Devils with Wings: Silk Drop (9 page)

He made his way to the table and was met halfway by his commander, who had seen him enter.

“Oberleutnant Brand, glad you could join us,” he said returning Paul’s salute.

“How did you get here so quickly sir?”

“Compliments of our fly boys Brand, and a two seat fighter. But, to business.” The Raven was well known for his lack of small talk, but his approach to his job could not be faulted.

The Raven turned to his left and spoke to one of the officers, who looking at the maps fanned out across the table, turned to face them.

“Ah, the famous Oberleutnant Brand. Herr Oberst, we are in first rate company this evening.”

The Regimental Adjutant, Major Fuchs, tapped his commander on the shoulder and the Oberst also turned to face the group. In his early forties and barely five foot six, with thinning fair hair, Paul towered above him. Paul again went to salute, but Egger grabbed his hand and just shook it.

“Good to meet you at last Brand.”

“And welcome to the fold,” added Fuchs. “Hauptman Volkman has volunteered your company to assist us with a small problem.”

“What do you require of us sir?”

Egger turned back to the map table, pulling Paul with him, joined by Fuchs and Volkman. He pointed to the map uppermost on the table.

“The Isthmus of Corinth Brand, we have to secure it, so our panzer troops can quickly cross.”

Fuchs continued the brief. “The Corinth Canal runs from north to south and divides the Peloponnese from the Greek mainland. There is only one road bridge crossing this obstacle. And believe me, it is a formidable obstacle with a sheer cliff on both sides.”

“You want my company in support sir?”

“Yes,” interrupted the Raven. “Do you mind sir?” He said looking at Egger.

“Please Gunther, continue.”

“The Oberst wants your company to cover their backs. The main assault will be by glider on the approaches to the bridge on both sides of the gorge. A parachute drop will to do the mopping up afterwards. What we want your men to do Brand, is two fold. First secure the southern flank and secondly command the high ground.”

“Where will we be dropping sir, and will it be gliders or chutes?”

“It will be a silk drop Brand and it will be here on this high ground west of Kavos. It’s about two to three kilometres west from the coast. You’ll be dropped about five minutes after the main glider assault goes in, we don’t want to give the enemy early warning of our intentions.”

“My full company sir?”

“Yes. We don’t anticipate the high ground being occupied, but there are some one thousand plus troops in the area, so they may quickly move to secure it, to bring fire down on the assault.”

“But no heroics Brand,” added Fuchs. “Just attack and secure your target. Make a few probes towards the canal to keep the enemy occupied and on their toes, but don’t follow through with a full assault. Back off and dig in.”

“We don’t want you getting mixed up with the follow up forces and we end up shooting at each other,” interjected Egger.

“Is there an exit route sir, should the main attack be unsuccessful?”

“It won’t fail Brand,” interjected Fuchs, “but if it should, then we will attempt an extraction by sea.”

“Do you have a problem with any of this Brand?” asked Egger.

Volkman jumped in. “He’s part of my battalion sir.”

“Is there anything you need?” checked Fuchs.

“Nothing sir,” responded Paul, still reeling from the enormity of the mission being thrust upon him and his men. “Just access to maps, ammunition and supplies. Oh, and somewhere for my men to prepare.”

“Have you brought your own chutes with you?” asked Fuchs.

“Yes sir, parachutes, weapons and weapons canisters.”

“Excellent. There is a building west of the airfield you can use as your base. I shall have someone show you. Make sure you give them a list of your ammunition and supply requirements.”

There was a sudden drone of aircraft overhead.

“More aircraft arriving by the sound of it,” observed Volkman.

“How many so far?” Egger asked Fuchs.

“We have two thirds here already sir, another one hundred and thirty will be arriving the rest of this evening and tomorrow.”

“When is the jump off sir?” questioned Paul, keen to glean as much information as possible and then get his unit ready.

“The main drop is at oh seven hundred the day after tomorrow.”

Paul did a quick calculation in his head. That meant the morning of the twenty seventh of April, which gave him and his men a full day to prepare.

“Your men will drop five minutes later.”

“You will be allocated fifteen Ju 52s for your men and equipment. Once you’ve been informed of which ones, it will be up to you to liaise with the flight commander, understood?” continued Fuchs.

“Yes sir.”

Paul turned to his battalion commander, “is the rest of the battalion taking part sir?”

“They will be joining us in a few days, but you are on your own for this one.”

“Right,” interrupted the Regimental Commander. “If you’ve no more questions gentlemen, I need to focus on other elements of the operation.”

It was a gentle dismissal and Volkman and Paul saluted and the Raven escorted him to the entrance of the HQ.

“Sorry to drop this one on you Brand, but you have the most experienced company and you will be the representatives of the battalion so I can’t afford any cock ups.”

“My men will welcome some action sir. They were getting pretty bored back at the barracks.

“They may think differently when they hit the ground,” suggested the Raven. “Go and get your men ready.”

Paul saluted and left the HQ, his mind already swirling with the myriad of tasks he had ahead of him to prepare for the drop in less than two days.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The men were lined up, the engines of the Junker 52’s throbbing behind them. Paul didn’t give a speech; he had spent the previous day with his men as they were all preparing for today’s assault. He had probably spoken to most of them individually at some point. He had gone through the plans in detail with his three platoon commanders. After numerous troop, platoon and a full company
exercise, Paul, Max, Roth, Nadel and Leeb were satisfied that they were ready. The men were grouped into their flights, which equated to one troop per aircraft, the rest of the transports carrying their weapon canisters. Paul approached each troop, wishing them luck, finishing with a final confab with his officers and Max.

“Well this is it gentlemen, we embark in five minutes, time check.”

They all looked at their watches and synchronised the time with their commander, it was five minutes past five, and they were due to parachute drop in just over two hours.

“Leeb, your men must get their weapons from the canisters quickly and run like hell to secure the slope to the north east. We won’t have the cloak of darkness when we land, so speed is of the essence.”

“Yes Herr Oberleutnant.”

They had been over and over it the previous day, but Paul had learnt that you could never be too well prepared and they hadn’t exactly had a great deal of time to absorb their mission requirements.

“Nadel, your platoon will have to gather the weapons containers sharpish and group them on Leeb’s position, we may well need that ammunition.”

“Jawohl Herr Oberleutnant.”

“Roth, your three troops will be responsible for our immediate security and they must recce west, south and east. But, keep your men within two hundred and fifty metres of our landing spot. I don’t want us spread to the four winds if we get bounced.”

“Understood sir.”

“Max, I want you with Leeb’s platoon and I’ll stay with Nadel until I know what our next steps will be.”

“Sir.”

Paul noticed one of the Luftwaffe ground crew nervously trying to attract his attention, the engines now shut down ready for embarkation.

“They’re ready for us sir.”

“Right, let’s go.”

The paratroopers made their way towards their respective aircraft and Paul gripped Max’s arm.

“See you on the ground Feldwebel Grun.”

“I’ve no other plans sir,” he said grinning from ear to ear.

Paul smiled back at Max’s infectious grin.

Paul made his way towards his assigned aircraft and joined Leeb’s first troop. Max would be on a different plane. The rest of the officers would also be dispersed around the fleet, ensuring that command was spread throughout the flotilla should they encounter heavy fire and lose some of the planes. In the distance, Paul could see some fighter planes lifting off, rapidly climbing and disappearing into the blackness of the still early morning, the roar of their engines quickly drowned out by the huge flotilla of the first wave of Ju 52s following behind them.

Paul stood at the side of the access door to the belly of the aircraft, loaning them the use of his arm for support as they clambered up the metal ladder.

“Thanks for organising this little jaunt just for us sir.” Stumme was heard to say as he heaved himself up into the guts of the plane.

“Don’t thank me just yet Oberjager Stumme, you haven’t seen the scenery yet,” responded Paul. He sensed a presence behind him.

“Anyway Stumme, you’re responsible for refreshments on this trip,” shouted Max after the paratrooper.

“Jawohl Herr Feldwebel.”

Stumme was then the target of ribaldry from the rest of the troop.

Paul twisted his head around, Max had come by to give his final report.

“All well Max?”

“Yes sir, my troop will be loading shortly, they’ll be the last ones to board.”

The last trooper to board Paul’s plane was Fessman, a close friend of Stumme.

Paul turned to Max and gripped his hand.

“I’ll see you on the ground Max. You keep that unsightly head of yours down, I don’t want to have to run the company on my own.”

“At least I don’t stand out above the crowd sir,” he said laughing referring to his commander’s lanky height. Max turned around and walked away and Paul took his turn to heave his body into the aircraft, aided by Fessman. He looked around the darkened interior and took his seat opposite the doorway.

“All in sir?” asked the Absetzer, the Dispatcher.

“Yes, seal her up Unterfeldwebel.”

The Dispatcher closed the door immediately, shutting out some of the din from the three throbbing BMW engines and the noise of the other fourteen Junkers that had restarted and were warming up their engines for the departure.

“Make yourself comfortable sir, it’s going to be a bumpy two hour ride.”

“No entertainment Absetzer?” asked Fessman, who was sat on Paul’s right.

“You men will have all the entertainment you want when you hit the deck, we don’t want to overload you now, do we?” he said smiling. The Unterfeldwebel was obviously an experienced Dispatcher and knew how to handle the boisterous Fallschirmjager.

“You’re the men from the Eben Emael escapade aren’t you?” he shouted over the excessive noise as the engines revved to full throttle. Paul blushed slightly, at being recognised for their past exploit.

“I thought we’d travel in style this time,” he shouted back.

The comms handset buzzed and he turned to pick it up. He spoke into the hand set. “Yes, yes.” He then turned to Paul. “We’re off now sir, we’ll do one circuit of the airfield then head straight for the target.”

The message was passed down the line and the troopers made last minute adjustments before they set off.

Looking through the window, diagonally opposite, Paul could see they were manoeuvring from the apron onto the runway. They were passing a JU 52 on their left and looking over his right shoulder he could see one on their right.

Once in the air, the three aircraft would fly in an arrow formation, with five further kettes behind them.

“Where is the donnerbalken, thunder-beam, on this taxi Unterfeld?” hollered one of the paratroopers from the front.

“When we’re at three thousand metres, I’ll open the door and the entire landscape will be your latrine,” he responded. The aircraft occupants burst in to laughter, easing some of the tension.

Paul felt his stomach drop as on reaching take off speed the pilot wrenched the stick back and the lumbering plane lifted off leaving the runway behind. After a few moments the pilot banked the plane to the left to complete a circuit of the airfield allowing the remaining aircraft to take off and form the chain that would fly to the target. Once completed, the fifteen aircraft settled down to a steady drone at three thousand metres at a speed of one hundred and eighty kilometres an hour.

A trooper at the front burst into song and after a couple of seconds the entire troop was singing a traditional unit song.

“Trup zweir! drei! vier!

Hinter den Bergen Strahlet die Sonne

Glühen die Gipfel so rot....”

They sang it through to the end. Then it was just silence, just the steady rumble of the engines and the wind rush through the thin metal skin, leaving each individual to his own thoughts.