Devils with Wings: Silk Drop (42 page)

“He’s improving sir. Not out of his bed yet, but I’m sure it won’t be long.”

“The doctor tells me his fighting days are over.”

“I’m not sure the Feldwebel would agree with you sir, he’s already making noises about returning to the company.”

“He can’t even stand yet,” said Volkman as he sniffed at his drink, the aroma strong and pervasive, and sipped it more sedately this time. He held up his glass. “Need to go easy on this Brand, supplies are low until I can secure some more. You need to be ready to accept that the Feldwebel will not be returning to his unit, your unit. How is Richter settling in?”

“He is a good replacement sir, proven himself in battle, a good organiser and respected by the men. He has proven to be a good leader.”

“Yes, his mortar troop did some damage I believe. Sorry I couldn’t get you any more ammunition for his tubes, but all supplies were being diverted for the big push.”

“How is your injury sir?”

The Raven touched the taped dressing above his right eye. “A piece of shrapnel Brand, lucky it wasn’t lower. Only a small scar they tell me,” he said smiling for the first time.

“Richter’s rank of Feldwebel has been confirmed and I suggest you accept that his role is permanent.”

Paul contemplated the enormity of what he was being told, of what he had already accepted in his own mind. Max would not be at his side for his next fight.

“What plans for the battalion now sir?” asked Paul, changing the subject.

“We need to refit as quickly as possible, then we’re being shipped back home.”

“Have they something planned for us?”

The Raven stood up and beckoned Paul to follow him out on to the balcony, the sea stretched out in front of them, blue and welcoming in the heat of the day, the heat omnipresent as soon as they stepped out of the room. The Raven, swagger stick tucked under his left arm, rested both hands on the black, ornate rail.

“They always have plans for us. Something is brewing Brand, I can feel it.”

“Surely we need time to recuperate sir, rest, reinforcements.”

“Reinforcements will be waiting for us on our return, the Stendal machine hasn’t been idle in our absence.”

He pushed himself up off the railings and turned to face Paul.

“Our battalion, my battalion has excelled during the invasion. We have caused mayhem for the enemy. A battalion sized force has effectively kept Brigade sized units on their toes, causing them to shift reserves away from the main points of contact and from where they would have been most useful. We have been recognised by our masters for our efforts, be assured they will want us ready for action again as soon as possible. Are you up to it Oberleutnant Brand?”

Paul clicked his heels together and thrust his arms down by his sides. “I am a Fallschirmjager Herr Major, I will do my duty.”

There was a moment of silence as the Major searched the young man’s face, looking for weakness or doubt. But, all he saw was strength and an officer who was resolute.

“You are my best officer Brand. The most skilled, the most imaginative, my strongest leader. Your men seem to hero worship you. But, you are also the one I worry about the most. Prepare your men, kit sorted, weapons canisters ready. We move out within the week, dismissed.”

Paul saluted, picked up his helmet on the way out and headed out of the door, down the stairs and out of the central doorway at the bottom.

He walked forward until he was stood next to the wall overlooking the sea and the rocks below, exposed now the tide was out. The sea was already on its way back in to reclaim its territory and they would again soon be hidden from view. To his right his eye line was dominated by the fortress on the edge of the town, positioned strategically on the peninsula, overlooking the coast, its sturdy walls with its earthworks sloping down towards the coastal road. The Fortezza of Rethymnon, dominated the tip of the peninsular. Although various stages of the fortification began as far back as the third Century, the current structure had been completed between 1573 and 1580.

Looking to his left, Paul could see a peninsula of lesser importance, which jutted out on the other side of the sweeping coastline. He moved up to the wall, resting his knees against it, he breathed in the salty, sea air, listening to the gentle lapping of the water against the rocks below as it moved slowly in. He cocked his ear and listened. Apart from the odd engine revving in the distance, the gentle lapping of the waves and the odd rustle from the fronds of the Palm tree, it was quiet. Suddenly dawning on him, there was no gunfire, no screaming aircraft, no explosions, it was peaceful. It was time to go and see Max.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The main medical centre in the town had been swamped with casualties, whether Fallschirmjager, Gebirgsjager, Allied troops and even some civilians, so an administrative building had been converted in to a temporary hospital.

The double wooden doors of the four story building were open, a stream of soldiers, medical staff and civilians moved in and out of the hospital. It’s plastered facade a mottled, dull grey, pink and orange, flaking in places, the odd scoring from a ricocheting bullet. There were four tall, narrow windows at ground level, two either side of the entrance, boarded up with shutters, steps leading up to its entrance.

The building was in the centre of a terrace, at one end the start of another terrace, the other end dominated by an orthodox church, its clean white front supporting a single bell tower on top, had survived the battle that had ended only a few days earlier. Many other buildings were not so lucky, having succumbed to bomb damage, or at least splattered with
shrapnel scars or bullet impacts.

Paul stepped up into the building, his breath quickening as he was hit by the distinctive smell that seemed to emanate from all hospitals. It wasn’t the smell of sickness or disease, but the smell of disinfectant used to clean the walls and floors and antiseptic used to treat wounds. Images flashed through his mind. Lying on a stretcher, carried in to a Maastricht hospital, doctors and nurses cutting away his uniform, exposing the gaping wounds and the clinical smell that seemed to have imprinted itself on to his senses. Then later, a nurse caring for him and his shattered body, Christa, her auburn hair tucked beneath her white cap. His thoughts were interrupted abruptly.

“Yes Oberleutnant, what can we do for you?”

Sat behind a small wooden table, her uniform crisp and fresh, sat a senior nurse from the German Red Cross, the gate keeper of the premises. Paul snapped out of his reverie and turned to her, a small oil lamp providing some light in the narrow, darkened corridor. She cocked her head at him, the pips on her blue and white striped tunic showing her to be a Vorhilferin. A white cap, with a red cross on the front, tied at the rear, held back her shoulder length, brown hair. An enamelled brooch pinned at the centre of her white collar showing her to be a fully qualified nurse.

“Herr Oberleutnant?”

“Sorry Vorhelferin, I am looking for a Feldwebel Grun, he is badly wounded.”

Her serious expression eased in to a gentle smile, the stern look she normally kept for visitors melting away as she saw the strain and weariness on the young officer’s face.

“They are all badly wounded here Oberleutnant.”

She pulled a leather bound book towards her and scanned through the lines of entries, tapping the one that she had been looking for.

She looked up. “Feldwebel Grun, Fallschirmjager. He is on the second floor. When are you relieving us of him Oberleutnant?”

“Is he causing problems?” replied Paul, his face concerned.

Her smile widened. “Only to the nurses Oberleutnant. His wounds are serious and will take some time to heal, but his flirtatious nature has been far from suppressed. You will find him on the next floor, ward 2/1.”

Paul thanked her and walked to the end of the corridor that got darker the further away he was from the entrance. He climbed the steps to the next level and scanned the doors as he walked along the first floor corridor. He found the door he was looking for at the opposite end, the last on the left. He opened the door and entered the room.

The ward was very compact. Two tall windows overlooked the town. Four beds lined each side, the one on the far right surrounded by Fallschirmjager.

“Who have you come to see Oberleutnant? It is not convenient to have so many visitors at one time,” said a short, stern faced Sister, hands on hips, round faced jutted towards the top of Paul’s chest.

“I’ve come to see Feldwebel Grun.”

“That’s impossible Oberleutnant, he is already mobbed with visitors, can’t you see?” she complained, her grey haired head bobbing up and down as she pointed to the group of paratroopers congregated around the end bed.

One of them turned to see what the commotion was, it was Leutnant Leeb. When the other two turned round he could see they were his other two platoon commanders, Roth and Nadel, all three made their way over to him. They saluted Paul, then Leeb, his angular features breaking in to a smile, placed his arm around the Sister’s shoulder.

“There, there Sister, we’re going now so there will be plenty of space.”

She allowed Ernst’s arm to remain where it was.

“We’ve been here half an hour now sir, so we were about to go,” informed Roth, his skin still peeling from the effects of the burning sun on his pale skin.

“The Feld’s looking well sir,” added Nadel, his normally pale complexion unusually brown, “but you’ll be able to see for yourself.”

The Sister extracted herself from Leeb’s embrace and patted Paul on the arm.

“If these men are going now, I see no reason for you not to visit him, providing you don’t disturb the other patients,” she said shooing the three platoon commanders out of the ward.

He walked over to Max’s bed and rather than coarse, Luftwaffe blue blankets, they were a mixture of brown, red, orange, some of the beds even had pink covers on.

“Not very military is it sir?” suggested Max, propped up in his bed, four feather pillows supporting him.

Paul scanned his face. The dark tan that had been burnt in to Max’s skin during their time in this climate, from Corinth to Crete, had now faded slightly, his heavy set jaw having lost some of its definition, but the brown eyes still exuded strength.

“I would have thought you’d have gone for a pink cover Max.”

“I didn’t want to leave the others without sir.”

“It looks better than some of the places I treated you in.”

“You never did have any style sir,” he said with a smile, his still cracked lips expressing his pleasure at being able to crack a joke again with his commander, and friend.

“How are the wounds?”

“They hurt like buggery, but I’m told I’m on the mend. They said if it wasn’t for you patching me up in the first place and getting me back here, I’d have been a goner.”

“Couldn’t be doing with all the paperwork if I’d lost you.”

“I’ll be out of here in no time. How’s Feldwebel Richter shaping up?”

“He’s doing ok. Hasn’t quite mastered your insolent approach to everything, but then who could.”

“Make sure he doesn’t get too settled sir, I’ll be wanting my job back soon.”

Paul sat down on the edge of the bed to continue their conversation, when a young, slim, blonde haired nurse slipped passed him and plumped up Max’s pillows.

“I don’t want him over excited now Oberleutnant, he’s not as well as he tells people.”

A veil of pain descended across Paul’s face, picked up instantly by Max. A flash back of a dark haired nurse, leaning over his hospital bed, doing and saying the very same things.

“No more than ten minutes do you hear?”

Max’s muscled arm patted the nurse’s arm gently. “It’s ok Anneliese, he won’t stay long.”

She looked from one to the other, now seeing the pain in the young officer’s eyes and the concern on her patient’s face. She finished adjusting the sheets around Max’s waist and left them in peace.

“I’m well looked after here sir.”

Paul came out of his reverie, his eyes moist, but no tears came.

“It looks like you have every reason not to come back to the unit in a hurry Max.”

“My boys need me sir, so I’ll be back soon.”

They talked about the battle for Crete, the thousands of their Fallschirmjager comrades killed or wounded in this hellish battle. Some of the glider units landing on or near the airfields were all but decimated. Then they joked and laughed about their journey through enemy lines.

“That pony didn’t half stink. Every time I looked up, all I could see was its arse. I prayed every time we stopped that it wouldn’t crap on me.”

They both laughed out loud, others close by joining in, having heard the banter.

“Did you go back to Adele sir?”

“Yes. We buried the three men. They were Oberleutnant Janke’s boys.”

“I bet the lads were furious.”

“There was a brief moment when I thought they might tear through the village. But they’re Fallschirmjager, Helmut soon brought them under control.”

“Had they been mutilated?”

“Not as bad as some of the others that were found on the island, but they had been repeatedly stabbed in what could only have been a frenzy.”