Devils with Wings (40 page)

“Look!”

Fischer called and pointed to two soldiers approaching them from the area of Block two. He could tell from their uniforms and flashes that they were from a pioneer Battalion, probably Battalion 51.

Leeb was about to rise up to greet the troops that were going to relieve these battle weary paratroopers from this hell hole, when Max placed a hand on his shoulder holding him back.

“Nice and easy Leeb, they can’t see us and will probably be a bit trigger happy.”

Leeb nodded in agreement and stood up slowly, wearing his familiar and distinctive paratrooper helmet.

“Group Granite!” he shouted.

The advancing soldiers immediately took cover, the officer in command shouting.

“Identify yourselves.”

“Uffz Leeb,” he shouted in response, “Group Granite!”

“Advance towards me slowly,” instructed the Pioneer Oberfeld.

Leeb lowered his weapon to his side; he wasn’t prepared to let go of it just yet, and slowly edged forwards.

“Keep your wits about you,” hissed Max, “we’ve got you covered; we’re not out of the woods yet.”

As Leeb got closer he became more and more assured that this was their relief and they were here under their own steam and not the hidden control of their enemy.

He was five paces away from the pioneer sergeant, and could now see other sappers rising up in their familiar engineer’s uniform, grins slowly spreading across their faces.

They were as pleased to see the paratroopers as the paratroopers were to see them, the engineers because their mission had been completed successfully, the Fallschirmjager because their isolation was over.

“Oberfeld Pfeifer, we’ve come to get you out of this mess.”

“Uffz Leeb, and boy are we glad to see you guys.”

“Where’s your commanding officer?”

“Back that way,” said Leeb pointing behind him, but he’s badly wounded.”

Behind Leeb, the rest of the paratroopers positioned along the perimeter they had formed, started to rise up from their battle positions.

“Let’s go then, we have a medic with us, Braun, up front,” called Pfeifer.

Leeb led them back to the command bunker and there was backslapping all around.

“Unterfeldwebel Grun,” Max introduced himself, “this is Leutnant Brand.

Pfeifer crouched down by the side of Paul, “we’ll have you out of here as soon as possible sir, hang in there.”

“How’s the fight going?” he asked.

“Ok sir, sorry we got delayed though, they managed to blow some of the bridges.”

“How many men have you got with you?”

“Just under fifty sir, so I could do with some help from your men to keep the pressure on the garrison until the full battalion gets here.”

“How far behind you are the reinforcements?” croaked Paul.

“In addition to the rest of the Pioneer Battalion, elements of the 151st infantry Regiment and the 161st Artillery Regiment are moving up to support us. They are moving across the pontoon bridge as we speak. If that isn’t enough sir, the rest of the 61st infantry division is backing them up to ensure that the fortress was taken and you guys are relieved.”

The medic threw himself down by Paul, “Let’s have a look at your wound then sir, see if we can’t make you more comfortable.”

Another pioneer came to a sliding halt amongst the group, “The forts surrendered!”

“What happened?” They all shouted at once.

“The rest of the Battalion has arrived and they were able to position an anti-tank gun in the village and have been giving Block one and six hell.”

“Go on,” ordered Paul, ignoring the medic peeling the bandages off his back to get to the wound.

“It seems that as soon as the lead companies of infantry Regiment 151 arrived they heard a bugle call and saw a white flag being waved outside the fort’s entrance. One of our officers went to negotiate with the Belgian Commander, a Captain I think, but before he could speak to the Belgian captain and negotiate the surrender of the fort, hundreds of Belgian soldiers began filing out of the fort.”

“My God it’s over said Max, we’ve done it sir, and you’ve done it.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The two orderlies dragged the stretcher out of the back of the ambulance, picked it up and quickly carried it into the German Aid Station.

Paul, strapped to the stretcher, looked around him, his mind a whirl, his eyes as if looking through a goldfish bowl. He was carried through what appeared to be a casualty clearing area, a nurse looking down at him.

He felt her hand on his shoulder, “What’s your name Leutnant?”

After a few seconds, Paul managed to respond with a barely audible whisper, “Brand, Paul Brand.”

“Well Leutnant Brand, you’re in good hands now and we’ll have you fixed up in no time, so rest easy.”

The gentle, but confident voice made him feel easier, but the throbbing pain in his back remained and he still felt cold and nauseous.

They transferred him through to another room, the triage area, for assessing new arrivals to the hospital.

They laid him down on the floor, still on the stretcher, putting it in line with other German soldiers, who had varying degrees of injuries. Intermittently, the soldiers were picked up and taken away. When it came to his turn, they moved him onto a table where a Doctor, a Hauptman, examined him.

The two nurses with him helped to roll Paul on his side, one of them cutting the bandages away, peeling them off so the Doctor could see the wound.

She couldn’t help but wince at the blooded mess that was revealed. The Doctor prodded and probed his back, Paul arching away, trying to escape the evasive pain.

“You’re very lucky Leutnant. Once we get these bits of shrapnel removed and the larger wound sewn up, you’ll be as good as knew. The gash on your face is not too deep, a few stitches will put that right, might leave a bit of a scar though I’m afraid.”

Paul smiled weakly, which was all he was capable of doing.

“Take him to room five nurse; get these bits of metal removed, clean him up and I’ll be along to stitch him up.”

The orderlies picked him up again and transported him to what appeared to be a small hospital ward, or outpatients. They lifted him up off the stretcher; it would no doubt be needed for the other wounded pouring in from the front, onto some form of table.

He was still on his side, his wounded back covered by a light, sterilised cloth to protect it from the environment. In his immediate vicinity he could see another table opposite, and a soldier clearly being attended to by a nurse. If he looked across and down the room he could see another table. There was obviously a person on the table, but whoever it was they were unattended and had a blanket over them, covering their face as well as their body.

He wrinkled his nose, what could he smell? It seemed to be a mixture of disinfectant, vomit and bleach, making him heave and feel nauseous again.

He felt a hand on his shoulder again and an upside down face peered at him, it was the same nurse once more. Although she seemed to carry the same aroma as the rest of the room, it was interspersed with the faintest scent of coal tar soap, the fragrance like an island in a sea of storms.

“We’re going to lie you on your front and then get these filthy clothes off you, ok? Give me a hand here,” she called to an auxiliary.

The nurse indicated to a second auxiliary close by and they both managed to manoeuvre Paul onto his front, after which they cut away his paratroopers uniform.

“I believe you have come from the fortress across the canal Leutnant Brand?”

He felt the cold scissors against his arm as they cut away his shirt. The auxiliary was slicing away at his tunic trousers.

Paul nodded his head, briefly, as the effort brought bile to his throat making him gag.

“Rest easy soldier,” said the auxiliary, who appeared to be dressed in the black and white robes of a sister, or some other religious persuasion. She looked to be in her early thirties, the nurse tending to him seemed younger, maybe in her early twenties.

“Don’t talk, you rest, let us do all the talking.”

Paul sighed, wanting this nightmare to be over, being back with his men, back in command.

They had cut away his uniform completely, all he had covering the lower part of his body now, was a thin grey army blanket.

The upside down face peered into his eyes again. He looked into her brown eyes, they looked friendly and caring. He noticed a curl of auburn hair escaping from beneath her nurse’s cap.

“We’re going to clean your wounds now Leutnant Brand and take out some of the debris that has peppered your back. We’ll wash it with a mild anaesthetic first, before cleaning it with antiseptic wash, but you’ll still feel some occasional pain. Ok?”

The nurse wiped his brow, wiping away the thin film of sweat that not only covered his face, but now his entire body.

He tried to nod again, but the nausea returned making him close his eyes and breathe heavily, causing the sweat oozing from his pores to double.

“Anyway, we were forced to make a promise by some hulking Fallschirmjager Unterfeldwebel. He was threatening the orderlies with their lives if they didn’t make sure you got here in one piece.”

She laughed, “They had to stop him getting in the ambulance to come with you; it was only because of three Unteroffizier’s holding him back that you are here on your own.”

The smile was involuntary, he could just picture the orderlies’ faces confronted by his bulky sergeant, face and clothes plastered in dust and blood, and he would have made a fearsome sight.

He felt something cold touch his back; at first it felt quite soothing, cooling his back down easing the throbbing pain that seemed to be his constant companion. It was short lived, whatever lotions and potions they were using, once they seeped into his wounds they stung like hell and he issued a groan.

A hand was placed on his head, “it will soon be over.”

They spent half an hour plucking out bits of metal, uniform fabric and other bits of detritus the force of the explosion had embedded in his back.

They had finished cleaning up the wounds when the Doctor appeared.

He didn’t even see the Doctor, and just drifted in and out of consciousness as he was examined and the major wound was sewn up and the smaller ones patched up.

He remembered his face being cleaned and more stitches to repair the gash on the side of his face, and then he drifted off again.

He woke up to the sound of curtains being swished back from the windows, the light bursting through, the low, early morning sun lighting up the small ward.

He was lying on his back and was immediately joined by the nurse who treated him yesterday, or was it today.

“Leutnant Brand, you’re finally awake then?”

“How long have I been asleep?” he croaked.

She moved to the unit by the side of his bed.

“Here, let me help you sit up. You’ve been asleep for nearly twenty four hours.”

She called over another nurse and they helped him sit up, protecting his heavily bandaged back as they did so.

Once he was leant forward she placed some pillows behind him, which he sank back into, suddenly feeling weak.

She poured him a glass of water, placing it against his lips allowing him to take a sip. After a couple of sips he pulled away.

“That’s better,” he said, “but I feel really weak.”

“You will for a few days, but everyday you’ll notice an improvement. I’m Nurse Keller, Christa Keller; I shall be looking after you during your stay with us.”

“Paul, Paul Brand, where am I?”

“You’re in a hospital in Maastricht; it was requisitioned by the army to take care of the wounded.”

“Are there any other Fallschirmjager here?”

“Not in this ward, this is one of the wards for officers and there are none in here.”

He was about to ask her to make enquiries for him when he was overcome by a desperate need to sleep.

“Right Paul, you’re going to feel a bit rough for the next few days, but we’ll get you out of bed and sitting up by tomorrow. For now, we’re going to change your bandages and then just relax. In fact try and get some sleep again.”

Paul awoke on his third day in the Maastricht hospital and was able to pull himself up into a sitting position on his own. It took him sometime and he had to be careful about his back injury. In fact he had slept most of the night on his front.

He looked about him. He was in the end bed of a line of four with equal numbers on the opposite side. There was a tall window between each bed and the ceilings were very high and ornamental.

All the beds were full; the curtain was drawn around the one immediately next to him. Across from him, the other patients were lying down, two of them with drips suspended alongside their beds. It looked like he was the healthiest of them all.

He saw the nurse, what was her name he thought? Keller, Christa. She was adjusting the bedding for what appeared to be one of the more seriously injured patients.

She looked nice in her blue and white uniform, the tunic riding up her thighs as she reached over to the other side of the hospital bed. She stood up, noticed him looking and smiled.

He smiled back. She was slender, almost bordering on petite. Her auburn hair, just touching her shoulders, partly hidden by the trail from her cap, glistened in the sunlight shining through the windows.

She finished off adjusting the bedding and made her way over to Paul’s bed.

“Good morning Leutnant Brand,” she said very formally, “how are you feeling today?”

“Much better, thank you,” he replied.

She came to the side of his bed, leaning over him tucking in the sheet of his bed. He was sure he could smell a scent of sorts; he breathed deeper absorbing the sweet perfume.

“I’m glad, because you have visitors today.”

Paul’s eyes immediately lit up, the nurse noticing how clear and bright they were.

“Who is it?”

“Well for one, there’s that oversized sergeant of yours and three Uffz’s. They came earlier but were sent away by the Doctor, but not surprisingly they are back again.”

“When can I see them?”

She could see the excitement in his face at the thought of seeing his comrades in arms again. It brought some welcome colour to his usually pale face, a pink tinge to his cheeks.