Authors: Harvey Black
Devils with Wings (32 page)
Oberfeldwebel Waechter, whose troop had attacked this bunker successfully, met him.
“Good see you’re ok sir, how are your men doing?”
Paul updated him, making him aware that MiSud; Maastricht one and two had been secured or destroyed.
“The others sir?”
“I’m waiting for Uffz Fischer and Uffz Leeb to meet us here, but I’ll send a couple of runners out to look for them.”
“Good,” he replied, “I can get that reported back to Hauptman Kaufmann pronto.”
“Where is Oberleutnant Faust,” queried Paul?
“He’s on his way sir, he had a mishap on the way. He’s had to get another glider and tow. We also have a second glider missing, so were down by sixteen men now. You’re in command until the Oberleutnant joins us sir.”
Max leant forward; he was sat directly behind the glider pilot.
The pilot had circled twice, scanning the ground below, attempting to get his bearings and discern his landing point.
“How’s it looking?” he enquired
The pilot, Stadler, looked about him before responding.
“There’s the junction of the canal and the Meuse River,” he said, “but I can’t see the bloody target, where the hell is it?”
“What’s that there?” said Max, pointing to what he thought was a glider coming in to land below them.
“Yes, there it is, there’s the target,” he said excitedly. “Damn it, I’ll have to go round again.”
“Have you enough height?”
“Just, we’re coming in from the east, and I’m tracking round to the north west now,” the right wing dipping down as the glider tilted over to the right.
“We’re about four hundred metres from the target.”
After taking the glider round on a circuit, he levelled off and pushed the stick forward slightly as he lost more height in readiness to hit the ground.
“There Max, there!” shouted Unterfeldwebel Stadler, pointing to the casemate that could be seen out of the port side of the cockpit Perspex.
Max, sat in tandem with the rest of his troop in the cramped glider, could just make out his target. It looked to him, as if they would land slightly behind it and to the right.
Perfect he thought, the guns are targeted to an arc covering from the north west to the north, they would be approaching the casemate from the south, as planned, from its blind side.
The glider pilot was now coaxing his plane, which was rapidly losing height, to the ground and on to its target.
He tipped it round slightly to the right, coming on a line directly north. If he’d got it right, he would come to a stop just behind and to the right of the target.
He was dead straight now and very low, passing Cupola Sud on his right as he dropped the glider for the last time to bring in to land.
Max’s troop had to destroy Maastricht two, the sister casemate to Maastricht one, the target of his platoon commander.
“This is it Max, I’m committed now,” he said with a grin, “there’s no turning back now.”
Max leant back, shouting at the top of his voice.
“Brace! Brace! Brace! We’re going in.”
Just as Max had finished shouting the warning the gliders ski connected with the ground.
He needn’t have worried; it was a textbook landing. The glider slewed to a halt, coming to a standstill with the exit hatch of the glider facing their target a mere thirty paces away.
“You’re a bloody marvel,” praised Max, “now let’s get out of here.”
The pilot quickly pushed at the Perspex cockpit, it comfortably moved up and out of the way allowing Stadler, with Max hot on his heels, to make a quick and clean exit.
A bright flash to the east indicated that Group Granite was starting to make itself felt.
He heard the panel being booted out, and was quickly joined by the rest of his troop.
He sent Pelz and Renisch to scout ahead, while he waited for Geyer and Rammelt to grab the heavy hollow charges.
They both came out clutching one half of the heavy weight charge each, quickly followed by Geib and Waldau.
Two further gliders hit the ground, both containing other troops of group granite.
One of the gliders struck the top of the fortress at too steep an angle, nose first, the front of the glider digging into earth, somersaulting over onto its back. Still sliding along, the wings shattering as they hit the uneven ground, being ripped from the main body.
Amazingly the troop onboard, although dazed, still deplaned as they were trained to do, seeking immediate cover and moving towards their respective objective.
Max looked round, as did the other members of the troop, as a huge explosion erupted to their front, coming from the direction of Maastricht one.
“Leutnant Brand has started the party then,” concluded Geib.
“It’s one nil, so far then,” added Rammelt.
Max looked confused, he was clearly not party to the bets that were being wagered that his troop would be the last one to complete their task.
He promptly forgot about it and focused back on the matter in hand.
The target was now to their front and they swiftly hard targeted towards the casemate, where they met their companions who had been sent on ahead.
“Its all clear, they are quiet as mice,” informed Pelz.
“They must be bloody deaf,” added Renisch, we’ve scouted the front and sides, there’s no one to be seen.”
“They’re probably wondering what the hell is going on to their front,” suggested Max, “that can only be good news for us.”
Their target was now directly in front of Max’s troop, they had approached the target from the rear, on its left side facing the front, so they were invisible from the embrasures.
“Let’s get it done, ordered Max.
They implemented their well-rehearsed plan.
Geib set up the MG just around the side of the casemate to cover their right flank to the north and east, while the others assaulted the bunker, Stadler acting as his number two.
Renisch covered their left flank.
Max placed the ladder up against the rear bunker wall, and held it steady as Geyer and Rammelt struggled up it with their heavy loads.
Once on the top, they both headed for the armoured observation cupola on the upper surface of the concrete Casemate as briskly as they could; bearing in mind the heavy loads they were carrying. Geyer, who was leading the way, quickly heaved up the heavy, lower part of the device onto the dome.
Rammelt joined him and he too hefted up his section of the device, marrying it up with its partner.
As separate items they were a normal explosive charge. Still deadly, but when married together as one, it was lethal.
“It’s done, I’m setting the fuse now,” warned Geyer, “headache time it is.”
And with that he dashed off to the ladder, scuttling down it as fast as he could, with Rammelt close behind him practically landing on top of him in his haste to get away.
They flattened themselves against the wall; waiting for the thunderous explosion they knew would come.
I’m getting too old for this thought Max, but his notions were driven from his mind as the shattering explosion above rocked them all with its crippling blast, fatal to the soldiers directly below, cowering in fear of what was transpiring above them.
They had seen an attack occur on their sister casemate, Maastricht one and their command centre had warned them that they were under general attack.
They were in the process of getting the guns ready to fire, when they heard thumps and clangs coming from the dome above them and could see boots blocking the visors.
Their curiosity was quickly answered, the overwhelming shock wave from the detonation of the hollow charge above, shattered their ear drums with its violence.
Then as if still not satisfied, it rained hot molten metal and shards of concrete down on them. Pelting them with its violence, slicing, gashing, piercing and burning their soft bodies, extinguishing their lives and snatching the victory they had imagined they would achieve through a last heroic defence.
Although protected from the blast, Max’s troop still felt the effects of the pressure wave as it first wrenched the air from their lungs, tugging at their uniforms, before the vacuum created by it sucked the air and dust back, to swamp them in its blanket of soil and fine dust.
They were far from finished, their task was to put the gun emplacement completely out of action, and at that moment in time they could not be sure of what permanent damage had been done.
Pelz and Waldau sprinted around to the front of the casemate placing a twelve and a half kilogram charge, beneath one of the seventy-five millimetre guns.
“If Egon and Stefan haven’t given them a big enough headache, then this ought to.”
They scampered round to the back of the bunker quickly followed by the MG team, and all tucking their heads beneath their arms, elbows covering their ears, waited for the explosion they knew would come.
The flames and debris shot out of the front of the beveled wall, the rest of the force of the blast, rupturing the gun and blowing a hole in the embrasure.
The Belgian soldiers were crouched behind the mechanics of their guns, waiting for the enemy soldiers to attack and finish the job.
Many of their comrades were lying dead beneath the observation dome, some just wounded but screaming in agony, begging for water, for help and even their loved ones.
Although scared, they held their rifles out in front of them in readiness to make one last stand. They had agreed to go down fighting.
The explosion burst amongst them, their stand finished, the fight finally knocked out of them. They extracted themselves from the carnage, taking what wounded they could carry, or drag, with them.
The paratroopers felt the power of the blast as it was transmitted through the walls of the casemate to where they were taking cover.
Pelz and Waldau quickly recovering from the calamitous noise, made their way back round to the front, the explosive had done its job.
They approached the still smoking embrasure that was now a jagged hole. The gun could no longer be seen; they assumed it had been blown back inside.
Pelz tried to climb through the gap, but the smoke was still billowing out, choking him, so his attempt to enter the bunker was stalled.
Too much time had been lost; they would have to throw grenades in before they made another attempt at entering the bunker.
They tossed them in and once exploded didn’t wait, but entered immediately after the explosions of the three grenades had subsided.
Waldau covered, while Pelz cautiously entered the casemate, desperately holding back a grating cough caused by the smoke and dust surging around him, filling his nostrils, gritting on his teeth. Whether he breathed through his mouth or his nose, the effect was the same. His throat already dry, the dust just aggravated it, but to cough and clear his throat would only announce his presence but give away his position attracting possible enemy fire.
He held his breath, taking his helmet off and quickly donning his gas mask. Pulling the straps of his mask over his head, settling the rubber surface snug into his face and replacing the helmet, he breathed out heavily to clear the toxic air. It had taken precious time and he was annoyed that he hadn’t thought of it sooner.
He groped his way forward, the grey, dawn light offering little illumination inside the enclosed bunker, resorting to his torch to find his way around.
He was surrounded by death and destruction, the smell of the acrid, toxic gases still evading his sense of smell through his mask.
He pulled two stick grenades from his belt; priming both he tossed them down, what appeared to be an ammunition elevator. He remembered seeing something similar during his training on forts in Czechoslovakia and Poland.
He rapidly clambered out, dragging his comrade back round to the rear of the casemate.
The grenades exploded, damaging the ammunition elevator feeding the three guns, and the metal staircase, which was the only access to the guns and impaired some of the electrics.
The Belgian artillerymen who had sought shelter down the steps to the level below the gunroom were flung back from their positions as the grenades did their work. Smoke filled their lungs and blinded their eyes and they moved back further down the tunnel seeking safety.
Unterfeldwebel Grun’s assault troop had completed their task.
The casemate, known as Maastricht two, was no longer capable of taking part in any further action, its role of defending the Albert bridges had just ended.
Its two remaining guns, although still aiming north in the direction of the bridges they were to cover, were powerless to intervene in the advance being undertaken by the German army below them.
With the three guns from Maastricht One also out of action, Fort Eben Emael had lost the use of a third of its main artillery.
With a further two guns lost at Cupola Nord 1, things were looking dire for the Belgian defence.
Max called his troop together.
“Well done lads, but we need to get moving and join up with Leutnant Brand and the rest of the group. We’ll head for MiNord, but go via Maastricht one, just in case the Leutnant hasn’t yet completed his task.”
They were all crouched down, listening to Max’s instructions, daylight starting to peak through.
“We have no idea what the score is, so we’re going to move tactically. I will take a half section forward first with Geyer, Rammelt and Geib. Stadler,” said Max turning to the pilot, also a sergeant like Max, “you follow up with Waldau, Renisch and Pelz. Everybody clear?”
They all acknowledged Max’s orders.
“Let’s go then.”
The half section led by Max moved off and to the left, quickly running forward for about twenty paces then hitting the deck, covering a one hundred and eighty degree arc in front of them, weapons ready.
The remaining section then thundered passed them on the right, and once twenty paces in front, they too hit the ground and took over covering the troop. The roles were reversed every twenty to thirty paces, speed was of the essence, the faster they moved the more difficult it would be for an enemy to latch on to them, and whilst they were running, their comrades would cover them.
