The Man Cave: Stuka Ace: Russia Mission 2

28 July 2025

Stuka Ace: Russia Mission 2

24 June 1941 - Brest Fortress, Bug River

The Russian border fortress of Brest, well sited on the Bug River, stubbonly resisted despite two days of being pummelled by artillery and having been completely encircled. From the Operations Map, Voss could see it was already behind the main line of advance with Panzer spearheads already more than 50kms beyond. But it was holding up the German infantry that had to root out the defenders, and the German 34th and 45th Infantry Divisions were already behind schedule. It was developing into an ugly, street to street battle that Stukas couldn't help much with.

The column of infantry moving to reinforce the defenders were, however, something his Staffel could attend to. Signals and aerial reconnaissance indicated a Soviet column — likely remnants of bypassed border units — moving to reinforce Brest. If intercepted now, before they reached the garrison, it would help the 45th Infantry secure the fortress. Voss waved over the Operation Feldwebel to muster the aircrews and receive his orders.

Brest Fortress, containing 9000 Soviet defenders

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The third day of the great offensive began under a steel-grey canopy of rainclouds. Though the border had been crossed in force, the land remained soaked and obscured. With the shower front pushing through, visibility was poor, and navigation became a matter of gut instinct and instruments. Still, Oberleutnant Andreas Voss took comfort in the distant knowledge that Zerstörergeschwader 26’s twin-engine Messerschmitts circled above somewhere, ready to ward off enemy fighters.

The Staffel flew through buffeting winds and shifting cloud, cutting low above sodden forest and field, until a break in the weather gave them their first glimpse of the objective: Soviet troops, marching in staggered column along a road northeast of Brest Fortress.

“White 1 to Staffel — Target located. Prepare for attack run.”

Suddenly, Milo’s voice from the rear seat: “MiGs, high two o’clock!”

Two MiG-3s emerged through a tear in the cloudbank, cutting across the Staffel’s flight path in a shallow dive. Their high speed was a threat — but they were too late. Before they could line up their attack, ZG26 struck. Two Messerschmitt Bf 110s came down from high cover, cannon shells stitching across the sky. The Soviets turned to meet them, their attack broken.

The Stukas were left alone - time to go to work.

Voss rolled into his attack dive, knowing that four others were right behind him in sequence. Even through the murk and scattered flak, he could see shapes — khaki-clad forms and horse-drawn carts. Some men stopping to fire, others scattering. Scattered tracer climbed up toward him, disappearing over his starboard wing.

Then his bombs were away with a jolt.

As he climbed out of his dive he saw White 7 pull up awkwardly behind him. On the radio came the terse voice of his wingman:

“White 7 to White 1 — took some fire on the run in. My gunner’s gone. Aircraft flyable.”

The flak had been light, poorly aimed, but deadly enough to claim a life.

Voss led them out through a narrow escape corridor. As they curved northeast, he glanced back through his canopy. A shimmer of silver caught his eye — the telltale gleam of sunlight on plexiglass. MiG-3s again! Same ones or did they call in friends? Regardless, they were racing in, delayed too long by poor coordination or the lack of radios so typical in the Red Army.

The enemy was closing fast when, again, they broke formation and peeled away. Voss craned his neck just in time to see why — more Me 110s, diving like hawks into a pair of startled pigeons. The Stukas flew on, undisturbed.

They landed with incident and Voss walked over to White 7 with its smashed and bloodied canopy. Voss stood by the pilot, Feldwebel Friedrich Stimpl. He silently gave him a cigarette and then quietly led him away in the direction of the mess.

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“Mixed results,” Voss told the Gruppe Operations Officer later, under the canvas awning beside the flight line.

“Some hits. Column scattered. One loss — gunner only.” He paused.

“White 7 held formation despite the damage.”

He lit a cigarette. “Stimpl will fly again, but he’ll carry it for awhile.”

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That evening, as dusk rolled across the edge of the forest, Voss stood silently beside a rough wooden cross. The army chaplain had just offered the field prayer. The grave was shallow, the earth fresh and raw.

Gefreiter Rolf Hozzel, radioman, 9. Staffel, had been laid to rest in the first 72 hours of the campaign.

Voss stood in silence. This was not the first man he had lost under his command. It would not be the last. But this campaign was merely three days old and young Rolf was, had been, just 21 years of age— and that made the burial feel more bitter.