Rise of the Bloodied Phoenix

by Andrew McGregor

  Leutnant Hausser heard a distant voice in Russian, the words hissed as he vaguely recognised Petru’s voice, ‘Stay with our commander, ‘Hase’…we will be back soon…’

  ‘Hase’ nodded, the Romanian slapping his shoulder as he rose, ‘I think your driving days have just ended, Kameraden!’

  Muffled explosions echoed across the snow, the shrill clanks of bullets against the carrier as ‘Hase’ knelt forward, Hausser’s lips moving slightly in pain with his eyes clenched shut, the Hiwi straining his ears as he lowered his head, the words forced fondly, ‘Du bist ein Dorftrottel!’ The commander grinned faintly, then coughed, his chest shaking violently as the soldier above shrugged in ignorance, his free hand fumbling for a water canteen, the officer drifting into unconsciousness.

  Tatu surged forward at a half crouch, his long jacket billowing behind him as bullets swept past from the distant north. Explosions ahead threw frozen soil and equipment skywards, the spare artillery ammunition now detonating as black smoke drifted across the snow, the buildings burning fiercely.

  Udet and Petru ran behind, ducking further as a shell exploded to the south, Sergeant Moretti following with Captain Huber, the German infantry around them sprinting in the direction of the burning hamlet, their bodies propelled towards the black smoke for cover.

  Bullets splattered across the snow, the defending machine gunners and riflemen to the north now being engaged by Panzer IIIs and their supporting infantry, the Stugs spinning on their tracks to head for the north of the hamlet to offer covering fire.

  The remaining Marder II roared through the dissipating smoke, its commander shouting frantically to the driver as the vehicle weaved, bullets clanking against the high protective hull, the crew ducking behind it.

  Tatu was nearing on the outer buildings, his teeth gritted and PPSH raised as his eyes darted from side to side. Smoke billowed from the hidden defences, shattered machine guns and field gun shields lying smouldering as he closed the distance, a wounded Russian rifleman rising to the right. The Romanian twisted round, the PPSH juddering in his hand as he fired a burst, the defender falling back, his body shuddering as the bullets tore through his shoulders and upper chest.

  Disappearing into the clouds of smoke, Tatu surged forward, bursts of his PPSH spewing into the forward slit trench as he dropped into the shattered position, the dead or wounded bodies around him twitching as bullets cut through lifeless frames. His eyes narrowing in hatred, he ran along the trench, firing bursts and kicking out at any moving limbs, the defenders already dead or mortally wounded and unable to resist.

  The blood soaked snow around him was heavily scorched, the smouldering brown uniforms of the pitiful defenders torn and ragged. Tatu slowed, his eyes beginning to widen as he realised the devastation and torn body parts that lined the area to the south of the buildings, bodies that no longer possessed life laying still around him in a burning explosive crater. The stench of burnt flesh filled his nostrils, his stomach turning rapidly as he glanced around nervously, the defending Russian rifle platoon having been obliterated under the explosive power of the artillery shells.

  Open gaping wounds met his sight in every direction, several torsos missing limbs and a few even decapitated, the command post that had ordered the defensive fire having received a direct hit. Burning and smouldering equipment lay between the bodies, his focussing mind just comprehending the position had been within an outer building, the walls and roof now gone and leaving only glimpses of the foundations under fallen snow and debris.

  Running his hand over his moustache, he shook his head, clearing his mind, his footsteps unstable as he forced himself forward into the southern circular trench section, the position running round to the rear of the now burning buildings. The wood crackled next to him, embers billowing with the thick smoke as he shielded his eyes, the PPSH raised in his right hand for signs of resistance.

  He stiffened as rifles cracked behind him, German infantry searching the northern area of the hamlet for survivors, ending the misery of the wounded. Biting his lips and swallowing hard to suppress the rising bile from his stomach, he trudged forward, his boots crunching on the bloodied snow as he stepped between the still legs of a dead soldier, the young man’s face almost torn in half by a shell fragment.

  Working his way towards the back of the hamlet, the bodies became less frequent, the smouldering and burning buildings becoming more silent as he progressed towards the south east corner. A body lay face down at the end of the trench, the crimson smeared snow indicating the young soldier had attempted to crawl away before the life faded from him. Tatu stared down as he stood over the lifeless figure, the man’s fingers clawed into the iced snow on the wall of the trench as if to resist the inevitable, his back torn with numerous wounds.

  Shaking his head despondently, he rubbed his moustache again, his ears straining as he heard the strange low muffled whimpering, his head lowering to one side to listen more intently. Stepping forward and turning the bend in the trench, he realised there was a further blood trail, raising the PPSH before him nervously, the noise becoming louder as he edged forward.

  Another body lay face down some five metres ahead, his eyes straining as the noise seemed to come from that area, the whimpering seeming strangely inhuman as he edged nearer, his breath held and weapon pointed before him. The arms of the corpse were outstretched, Tatu’s eyes narrowing in suspicion as he attempted to see what had been in the Russian soldier’s grasp as he stepped over a rifle, the snow soaked in blood, the whimpering seeming to intensify as he neared.

  His sight strained as he saw the broken meat fragments in the snow near the outstretched hand, the Russian soldier’s body torn from a deep incision at the hip, the teenager having struggled in intense agony for some distance before succumbing to blood loss and his deep wound. Ten metres ahead, the trench turned to the left, slipping beneath one of the remaining building walls, Tatu surprised the small structure seemed to be still standing.

  Lowering to one knee, his head slipped forward, the whimpering becoming more frantic, a small opening in the trench wall ahead on the left raising his suspicions, the pitiful sounds seeming to emanate from there.

  Tatu shook his head in confusion, instinctively reaching to his belt for a grenade and realising he had left them in the Hanomag. Considering the opening was too small for a soldier, he briefly thought it was a light hole to a bunker before the whining came again, his eyes widening as he shuffled forwards.

  Glancing quickly into the opening, his eyes widened further, tears welling in them as he stared down into the hollow, his breath catching as he smiled briefly and fondly, his emotions soaring. The small terrier stared back at him miserably, the tiny dog shivering in the cold as it sat hunched against the iced snow at the back of its purpose dug burrow.

  Sniffing heavily as a tear ran down his face, Tatu dropped his PPSH and leant forward, untethering the short leash that prevented the small animal from leaving its own bunker, his lips widening to a grin as the small body shivered in his hands, the wire haired and grimy thick coated dog obviously petrified from the explosions and shooting.

  Gently holding its head, he twisted round and retrieved a couple of the meat scraps, offering them in an open palm towards the terrier, the dog sniffing at them briefly before eagerly devouring the morsels, its eyes staring up into his with a seemed pensive longing, its body shaking once more.

  The Romanian stretched both hands slowly into the narrow hollow, stroking and reassuring the small animal, the dog shivering further, but seeming to respond to his efforts as he clicked his lips reassuringly. He grimaced as rifle cracks sounded further to the north, the small frame shivering once more as he stroked the shaking coat, his eyes full of tears as the dog seemed to warm to his encouragement, a small tongue licking the exposed finger in his torn glove as the terrier trembled once more.

  Captain Huber had moved into the northern trench, following Petru and Udet as they progressed slowly, their Kar 98 rifles held cautiously
before them. The shell damage was extensive, two of the three frontal machine gun emplacements completely devastated, their scorched walls caked with blood, the floors of the defensive positions scattered with shattered bodies, several missing limbs. Udet averted his eyes, continuing along the trench and emerging into the mortar pits, scenes of similar devastation meeting his eyes as his stomach turned uncomfortably.

  The young German continued ahead, several more soldiers joining him as Petru stopped in shock, realising the mortar crew had only been young men, blonde and brown haired heads matted with sweat, their faces scorched and torn, expressions contorted in death as the shells had pulverised their frames. He glanced across the scattered and smouldering equipment, helmets cracked and bent out of shape, a gory mess of bloodied matter and pulp at one end of the semi-circled dugout, the youth blown to pieces as he ran in futility from the stack of spare ammunition.

  Huber stopped next to Petru, indicating for two infantrymen behind him to man the northern trench wall, his voice strained as he stared into the emplacement, ‘Form defensive line facing north and east…keep your heads down!’ Gunfire and muffled explosions rang out to the north, the Panzer IIIs and Stugs now shelling the farm buildings to the north west.

  The captain ducked next to Petru in the trench, his voice becoming more determined, ‘Keep moving…I want you organising the defences at the eastern side…I am going to organise some MGs be moved here with mortars and a pak gun…I will get the Marder to tow the Hanomag to the western edge, you can billet there until it is fixed or we get another one.’ He grinned, ‘Looks like I will need another lift to organise our eastern flank!’

  Udet turned the north eastern edge of the smouldering outer trench, his eyes scanning the outer snow and terrain as he stepped gingerly over two outstretched bodies, one staring up at him through lifeless eyes, his chest torn open with deep shrapnel wounds. The trench twisted and turned ahead, the sturdy defences following the easiest route and having been dug nearly a year earlier by a German pioneer unit billeted in the buildings and preparing for Operation Blau later in the summer, the advance on Stalingrad.

  Rifle cracks further along the trench spurred him forward, his hands gripping the Kar 98 tighter as he rounded a bend in the trench. The two infantrymen ahead were firing over the trench wall towards the east, their hands frantically reloading as Udet neared them, his voice rising with adrenalin, ‘Is there an attack?’

  One of the men shouting victoriously over his shoulder before firing once more, ‘No…survivors running away like rabbits in the snow…we got one of them!’

  Sergeant Moretti was inspecting the central section of the small hamlet with six infantrymen, their faces covered as boots shuffled through broken smouldering wood and masonry, several bodies buried under the collapsed and devastated buildings, the limbs still twitching. Stepping though the shattered structures, Moretti and the accompanying troops covered their mouths, the acrid smoke and stench thick in places. Their eyes bloodshot, they struggled forwards, stepping over shattered equipment and discarded bullets, wooden floorboards cracking underfoot as Moretti inspected the ruins.

  Realising most of the ten or so structures had been built with small basements for storage purposes, he started to visualise the billets for the soldiers that would be deployed in defence, the troops around him now resolved to the fact there was little chance of further survivors, their search turning to supplies…and for food.

  Moretti sighed, slowly lowering himself onto a charred supply crate, two soldiers searching the scorched room, the roof still standing in places. With two buildings standing and the basements, the hamlet would provide an adequate observation post and defensive position, his head spinning round as one of the infantrymen pushed into the next room, his exclamation of shock intriguing the Italian.

  Pushing himself wearily upwards, Moretti stepped towards the adjacent room, his eyes widening as he realised it was virtually intact. The soldier was stood by the far wall, a wide door to the left as Moretti’s eyes widened, a wry grin spreading across his face…behind the infantryman was a large Russian field boiler and stove, the hamlet having provided warm meals for the units across the valley.

  Chapter Nineteen: Behind enemy lines

  Oleg glanced out from beneath the damaged hay cart, the rickety wooden carriage having been left abandoned by a frustrated farmer as one of the two old wheels finally cracked and shattered. The night air was crisp, a freezing low fog beginning to form over the field they had sought refuge in, the sky clear and sharp as the temperature plummeted.

  Pushing his rifle forward, he stared through the murk towards the track in the distance, two German Opel Blitz lorries grinding through the snow with a Kubelwagen jeep ahead of them, the young Russian’s stomach rumbling as he considered the boxes of food the vehicles probably had stacked in their rear compartments. He grimaced as he saw the padded forward figures in the trucks, heavy machine guns mounted on the roofs of the driver’s cabs, the soldiers glancing cautiously into the darkness on either side of the track as the lorries progressed slowly northwards.

  His body was shivering uncontrollably, the padded jacket seeming to offer little resistance to the freezing cold if the body remained motionless. Oleg shook his head as he felt Pavel move in his sleep next to him, the older teenager lying behind the younger in an attempt to sustain warmth. Slowly he lowered his helmeted head back into the snow, his teeth chattering as he considered it would be another hour before they could emerge, the Germans unlikely to continue their patrols in the vicious cold of a clear night sky.

  His mind drifted slowly through the day they had experienced, the flight from the barn earlier that morning and hiding in a freezing ditch for two hours as they awaited the Germans to leave. The two Russians had argued in hushed whispers for a short time, Oleg wanting to return to the farm and loot food…even shoot the farmer for his treachery. Pavel had disagreed, stating that the farmer had probably been offered little choice, that he and his wife would have been hung or shot if the two Russian soldiers had been found without the elderly man helping the fascists.

  The older teenager had eventually ended the argument and pointed to a hamlet in the far distance, the grey armoured cars of a German unit beginning to emerge, a grin sweeping across his face as he asked if Oleg would like to fight those soldiers too. The younger man had slumped back into the low ditch, Pavel laughing at his friend’s pouting lips and mocking the sulking before he dropped down next to him, pulling his shoulder towards him and rubbing it fondly as Oleg began to smile.

  Pavel had giggled, sniffing loudly as they shivered together, ‘Who needs warm food anyway…it will only go cold!’

  Oleg had grinned, his eyes moist with tears as his young mind tried to comprehend the difficulty they were in. Pavel reaching within his padded jacket and producing one half cooked potato for each of them, gesturing aloft with the small vegetable, ‘If we possess this spirit of Russia, the fascists can never win…we make food and drink from just one small potato…bread with Ukrainian wheat…that is all we need to survive!’

  Oleg munched on his vegetable, grinning at his friend’s grimy and dirt ridden face as the older teenager spoke of their time together as students in Voronezh to the east. How they had walked to the local schoolhouse together and fought the local bullies as youths, the friends they had known and eventually enlisted with as the German Army approached the banks of the Volga the previous summer. The youthful conversation had gradually died away as Pavel realised nearly all the friends had fallen or were missing, most probably never to be seen again…that they were the only two left of their class.

  Finishing their meagre meal in silence, the food only adequate to suppress hunger pangs for a short time, Pavel had nudged Oleg, his voice a whisper as he crawled along the ditch, staring out for a possible hiding place for the day as he explained they needed to sleep during daylight and move only at night. They had scrambled along the ditch in the freezing slurry for some time, Pavel eventually glimpsing
the abandoned hay cart and gesturing to it, his tone solemn, ‘That is probably all we can get…if we move much further in daylight we will be found by the Germans.’ He licked his dry and cracked lips, ‘We should be able to get dry there…sweep some snow around the wheels for cover…’

  They had crawled across the snow, their bodies lowered to prevent detection from any searching eyes, Oleg beginning to shiver as they progressed, his stomach churning as distant motors whined to the east and north. They had lain flat as planes roared overhead, pushing their faces into the freezing snow before glancing upwards, the twin engine fighter bombers heading northwards, the dark black crosses on the wings becoming more distant as the two youths crawled on.

  Finally reaching the cart, Pavel had struggled underneath first, using the butt of his rifle to scrape surface snow around them. With one wheel broken, the ramshackle cart lay at an angle, the Russian pushing snow on the exposed side to form a low wall for shelter and potential warmth. Oleg had slipped in next to his friend, assisting with slowly packing the snow around them and forming a higher obstruction.

  Eventually satisfied with their endeavours, Pavel had explained that only one of them could sleep at any time, winking at his obviously exhausted friend and prodding his shoulder playfully, his voice low, ‘Sleep well young Oleg…I will keep a look out whilst you dream of what we can have for dinner! Then we will go for an evening walk in the moonlight…perhaps meet a couple of girls if we are lucky…’

  He gently pushed his younger friend into the snow next to him, glancing into the distance as a captured Russian lorry and German armoured car drove along the track some three hundred metres away, an officer sitting upright in the turret that housed a heavy machine gun.