Devils with Wings: Silk Drop (7 page)

Max had suggested to the Luftwaffe cookhouse that the provision of an urn of orange juice would be most agreeable. They were eager to comply. The company had finally settled down in their seats, the occasional roar of an aircraft engine being tested and the odd plane landing or taking off in the background. It was far from the front lines of the French Coast and England, but it was still an operational airfield.

“Right,” Paul coughed, clearing his throat. “I have just come from a briefing with the Battalion Commander.” He hesitated before he continued speaking, allowing the assembled soldiers to finish their speculation of what the briefing may have been about. He rarely held formal briefings, preferring to sit with his platoons and talk with them over a coffee or a beer, or while they were partaking in some scheduled training, and get individual feedback on his suggestions, ideas. Today though, required a more formal setting. “I’m afraid I have some bad news and some good news gentlemen.”

All of a sudden the low hum from the soldiers died down and they looked pensive, clearly concerned that something disastrous may have happened.

“Our Luftwaffe have been unable to completely destroy the RAF.” There was a groan from the hundred men gathered around their company commander. “It was imperative that the air force destroyed the RAF before launching Operation Sea lion. To that end, the operation has been cancelled.”

The groan deepened. Not so much the disappointment of the failure of the Luftwaffe, or even the invasion of England. It was more a disappointment of not being able to utilise their paratrooper skills in helping to lead the German Army to victory.

“I know it’s not what you, what we, expected or wanted to hear, but that’s the way it is gentlemen.”

“Is the decision likely to be rescinded sir?” piped up Max.

“No Feldwebel Grun, it has been well and truly axed.”

“And the good news sir?” said Max, suspecting there wasn’t any good news.

The rest of the company looked from one to the other, the expression on Max’s face giving out a message of doubt. Then a smile slowly spread across the tough sergeant’s face, softening some of the hard lines. Equally Paul’s face split into a grin, then they all knew what was coming.

“We get to do extra training Feldwebel Grun, of course.” They both burst into laughter, steadily followed by the rest of the company.

“Dismissed.”

The cook looked out of the window, shaking his head. Even the Battalion Commander picked up the sound of laughter carried towards his office on the gentle breeze. He stood up from his desk and moved to one of two windows that looked out onto the camp. His dark, hooded eyes peered through the glass. Brand, he thought. Why am I not surprised? The world could be falling apart and it still wouldn’t dampen his spirits or that of his men and his sidekick of a sergeant.

He smiled for the first time that day. He was as disappointed as the rest of the Fallschirmjager that Operation Sea lion had been cancelled.

CHAPTER FIVE

Paul hailed Max as he saw him striding across the parade ground,” Feldwebel Grun.”

Moments later the burly sergeant was stood to attention in front of him, saluting.

“We’ve a job at last Max.”

“About bloody time too sir, I was thinking of transferring to the cookhouse, they get more action than we do.”

“You a chef Max?”

“Well maybe not sir, don’t want to lower my sights do I? Anyway it sounds like you’ve come to my rescue. Where are we going?”

“Greece Max, Greece.”

“What’s happened out there for them to need
us?”

“Well since we came to Mussolini’s rescue the battle has been progressing well Max. 9
th
Panzer Division have reached Kozani and are looking to force a river crossing. They’ll be across the Aliakmon River before we know it.”

“Where the bloody hell is that sir?”

“West of Thessaloniki and they’re heading south to Corinth, Geography not your strong subject at school then Max?”

“School of life me sir. So, let me get this right, the Greeks kick the Italians out after they fail to invade them and we have to come to their bloody rescue, can’t they sort themselves out?”

“They’re our allies Max and they obviously need our special talents.”

“Of course they do sir. I could have told them that.”

“Are the troops still on the ranges?”

“Yes sir, I was about to join them.”

“Let’s go together then, I can brief the men. Have you got any transport?”

“I’ve got a Steiner and driver sir, follow me.”

They made their way through the barracks to the waiting Steiner jeep, and sped off for the short journey to the camp’s firing range. The regular cracks from the Kar 98s, indicated that range firing was in full swing.

The jeep pulled up, dropping the two paratroopers off before returning to the barracks HQ. Paul and Max headed for the range firing points, having stuffed cotton wool in their ears. The company was on a range training day. It was imperative, as an elite unit, that they maintained a high level of competency in handling and firing their personal weapons. He pulled the cotton wool from his ears as the men had ceased firing at the sight of the officers approaching.

“How will the guys react Max?”

“They’ll be relieved to get away from the camp sir.”

“You’ll be able to top up your tan Max and flaunt those muscles of yours.”

“One of the lads has been to Greece, I’ll have to get his feedback on the Grecian women.”

“We’ll no doubt be far too busy to allow you time for philandering Feldwebel Grun.”

Max came to attention smiling. “Jawohl Herr Oberleutnant.” They both laughed.

Max relaxed leaning against one of the firing posts. In the distance they could see that Leeb had got his men together and along with Unterfeldwebel Eichel, was taking them through some refresher weapons training. Although a number of his platoon had seen action, as had Leeb, his specialism was small arms and he had quickly earned the respect of his men and his NCOs.

“Is the full battalion going sir?”

“No, just our company to start with.”

“Hauptman Volkman has either got it in for us or he favours us. Not quite sure which yet.”

“He’s making sure you get first options on the Greek beauties Max, didn’t you know.”

“I didn’t think of it like that sir.”

“How was Hamburg?”

“Not as bad as I expected, the RAF have missed most of the residential areas, but the docks are a bit of a mess.”

“You might want to get your father to move Max, it will always be a target. It’s got shipyards, U-boat pens, oil refineries; the RAF will hit it regularly. Is your father ok?”

“He’s fine thanks sir, it would take more than the RAF to do for him, and he won’t budge. How’s Berlin sir?”

“I’ve just had a letter from my Mother, she says that the first bombing was fairly light, but the more recent one was quite bad. They’re just retaliating, I hear the Luftwaffe hit Buckingham Palace not so long ago.”

“Did you see anything when you went home at Christmas?”

“I didn’t go into Berlin, so didn’t get to see the damage.”

“Ah,” said Max smiling. “Nurse Keller came to yours for Christmas didn’t she?”

Paul quickly changed the subject. “Will you give Leutnant Leeb a shout? Where are the other platoons?”

“Second are cleaning weapons and the third are in the hut getting a brew,” said Max pushing himself off the firing post, recognising it was back to work.

“Tell the Platoon Commanders I’ll see them in the hut will you Max?” He looked at his watch. “Say in about ten minutes? I want to go and talk to some of the men.”

“Will do sir.”

Max saluted and strode off to seek out and gather the other two officers and Paul wandered over to Leeb’s platoon. He approached the platoon and sat on the ground as their commander gave them some advanced instruction in the use of the Kar 98. The Karabiner 98K was a control fed, bolt action rifle, with an effective range of up to five hundred metres. Leeb was showing them a quicker method of loading the internal magazine, which could hold five 8 x 57mm rounds, with a stripper clip. On noticing his Company Commander, he leapt up from his crouching position, immediately calling his platoon to attention.

“Shun.”

They quickly clambered up of the ground straightening their uniforms as they did so. Paul quickly flagged them down with a wave of his hand.

“Relax men, at ease.”

Paul crouched back down and the paratroopers resumed their previous positions on the sandy ground by the firing points. The wooden posts at regular intervals apart, like sentinels. The posts were used to mark the three hundred metre line from the targets and butts. The firing posts were adjacent to a slit trench, fronted by sand bags. On Paul’s direction, Leeb left the platoon, crossing over the open space between the firing positions and the administration area, to go and join Max and the other two commanders in the range hut.

“Something in the air sir?” Uffz Fischer was the first to ask the question that was now on all of their minds. They could sense something was afoot.

“Extra duties for your troop no doubt,” called Konrad, the other troop commander. The assembled men laughed.

“We’re going to Greece gentlemen.”

There was a stunned silence which must have lasted nearly a full minute. Paul looked at their faces, mouths agape, waiting to be put out of their misery by their company commander. The only sound was the men shifting position to get more comfortable on the sandy ground.

“Yes Unteroffizier Jordan, Greece.”

“Wow”, said Fessman, “that’s somewhere I’ve never been.”

“There’ll be no poaching there,” shouted a few members of the platoon. It was well known that in a past life Walter Fessman had been a poacher, a skill that had proven useful when taking out a sentry, silently, during their first action in Poland.

“Do we know what our mission is sir?” asked Oberjager Kempf.

“Not yet, but I would expect to know before we fly out, or at least as soon as we get there.”

“The full Battalion?” questioned Straube.

“Initially no, but I’m sure they’ll not be far behind us.”

“They’re sending the best first then sir,” suggested Roon. This brought a bout of agreement from the men and triggered a melee of questions, comments and suggestions. Paul stood up ordering the platoon to remain seated.

“I also need to go and tell your platoon commanders what’s happening.”

He left them buzzing. The main topic of conversation being their observation that the Company Commander had informed them about Greece even before the platoon commanders. It gave them a sense of importance and their already high respect for this young officer was enhanced further.

He walked away from the now silent range, the targets down at the butts looked like silent sentries, but peppered with holes from the recent target practice. He arrived at the cabin and pushed his way through the stiff, wooden door of the small range hut. It had a damp and stuffy feel about it, the wood burner in the centre was off and cold. Max was stood next to it, his coffee cup on top, his left hand tapping against the cold chimney disappearing up out through the roof. It was a small hut, only designed as a shelter for troops on the range, or a place to prepare hot soups and drinks and a store for the ammunition they would need for the day’s shoot.

Paul walked across the wooden floorboards, now dirty and badly scarred from the many hob-nailed, booted soldiers who had crossed it over the years. The three Leutnant’s had stood up and Paul motioned for them to sit back down. He grabbed a vacant chair and dragged it up to the table the others were sat around. Moments later a coffee appeared in front of him, customary for Max, feeding his commanders addiction.

“You have something for us sir?” asked Leeb.

“All in good time Leutnant Leeb.”

“Sorry sir, just keen to do something, anything other than loitering around the barracks.”

Paul understood their frustration. These were men of action, and although they understood the need for training and honing theirs and their men’s military skills, you could spend too much time in a barracks. A chair scraped across the floor and Max squeezed his bulk between Roth and Leeb, both moving aside to make room for him, and joined them at the table.

“Well you shall get your wish Leutnant Leeb, were moving to Greece tomorrow.”

Their eyes lit up, without exception. Even Max couldn’t suppress the gleam in his eyes.

“We’ll be going ahead of the battalion,” he continued, “and it’s possible that we’ll be acting as an independent unit.”

“Is that the battalion as an independent unit sir, or just our company?”

“Just our company. Hauptman Volkman clearly places great trust in us and I intend to ensure that we don’t let him down.” Paul looked at each of the officers and Max in turn, making it clear that it was a joint commitment.

“Have we any details yet sir?” asked Leeb. Always the one to ask questions, even as a troop commander in Paul’s old platoon. Now he was having to build his confidence up all over again, as a newly appointed officer.