Devils with Wings: Silk Drop (17 page)

“You had a bit of a journey yesterday, a few more hours kip will do you good sir,” he saluted and marched off to join the rest of one company.

Paul was just about to head for his bunk, sleep being a luxury that wouldn’t come, but at least he would be alone to mourn his loss, when he felt a hand placed gently on his shoulder.

“Here you are Paul.”

He recognised the voice instantly as his comrade, Helmut. He turned to face his stocky friend, another friendly face that helped link him to the real world, the world that still existed outside of his grief. They shook hands, Helmut placing a hand either side of Paul’s.

“It’s good to see you Helmut, when did you get in?” he asked a smile flickering to his lips.

“My company flew in last night, the rest of the battalion will be joining us throughout the day. We’re here for the big fight,” he said grinning. But behind the grin there was a sadness. He too had met Christa and had seen the effect she’d had on his friend and the effect her loss was having now.

“Feldwebel Grun told me what happened, I’m sorry Paul, really, really sorry.” They let go of each other’s grasp and Paul looked down, the slump of his shoulders manifesting his grief. He felt like Atlas, the primordial Titan who supported the world on his shoulders.

“Thank you, but I’m still in denial Helmut. She can’t be dead, look.” He pulled out the recent letters that he received from her, written while she was still alive. “It’s us who should have been killed, we’re the soldiers, we’re the ones that go into battle, not civilians, not women and children.” The distress in his voice was obvious.

“I’m going to the canteen, come and have a coffee with me?”

“Thanks Helmut, but no. I’d like to be on my own for a while.”

“Just one,” he pleaded. “It would be good for us to talk and catch up on events. I want a rundown on proceedings here, an insight into the enemy we’ll be up against. You’ve fought with them, it would help me and my men if we had an idea of their strengths and weaknesses. It would be good for you to talk.”

Helmut clasped his arm, propelling him gently toward the canteen.

“Ok Helmut, just one, I know how greatly in need of food you are, so I’ll play along with you for now,” he said, a thin smile parting his lips, but the gesture failing to register on the rest of his face. Helmut laughed at the attempt by his friend to rib him over his eating habits and they continued in silence towards the canteen.

***

The hangar was not the usual size the Fallschirmjager were used to. It had not been built to hold military transport or fighter aircraft, but smaller civilian planes. There was a larger hangar elsewhere on the airfield, but that was occupied by other units that were steadily being flown in as part of a big military build-up.

A third of the hangar was set aside for the packing of parachutes and temporary makeshift tables had been set up for that purpose. Half of what was left was being used to store small arms ammunition and other essential supplies the unit would need if it was going to war yet again, the remaining area was being used for the battalion briefing that was soon to start.

The battalion staff had prepared the area for the briefing as best they could. They had appropriated the ubiquitous six foot wooden table and maps positioned against the hangar wall as a backdrop. Chairs and stools had been dragged in from various parts of the airfield and looking at some of the chairs, Paul suspected they had been commandeered from local houses. In fact he, along with Helmut, Commander of Fourth Company, Hoch of Third Company and Bauer of Headquarters Company, were sat in various styles of armchair. Alongside these were wooden seats, benches possibly from a church or chapel and behind an assortment of seating arrangements, including wooden pallets, empty ammunition cases and an assortment of other objects that could support a perched paratrooper.

In front of the assembly of cobbled together seating, shuffling bits of paper and aerial photographs, constantly cross checking with the maps behind him, was Hauptman Kurt Bach. Once the Raven had received his Majority, Bach’s appointment as captain and second-in-command of the battalion was assured. The hangar echoed with the buzz of conversation. It was astonishing how talkative a collection of officers could be when placed in one room prior to a briefing, each one having an opinion of what was to happen and how they would personally recommend it was conducted. Assembled in the hangar were the twelve platoon officers from the four bayonet companies, the four company NCO’s, Max being one of them, and the battalion clerks and other staff making last minute preparations.

Meinhard, who was sat at Paul’s left, turned to him and whispered, “Sorry about your loss Paul. I’m speaking on behalf of the battalion as a whole. Everyone wanted to pass on their condolences, but we felt it would be better if it came from just one of us, then we’d leave you in peace. But we needed you to know that all our thoughts are with you.”

“Thank you. I do appreciate everyone’s understanding. It doesn’t change what has happened, but your collective concern does help give me the strength to get through the day.”

A burst of laughter came from the direction of the senior NCO’s, Oberfeldwebel Schmidt, the battalion’s most senior NCO, was at the centre of the group obviously giving the men around him a reason to laugh.

Helmut, sat on the other side of Paul, tapping the armchair he was sat in. “This is a bit of all right, I’ll confiscate this after the briefing and have it moved to my tent,” he said with a chuckle that caused those around him to look on.

“You’ll be wanting a Harem next,” hissed Meinhard leaning over Paul.

“We’ll get one strapped in a tante June for you,” added Manfred, sat on Helmut’s right.

Paul couldn’t help but smile and suspected that the ribbing of Helmut, although a regular event, was on this occasion partially for his benefit, an attempt to bring him back into the fold. The frivolity was interrupted by the loud snap of Oberfeldwebel Schmidt’s clicking heels and his bellow.

“Shun!”

The assembled men rose up from their seated positions as one, stood to attention, their arms by their sides as Major Volkman made his way through the menagerie of furniture, his stick tapping his leg in time with his movement forward.

He kept them stood at attention longer than usual. When he arrived at the front of the assembled group, his hooded eyes surveyed the leaders of his Fallschirmjager battalion, the men he was dependant on to do his bidding in a time of war, picking out faces, holding eye contact for a brief second before moving his gaze on. He caught Paul’s eye and for a fraction of a second his eyebrows knitted together as he could see the pain etched on the young officer’s face.

“Stand easy,” he said moving behind the table to join his Adjutant.

The paratroopers sat back down in their comfortable armchairs and the less comfortable stools and crates. The stick was placed on the table, everyone knowing that it would be back in the Raven’s hand within seconds, probably without him realising he had ever put it down. It was said amongst the battalion, and even espoused by some senior officers in the Division, that he would rather lose an arm than his swagger stick.

“Gentlemen.” He waited until he had their full attention before he continued. “It has been many weeks since the battalion has been together in one place.” He moved around to the front of the table and perched on the edge. “We are here for a specific purpose, to support the capture of the Island of Crete.”

There was a murmur amongst the group.

“Our special status given because we have proven our capabilities, our skills as soldiers, not just in training, but on the battlefield. Oberleutnant Brand and his men,” all eyes turned towards Paul and his officers sat behind him, “in particular have recently distinguished themselves in battle for this very town. Captured enemy soldiers spoke of the terror they provoked amongst their army, operating behind their lines. It is through actions like that and men like you in this room, that we have been favoured by the powers to be selected for special tasks.”

Paul’s face reddened with the embarrassment of the compliment thrown his way and the back slapping of his comrades, the occasional good humoured jeer at them being selected for this unsought after praise from a man who rarely let slip acclaim. Volkman stood up and started to pace up and down the small space available to him, the assembled men tracking his movement.

“But... to the reason we are here today. Crete gentlemen, Crete is our target.”

He paused and slowly turn to face them.

“Operation Merkur is the assault and complete domination of the island, the last Allied and Greek Army bastion in this immediate area. To expedite this assault we’ll be bringing the largest airborne force ever, together to complete this task. Flieger Corps XI will be committed to this task, consisting of 7
th
Flieger Division, made up of FFR 1, 2 and 3, the Luftlande Sturmregiment and ourselves as an independent asset. The Division will also have an artillery, anti-tank, machine gun and combat engineer battalion in support.”

He was off on his pacing again, placing his stick on the table and walking away with his hands clasped behind his back only to pick it up on his return leg.

“We will also have our mountain climbing comrades,” he said with a smile. “But rather than climbing mountains they will be shipped in a Tante June.” This brought a laugh from the group. “The 5
th
Gebirgs Division brings with them three infantry regiments and an artillery regiment, so you see, a significant force to carry out the task in hand.”

He turned to Bach and nodded, moving away from the table, allowing his number two to come to the front. Bach, who had been resting his hands on the table, leaning forward listening intently to his commander’s briefing, even though he knew the events that were to unfold, stood up and came round.

“We mustn’t forget our fly boys of course. We have at our disposal from Flieger Corps VIII, three Sturzkampfgeschwader with Stuka dive bombers, Kampfgeschwader 2, with Dornier twin engined bombers, Lehrgeschwader 1, with Heinkel twin engined bombers, Zerstorergeschwader 26, with twin engined, Messerschmitt fighter bombers, Jagdeschwader 77, with Messerschmitt fighters and four Geschwader of transports, three of Junkers and one of Gliders.”

“Thank you Kurt,” Volkman picked up the reins again. “The Fallschirmjager will spearhead the attack.” He walked to the map behind the table tapping the western end of the island with his stick. “We only have five hundred transports, so a drop of six thousand is all we can manage in one hit. So, we will initiate four drops on Day 1, Maleme and Hania in the morning and in the afternoon the airfields around Rethymnon and Heraklion.”

He stopped to drink a glass of water that had been placed on the table for him by his orderly before continuing. “Group West, consisting of the Luftlandesturmregiment will be in the first wave, their target to secure Maleme airfield. They have all of the glider force gentlemen, so there will be none for us on this occasion,” he said looking round the room.

“Group Centre, consisting of FFR3, along with two glider companies detached from the sturmregiment, will land in Prison Valley, here,” he said pointing to the map again, “between signal hill and Varipetro. I know you are all keen to know about our task and I will get to it soon. It is important you get a feel for the bigger picture first.”

“Group East will be landing on Day 2, with FFR1 along with a battalion from FFR2, their target will be Heraklion. Also on Day 2, Group West will be reinforced by the two battalions from FFR2. A large proportion of our reinforcements on Day 2 will be from our mountain climbing comrades, from the 5
th
Gebirgs Division who will be flown in to Maleme. They won’t have any mountains to conquer, just air sickness,” he added gaining a ripple of laughter from his audience.

“Now to the detail and our role in this great expedition,” he said tapping the map again. “It all kicks off at 0800, on the morning of the 20
th
May, gentlemen. The Luftlandesturmregiment, LLSR, landings will begin by seizing the bridge over the Tavronitis River and establish a bridgehead in what we believe to be an RAF camp,” he pointed to the bridge on a larger scale map just pinned up by the Adjutant. “2/LLSR and 4/LLSR battalions will land just west of the Tavronitis to make a follow up attack towards the airport. A Company from 16/4/LLSR will land near a small town, Polemarhi,” he dragged his stick across the map to a position south of the airfield. “Two companies will be dispatched to take Hill 107 from the south.”

He stopped and turned suddenly to face the room, picking out Paul.

“Now to our task,” he said, sensing the entire room leaning in towards him to catch every word. “I have nominated your company for this task Brand.” Paul sat up and took serious notice of what was being said, peering at the map to where his battalion commander had been pointing moments ago. His grief pushed aside, for the moment.

“You and your men,” he continued now looking directly at Paul, “are to land southeast of that hill and provide a blocking force to prevent the enemy reinforcing any troops on that hill, attacking our units from behind and acting as a flank guard for the LLSR in general. Your unit will be isolated Brand, maybe for some time, understood?” Paul nodded in acknowledgement.

“Yes sir.” Christa completely to the back of his mind, as his thoughts switched into those of the tactician he was. Rapidly thinking through the complexities, the supplies he would need.