Christmas 1939 — Voss Family Home, Braunschweig
Snow fell in soft curtains outside the windows of the Voss family home, blanketing the garden in white and silencing the streets beyond. Inside, the warmth of the hearth battled the winter chill, and for the first time in months, the three Voss men sat at the same table.
Andreas, freshly home from Poland, had shed his flight gear for a civilian jacket that still hung awkwardly on his lean frame. Across from him sat Johann, broader and more earthbound, with the calm demeanor of a veteran infantryman. His boots were polished, though his knuckles were still raw from weeks in a truck cab and trench.
Their father, a World War I veteran, poured schnapps with a steady hand, his eyes bouncing between his sons with quiet pride and lingering worry.
“I read about your Stukas in the papers as much as I saw you flying overhead” Johann said, raising his glass to Andreas. “Your lot made quite the name for yourselves.”
Andreas laughed softly. “You weren’t exactly invisible, either. Guderian made sure his tanks and infantry stayed in every communique.”
The brothers clinked glasses.
Their father cleared his throat. “You two did your duty. I only pray you’ll be spared the worst of what’s to come.”
The room was quiet for a moment — not somber, just thoughtful. Outside, carolers sang faintly down the street. Inside, the Voss family shared a meal of roast goose, potatoes, and red cabbage. For one evening, the war was far away and they enjoyed the warmth of home and the bond of family.
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Winter 1939–1940 — The Waiting Game
After the firestorm of Poland, a strange calm had settled. The newspapers called it a Sitzkrieg, the “Phoney War.” But to veterans like Voss, it felt more like the eye of a storm he knew must BREAK.
Polish veterans were granted leave in staggered waves — a reward for service and Victory. In their place came Reservists in worn greatcoats, and wide-eyed recruits with no combat experience but limitless questions. Training grounds everywhere buzzed with shouted orders while maintenance shops thrummed day and night as every engine, bomb rack, and fuel line was tested and restored to readiness.
Though the occasional aerial duel flared over the North Sea or sporadic naval encounters stirred the headlines, nothing yet moved on land. The Wehrmacht waited. So did the Luftwaffe. StG 2 was no exception.
Voss’s StG 2, now relocated near the western border, spent most days airborne. Flight schedules were relentless. Ketten and Schwärme drilled in formation flying over open farmland and patchy pine forest, tightening the spacing, refining turns, correcting for wind shear. Dive-bombing patterns were repeated over painted wooden targets or old tanks dragged into open fields. The ground controllers — mostly Feldwebel radiomen newly assigned to Luftwaffe liaison roles — practiced spotting and vectoring the Stukas onto imagined enemy lines. Sometimes they fumbled the calls. Their instructors, veterans of Poland, made sure they didn’t fumble them twice.
New pilots joined them regularly now; youngsters fresh out of flight school with barely a dozen hours in the Ju 87. Voss made sure they were paired with older, salty gunners who had seen Poland from the rear seat. In the evenings, the crews hunched over maps and shared sandwiches, stories, and the quiet truths that didn’t show up in the training manuals.
“Poland,” Adler reminded them during one chalkboard session, “was a cakewalk. A one-sided affair. Don’t expect that again. The French have real artillery. The British have Spitfires and Hurricanes. You’ll earn your medals from now on.” That stuck.
There were rumours of a coming offensive. Fall Gelb, some whispered — the big push west. But no one knew when. Or where.
Voss’s mood soured when he learned that StG 1 was being outfitted with the Ju 87R with wing-mounted tanks. Theoretically, it meant deeper strikes, more flexibility, greater glory. His men grumbled about it openly one afternoon in the dispersal tent until he shut them down.
“Learn to fly tight and drop on target, and you’ll get your chance.” he said, and doubled their flying hours. They didn't grumble again.
But the envy lingered, especially in April when news arrived that German troops had landed in Norway — Operation Weserübung. The skies over Narvik and Trondheim saw bitter fighting. Stukas there sank British destroyers, pounded snowy fjords, and returned with holes stitched by RAF fighters.
Voss and his Kette listened to the radio reports. There was pride, of course (and occasional cheers and toasts in the mess) but also restlessness. The war had started again for someone else. And they were still waiting. Drilling. Preparing.
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May 1940 — Odendorf Airfield, near Euskirchen, Germany
Briefing Tent, II./Sturzkampfgeschwader 2
The wind snapped at the canvas of the briefing tent as a hundred aircrew and senior ground staffers filed in and found their places. The ground outside was slick with morning dew, but inside it was warm with anticipation.
Waiting for them at the front stood Oberstleutnant Oskar Dinort, commander of StG 2, tall and stiff-backed, his presence filling the room more completely than the smell of diesel and coffee. Dinort had led them through Poland, and the men respected him. His word carried weight.
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| Oberstleutnant Oskar Dinort |
A staff officer adjusted the map behind him — Holland, Belgium, Luxembourg, northern France — pinned and penciled with a flurry of operational arrows and target designations.
Dinort didn’t waste time with pleasantries.
“Gentlemen,” he began. “In five days, Germany will launch Fall Gelb — the offensive into the Low Countries and France.”
He paused, eyes sweeping the assembled pilots.
“This is not Poland. The enemy we face now is equipped, entrenched, and experienced. The French Air Force will fight. The British Expeditionary Force will resist. We will strike first, and hard — but we must be ready to take casualties.”
He turned slightly and gestured to the maps behind him.
“First we will smash Belgium and the Netherlands with 30 Divisions - 30! This will sucker the British and French into thinking we are re-enacting the old- Schleiffen plan our fathers marched to. When the Allies have committed their forces to counter this force, the weight of our army will strike elsewhere.
General von Runstead will move 45 Divisions, including 7 Panzer division, through the Ardennes, and bypass the formidable Maginot Line defences— a bold move. Bold enough the enemy won’t expect it. Your job is to clear the way. Destroy bridges, soften infantry positions, halt reinforcements. Your work will be critical in creating the breakthroughs the army needs.”
A low murmur moved through the tent. Voss sat near the front, listening intently, his notebook closed on his lap. He knew these weren’t just orders — this was history being written.
Dinort nodded to a man at his right, Hauptmann Walter Enneccerus, who had taken Command of II./StG 2 in December as they reorganised after Poland. Younger than Dinort but with sharp eyes and a measured tone, Enneccerus stepped forward.
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| Walter Enneccerus |
“II. Gruppe will move to its forward launch field on the 8th,” he began. “Operational readiness by the 9th but no local familiarisation or check flights to maintain secrecy. Your Commanders already have provisional assignments, and final targets will be handed down from Fliegerkorps VIII no later than the evening prior.
"The Army will be moving fast - faster than the infantry or supporting artillery can keep up to support them. We will be their airborne artillery- their on-call fire. Their effectiveness stems directly from our ability to put bombs on target- fast!"
He looked directly at the junior officers, including Voss.
“Expect limited fighter escort early on. You'll be flying low. Fast. And under fire. This campaign will test every lesson you learned in Poland — and expose every weakness you still carry.”
He gave a small nod.
“You've trained hard. Now we hit harder. The world will be watching this one.”
The tent was silent for a moment before a Signals officer stepped up to review communications protocols and frequency procedures. But for Voss, the real message had already landed.
Fall Gelb was coming. And this time, nothing would be easy.
He peered more closely at the map and saw that after supporting the initial attack on Belgium, StG 2's main effort would be supporting General von Rundstedt's Armee Group A in the Ardennes. Counted among their his force was his brother's 2nd Motorised Infantry Division.
Once again Andreas would be flying over and supporting his brother Johann on the ground. That made him smile, and he knew his father would be pleased also to know that his boys were near one another.
He went back to his maps and his lists - there was much to do.
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| Fall Gelb - the Attack through the Ardennes |
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