Devils with Wings: Silk Drop (10 page)

Paul also drifted into his own world. Fighting to keep the rising doubts that often fought their way to the surface just before going in to battle. Had he done enough preparation? Would his tactics prove to be right? Would he lead his men bravely and successfully?

He was brought back to reality with a shake from the Absetzer.

“We’re ten minutes out sir.”

The flight time had passed relatively quickly. Next they were given a five minute warning. The two hour flight was nearly over. They had flown over the Pindus Mountains and were now dropping down to only fifty metres above the Gulf of Corinth making a beeline towards their objective. There was a haze covering the gulf which would help to cover their approach, although they could be heard and the glider assault ten minutes earlier would be warning enough that all was not well.

“Ready,” shouted the Absetzer.

The paratroopers stood up as one and turned to face the doorway.

“Hook up.”

They took the static line from between their teeth, held there so their hands were free to hang on should the plane be buffeted by a strong gust of wind or anti-aircraft fire, and hooked it onto the central cable.

“This is it sir,” called Fessman from behind him.

The dispatcher yanked open the door and a blast of wind tore through the aircraft causing those near the hatch to squint. The Unterfeld held up two fingers indicating two minutes. Then one minute. On the other two aircraft, part of Paul’s Kette, the same thing would be happening. Almost all of first platoon would land on the ground at the same time, along with up to ten weapons canisters.

Paul was called forward; he would be the first to leave the plane. He shuffled closer to the doorway, the wind taking his breath away, grabbing the two handles ready to launch himself forwards.

“Geh. Geh. Geh. Go. Go. Go.”

Paul launched himself from the security of the metal box, his safety net for the last two hours, followed seconds later by one of his men. He was whipped sideways as he exited the plane and plummeted downwards. The static line snatched the chute out of its bag, successfully deploying his parachute, yanking him backwards as the chute filled out gripping the air. The drag on the shoulders was vastly reduced, thought Paul, since they had replaced the older model.

His thoughts quickly ran through a checklist. Looking up to confirm his chute had fully deployed, noting they weren’t receiving any incoming anti-aircraft fire and as yet no small arms fire from the ground. He looked about him as best he could and was able to see that other parachutes were above him and paratroopers were now tumbling out of the second Kette. Terra firme was rapidly approaching, the scrub covered ground looking dark brown in the early morning light.

Thump.

He was down, sprawled on his hands and knees, his gloves and knee pads providing some protection. He jumped up and quickly ran round his chute, collapsing it, releasing his harness and at the same time looking about him. He saw a weapons canister land close by and sprinted towards it. He would feel much happier with an MP40 in his hand, rather than just his pistol. He was lucky, the markings showing it to be the canister containing his personal weapon and ammunition. Other troopers were also approaching to collect their weapons.

He ripped open the top, grabbed the MP40 that was secured inside, along with a second MP40 and two Kar 98s. Fessman slid down beside him and quickly acquired a rifle, speed was of the essence. Paul grabbed ammunition and magazines and placed them in his pouches, which he had transferred from the inside to the outside of his tunic. He looked about him again. He could hear the crack of rifles in the distance, coming from the north east close to the bridge over the canal. The chain saw like buzz of an MG 34, indicating that the paratroopers at the bridge were laying down some heavy firepower.

Paul’s men were on what could be deemed as a shallow hillock, the ground typical to the area. Hard, dry, dusty, interspersed with dry looking shrubs and the occasional olive or lemon tree. To the south the ground tapered away to an orchard of olive trees, while to the west it was fairly open. To the north, where they were headed, it dropped away more steeply to a tree line of more olive trees, separating the hillock from the outskirts of a small town or village.

Leeb joined them and knelt down, quickly followed by Max.

“One troop is already on their way sir, it’s about five hundred metres,” informed Leeb.

“Good, and the rest of the Company?”

“The full company is on the ground sir, Feldwebel Grun and I will join my platoon.”

“Ok Leeb, I’ll join you both shortly.”

The officer and NCO shot off towards their objective. Two troopers from second platoon attached wheels to the weapons canister ready to transport it to the tree line, which Leeb’s platoon was securing, consolidating their ammunition and supplies in one defendable location.

“Finished sir?”

“Yes, yes.”

They too left the area, leaving Paul alone with his Signaller.

“I have comms with Regimental HQ sir,” indicated the radio operator, part of his Company HQ. He grabbed the handset from him and spoke into the mouthpiece.

“All successfully down sir, over.”

The tinny response could be barely heard. “Any enemy activity, over?”

“None sir, and we’re moving into position now, over.”

“Good, carry on Brand, out.”

The conversation was short and sweet. Oberst Egger would be focussing on the taking of the bridge over the canal, not Paul’s small sideshow. He handed the handset back to Bergmann.

“Let’s go.”

He leapt up and sprinted towards Leeb’s position, Bergmann close on his heels, the canister with the radio in it rattling behind him. They both arrived at Leeb’s position, breathing heavily, in part due to the exertion of running and part due to the adrenaline pumping blood through their veins. Leeb had two troops facing north above the tree line and one troop covering their rear in a semi-circular arc. This could be the company base, Paul thought.

He looked about him, feeling the coolness of the morning on his skin, but the sun was close to rising. It was all quiet apart from the shots in the distance, the cicada’s symphony in the undergrowth and the occasional dog barking. To his front the ground gradually sloped away from them, the other side of the tree line showing the first of the dwellings they would have to patrol through later.

The light was brightening by the minute and he could see a number of square, white buildings, typical to this country, through the trees — whitewashed three times a year to keep their homes cool, the blue domes on top of some representing the sun and the sky. Further to the right, he could see what looked like a church, a small dome supported by four slim pillars on top of the main building. A good place to locate a spotter, thought Paul. The increasing light was definitely starting to give shape and definition to objects and he had an uneasy feeling that they would be badly exposed in the full light of day. He made the decision that he would move the unit down into the tree line, leaving a small force on top.

Ten minutes later he was joined by his remaining two platoon commanders, he gathered them and Max around him. With a stick he had found close by, he scraped a square into the gravelly surface, representing the hillock they were now on, placing a row of twigs to represent the tree line below them.

“Report.”

“All of the weapons canisters have been secured sir, only one was damaged but the contents are ok,” responded Nadel, his pale, but blackened face, looking even more pinched than normal.

“Leutnant Roth?”

“We’ve done a complete sweep sir and nothing. It’s pretty desolate, except for a derelict building to the east.” He placed a stone on the eastern part of Paul’s ground plan.

“It is pretty exposed here sir.”

“I concur Roth, hence we’re going to move.” He pointed at his layout. “North of the tree line, at the bottom of the slope we have the start of the outskirts of a small town,” he said placing a number of small pebbles. “There is what looks like a church with a small tower, here about fifty metres into the town.” He placed a larger, darker stone to represent it. “The south here, on the opposite slope, there looks to be an orchard of some sort.”

“Probably an olive grove sir,” suggested Max

“That is likely Feldwebel Grun. And to our west there seems to be some scattered habitation. So, this is what we’re going to do gentlemen. Roth, you’ll need to split your platoon. I want one troop dug in here.”

“We’ll be badly exposed sir,” interrupted Roth, concern clearly etched on his face.

“I know Viktor, but we can’t afford to let the enemy get the high ground and come in behind us.”

“Understood sir.”

“But you’ll need a little more than shell scrapes Leutnant Roth,” suggested Max.

“Agreed,” Roth nodded. “The other two troops sir?”

“Send a troop to occupy the derelict building to the east,” he pointed to the single stone placed there earlier. “That will be our fall-back position and where we’ll exfil through. That’s the route we’ll take to join our forces in the main town, or down to the beach should we need to be extracted by sea.”

“The final troop sir?”

“You’ll need to split that troop into two sections, one patrol to the west and one to the east, understood?”

“Jawohl.”

“Nadel, your platoon is to space itself out along the tree line, below. If there are any enemy forces based in the town, then it is likely they’ll come from that direction to move us off the hillock, so be ready. Keep a three sixty watch though, in case they slip through Roth’s patrols.”

“Will we pull back through Leutnant Roth’s position sir?”

“Yes Feldwebel, we’ll collapse in on the tree line, before moving east along it then up to Roth’s troop situated in the derelict building.”

“The trigger sir?”

“A green flare,” Paul said tapping the flare gun in the holster strapped to his side.

“Right, your platoon Leeb. I’ll take a section forward to the church we can see in the town. We can man the tower and use it to keep a watch on our area of operations. You are to take the rest of the platoon on a fighting patrol through the town.”

“How far in sir?”

Paul pulled a map from his pocket and spread it out in front of him and pointed to the town.

“Through to the far side, but don’t go beyond that. There’s a further drop this afternoon with the specific purpose of mopping up and we don’t want to get entangled in that. I don’t want casualties from friendly fire. But, we do need to make contact with the enemy, draw some of them away from the canal area.”

“Will you stay with the tower team sir?”

“No, once I’ve had a chance I will join Leeb’s platoon. That’s also where I want you Feldwebel.”

Max nodded.

“Right. Let’s get to it,” Paul ordered as he stood up. He immediately crouched back down. “Listen.” The men remained crouched, straining to pick up the sound that their commander could obviously hear.

“There,” hissed Max, “I can just make out the drone, it’s a Junker’s flight coming in.”

“It sounds like the next wave coming in to support the glider attack,” added Leeb.

Paul stood up. “We need to go now, we need to start distracting the enemy.”

The rest got up and headed for their respective platoons to carry out their orders.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The parched, brown hillock dropped down towards a tree line on the edge of what appeared to be an olive grove, interspersed with the odd lemon tree. Paul led the small section forward ahead of the main force, dropping down the side of the hillock eventually passing through the first of the olive trees. The section was made up of Uffz Forster, Obergerjager Herzog, followed by Petzel, Stumme and Fessman. All had fought with Paul before in Poland and Belgium.

They patrolled carefully through the olive grove, the trees bare, the olives having been picked clean during November and December, the narrow, wide spaced trunks offering little cover. Within minutes they were through to the other side and hit a stoned road running west to east, alongside, at irregular intervals, were a number of white washed houses. Opposite and slightly right another road ran north.

They looked left and right, it was clear. Paul indicated for two men to cross the road and secure the junction. Once they were in
position, the rest stepped out of the cover of the grove and in a staggered formation, three on each side, they made their way down this new road. They moved further into the town, different shaped dwellings either side of them, their small, high windows making it difficult to see in.

“Keep back from the doorways,” Paul hissed reminding them of their trade craft, that some appeared to have forgotten.

Fessman, the trooper on point, suddenly jumped, startled by a woman leaving her home through the front door of her house. His finger was a hair’s breadth away from squeezing the trigger of his Kar 98K. The old woman, dressed in black with a shawl wrapped round her head and shoulders, saw the weapon pointing in her direction, screamed and ran back into the house slamming the door behind her, the sound of bolts being slid across could clearly be heard. Fessman looked back at the men behind him, shrugged his shoulders and grinned.