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| Ju-87 B-2 staged forward, Balkans, April 1941. |
The heavy doors shut with a final thunk, sealing out the chill Balkan wind that had howled all morning across the airfield. Inside, the briefing room was thick with cigarette smoke, maps, and tension. Oberleutnant Andreas Voss sat in the third row, among the Staffelkapitäne and behind the senior commanders of StG 2, facing a canvas-draped map wall and the Geschwaderkommodore himself.
Oberstleutnant Oskar Dinort looked older than when Voss had last seen him before France. Yet he radiated energy, eyes shining with purpose—and with pride. The new Ritterkreuz at his throat, awarded after the French campaign, gleamed under the lamps. Everyone in the room felt it: his distinction reflected on them all.
Voss scanned the room. The Gruppe leaders were present—Brücker of III. Gruppe nodding to him subtly, murmuring with a signals officer; staff from I. and III. leaning over their notebooks. Eccenneres was absent, of course—now deployed with II./StG 2 across the Mediterranean, supporting Rommel in North Africa.
Dinort cleared his throat.
“Operation Marita has been approved and will commence imminently. The objective: destroy enemy resistance in southern Yugoslavia and conquer Greece—swiftly, and in full coordination with the Heer. Our job is to break Greek defensive lines and secure the southern flank for operations planned in late spring.”
He paused, eyes sweeping the room.
“Intelligence confirms the Greeks are dug in across the mountain passes north of Thessaloniki. They’ve had time to prepare—fortifications, artillery, and rugged ground. The British, including Australian and New Zealand troops, are reinforcing with units moved from Egypt, and the RAF is already harassing our Italian allies. Mostly Fulmars but also Hurricane fighters and I'm sure you all remember those bastards from Southern England last year.”
Many face grimaced with unpleasant memories as another briefing officer stepped forward, pointer in hand.
“StG 2 will support 18th Mountain Corps, pushing south from Skopje and Strumica. Our airfields here and at Sandanski and Petrich are operational. Initial targets include fortified strongpoints, artillery batteries, and known troop concentrations along the Metaxas Line. Once the passes are breached, we shift to interdiction—bridges, convoys, ports along the Aegean coast - as well as on-call support to the Army."
Voss scribbled notes. He had already studied the terrain—narrow valleys, steep escarpments, switchback roads. Dive-bombing here would be no less dangerous than France—possibly worse, with unpredictable mountain winds complicating accuracy and recovery, while making their approaches more predictable to AA gunners.
A Group Operations Major added:
“Diplomatic efforts have failed in Yugoslavia. We will invade concurrently, with Army elements advancing from Germany, Hungary, and Romania. That weakens our flank—and our timetable. As in France, speed will be our security.”
A grim silence followed. Everyone heard the subtext: this wasn’t just about the Balkans. This was about clearing the board for something far larger.
Dinort leaned on the table’s edge, hands braced.
“Gentlemen, we need to win this quickly. This is not a Balkan quagmire—this is a stepping stone. High Command is preparing something far larger for late June or July. You'll be briefed as required. For now—we destroy Greek and British resistance. Support the Italians—who, let’s be honest, made a complete hash of things. Their invasion failed, and they were pushed back into Albania. Now the Fuhrer has to pull Mussolini's britches out the fire - very embarrassing!”
He straightened as the assembled men politely chuckled.
“First sorties: dawn, 6 April. Target confirmations within 24 hours. Make your final preparations. Good flying men!”
As the officers rose and began to file out, Voss lingered a moment longer, eyes tracing the topography of northern Greece. A mountain war. Another test. But this time, he would not be sharing the campaign with his brother.
Johann’s division—formerly the 2nd (Motorised) Infantry—had gone back to Germany after France and reorganised as a Panzer Division. In his last letter, Johann had written with pride of his new role as a Panzer-Grenadier. He spoke of new equipment, endless drills on the plains of East Prussia, and hints of something massive coming to the east.
Andreas was proud of him—his brother was now part of the armoured spearhead, the tip of the Army's future. But it meant they would not see each other this spring. While Voss descended into Balkan passes, Johann was preparing for something altogether different—a campaign whispered about in briefings, still months away.
A hand clapped his shoulder, shaking him from his thoughts. Behind him, Brücker’s voice:
“You’ll be flying lead again, Andreas. We’ll need your touch in those valleys. Your boys are coming along well—but they haven’t flown in terrain like this. They’ll need your judgment. And your confidence.”
Voss nodded silently, then turned to go. At the back of the tent, half-shadowed by a canvas support pole, he caught a glimpse of Milo. Quiet, watchful, but unmistakably present.
Voss met his eyes and gave the slightest nod. Approval. Trust. A silent pact renewed.
This was no longer just about flying.
It was command—and the war was far from over.
And so the tale goes on. It continues to engage the reader by the way it's told.
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