31 July 1941. Change of Command
The heat at the forward airfield was oppressive. Dust clung to everything; goggles, engine cowlings, even the coffee cups left on wings while crews worked. Although not quite 2 months old, the campaign had pushed far and III./StG 2 felt the strain in every exhaust stain and every new face replacing one that no longer stood on the flight line.
Having completed his day's sorties, Andrie was sorting through paperwork with his order when a staff runner came running past:
“All Staffelkapitäne and senior officers — briefing tent. Full turnout.”
It wasn’t the tone of routine orders. Something was up.
The tent was still warm and the inevitable maps lined the walls, with red pins marching east and black pins showing their own repaired or replaced machines. Voss stood among men who looked ten or more years older than they were.
Major Brücker entered last. His tunic was immaculate, his boots polished, which immediately told the story before he spoke. No one in the field looked like that, unless they were leaving.
He cleared his throat, but unlike the morning briefings, no one mimicked him.
“Meine Herren,” Brücker began, voice even and controlled, “the Reichsluftfahrtministerium has seen fit to transfer me to Berlin. I have been posted to the Luftwaffe Generalstab, effective immediately. I will be departing tomorrow.”
No one spoke. A ripple of surprise, not disbelief, passed through the room. Brücker had shepherded them from the Bug to Smolensk. They had expected to see him at Moscow, maybe beyond.
Brücker continued “It has been my honour to lead you. You have done everything asked of you, and more than command had any right to expect. Barbarossa is far from over, but you have carried the battle ahead of the Panzers day after day. For your leadership, your skill, and most importantly your comradeship, I thank you ”
He stepped aside, and another officer emerged from behind him. One known to them all. Tall, lean and serious-faced, his tunic bore the insignia of the Iron Cross First and Second Class.
 |
| Hauptmann Ernst-Siegfried Steen |
Hard, precise, and relentless. A pilot who led in a dive, not from the rear. Hauptman Ernst-Siegfried Steen had flown with the them during the Poland campaign, the fight in France and the Battle of Britain. Now commanding I./StG 2, he was Voss’s counterpart, although senior in both rank and combat hours.
Brücker continued “Hauptmann Steen will assume command of the Geschwader tomorrow morning. He is one of the Immelman family and you all know him to be a highly capable combat commander as well as a crack pilot. We are fortunate to have him step into this role”
Steen surveyed the room, expression unreadable. Then he spoke, voice sharp and economical:
“Sturzkampfgeschwader 2 has flown well during Barbarossa. You have blooded yourselves in this campaign and further distinguished the Immelmann name. But Smolensk is only the second gateway - Moscow stands beyond. Our task is unchanged: strike first, strike hard and open the path for the Army.”
His eyes settled on Voss for half a second; not hostile, not warm. Measuring.
"We go forward. There will be no easing of tempo. Nothing has changed”
A few men exhaled softly at that- the rumours of rest, of rotation to the rear, had been fantasy. The Eastern sky would take them further yet.
The meeting ended abruptly. No speeches. Just orders to prepare the Staffel for the next day's missions under a new command.
Outside, tools rattled and engines coughed on test runs. Mechanics shouted over fuel lines. Somewhere in the distance, artillery thumped as the encircled Soviet armies still fought back..
Andreas Voss walked back toward his tent, dust curling around his boots.
A new commander. And tomorrow, like every day, the Stukas would rise.
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