Hausser smiled hungrily, nodding his thanks and turning to face the two sleeping Romanians on the right, his voice rising, ‘Time for stew, gentlemen! Let’s wake up and get into our Hanomag…it is time to head north!’
Tatu’s frame shook, the officer grinning opposite Hausser as a disgruntled voice replied, ‘Damn country…you can’t even sleep here without being ordered about!’ He rose abruptly, shuffling round to face Hausser, his grey hair matted as he sniffed deeply, ‘But a stew that smells good to warm our insides will help…’ He nudged Petru, the corporal shifting and yawning as he grasped the wall, pulling himself upwards sleepily, the quartermaster nodding to Hausser, ‘Herr Leutnant, what excitement have you for us today? Another cold morning sight-seeing in the service of the Wehrmacht?’
Both officers grinned widely, Hausser wincing in jest, ‘Let’s get the others some stew and then we can look at the map…we will stop at the village and then head further north…Major Wolff will want an update too.’
Tatu grunted, pushing himself upwards and groaning as he stretched, rubbing his matted hair, ‘Very well…let’s feed the masses, see what that greedy Italian has to say about a good German sausage stew…’
Chapter Thirty Seven: The Battle Behind the Lines
Pavel and Oleg strained their eyes into the early morning mist, the shroud hugging the frozen terrain as they stared out over the depression, rifles lying next to their prone bodies. Glancing to either side, Pavel exhaled heavily, seeing the other soldiers lying in the snow, all staring out pensively towards the south.
Several had been busy during the freezing night, the report that a large SD unit reinforced with Cossacks would sweep the woods at first light spurring the partisan commander into action. Pathways had been discretely marked through the forest, the soldiers instructed not to stray from the tracks, the placing of trip wires and booby traps being completed feverishly during the night, the local wildlife pushed northwards and deeper into the forest for safety, but also food.
Three M1910 Maxim machine guns lined the lip of the wide hollow, the weapons placed on their wheeled carriages for quick withdrawal, a small number of DP27 weapons with distinctive muzzles and circular upper magazines pointing outwards from behind bushes and undergrowth.
Knowing the defensive fire would only draw additional attention from local German allied security units, scouts had been sent out under the cover of darkness, slipping into nearby forests to seek another refuge, two returning triumphantly with possible locations. One was chosen further north, the option of travelling at night the only way to secure safe passage. The stout partisan commander, a Cossack himself, hoped the German sweep was later rather than at first light, reducing the time the fascists could mobilise forces against them before escape beckoned in darkness.
They waited, as they had done for nearly two hours, the cold seeping into muscles and nerves as clouds of exhaled breath rose across the line, the men becoming impatient and restless as Pavel jabbed Oleg in the shoulder playfully, ‘This is just like the line two months previous…we sat forever in the centre as the fascists fought in Stalingrad. They fought in Rhzev to the north of us, ‘the meat grinder’ our captain called it, but we sat in a trench that did not move for six months, the rations good and rotation from the front line regular.’ He grinned in youthful excitement, ‘You cut your hand and got an infection from sex!’
Oleg grunted, pushing back on his younger friend’s shoulder in discomfort, ‘Idiot! Lower your voice…do you want all to hear?’ He glanced round uncomfortably, seeing the men on either side stifle grins as he hissed, ‘You pissed your pants when the enemy sniper missed you…do you want me to tell our commander?’
Pavel gritted his teeth, glaring at his friend, ‘No! That was when I was younger…I know better now, have more experience…’ He blushed, grinning in embarrassment, ‘It was a close shot though…tore my uniform…’
Oleg chuckled in fond jest, ‘Silly fool…what will I do if you fall? You are all I have now…’
His eyes misted with emotion, rubbing his nose as Pavel stared at him, the young teenager’s voice a low whisper, ‘You are mine too…all I have, I mean…we will survive together, beat the fascists!’
Oleg’s hand swept back onto his shoulder, grunting as he heard the distant crunch of snow, the forward scout emerging breathlessly over the lip of the depression opposite, his arms raised to avoid being shot. Struggling forward through the deep snow, he stumbled several times, jumping the stream and gasping with adrenalin as he pushed his body up the slope towards them, ‘The Germans are approaching the trees…a long line with a secondary line behind. They are spaced out and armed with rifles and submachine guns…armoured cars are on the track below. There are many!’
A hissed shout came from along the line, the Russian officer wary of the scout creating unrest amongst the defenders, ‘The armoured cars cannot touch us in here. Stay down and let them advance over the ridge opposite…then we hit them and retreat. They will lose faith and retreat before too long, then the forest will be ours once more.’ The voice rose in hatred, ‘They are fascists…many of them will die this day comrades! It is vengeance now…’
They lay there with bated breath, nervousness nearly overcoming many as they furtively checked the weapons again and again, the forest quiet bar the screech of a bird, many jumping at the shrill sound. The trees fell abruptly into silence once more, several of the sixty three defenders exhaling slowly, their eyes fixed on the darkened mist seeming to hang on the lip of the depression opposite, many wiping the frost from their eyebrows or adjusting their scarves or worn uniforms and animal hides for warmth.
Oleg pinched the brow of his nose, stifling a yawn as Pavel grinned, ‘You did not sleep much…kept moving and waking me up…are you nervous about today?’
Oleg turned slowly to look at his friend, ‘I worry about looking after you…that keeps me awake.’ He sniffed, pinching his nose again, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, tone mellowing as he realised his friend was concerned, ‘We have been together a long time…I cannot lose you now, we are alone together in this mess…it will be a long time before we see our parents again.’
Pavel slapped his arm playfully, embarrassed by the statement, Oleg grinning at his friend as the younger man averted his eyes, his face smeared with dirt. Then he stiffened, the familiar voice of Mishka scolding him at a hiss from his right, ‘Be quiet…the fascists are coming.’
He glanced round wide eyed, nodding an apology as the young woman pointed firmly towards the bank opposite, ‘Keep looking there…not at me. I am not the one that will kill you…’ She grinned deviously, ‘…not yet anyway!’
He swallowed uncomfortably, hearing the distant crack of a branch, the fluttering of a startled bird as the defenders ducked down instinctively. Then silence descended once more, the sound of flowing water from the narrow half frozen stream below drifting upwards, an otter’s head emerging from a burrow entrance, the small nose twitching and sniffing the air before retreating in caution.
The silence seemed to descend once more, becoming almost deafening in the solitude of the individual defender’s minds as they waited, breathing with shallow pain onto the frozen snow before them. Then the crack of another distant branch startled them once more, eyes straining through the mist towards the darkness opposite, the gloom seeming to grip their cold souls as the misted tentacles drifted across their vision.
The distant darkness seemed all engulfing, chilling their minds as they sought confirmation of what was expected, the sight of figures emerging onto the white terrain before them, a cold breeze drifting almost ominously across their prone bodies as they tensed.
Then a silhouette gradually emerged from the trees, the figure at a half crouch and sensing the land before him, seeming to even sniff the air before turning. An arm rose, gesturing forward to those behind, the shadow lowering to one knee and raising the darkened outline of a rifle to his eye.
Several more silhouettes emerged cautiously from
the darkened trees, the figures beginning to spread across the top of the hollow opposite, Pavel gritting his teeth in rising fear as he forced his face down into the frozen snow, Oleg’s hand sliding across the frosted white surface to rest on his friend’s shoulder in reassurance.
More shadows emerged from the treeline, a number dropping to one knee as the others advanced cautiously, a few stepping into the depression and lowering to await their countrymen. More emerging from behind, Oleg drawing breath in apprehension as he realised the enemy outnumbered them considerably.
One of the shadowed lowered figures indicated forward, the silhouettes emerging into the dim light and mist, rifles and submachine guns held across their chests. Over one hundred men stepped forward into the white depression, their boots sinking into deep iced snow as the powdered frost crunched, several raising their rifles or submachine guns nervously for fear of sliding downwards.
The defenders ducked lower in nervousness, feeling the approaching enemy and knowing they were their countrymen, men of the Ukraine that had been their neighbours and friends in peacetime, the choices of allegiance made for either side. Cossacks moved behind the advancing SD soldiers, stepping onto the frozen snow that declined, the heels of their boots digging into the iced surface for grip, the sound of sabres being drawn resounding across the wide hollow.
The commander of the Russian forward line sneaked a glance outward, noting the soldiers before them were progressing down the slope, his breath held in nervous anticipation, heart pounding as he readied to shout, his stomach churning. Swallowing hard as he realised the advancing soldiers were nearing a point half way between them from the reserves behind, he ground his teeth, shuddering as his lips seemed to shout independent of his apprehensive mind, ‘Fire!’
The defenders rose up, the cranking of machine guns echoing across the depression, the advancing troops stiffening in instinctive fear. Maxim machine guns suddenly chattered as the steam from weapons swept upwards, the DP27 barrels shuddering as rifle muzzles flashed, the crack of bolts being pulled back echoing across the snow.
The advancing men twisted and shuddered, glowing bullets peppering their frames as they fell, the blood from multiple wounds splashing across the white snow. One by one the advancing fascist sympathisers fell, several attempting to turn and flee back up the slope, the ferocity of fire cutting them down as they scrambled for safety.
Flashes from the guns opposite spread through the darkness to either side, rifle bullets tearing and throwing earth and branches onto the defenders as they fired out relentlessly. Several of the prone were hit, their helmets slumping forwards or jerking as bullets passed through shoulders, screams resounding across the line.
Below, broken bodies crawled back upwards on the snow, the blood stains filling the whitened terrain as bullets whipped from north to south, the pained screams and whines of the wounded filling the hollow. Desperate shouts were heard above the rifle cracks and machine gun rattles, ‘Retreat! Move back…’ The partisan commander and Mishka realising the strength of return fire, desperation beginning to overcome their resolve as more shadows moved forward to direct fire on the defenders…there were over six hundred soldiers attempting to sweep the forest, far more than reported.
The sniper cracked the bolt back on his scoped Mosin Nagant for the fourth time, gritting his teeth as he fired again, the silhouette in the distance staggering as the bullet ripped through his sternum, the shadow collapsing back onto the snow bank dead. Several others surged along the sides of the depression, using trees for cover as they began to progress round the sides, the sniper quickly retreating as he realised the SD soldiers were attempting to outflank the defenders.
Pavel and Oleg’s rifles cracked, the steam rising from the breeches as they reloaded, the two young Russians unable to register the number of screaming bodies they had hit. The gunfire seared across the forest, figures dropping against the blood smeared snowed slope before them, many more seeking cover behind rocks and the undulating terrain, their rifles bucking as they fired back towards the partisans.
Many of the defenders scrambled away, keeping low as bullets whipped overhead, cracking against trunks and shattering branches above, debris falling on the men’s backs as they retreated at half-crouch. Oleg slapped Pavel’s shoulder, the two turning on the snow and crawling off, vengeful shouts in their ears as the Cossacks charged into the depression with sabres and rifles raised, their shrieks filling the young men’s hearts with dread.
Rising, they lunged forward, two defenders falling to either side as bullets swept towards the fleeing partisans. Oleg desperately stared at the snow below, grasping his friend’s arm and dragging him onto the marked route, Pavel gasping as he realised his potential error, one that would have led him into a clearing dotted with confiscated German anti-personnel mines. On the previous night, several men had run across the opening before meticulously planting the devices, a trick to draw any naive or inexperienced enemy forward when they saw the footprints in daylight.
Scrambling on through the snow, they gasped the cold air into their chests, flakes flurrying around them as shoulders and bodies in front brushed laden branches. Thrusting between trees and through heavy undergrowth, Oleg glimpsed the second line ahead, bullets zipping through the trees on either side as they neared another track, a slope rising beyond it with numerous trees accommodated on the steep incline.
Bodies were dragging themselves up the slope, several hauling on ropes that had been placed for assistance earlier, the machine guns being tied to the ends as figures emerged above to drag the equipment upwards. Rifle muzzles extended from fire points set in the deep snow, the few reserves preparing to engage any forward enemy as the muzzles flashed.
Muffled explosions and screams behind through the woods as the booby traps claimed victims, the activated mines shooting into the air before exploding, cutting flesh with razor sharp shrapnel. Shouts of hatred followed the retreating partisans, the Cossacks slashing out in frustration at the wounded that had been too weak to escape. A couple severely injured as they strayed from the marked route and snapped a tripwire, the sabres hacking through limbs and thrust into abdomens, the desperate pleas for mercy ignored as blood pumped across the snow.
The rattle of a Maxim machine gun above, Oleg pushing Pavel before him and frantically indicating to a rope, the younger soldier grasping it tightly and hauling himself upwards, Oleg dropping to one knee and turning with rifle raised as bullets smacked onto the bank behind. Jerking the weapon from side to side, his eyes strained as he gasped, Pavel whimpering on the slope as he hauled himself upwards.
Shadows between the trees as the butt kicked into Oleg’s shoulder, the muzzle flashing as Pavel screamed in near panic from behind, ‘Get up here!’
Oleg dragged the bolt back on his rifle, another bullet rising into the chamber…his last. He moved the weapon from side to side, seeing only shadows amongst the many snow laden trees as the rattle of further machine guns from the low ridge erupted. Several bodies lay crumpled amongst the undergrowth, partisans and SD troops cut down as they neared the track, Oleg exhaling heavily as he glimpsed several of the enemy soldiers’ figures retreating, lunging from behind trees to scramble away.
Grinning with adrenalin, he glanced from side to side, noticing a couple of other men now grab ropes and heave themselves up the frozen slope, his eyes dropping to look along the length of the barrel one last time before struggling upwards.
Turning, he glimpsed Pavel staring down from above, his grimy face creased in fear, Oleg’s hand rising reassuringly as he stepped forward, slinging the rifle over his back as he leant to grasp the rope. Dragging himself upwards, the gunfire echoed along the second line, Pavel pulling from beyond the rise with all his energy as rifles fired on both sides of the taut rope.
Finally slipping over the crest, Oleg dropped to his knees in exhaustion, Pavel collapsing next to him gasping in relief, ‘Thank heaven…I was terrified!’ His arm swept round his friend’s back as he grinned
, ‘They have retreated…lost many men!’ His friend nodded breathlessly, dropping the rifle before him as tears filled his eyes.
They slowly looked up as two cloth wrapped boots stopped and turned before them, piercing brown eyes staring down at the two young men, the face covered by a tight scarf beneath a hood. The Russian sniper lowered the butt of his scoped rifle into the snow as he dropped to a crouch in front of them, a cloud of breath swirling around their figures, the tone grim, ‘Fascists don’t let their enemy slip through their hands that easily…’ The slim figure sighed as Mishka stopped behind him, her hands placed on his shoulders fondly, ‘They will regroup and try to flank us, perhaps move more troops into the area and attack from a different direction…we will have to move further back into the forest…escape from here before too long. This place is no longer safe for us…’ A gloved hand swept forward, patting Oleg on the shoulder, ‘You showed spirit…let it not get you killed in future…’
Chapter Thirty Eight: The SS Advances
The long barrelled Panzer IVs lumbered on, snow billowing in their wakes as they headed south eastwards, the gunners straining to glimpse signs of an aggressive enemy in the woods and fields on either side. Having broken through the western flanks of the Russian Sixth Army, the SS tanks were advancing towards the Wehrmacht units moving up from the south, the enemy units to the south west now perilously close to becoming trapped.
The Russian forward units had even come within 30 miles of Von Manstein’s headquarters at Zaporozhye, prompting Hitler’s abrupt departure back to Germany from a briefing, promising to release additional units to the senior commander to fulfil the ambitious plans he had presented.
The Panzers roared through villages and small hamlets, the startled residents staring with bewildered eyes as they glimpsed the black crosses on the hulls, many realising that the war was not going to relinquish its grip on the eastern Ukraine that easily. In the wake of the tanks, SS Grenadiers pulled up in their lorries and Hanomags, offering little in return for billets as they forced their way into homes, barricading the villages as defensive positions. Anyone that was deemed to protest was offered one bleak alternative, to find a new dwelling in the snowbound freezing terrain outside. With limited chances of survival in the unforgiving temperatures, the bewildered residents succumbed to the new arrivals, fear driving acceptance as the soldiers barricaded the external low buildings, placing sentries and roadblocks on the tracks through the hamlets.
Rise of the Bloodied Phoenix Page 36
