rear…you will be responsible for holding back any counterattacks. Form your men into a makeshift defensive line…’ He ducked his head instinctively as several FW190 fighters swept over the rise to the south, their wing tips and canopies sparkling in the early morning light as the single seater planes shot over head, a wave of engine noise engulfing them as the captain waved them forward, shouting at the top of his voice, ‘The time has come to advance Kameraden…good luck!’
The rumble of gunfire swept across the snow, heavy artillery beginning to fire to the south, the roar of heavy shells flying overhead as Tatu stared out to the north. The mortar pits became frantic with activity, the metallic thuds just audible as 80mm shells soared into the dull sky. The Romanian glanced round as more fighters swept over the ridge, ME109s leading the twin engines Bf110s towards the Russian positions as the forty plus aircraft roared overhead, the heads of the soldiers ducking as the deafening engine noise engulfed them.
Huber leant into the driver’s compartment and tapped ‘Hase’s’ shoulder, ‘Move forward, turn in behind the infantry beyond the village and move up to the ridge, we will follow the armour over…’ The captain drew back, shouting aver the din, ‘Get your weapons ready…we are moving up!’
Sergeant Moretti leant towards ‘Hase’, whispering the instructions as the Maybach engine roared, engaged gear and jerked forward. The tracks spun, Tatu grasping the armoured plate to steady himself as the carrier lurched for side to side, the speed picking up. Turning sharply as the Hanomag emerged from the houses, the tracks spun on the iced snow, Tatu glimpsing the soldiers now moving at a half crouch towards the crest of the slope.
The thumps of artillery continued to the south, shells streaming overhead and targeting the Russian positions to the north. Hausser rose next to Tatu, his eyes staring at the majestic streak lines rising into the sky from the south, a Nebelwerfer battery opening fire below the ridge, the streaming rockets rising high above them before beginning the gradual descent to earth.
Muffled explosions could be heard to the north, thin black plumes of smoke rising beyond the ridge as the detonations swept across the terrain. The scream of aircraft engines complimented by bursts of heavy machine gun fire signifying the German fighters strafing the enemy positions.
The Hanomag ground up the slope, the German infantry ahead dropping into the slit trenches and making final checks on their weapons, preparing to advance further. Behind them, the Marder II engines roared, the open topped SPGs emerging from the hamlet and beginning to climb the incline as their crews loaded their 7.5cm guns (converted Russian gun models were equipped with 7.62cm guns).
Rising to the summit of the incline, ‘Hase’ slowed the engine, the carrier jolting to a halt as Tatu stared along the barrel of the machine gun. Explosions burst across the snow covered terrain, the land stretching for some distance before reaching a narrow stream. Fires burned brightly amongst the scattered farm dwellings, the smoke billowing upwards as Tatu looked mesmerised upon the destroyed defensive positions below.
The snow was scorched all across the lower land, the black lines of slit trenches having been peppered with artillery shells, many dugouts lying destroyed with smoke rising from the devastated positions. In the distance, the fighters rose and fell upon the defenders, machine guns flashing and blazing as the bullets splattered across the iced surface, the remaining defenders pressing their helmets and faces into the snow in fear.
Oleg stirred in his sleep, his consciousness seeming to will his mind awake as he nestled further into the musky straw, a thin blanket wrapped round his young slender frame. Then his eyelids flickered, opening wide as he strained his ears, his pupils darting from side to side beneath the rough mouldy material. The distant engine was whining as the driver dropped a gear, the tyres spinning on the iced snow before gaining traction, the covered Horch staff car jolting forward through the gates to the farm before accelerating towards the main buildings.
The young Russian slowly lowered the blanket, blinking as the morning light filtered through the many cracks in the ageing barns exterior, the rays broken by steam from the breathing of the two large cows and horse that shared the enclosure. Sitting bolt upright, Oleg stared through the gloom, the stall he had chosen for sleep offering a clear view of the main two doors as his hand reached out tentatively for his rifle.
Moving silently forward, Oleg cautiously approached the main door to the barn on his hands and knees, pushing his face against the cold wood and squinting to stare outside into the light. The Horch pulled into view, its dark grey sides splashed and mottled with whitewash as the large car turned before the front of the farmhouse, the side doors pushed open as it skidded to a halt.
Five soldiers in German uniforms and field caps scrambled out of the vehicle, four with rifles and one with an MP40 machine gun. Oleg’s teeth gritted as he glimpsed the black tunic collars beneath the padded jackets, his hands tightening on the rifle as he grimaced. The sergeant was indicating to his men to form a perimeter around the vehicle, his muffled words going unheard as the engine ticked over. Advancing confidently towards the front door of the farmhouse, the middle-aged sergeant rapped his fist against the worn surface, ‘Achtung! Aus!’
Oleg drew breath, the firm hand on his shoulder startling him, the fingers pulling him away as a low whisper filled his ears, ‘We need to move Oleg…the fascists will search the buildings…’
The younger Russian’s head spun round as he nodded, rising to tentatively back from the barn doors as he glimpsed the farmhouse door slowly open, the elderly farmer nodding as the German sergeant spoke to him. Then he gasped as the elderly man’s arm slowly rose to point to the barn, his menacing hissed whisper causing Pavel to hesitate, ‘He has betrayed us…the old man has betrayed us!’
The two lunged from the door as the uniformed figures stiffened, the bolts cracking back as rifles rose to point at the low barn, the German sergeant barking instructions to his Ukrainian men as they lowered cautious
ly and stepped forward.
The two Russian youths prised their way through the rear doors of the barn, one of the cows staring bulging eyed at them nonchalantly as its mouth chewed from side to side. The wood creaked as the slim frames forced their way through the narrow opening frantically, the doors restricted by drifted iced snow outside, their rifles scraping against the sides and surface.
Scrambling from the barn, the cold air swept into their lungs, the freezing temperature biting at their faces. Behind them, two hobnailed boots cracked against the barn doors, the wood splintering and springing open as the cow bellowed in annoyance, the riflemen straining their eyes into the gloom as their weapons jerked nervously across the darkness, the intense musky aroma of animals and excrement filling their nostrils.
Pavel pushed Oleg through the snow, the younger man turning to look at the barn behind as his countryman hissed, ‘Keep going! We need to move or they will see us…we will not escape five of them and any gunshots will bring the neighbouring units towards us…’ He glanced round frantically, attempting to locate somewhere to hide, his heart pounding as he gasped, his legs straining from the running. Then his adrenalin soared as he indicated desperately to the ditch ahead, the two Russians sprinting and jumping into the shallow depression next to the winding track, their bodies ducking down instinctively.
One hundred metres behind, four figures emerged around the side of the low barn, their rifles held at shoulder height and eyes scanning the terrain for running figures. Pavel and Oleg shivered in the ditch, their teeth gritted as the slurry of dirty iced water seeped through their boots and lower uniforms, the two youths forcing their bodies further down.
Leutnant Hausser rose carefully up next to Tatu, adjusting his binoculars as he stared into the terrain below, the Hanomags top armoured shield the only visible part of the armoured vehicle over the crest of the rise.
Either side of them, the metallic clunks of the mortars fired, detonations some seconds later on the snow covered land beyond. To the right, the Marder II Self Propelled Guns ground to the top of the slope, stopping short of the slit trenches as rifle cracks filled the air, the infantry and snipers targeting any movement below.
Artillery salvoes swept overhead, the forward observers shouting fresh coordinates into their radios from the relative safety of the trenches. On the right, Panzer IIIs and Stug SPGs reached the summit, their tracks squealing as they stopped, commanders cautiously raising binoculars to survey the target ground.
Hausser turned to Huber as the lines of smoke swept skywards from the south, the Nebelwerfer battery firing once more, the rockets soaring overhead as black dots emerged in the sky, twenty-one Stukas and their fighter escorts flying to join the attack. The officers stared at the sights as Hausser spoke, ‘There are ample buildings to form a defensive line to the east…back them up with heavy machine gun companies and artillery support and we should be able to stem any attempts to break through…or even out…what is your opinion Sir?’
Huber’s eyes widened, a grin forming across his face, ‘Well spotted Hausser…I intend to move pak guns onto this ridge also, target any enemy forces coming from the east.’ The engine noise rose in intensity on either side, Huber indicating to the benches for them to be seated, ‘It seems it is time to advance…we will choose the eastern defensive line and supervise the clearance of the buildings…’ He grinned, ‘Onwards to Dobropillya!’
Chapter Seventeen: North towards Dobropillya!
Moving down the frozen slope, the Marder and Stug SPGs rumbled out before the Hanomags, infantry jogging up and advancing behind the armoured plated vehicles as Tatu moved the upper machine gun from side to side, scanning the terrain. Relatively flat, the land extended into the distance, several small dwelling houses burning across the horizon and in the foreground. The thin black lines of slit trenches and a number of emplacements were smouldering, scorched debris across the destroyed defences where the Luftwaffe and artillery had targeted the Russian positions. Tracks criss-crossed the terrain, burning lorries and vehicles crushed and obliterated along the routes leading east to west, a supply column for the forward units of the 1st Guards Army to the south west having been caught in the open.
Heavy smoke hung on the horizon, Huber pointing, ‘That is Dobropillya…we get through there and then set up the eastern defences!’
Powdered snow billowed behind the tracked vehicles, showering the following infantry, their heads lowered to avoid the slurry. A cold breeze swept across the advancing troops from the east, many adjusting their collars as they glanced round nervously, some straining to look over the rear of the advancing armour. Bullets clanked against the armoured plate, sporadic rifle fire flying from the smouldering defensive positions, the snow and dirt scorched around them.
Hausser leant forward and shouted into the driver’s compartment, ‘Keep the speed low…we have following infantry…’ Sergeant Moretti waving his hand before ‘Hase’ in response to ensure the instructions were met.
Fighters banked away to the west in the far distance, the light glinting off their canopies as the pilots surveyed the ground below, searching for signs of determined resistance. Tatu gritted his teeth as a bullet ricocheted off the metal cover of the machine gun, the weapon moving round to determine the source as the cracks of rifle shots spread across the terrain. The Hanomag lurched sideways, the tracks slewing through the snow as the cumbersome carrier skidded, then regained traction, the infantry behind scrambling to maintain their cover.
In the high sky above, the Stukas passed overhead, heading for any reserves that 1st Guards Army could utilise to attack the flanks of the German advance. Captain Huber raised himself up next to the Romanian, propping his binoculars on top of the armoured plate to scan the terrain, his view stopping on a collection of smouldering buildings to the north east before indicating to them, his voice rising, ‘We drive past there…set up the first defensive point further north and then move on to the town!’ He grinned, glimpsing silhouettes in the distance beginning to leave shattered defensive positions and scramble away, ‘Most are throwing it in…most of the survivors are running!’
One of the Marder II’s shuddered ahead, a plume of smoke rising from its 7.5cm barrel as the shell sped across the snowed terrain, a crump and explosion following near an emplacement as the German armour neared the Russian line. Machine gun fire erupted, tracers flying towards the moving SPGs and Hanomags as the Russian gunners determined the Luftwaffe had passed, the chatter of small sub machine guns and cracks of rifles intensifying.
A flash from the buildings to the north, the shell zipping across them and exploding on the slope behind, the infantry ducking further behind their armoured cover as more troops emerged over the slope to the south. Muffled shouting as officers organised their men, the soldiers returning fire from crouched positions. Another flash as Tatu and Huber ducked instinctively, the nearby explosion rocking a Marder II in front, the troops dropping into the snow for cover as the SPG rumbled forward before jolting to a halt, a track broken and twisted across the snow.
Metal tracks squealed ahead, one of the Marder IIs turning to face the concealed pak guns, infantry fire raking its hull as Tatu swore and spun the machine gun round, bullets pouring from its barrel as he squeezed the trigger. The projectiles bounced and smacked into the iced snow, then cracked against the wooden walls of the houses some four hundred metres away.
Tatu glimpsed the puffs of smoke in the distance, his voice rising with adrenalin, ‘Mortars! Get down!’ Medium machine guns on low towing carts opened fire, the bullets clanking against the armoured plate as frightened soldiers pushed themselves further into the iced snow, eruptions from the mortars throwing smoke and debris skywards.
Huber pushed his head up, focusing the binocular lenses quickly as he swore, then dropped down, his fingers running across the map as he shouted at Udet and Hausser, ‘Get on the radio, I will give the coordinates…’
Frantic screams and shouts began to fill the air, the Marder jolti
ng as its pak fired, the shell bursting in the snow short of the buildings, Tatu swearing under his breath as two flashes erupted from between the buildings, the intense lights zipping across the white terrain as tracers swept across the armour.
Huber was rising behind Tatu, the Romanian spinning round and ducking, his body crashing into the captain as the roar of an explosion shook the carrier, the two men crumpling onto the metal grates between the benches. The Hanomag swerved sideways, Udet and Petru toppling from the benches as the armoured sides shook, the vehicle jolting to a halt.
Bullets clattered against the front hull, ‘Hase’ ducking with Moretti as sparks lit up the dim driver’s compartment, the defensive machine guns raking the Hanomag. ‘Hase’ was blinded, black smoke billowing through the observation slits as the Marder II burned fiercely ahead, screams from the wounded infantry in the snow echoing around them.
Tatu struggled upwards, Hausser grabbing his arms as the commander shouted frantically, ‘Are you hit?’ The Romanian grimacing as ringing filled his ears, the clanking of machine gun fire almost deafening against the armoured plate. The Leutnant pushed the quartermaster onto the bench, pushing his own body upwards and grasping the machine gun, his helmeted head jarring against the top of the weapon as his hand snatched at the bolt. Bullets poured from the barrel, bouncing off the buildings ahead, smoke billowing from the dug in positions as the cracks of rifles resumed once more, screams filling the air.
Explosions rocked the carrier sides further, the mortar rounds closing on the infantry and Hanomags as the Marder and Stugs spun on their tracks, black smoke billowing across the front of the carrier. The trackless Marder behind was turning slowly, metal wheels screeching and tearing against the damaged track, the commander screaming at his driver to create some movement, the gun unable to traverse to such an angle.
Rise of the Bloodied Phoenix Page 18
