Devils with Wings (22 page)

“Right Max, I’m going to have a look around the outside, let the rest of the guinea pigs take a look at their palatial mode of transport.”

“Where do they serve the coffee and Bratwurst’s on this bus?” A paratrooper was heard to sound off.

It was just typical of the soldier’s sense of humour and it hid what they were really thinking. They were going to fly into battle in a fragile box with wings, without an engine, with no armament and limited control of its descent. In fact, the paratroopers had no control at all.

“A flying box,” Paul thought out loud.

“It is pretty much what it is sir,” agreed Max, reflecting on what his Platoon Commander had just said.

“Let’s go sir,” I’m getting claustrophobic already and I haven’t been onboard for more than a few minutes.”

Paul and Max moved back towards the central door, practically climbing over the other men, a lesson learnt already, last in, first out; and exited out of the door, ducking down under the wings and out into the fresh air. A thump and a groan from Max indicating that he had not ducked low enough.

The relief was palpable. The one positive, if there was one, was that at least the paratroopers would be more than ready to get out of the glider when it landed.

The other men of Paul’s troop also exited the plane, allowing the rest of his force to take a turn in the confined space.

“We clearly need to spend some time getting acquainted with that baby,” said Max out loud.

“We need to allocate some time to run through loading and unloading,” agreed Paul. “We can start off slowly and then practice until we are able to get out in record time.”

“Definitely start off slowly, sir, it wouldn’t take much to damage the outer skin if we’re not careful.”

Paul and Max started to walk around the external elements of the glider. Looking at it from front on, they could see just how narrow it was, no wonder it was so cramped inside.

Moving further around the side they could see that the ski, situated in between the jettison-able pair of wheels, ran as far back as the centre of the wings.

Max bent down to look underneath the glider.

“We don’t yet know what type of ground we’ll be landing on, but if it is something like wet grass, this baby is going to take some stopping.”

“Let’s hope that Oberleutnant Krause and his team come up with some breaking solutions, eh Max? Right lets go and talk to the troops and get some feedback on their experience and answer the questions they will undoubtedly have.”

The officer and the NCO returned to the side of the glider to gather the men together and discuss the benefits, and disadvantages, of their new means of transport.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

It was towards the end of January, nineteen forty, the weather had deteriorated considerably. Although daytime temperatures were starting to climb to a high of minus eight, the night time temperatures could still drop below minus twenty.

Sturmabteilung Kaufmann had been training now for three months and the training was progressing to Hauptman Kaufmann’s satisfaction.

Group Granite had slowly built up its stamina and general fitness through vigorous physical training, enhanced by carrying extremely heavy weights, mimicking the weights of the explosives they would have to carry for real. They visited fortresses in Czechoslovakia and Poland, in order to see how they were constructed, their general layout, and more importantly, what the key issues were in assaulting such formidable structures.

It had been clear, that although flamethrowers could have a significant impact on taking such emplacements as heavily fortified bunkers, they couldn’t damage the bunkers enough to make them inoperable, or enable the paratroopers to access them, they would need to use a significant amount of high explosives to achieve entry, and ultimately, their total destruction.

But, they were concerned at the magnitude of explosives needed, to be used across the eleven assault troops and the subsequent impact on the weight carried by the eleven gliders.

Today, they were finally going to be taken into the confidence of Hauptman Kaufmann, Oberleutnant Faust and ultimately the German High Command.

Today, they were going to Karlshorst in East Berlin, to the Sapper school, where they were to receive a second lesson in Fortress construction, the first lesson being prior to their visit to the Benes line in Czechoslovakia, just before Christmas. They were also going to experience hands on exposure to explosives handling.

Apart from Oberleutnant Faust and Leutnant Brand, Group Granite was still not party to the true identity of the target they were to attack.

The unit struggled to put their training activities into perspective at times, piecing together the relevance of each activity presented to them.

At least on this day they would be shown one of the Army’s secrets, the new wonder weapon. A weapon they were told, that would overcome their concerns about tackling the thick steel doors blocking the entrances to the bunkers, the concrete embrasures, the armoured turrets and observation cupola’s.

“Are you ready Max?” questioned Paul.

“Yes sir,” responded Max, “I’ve always wanted a career in construction. Had I known I was going to be an airfield construction engineer, then train to be a builder, I would have gone straight from the docks to Holzmann’s.” Philipp Holzmann AG, being a German construction company based in Frankfurt.

“You could always put it to good use when you leave the Fallschirmjager Max,” said Paul with a smile.

“A future without the Fallschirmjager sir?!” Max retorted in mock surprise.

“Come on Unterfeldwebel, let’s get moving before you have me in tears.”

Max called out to the platoon, to embark on the two trucks that had just appeared to collect them.

“Let’s be having you,” he commanded, “troops one and two to truck one and three and four you’ve got truck two,” he directed.

The paratroopers, stamping their feet and flapping their arms about them to keep warm, started to move towards the trucks. The clouds of frozen respiration, hanging in the air.

They climbed aboard their respective vehicles, huddling together on the benches to benefit from the additional warmth of each other, the driver then securing the rear canvas flaps, as per his instructions. Security was still paramount and the movement of troops in and out of the camp was very much kept under wraps.

Paul and Max claimed the passenger seats in the cabs; it was their unwritten right, secretly pleased that they would have the benefit of the cab’s heater. But, even that was struggling to maintain a decent temperature inside the cab, it being so cold outside.

There was some sympathy for the troopers in the back of the unheated cargo area, but it didn’t last for long.

Character building, thought Max to himself.

Paul was soon engulfed in the warmth of the cab, now that both doors were shut, and asked the driver, “How long to Karlshorst?”

The young Luftwaffe driver, quite small and skinny, probably not much older than eighteen, who didn’t even look as if he had started shaving yet, turned to Paul, his thick spectacles, one of the arms taped together, in an obvious temporary repair.

“About an hour sir.”

The platoon had travelled up the previous day from Hildesheim and had stayed overnight at Schonefeld airport.

“Wake me when we are about ten minutes away,” instructed Paul

“Yes sir,” confirmed the Luftwaffe driver, snatching peeks at his passenger, wondering whom these tough looking Luftwaffe soldiers were who had suddenly descended on his camp. They certainly didn’t look like normal Luftwaffe airmen or soldiers. Especially that mammoth one of an Unterfeldwebel, who made him jump every time he opened his mouth.

He thought no more of it. He had specifically been told not to ask any questions and to keep any questions he might have to himself.

He put the troop carrier into gear, let out the clutch and pulled forward slowly towards the open gate, checking his wing mirrors to confirm that the second vehicle was following.

Paul felt his arm being shaken, and he awoke with the right side of his face cold having been pressed up against the side window of the cab.

He felt stiff and his arm ached where he had slept on it, his right arm having been trapped under his neck, where he had been using it to support his head while in a deep sleep.

They arrived at the Karlshorst camp, passing the monolithic, two storey main building and were driven around to the rear of the depot.

After showing his pass to the guard, they were quickly driven through the rear camp gates without any further interference.

They were obviously expected, and nothing so far had interfered with their progress.

A Major met them and the platoon decamped from their vehicles, accompanying him to what looked like an external training area.

Following him into a small, standalone building, where the proverbial wood-burning stove was throwing out as much heat as it was able.

The men made for it eagerly and congregated around its heat. It had been a cold journey in the back of the canvas covered wagons.

The Major approached Paul and introduced himself and shook his hand.

“I’m Major Miller,” he said and then turned towards two NCOs who had just entered the building, followed by two sappers bringing in an urn of coffee and kuchen, cakes, a welcome sight for the frozen Fallschirmjager, who immediately congregated around the perceived feast.

“And this is Feldwebel Rhodes and Feldwebel Scholz,” he continued.

They both saluted the Major, but not Paul, his rank not obvious to them.

“This is Leutnant uh,” he hesitated, not having a name to give them, “from an airfield construction platoon based in Hildesheim,” they then both saluted, and Paul returned it.

“It is he and his men who you will be instructing today.”

He turned back to Paul, “Both Feldwebels are explosives experts and have used most of their talents in anger in Poland. I don’t know what you gentlemen are up to, or even who you are, but I have been instructed, from the highest levels, to offer you every assistance, particularly in the handling of explosives.”

“Thank you Herr Major, I appreciate any assistance you can give us.”

He looked at Paul, who like the rest of his platoon, wore no unit insignia or titles or badges of rank. But he did notice Paul’s Iron Cross Second Class and his combat badge, he and some other members of his unit had evidently seen combat. But he had been given specific instructions to give them any assistance they may require, and was not only left in no doubt as to the consequences of not providing them with the necessary support, but also the consequences of discussing their presence on the camp with anyone.

He turned to the two Feldwebels, “I shall leave them in your capable hands, should you need anything then contact me immediately.”

The two Feldwebels drew themselves up into a position of attention and saluted the Major, as did Paul, and responded, “Jawohl Herr Major.”

The Major turned on his heel and then left.

Paul and Max walked up to the two NCOs, shook their hands and introduced themselves as Paul and Max.

The two Felds had no idea who they were, but Paul had the presence of an officer, and the stocky Max certainly carried himself like an NCO.

“We are in your capable hands gentlemen, how do you propose to conduct the day?”

“We’d like to split your unit into two, sir,” replied Feldwebel Scholz, “one section being instructed on conventional explosives and the second section will be shown the hollow charge weapon.”

“Right let’s get on with it then, over to you Max.”

Max split the unit into two groups, the first group headed off with Feldwebel Scholz to look at conventional explosives; the second group went with Rhodes to look at the new weapon that had finally been made available to them.

The first group were given the basics of handling explosives, such as Bangalore tubes, blasting caps, pole charges, particularly useful for pushing into an embrasure of a bunker, cluster charges, ball charges and demolition charges. Once given the theory, they put it into practice on the ranges, small explosions sounding round the range at regular intervals.

At midday, they broke for lunch and were escorted to the canteen.

They were seated in the Engineers’ canteen, but were allocated tables well away from the rest of the occupants.

The canteen was generous in size and well lit, the Engineers were obviously well catered for.

Max sat down next to Paul, placing a plate of Bratwurst and Sauerkraut, along with a pile of potato noodles, on the table.

He lowered himself into the well-worn seat and stabbed at a bratwurst with his fork and looking at Paul, he muttered, “They certainly eat well here sir, can we get a transfer?”

Konrad chipped in, “I haven’t had gingerbread since I left Germany to go to Poland,” he said tucking into it and sipping on a glass of fresh apple juice.

“There is coffee and kuchen, afterwards,” added Halm, “they live like kings here.”

“Yes,” agreed Paul, “but they are not Fallschirmjager.”

They all nodded, not one of them would swap places with the engineers, good food or not.

After an excellent lunch, it was back out into the cold for the paratroopers, to continue their training. This time the groups swapped over and it was Paul’s group’s turn to look at the new super weapon.

“Right gentlemen, gather round,” instructed Feldwebel Rhodes, placing his hand on a large conical device in the middle of the table.

Fortunately for this aspect of the instruction they could remain inside, benefiting from the heat generated by the stove.

“This gentlemen,” he said patting one of four devices laid out on the table “is a Hohlladungwaffe, a hollow charge weapon.”

“There are three types, this oblong one is a three kilogram standard demolition charge, the beehive shaped one, a twelve and a half kilogram hollow charged weapon and the father of them all at fifty kilograms, which as you can see, is split into two parts.”