The two figures in grime covered padded jackets lay motionless against the wide tree, dusted snow now lining the seams and bedraggled trousers, their bowed helmets frosted white. Six figures slowly approached, their rifles raised and boots crunching through the snow as they stared down on the two teenagers.
The six figures were breathing heavily, the exertion in such temperature taxing their lungs. One figure approached cautiously, tentatively prodding an outstretched boot with the end of a rifle, the limb moving back into position with no reaction from the unconscious body. Bending down, a hand outstretched, pushing under the collar of the first padded jacket to search for a pulse, the men behind glancing round nervously as if suspecting a trap.
Another figure stepped forward indicating to the padded jackets, a slight limp as the hide clad man coughed slightly, his frosted beard moving as he spoke softly, ‘Fascists?’
The kneeling figure shook its head, a hand reaching and quickly pulling the thick fur blanket from its back, wrapping it gently across the two still figures, its head turning, ‘Nyet…Ruski!’ The figure rose, indicating for others to offer some clothing, deep sharp blue eyes turning to stare at the old man behind, ‘Papa, they are alive…we need to get the cart to carry them to camp or they will die…’
More furs and hides were wrapped round the two figure, a short Panje horse snorting in impatience further along the track. The older man nodded, his hand rising to his daughter’s shoulder in reassurance, ‘We will look after them Mishka…’
The six soldiers struggled out across the snow, the alcohol consumption restricting their movement, Huber accompanying them towards the Hanomag, the repair crew packing up their tools and preparing to leave. Next to the armoured carrier, an Sdkfz 7 covered halftrack with a crane and trailer sat with its engine idling, the soldiers lighting cigarettes as they approached.
Captain Huber raised his voice, ‘We have warm stew and some vodka if you men would like…my thanks for coming so quickly!’
The soldiers stiffened eagerly, several saluting, as one stepped forward, their combat uniforms highly padded, ‘Thank you Herr Hauptmann…that would be very welcome.’
Huber continued, ‘I think you had also better remain here for the rest of the night, there will be roaming Russian stragglers ahead…we have some well-constructed trenches, unless you wish to sleep in the vehicle?’
The soldier nodded his thanks, ‘We have some coverings for the sides Sir…that should suffice once we bed down…’ He indicated across to the Hanomag, ‘It will run smoothly now, but still has some damage to the front and sides…we get you running again, not provide a paint job! The repair to the radiator and engine should last you for some time if you do not drive too roughly! We have flattened the bonnet with hammers as best we could…’
Hausser nodded wearily, his eyes bloodshot, ‘Thank you…we need to move north in the morning…’ His hand reached across and scratched the terrier’s ear, the dog half wrapped in Tatu’s long jacket, the Romanian smiling in jubilation to himself.
Huber slapped the Leutnant’s shoulder, ‘I will escort our friends back into the hamlet…dim all lights soon as Russkie Nahmaschines have been reported to the north…’ The captain turned away, ‘Sleep well gentlemen…four of you have sentry duty at first light…I will send someone to get you…’
Nahmaschine: sewing machine - Po-2 night attack obsolete biplane aircraft, so derisively named by German defenders due to the high pitched and low sounding engine noise. A somewhat ingenious tactic, the pilots would fly over German positions at night time when the more powerful Luftwaffe aircraft could not engage them. Seeking any light on the terrain below, they would hand drop bombs and machine gun the enemy positions…thus a great psychological weapon…a cold German sentry even deterred from lighting a cigarette for fear of being spotted from a distance.
Chapter Twenty One: Counterattack
The early morning air was crisp, a freezing breeze sweeping across the steppe as heavy snow clouds moved slowly across the sky. The four sentries trudged along the outer trenches, two covering the northern sections and two the southern, meeting for a brief exchange of shivering words at the eastern and western edges.
Forbidden cigarettes for fear of being spotted across the dark terrain, their teeth chattered as they stepped along the defences, grateful for the efforts the German pioneer captain had motivated his men to achieve the previous year, the annihilated unit’s lifeless bodies now lying frozen on the banks on the Volga to the east.
Meeting at the eastern edge, ‘Hase’ nodded to Moretti, their eyes brows frosted above their scarves as they stamped their feet for warmth. ‘Hase’ shivered further, grinning as Moretti indicated upwards and wiped his brow as if sweating, the Italian winking as they turned to stare to the east.
Visibility was reduced to only a number of metres, a low freezing mist covering the exposed snow, neither man willing the sights of the bodies placed in a depression some thirty metres away to be clear enough to be seen. The sky was still dark, the heavy clouds just visible through the curling fog as they shivered further, frost glinting off their helmets as the faintness of light stretched across the horizon.
Sergeant Moretti grimaced, his hunger beginning to rise as he stared into the murk, ‘I feel I will not see Italy again now…’
‘Hase’s’ eyes widened, his voice low and hushed, ‘I am sure you will…we can all go together…once this is all over…’
Moretti glanced at him, a dismissive smirk spreading across his lips beneath the scarf, ‘The Russian optimist, the world is against us now my friend…Russia, America, Canada, the Great British Empire…there are perhaps now too many enemies…we have not defeated one of them. They are just too many…’
‘Hase’ nodded, his voice becoming lower, ‘We should not speak of such things…Hausser has always told me that the Germans frown on defeatism…or as he calls it, reality!’
Moretti coughed, grinning widely, ‘We are speaking Russian and neither of us are German…yet they still tell us what to do…’ His shoulders shook as he laughed silently, his whisper becoming very low as he nudged the Hiwi, ‘…damn arrogant fascists!’
‘Hase’ smiled in surprise, ‘I don’t think I have met any fascists…well, none that have bothered to speak to me directly!’ He glanced at the laughing Italian, starting to giggle himself in realisation, ‘I have just answered my own question…’
Moretti slapped his shoulder playfully, laughing further, ‘We had better head back round…I will see you shortly my friend…’
Trudging back round the defensive trench, Moretti passed the north eastern machine gun position, one soldier sat slumped over the sandbags, his bleary eyes staring blankly into the mist and growing light, a grunt of greeting coming from his lips as the Italian glanced up at him.
‘Hase’ gained a similar greeting from the soldier guarding the pak 40, the muzzle covered with iced wrapped cloth for protection. Proceeding past the other MG42, ‘Hase’ turned the bend in the trench, smiling as he saw Hausser approach, the commander rising on his feet to glance over the trench wall to the south east.
Slowing, the Leutnant nodded to him, his breathing shallow, ‘So what have we seen…anything?’
‘Hase’ shrugged, ‘Nothing…it is too dark…’ He glanced up at the heavy clouds, ‘There will be snow soon…perhaps early morning.’
The young commander smiled, his MP40 slung round his back as he surveyed the sky, ‘Yes, another few weeks of cold and then Herr General Mud! After that, we have dust storms and then the baking, waterless summer…you never get bored of the weather here!’
‘Hase’ grinned in response, ‘That’s why you Germans holiday here…always something new to experience…’ He glanced at the officer fleetingly, ‘What will be the plan for today?’
Leutnant Hausser glanced back over the trench wall, sighing, ‘We need to get further north…report on the advance to Major Wolff. Many of the Russian soldiers will be escaping or hiding between our positions
at night, so we will only move in daylight…no more forests either, I have had enough of those!’ He strained his back, hearing a muffled crack and sighing, ‘Sleeping in a Hanomag…not good for rest…’ He looked back at ‘Hase’, ‘Once we clear Slavyansk, we will move north west towards Kharkov…’
Hausser raised his hand, straining his ears as he heard a muffled shout from the eastern trench, his body twisting as he lunged forward, ‘Hase’ lowering the rifle from his shoulder and following. Running along the trench, the commander glanced up at the first heavy machine gunner, the soldier staring out to the east, his voice a hissed whisper, ‘The shout was from further along, Herr Leutnant…I can’t hear…or see anything!’
Striding further along the entrenchment, the pak 40 gunner shrugged above, raising binoculars to his eyes and grimacing, ‘Nichts!’
The light was slowly creeping across the sky, the low curling mist seeming to cling to the terrain as they stared out, squinting into the shroud as they strained their ears. Moretti emerged from around the corner, a breathless whisper coming from his lips, ‘The northern machine gunner thinks he heard something…we have limited visibility…’
Hausser stiffened, the distant burble of an engine sweeping towards them, then another…his eyes narrowing, ‘Russian diesel engines…sound the alarm…T34s are coming!’ The engine noise increased, the metallic rap of a bolt being pulled on an MG42 resounding across the snow, the pak gun crew member frantically tugging at the frozen cloth covering the muzzle, Hausser’s voice rising to shout, ‘Panzer Alarm!’ He spun round, indicating to Moretti, ‘Get to the Marder and warn them, we will need them to be ready…then go to the Hanomag, get Tatu and the anti-tank grenades!’
The Italian nodded wide eyed, turning to run, Hausser pulling his MP40 from his back, ‘They will try and break through between our positions…stay with me ‘Hase’!’ He sprinted after Moretti, turning to run up the slope and into the hamlet, shouts beginning to ring out through the buildings as the soldiers awoke, scrambling towards the trenches as the engine noise increased, the diesel motors revving as they began to gather speed across the terrain.
The pak gun commander dropped behind the sloped armoured shield of his weapon, binoculars raised to his eyes as he swore at the fog, his voice rising with adrenalin, ‘AP shells…get them ready men…fire on my command!’
Sleepy infantry dropped into the trenches, their bleary eyes staring into the murk as the engines seemed to get nearer, many stiffening as their rifles rose over the defensive walls, their teeth gritted in dread.
Captain Huber burst from one of the low semi-destroyed buildings, his white padded jacket smeared with soot and MP40 clenched in his hands, soldiers running either side of him. Seeing Hausser shouting at some of the infantry, he strode towards him, hearing the muffled roar of engines, ‘How many are there?’
The commander spun round, indicating for troops to move into the northern trench section, ‘Don’t know, Herr Hauptmann…maybe fifteen or twenty…I have sent a man to warn the Marder and am bringing up our anti-tank grenades…’
Huber nodded wide eyed, seeming to think for a second, ‘Very well…you take command of the northern section…I will control the rest!’
Hausser grinned with adrenalin, ‘They will no doubt try and break through between us and the section to the north…what do they have?’
Huber glanced round, moving towards the trench, ‘One pak…that’s all!’ He sighed, biting his lip in frustration, ‘It is too dark for the Luftwaffe and I can’t get artillery coordinates in this shitty fog!’
The Leutnant nodded knowingly, ‘That’s why they are coming! It’s just us then, they will have infantry supporting…take them down and the T34s will slow…see if there are any armoured units nearby, we may be able to hold them for a short time…’ He swallowed hard, straining his eyes as Huber grinned, ‘…that is if you agree, Herr Hauptmann!’
Huber raised his hand, dismissing the subordinate’s embarrassment, ‘I agree…get to your men Leutnant…I will call for any support that is available!’
Tatu jumped from the back of the Hanomag, his running laboured as he carried the cumbersome anti-tank grenades with Petru, the two men stumbling across the snow towards the hamlet. The soldiers of the repair unit struggled from their halftrack brandishing rifles and sub machine guns, Tatu shouting hoarsely, ‘You men with me…we will join…’ A shell burst on the snow nearby as they all ducked, the Russian tanks beginning to fire blindly towards their foe, the engines beginning to get ominously louder.
Udet stared through the swirling mist, his position on the north eastern corner of the trench now seeming a poor choice as he realised he was probably nearest the enemy tanks, the engine roar becoming almost deafening. Straining his eyes, his body began to cautiously lower, his heart pounding as the squealing of tracks were now clearly audible, the Russian tanks approaching. Then he gasped, the mist swirling as a hulk came into view, the front of the tank pointing directly at his position some thirty metres away, his lips curling to scream as he ducked down, ‘Panzer!’ Thuds from the 20mm gun erupted above him, the cannon shells pounding out towards the tank, the gun crew lumbering fresh ammunition canisters towards the weapon as the small shells bounced and sparked off the T34 ahead.
The T34 shuddered, the muzzle flashing as the front machine guns opened fire. The shell swept over the trench line, smashing into one of the remaining buildings, the high explosive shell detonating and sending a fireball into the air, the explosive blast throwing several infantry from their feet, killing four. As the stunned soldiers rose, their bodies twisted, machine gun fire tearing after the shell and cutting through their uniforms, several bodies shuddering under multiple impacts.
The 20mm cannon kept firing, the shells slamming against the front hull of the T34, the tracks squealing as the tanks attempted to reverse into the mist.
The radio operator ducked as debris clattered behind and smacked against his back, dust billowing around him as he coughed, his voice wheezing, ‘Enemy attack…multiple tanks with possible infantry support, air and artillery support required…coordinates…’
The engine noise swept across the trenches, the distant shouts of ‘Hurrah’ reaching the defenders ears as Russian infantry charged from behind their tanks. Udet coughed hard, dust and powdered snow swirling around him as he staggered, the rattle of machine gun fire breaking out to the north, then louder from the gun just south of him. Tracks squealed, the T34 rumbling forward and turning as the pak jolted backwards, the shell flying past the Russian tank as more hulks became visible through the shroud.
The young German rose up, flashes through the mist as the tanks closed, several charging past as their machine guns blazed. His chest heaving, he glanced to the left, the soldier that had been next to him writhing on the trench floor, his hands grasping an open deep shoulder wound from shrapnel, blood pumping onto the scorched snow. The 20mm cannon fell silent, several of the crew cut down next to their weapon, the others ducking back as bullets clattered against the flak piece.
Tatu dropped into the trenches with Petru, his lips curling in irritation as they were showered with debris, the explosion flashing through the mist. Blundering forward through the smoke and past crouched soldiers, his eyes searched for Hausser, Moretti struggling behind as he carried the remainder of the grenades with Petru.
Reaching the northern most section, he grunted as another explosion threw frozen earth on top of them, his head shaking to clear his vision. Rifles cracked across the eastern and northern trenches, the machine guns firing bursts out into the fog as the tank engines roared around, tracks squealing as the T34s approached.
Tatu struggled along the trench as flashes swept through the swirling mist, explosions erupting across the hamlet behind as the high explosive shells found their mark. Muffled screams filled their air, the rattle of machine gun fire complimented by the sweeping smoke and thuds as the pak fired out.
Leutnant Hausser was shouting at the soldiers around him in t
he trench, ‘Hold your fire! Wait until you see the silhouettes…then bring them down!’
Tatu dropped next to him, gasping for breath as ‘Hase’ dropped to his knees, collecting two of the anti-tank grenades, the Romanian attempting to shout, ‘Several have passed…we need to stop the rest!’
More explosions, the Russian tanks beginning to target the flashes through the swirling mist, a number clattering past to engage any reinforcements. Tatu forced himself upwards, grasping two anti-tank grenades and grimacing with determination, ‘Let Petru and I go and get them, Herr Leutnant!’ They ducked, eruptions breaking out across the hamlet behind, both machine gun positions destroyed under the sustained fire, three of the pak gun crew killed as they were thrown from the piece.
The rifle fire and crackle of enemy machine guns intensified, the Russian infantry now dropping before the trenches and preparing for a final attack. Hausser glanced at the Romanian, shaking his head, ‘You would not make ten metres, they have infantry support…we hold them here sergeant! Go and support the north east corner…’ He glanced upwards, seeing the light strengthen, ‘Once this fog has cleared…the Luftwaffe will be here!’
Tatu nodded grimly, sweeping the PPSH 41 round from his back and indicating to Petru and Moretti, ‘With me! We hold them off!’ The shouts of ‘Hurrah’ filled their ears, the Russian infantrymen rising up as T34 shells smashed into the two small villages ahead. Dust and frozen dirt crashed into the trenches, the defenders shielding their faces as they staggered, the shock waves intensifying as more shells detonated amongst the ruins.
Rise of the Bloodied Phoenix Page 22
