Rise of the Bloodied Phoenix

by Andrew McGregor

  Adlan’s vision was suddenly obscured by foliage, the Tiger crashing through the trees, screams and shrieks on either side with soldiers turning to flee, the metal monsters crushing wounded and several cowering figures beneath their wide tracks as they burst through into the next field. The tank commanders now saw a long tree line in the distance, several low buildings burning fiercely, the roar of aircraft engines overhead as the Luftwaffe flew back towards the west for more ammunition.

  Flashes erupted from the darkened trees, machine guns and anti-tank rifles firing out towards the advancing armour. The electrical turret engine whirred, the gunner straining against his optics as he screamed, spittle splashing from his mouth across the breech, ‘High explosive loaded...readying to fire!’

  Adlan Meier stared through his own viewer, grinning in defiance, ‘Wait for the location of their pak guns...they are trying to tempt us!’ His lips curled in hatred, bright sparks against the hull as bullets and projectiles bounced off the armour, ‘Full speed...let’s close the distance!’

  A flash from the right, his eyes closing briefly as another tore through the darkened trees, the glowing shell zipping past, one clipping a Tiger on the flank. Three more flashes, a loud clank against the lower hull as the Tiger shook violently, the shell bouncing skywards, Adlan raising his hand to firmly grasp the turret ring above, ‘Target nearest flash...destroy them!’ More distant flashes, the gunners frantically reloading as the Panzer IVs roared alongside the Tiger.

  The turret motor whirred, both men holding their breath as the tank jolted again, a flash from the 88mm gun, tracers pouring forward as the explosion ripped through the snow. The darkness of the trees flashed brightly, burning and pulsing debris thrown upwards, another wide explosion as a further Tiger turret bucked nearby, the high explosives detonating amongst the Russian second line. Further bright flashes, MG34 machine gun bullets sweeping into the bushes and undergrowth as detonations seemed to fill the trees, the Panzer IV’s opening fire from the flanks.

  The tanks rolled forward, pings and clanks against their hulls as the thinner armoured Hanomags pulled in behind for cover, tracers sweeping towards the treeline as the tanks roared forward, black smoke billowing upwards from the defences as more detonations filled the undergrowth. Engines roared, the hulls bucking as further high explosive glowing shells swept forwards, explosions once again throwing debris and broken bodies into the air, the shapes falling onto the scorched snow before the Russian line.

  Flames roared and billowed upwards, the ammunition stocks igniting within the woods, the tanks accelerating as tracks churned frozen snow, shells pushed into smouldering breeches as the acrid smoke billowed through viewing slits.

  Adlan Meier stared out through the turret machine gun optics, seeing silhouettes scramble from between the torn trees and undergrowth, several surviving stunned Russian infantry fleeing into the fields beyond. The Russian commanders screamed at their men in panic as the whitewashed turrets neared, the machine guns spraying the bushes and darkness, the officers knowing there was no cover beyond the woods.

  Projectiles swept through the trees and darkness, men torn by the ferocity of the high calibre rounds, others hit by shattered branches and cracked wood fragments as eruptions once again filled the undergrowth, desperate screams filling the air as bodies were tossed in the blast waves, others broken as blood splattered across many of the remaining defenders.

  The Panzers charged into the trees, gaining a final burst of speed as the commanders urged their crews onwards, keen to take advantage of the shock, the chances of satchel charges or grenades reduced in the confusion, the experienced Hanomag machine gunners behind peppering the darkness between the tanks.

  Wood shattered and shrieked on either side of the Tiger hull, the crew wincing as they heard muffled screams, wounded men crushed and shredded under the wide tracks, the clanks on the hulls from bullets behind as the engine roared, heavy billowing exhaust fumes filling the trees, the remaining Russian defenders struggling to breath.

  The driver forced power to one track after the other, the steel monster churning to either side, crushing cowering infantry in their shallow trenches and the undergrowth alike, bodies simply disintegrating and flattened under the force, the young crewman gritting his teeth in determination and hatred. Detonations flashed on either side, a Panzer IV jolting and billowing black smoke as the tracks rolled over a mine, the crew stunned, the Russian assailant torn to pieces beneath as the tracks churned over his crushed body, blood spewing to the sides as his frame disintegrated.

  The first Tiger I broke free, tearing roots and branches from the undergrowth and rolling forward into the field beyond, Adlan Meier staring through the optic and glimpsing several figures struggling away through the snow before them. Staring further, he grasped the microphone frantically, noticing the covered hulls far in the distance, many with snow walls before them. His voice was frantic, eyes widened as he saw how many dark shapes there were, ‘Russian paks and T34s…hull down behind snow walls and a rise…load armoured piercing!’ He stared further, hearing the loader swear aloud after inserting a high explosive shell into the breech, steam from the uniforms filling the cabin, the nervous sweat dripping from their faces.

  His tone heightened in intoxicating excitement as his heart rate rose, ‘Russian infantry in foxholes…satchels and mines…’ The first distant T34 muzzle flashed, the shell zipping past and through the trees, the Russian gunner receiving a blow to the side of his head from a frustrated commander, Adlan shouting further, ‘Faster…engage them!’

  The Tiger I shuddered as another shell bounced off the forward plate, Adlan drawing breath as the muzzle flashed before him, the high explosive shell sweeping past one of the dug in Russian tanks ahead. The commander glimpsed several low buildings across the open rise ahead, a number of tank turrets just above the slope, the Russian crews concealing the vulnerable lower section of their charges.

  More tanks broke through the trees, their commanders screaming frantically within the hulls in response to the radio messages, many loading armoured piercing shells in readiness. The tanks swerved outwards to the sides, Hanomags slewing to a halt within the confines of the undergrowth, the rear doors springing open as SS Grenadiers jumped out to clear any remaining defenders. Many hesitated, seeing the bloodied gore and torn corpses around them, the officers shouting commands as machine guns and mortars were unloaded, the upper soldiers firing out from the shattered undergrowth, tracers sweeping across the field ahead.

  Flashes in the distance, explosions erupting across the edge of the field, debris and frozen snow tossed upwards, eventually crashing down onto the tank hulls. Two Panzer IVs and a Panzer III burst into flames, their hulls perforated by high velocity shells, most of the crews killed instantly as fire swept across the turrets.

  Slewing the tracks round, the Panzers faced their foe, gunners frantically lowering their eyes to targeting optics, their commanders shouting desperately as shells zipped past, the thumps and clanks as several bounced off armoured hulls, another Panzer III belching smoke as it shuddered backwards.

  The Panzer muzzles flashed, smoke billowing into the cold air as they returned fire, Adlan glimpsing the explosions across the terrain, the Tiger juddering as the 88mm main gun recoiled, flames pouring skywards six hundred metres ahead as a T34 erupted, shattered metal and shrapnel flying sideways and the tank slumped down onto a torn chassis.

  The breech sprung open, another shell thrust into the barrel as the smouldering empty casing clattered across the turret, the electric motor whirring once more as the main gun traversed. Glowing machine gun bullets tore across the ground, cutting down any remaining Russian survivors that waded through the blood smeared snow.

  Adlan Meier swore with adrenalin as he glimpsed the distant flashes once more, shells sweeping past, explosions obscuring his view briefly as he screamed into the microphone, ‘Take them out…then close on the houses ahead…smoke them!’

  His eyes widened as he glimpse
d a T34 turret spiral upwards, the 88mm shell from a Tiger hitting the Russian tank under the turret ring, the machine imploding in fire as the ammunition detonated. Engines roared to either side, black smoke billowing in the distance as the Russian machines burned, the few remaining firing out once more, panicking turret commanders screaming for a retreat as they witnessed their shells bouncing off the new tanks ahead. Without effective radio contact and lacking orders to stand firm, the Russian diesel engines roared, tracks spinning as the individual crews reacted, their tanks tearing backwards from the snow walls that offered concealment, but no protection.

  Supporting infantry rose from concealed machine gun and rifle positions, running towards the rear in panic as the tank tracks squealed around them, explosions tearing the bodies from the earth and tossing them upwards. Pak guns were smashed as high explosive rounds from Panzer III and Panzer IV support tanks found their targets, the surviving crew members scrambling away in terror as the enemy tanks neared, machine gun fire tearing through their bodies.

  The Panzer tracks whined, tanks powering forward as the guns belched once more, two hits, the explosions rocking the T34s as they retreated, further flashes from the raised slope ahead as the second line of tanks fired out. Acrid smoke billowed from one of the stricken tanks, splintering and shrieking steel as the hull imploded, the tank erupting in molten metal as shells inside lost integrity and ignited.

  Two more reversed round, one losing a track as the wheels ground against broken links, the hatches thrust open as a desperate crew sought freedom from the crippled machine, the gunner next to Adlan screaming in excitement at the sight of the two familiar ‘ears’ of the turret. ‘Mickey Mouse! You die now!’

  The 88mm gun belched flame, the shell tearing across the landscape and smacking into the side of the exposed hull, the steel seeming to glow briefly before fire roared upwards. The metal frame became an inferno as two burning silhouettes slowly struggled out of the hatches, their hands flailing as the energy left their torched bodies, the shadows slumping back into the molten tomb that had claimed their lives.

  The Tigers roared forward, the remaining support tanks bouncing off the snow bound terrain as the last three surviving Russian machines jolted from impacts and exploded, one rolling forward in flames to rest against the rise. The surviving pak guns sat deserted, their crews dead nearby or fleeing to the east, scrambling and wading through the snow as tracers swept around them.

  Behind them, German infantry reached the smouldering Russian line, the Hanomag commanders ordering their men back inside as engines burbled, the carriers edging forward to support the Panzers ahead as they roamed across the field, the enemy tanks behind the rise no longer having effective targets as the terrain restricted their view.

  Frantic red flags rose into the air as the last shells swept forward, the lower forward Panzer machine guns isolating and killing any enemy soldiers in foxholes with Teller mines, anti-tank grenades or Molotov cocktails. The exposed buildings on the elevated terrain erupted in flame as planks and roofs were tossed upwards, thick black plumes of smoke rising from the battlefield as the Tigers and support tanks neared the rise, defending infantry running in panic, the commanders firing their pistols in personal frustration after the retreating soldiers. Several of their men turned in hatred, bursts of machine gun fire or rifle cracks ending the oppressive domination of the commissars, the last line of defence collapsing in disarray.

  The Tigers and Panzer IVs reached the bluff, engines growling and tracks spinning as they rose upwards, SS-Stabsscharfuhrer Adlan Meier shouting into his microphone, ‘Hold on the rise…hull down positions…take out the retreating enemy armour and await support. We cannot protect ourselves in a village without infantry…machine gunners, stay alert, shoot at anything that moves!’

  Lowering to stare into the machine gun optic as the Tiger shuddered to a halt, Adlan grinned, witnessing the Russian armour powering across the field beyond, the shadows of infantrymen wading and scrambling after the retreating machines, his hand clicking the microphone once more, ‘Fire at will…kill them all!’

  Then he rolled the sight upwards, drawing breath, before him three villages extended across a white expanse, the dwellings becoming more than just one storey. In the distance, the raised grey buildings and tower blocks of Kharkov were visible, his voice trembling, ‘Mein Kameraden…we have arrived at our destination!’ To either side, the Panzer main guns fired out, explosions erupting across the terrain as several T34s belched smoke and flame, the disabled and destroyed tanks rolling to a halt.

  Chapter Forty Three: Approaching the Mozh River

  Captain Medvedev shivered in the exposed driving position, the three soldiers around him pulling their greatcoats to their throats, the jeep bouncing along one of the tracks leading to the frozen river ahead that flowed into the Donetz. They had passed the slower carriers and lorries further back across the unforgiving terrain, several of the trucks struggling in the deep snow, the light jeep relatively easy to free from obstructions and drifts with other men to hand.

  He smiled grimly at several makeshift defences along the route, the soldiers bracing themselves against the bitter cold air as they nodded towards the passing jeep, Medvedev showing his papers to the exasperated commissars to be permitted passage, the vehicles behind stopped and passengers forced to join the beleaguered defenders.

  Having spent some of the night in the jeep under trees, his body and joints were painfully cold, the sleep fitful as he awoke several times, nightmares and the pain from his perforated eardrum continually disturbing his slumber, the only comfort…a frozen oil soaked blanket found in a rear locker of the jeep. He had eventually given up any attempts to rest, the lights of the jeep illuminating the darkest part of the night as they lumbered forward at slow speed, the nodding, sleepy soldiers next to him trying to gain some rest. Congealed blood was smeared across the right side of his heavily stubbled face, his greatcoat heavily stained and matted with dirt as the vehicle bounced on roots once more.

  Staring at an emplacement ahead with sullen tired eyes, he blinked several times as one of the defending machine gunners shouted, gesturing skywards frantically as the officer’s one functioning ear seemed unable to decipher the words above the engine noise. The soldier next to him suddenly grasped the wheel instinctively as the man shouted, pushing the wheel to the right, ‘Enemy planes approaching, Captain…get under the trees!’

  Medvedev stared in bewildered confusion as the soldiers behind the sandbags ran from their emplacement, the jeep bouncing over the frozen snow to the side, his foot instinctively pressing hard on the brake as the vehicle slewed between the trees. The jeep jolted forwards abruptly as the engine stalled, the passengers thrown forwards, his chest smacking painfully against the steering wheel.

  Groaning, he pushed himself backwards, suddenly and roughly pushed from the driver’s seat, his limp body crumpling into the snow as frozen flakes from above engulfed them, his chest heaving in agony as he spluttered, vaguely aware of bodies dropping next to him as screams to ‘take cover’ filled the air. Gasping for oxygen, he rolled onto his back, staring upwards in exhausted muddled incomprehension, the roar of BMW engines sweeping across the terrain above as his mind struggled to understand what was happening. Muffled shouts around him, his eyes straining through the branches as more snow fell downwards, clouds of frosted particles obscuring his view.

  The Me109s and FW190s swept overhead, the scream of engines tearing across the prone figures as they shuddered, the rattle of machine guns from the fighters targeting Russian units near the river, tracer fire rising into the air as the defenders desperately attempted to drive off the enemy aircraft. Explosions and distant gunfire resounded around the lower terrain, the fighters rising sharply as they completed their ground attacks, banking back round to commence another strafing run.

  Captain Medvedev sucked air, the cold oxygen hurting his bruised chest, his bloodshot and weary eyes welling with tears as his thoughts roamed back to Stal
ingrad and the bleak city on the Volga. He had arrived in September 1942, the German Sixth Army already attacking the city with heavy fighting in most of the suburbs as the enemy fought determinedly towards the river.

  He had stepped off a barge onto the western bank of the wide river, staring upwards across a steep slope rising towards the burning buildings at the summit, the soldiers of his unit unloading equipment behind him as artillery shells smacked against the high structures in the city, dust and debris thrown upwards. The emotions filled his chest, recalling the repeated failed attacks against the fascists, his soldiers depleted time and time again as he had wished for himself to be killed in action, fate seeming to intervene and save him for even worse horrors.

  The dead and dying had been everywhere amongst the streets of the shattered city, his own remaining few troops beginning to doubt his competency as he regularly returned after briefings at 62nd Army Headquarters with even more demanding and impossible orders, the men totally demoralised as they were instructed to attack and attack again.

  His men had eventually retaken a recently captured fascist strongpoint building, his eyes darkening in utter despondency as he witnessed the soldiers under his command execute the surviving defenders on the roof for the Nazis to see. The descent into inhuman hatred, bloodlust and perhaps madness complete after desperate murderous battles over weeks, the soldiers’ friends and young countrymen killed alongside them as they watched.

  Finally, the orders had changed, the need to defend becoming more and more evident as advancing German soldiers seemed able to smell and sense the victory they so desperately wished for, mutilated Russian bodies and dead filling the streets and houses that led to the wide waterway. But it was too late, his superiors losing confidence and summoning a new officer to lead the virtually obliterated company, knowing the captain was beaten mentally. Medvedev was sent back alone to the eastern side of the river and given a reserve command as the snow began to fall, his humiliation complete when the soldiers were not even used in the forthcoming Russian counter offensive, instead moved to supply duties and provided with American carriers to patrol rear areas.