Devils with Wings

by Harvey Black

  The gliders had been disassembled at Hildesheim and transported in furniture vans, to hide them from curios eyes, to be re-assembled in the hangars.

  “Oi you lot,” shouted one of the Luftwaffe ground crew, Oberfeld’s, “leave those alone. If you haven’t got anything better to do, I’ll soon find you a job.”

  The four comrades laughed and started to walk back to the entrance to make their way back to the canteen, Leeb shouting back over his shoulder, “make sure you look after our babies.”

  They continued cracking jokes, their laughter drifting across the camp, heads lifting and smiling at the banter coming from the four comrades.

  The Luftwaffe senior NCO, in charge of assembling the gliders watched them go. He didn’t know what it was all about, but the scuttlebutt said that they were going to fly in these gliders on some strange mission. They were all confined to camp until further notice and not allowed to contact their families.

  Whatever it was they were planning to do, he didn’t envy them and wished them luck.

  The four comrades returned back to the canteen, this time to play cards, anything to pass the time.

  Paul had gathered his men together in one of the hangars; it was time to fully brief them on their operation. Everything they had been training for so far had been on a supposed target, their information from photographs, plans and sketches. Now they would finally know what it was they were going to assault, where it was located and the reason behind it.

  The men gathered around their Commander, pulling up chairs, whether wooden or canvass, some even sat on the spare wing of a glider.

  It seemed pertinent, that they were holding the briefing alongside one of the very gliders that in a matter of days would be flying them into battle.

  “Comrades,” Paul said to his men.

  “The time has come for us to prove our worth. I know we were tested in Poland, but that was just a sideshow. In two days, the results of our efforts will determine the success of the entire operation. We have been training hard; you have been training hard. We must now demonstrate that our training was not wasted, that the confidence our superiors and our Fuhrer have in us is not unfounded.

  We go into action tomorrow.”

  The silent hangar suddenly sprang into life as the thirty-two paratroopers and pilots broke into a buzz of chatter, the suspense finally over. The day had come; they were to go to war, again.

  “Our gliders are here waiting for us,” he patted the glider that was situated directly behind him, “moved here in furniture vans I believe.” Paul smiled, as did the rest of the platoon.

  “I’m just glad they didn’t treat us as furniture Sir,” piped up Max

  “They would have had me to deal with,” responded Paul, returning Max’s smile

  This typical banter between the Lieutenant and the older senior NCO helped to relax the men. They had just gone through six Months of intensive training, the strain was starting to show and there was some tension in all of them. But the waiting was over.

  “I’ve called you together for our final operational briefing,” continued Paul, now back on track.

  “As you know, at our initial briefing, we were not the only units of Sturmabteilung Kaufmann. Some of you will have seen several of your comrades, who you had served with in Poland, at Hildesheim.”

  Paul walked closer to his men, who were in a semi circle around him. His voice echoed as he continued speaking, the enormity of the hangar reflecting his voice around the high four storey walls.

  “We’re going to be a part of a much bigger operation. Sturmabteilung Kaufmann is going to facilitate the passage of General Fedor von Bocks’ Army Group B and the Fourth Panzer Division crossing the Dutch and Belgium borders east of Maastricht.”

  The buzz again filled the room, and Paul waited for it to settle down before he continued.

  “After his briefing by high command, Hauptman Kaufmann, based on his mission analysis, concluded there were four critical tasks to complete in order for his assault group to succeed. Sturmabteilung Kaufmann has four missions to complete. Group’s Steel, Iron and concrete, must seize and prevent the destruction of the Vendwezelt, Vroenhoven and Canne bridges that cross the Albert Canal.”

  The paratroopers looked at each other in astonishment, they were finally being told, after six months of training, of their target and also of the targets of the other three storm groups in Sturmabteilung Kaufmann.

  Their small-scale, seemingly insular, preparations to storm a fort in some distant land were going to be part of something much bigger.

  Paul allowed them to get it off their chest, sharing their thoughts with each other, some looking at him in disbelief, at what he had just told them.

  “Does that mean we’re going to war again sir, another Poland?” inquired Kempf.

  The hangar was silent; they all looked at Paul waiting for his answer, wanting to know what it all meant, what the bigger picture was.

  “I truly don’t know,” came back Paul’s reply, “we are clearly moving onto a foreign nation’s territory in force; it can only be seen as an act of war.”

  “What’s our role in all of this sir?” asked Max, bringing the briefing back on track.

  “Ours is the prize, Eben Emael, the supposedly impregnable fortress that protects those crossings over the Albert canal. The very crossings that the other Kaufmann teams will be assaulting.”

  “So, not only is Fourth Panzer Division dependent on us, but so are our comrades who will land by glider to secure the three bridges I mentioned earlier.”

  All the work done in the sand box at Hildesheim, now slotted into place. They were to invade Belgium, their role being the sub-duction of a key fort in the countries defences.

  Paul then briefed them on the sequence of events. Times when they were to eat and sleep and the time when they would be awoken, should any of them be able to sleep.

  They were like coiled springs, waiting to be unleashed. Part of them didn’t want to wait, part of them was excited at the prospect of battle, part of them was nervous, not at the prospect of action or death, but of not wanting to fail their comrades, their country or their Fuhrer.

  “As you can see our task is critical to the success of the operation to cross these bridges. We have three key tasks to accomplish in order to achieve success on taking the fort.”

  Paul turned to Max and nodded his head, the signal for Max to unroll a large photograph of the fort, the most recent taken.

  He pinned it up on an easel that was close by, brushing it flat and pinning each corner. Before moving away, Max looked over the photograph, turned to look at Paul, then at the Fallschirmjager looking at him, “It looks just like what we’ve trained on, it won’t be a piece of cake, but we can do this.”

  Max walked away and joined the rest of the troopers, who were again waiting on Paul’s next breath.

  Paul walked over to the photograph, fresh off the photo interpreters light table, pointing to the target.

  “First, we must destroy the weapons on top of the fort, particularly the anti-aircraft emplacement.”

  Paul made eye contact with Fischer, the assault troop leader whose responsibility it was to take out this battery.

  “Left in action, this battery could impede further glider landings and restrict any additional reinforcement or resupply.” Fischer nodded, accepting the importance of his and his team’s role. He looked around at his troop, confident and proud to have the responsibility placed upon them, they were ready.

  “Secondly, we must destroy the gun batteries that cover the very three bridges being assaulted by the rest of our Sturmabteilung. We must destroy them; otherwise they’ll be able to bring fire down on the vicinity of the bridges and seriously hamper the assaults being conducted by steel, concrete and iron.”

  “We’ll need to be pretty sharp then sir,” rejoined Max, “if the batteries are on the ball, they could bring fire down within minutes of us touching down.”

  “That’s why we have
been practicing so hard, we’ve got to put them out of action fast.”

  “Do we know what their response time is sir?”

  “We believe they’ll have skeleton crews, but there will also be a signal system I’m sure, an alarm to warn the rest of the garrison who may be off duty and not situated in the fort itself. But you can be sure of one thing, the minute the first glider lands on the fort, bells will be ringing loud and clear.”

  “And finally,” he continued, “we must attack and destroy the forts entrance and exit points, we must keep the garrison bottled up. We’re not a big enough force to hold off a significant counter attack and we will also be spread pretty thin across the top of the fort and in small units.”

  “What’s the strength of the force we’ll be up against sir?” Leeb asked worryingly.

  “Good question Leeb, you beat me to it. The Belgian defenders are not completely defenceless. The fort holds a garrison of some twelve hundred men, a formidable force to be attacked by our mere eighty eight paratroopers.”

  “We’re not mere paratroopers sir, we’re the best,” jumped in Max.

  “How right you are Unterfeldwebel Grun,” he replied smiling, “how remiss of me to forget.”

  “It happens sometimes sir,” this bringing a chuckle from the paratroopers.

  You’ll be pleased to hear there are some negatives for the fortress’s defenders. Of the twelve hundred men, over two hundred are technicians and support staff, only the remaining one thousand are artillerymen and Infantry.”

  “There you go sir, odds down to ten to one already.”

  Max’s take on the troop numbers brought a laugh from the men, who were all starting to visibly relax. That being the Unterfeldwebel’s intention.

  “Also, due to a shift system, whereby the garrison is split into two, each shift serving for one week about means that there are only ever five hundred trained men manning the fort at any one time. Reducing the odds further, Unterfeldwebel, to a trifling six to one.”

  This brought a further laugh from the men, their officer getting one up on the platoon sergeant.

  What the defenders had to face, were eighty eight, determined Fallschirmjager, who had trained for six months, with nothing else in mind but subjugating the fortress and denying the enemy a chance to prevent the German Army from completing its larger goal.

  The challenge was theirs; the full glider force landing at their appointed places at the right time, attacking and destroying a shocked and poorly trained force, allowing the rest of Sturmabteilung Kaufmann to secure the bridges.

  “As you all know, we have been divided into eleven troops, one per glider. Each troop is responsible for destroying their target, and also the objective of the section next to them should that section fail to arrive or not succeed in their mission. That is why we have been focusing on a secondary objective for each troop. You know yours; be prepared to switch targets when necessary, or destroy your secondary target as well as your own, if required.”

  “We’ve been training with the new hollow charge devices and we believe that they will penetrate the concrete casemates or artillery and observation domes.”

  Although you’ve been given time to practice their assembly and have had a demonstration of how they work, you were only ever allowed to explode them on the ground. It was decided that the risk was too great of the secret of these device’s getting out for you to see it used in anger.”

  “These hollow charges, placed on a casemate or turret, and initiated, will penetrate some four centimetres blowing a hole through it and killing some of the occupants.”

  “So you see gentlemen, we have the toys to do the job.”

  They spent another half an hour throwing questions and answers to and fro, until all were as satisfied they had extracted all the information that was available.

  All they could do now was eat, play cards, talk or try to sleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Paul and Max sat outside the canteen, a table and chairs had been dragged outdoors to enable them sit and watch the never ending activity that seemed to have kicked off ever since they had been given the go ahead.

  It was eight in the evening, and truck loads of Luftwaffe ground crew had turned up, and were immediately given the task of pulling out the gliders ready to be attached to the Junkers tow planes that had been landing at the airfield since dawn that day.

  The entire platoon was now gathered outside the canteen, they had little else to do. They had checked their kit again and again. They had checked each other’s kit again and again. They had completed their wills, written letters home, those only being released once their mission was complete.

  Now they were just chatting, swapping stories about their training during the last six months, talking about family and loved ones back home. Asking questions of their superiors, with Paul, Max and the Uffz’s answering what questions they could.

  There was a cheer from the paratroopers on the periphery of the group, and when questioned what the celebration was about, they proceeded to point to the field kitchen that was drawing up close to one of the hangars.

  They all charged across to the hangar, the field kitchen a welcome distraction, and the food of course.

  When Paul joined them, they were already walking away with steaming plates of sausages and mashed potatoes, heading back to the canteen to eat it before it cooled.

  While they were eating, the Luftwaffe ground crews were finally pulling the gliders out of the hangers, doing it in the dark, as the floodlights had been turned off to protect the gliders from prying eyes.

  The Junkers were jockeyed into position, the gliders then secured to the towlines and the release catches checked, and checked again.

  Paul knew the glider pilots would be over there, making sure no damage was done to their precious craft and that the release gear truly did work.

  A Luftwaffe Feldwebel ran up to Paul and saluted, now that Paul was wearing his Fallschirmjager badges and titles of rank again.

  “With Oberleutnant Faust’s compliments sir, but could your troops embark on the gliders immediately.”

  With that, he saluted again and went to find the rest of Group Granite to pass on the instructions given to him.

  “Max,” called Paul, “Let’s get the men together, we’re mounting up.”

  “Doesn’t the Oberleutnant trust that we’re ready sir?”

  Max said it with humour; he would probably do the same thing himself if the positions were reversed.

  “He just wants to make sure you’re not out womanising Unterfeldwebel Grun, now get the men together.”

  “Right you lot, in your troops, left to right, come on, we don’t want to keep the Oberleutnant waiting.”

  Once assembled, Paul, Max, Fischer and Leeb, led their assault troops to their respective gliders and boarded them.

  The final checks completed, they were dismissed until the operation start time of three thirty in the morning.

  But, they were instructed to stay within the confines of the hard standing, the hangars or the canteen.

  This was it; they were getting close to the point of no return.

  With little else to do, the adrenaline pumping through their veins, they went back to playing cards and writing letters. Some, like Max and Paul, went to find somewhere to get their heads down; they didn’t know when they might next get any sleep.

  It was two forty five in the morning; Paul woke with a start, his shoulder being shaken to awaken him up.

  “Sir,” hissed the orderly. “It’s time.”

  “Time? Right, thank you,” responded Paul groggily as he sat up and lifted his legs off to camp bed he’d been sleeping on.

  He rubbed his eyes, bringing himself round after what had been a surprisingly deep sleep.

  “Has Unterfeldwebel Grun been roused?” questioned Paul.

  “He was already awake sir, he asked me to call you.”

  “Okay, thank you.”

  Paul heaved himself up off the
camp bed and started to pull on his gear. Trust Max, he thought, to be up first. He probably threatened the orderly with a pain worse than death if he didn’t wake him up first.

  Max joined him five minutes later with a hot, steaming cup of coffee.

  “You never sleep Max?”

  “Someone has to watch over my sleeping beauties sir, you excluded of course,” he said with a grin.

  “Are the men ready Max?” enquired Paul, knowing that Max would have the platoon ready and shipshape.

  “We’ve been allocated our gliders and have started to load them with weapons, ammunition and explosives. We’ve been asked by the glider pilots to relocate some items, to ensure the optimum balance. We don’t want to overload our flying pack horses, do we?”

  “This it Max, the culmination of all of our training.”

  “It had to come sooner or later,” he said jovially, “we couldn’t have free food and board forever.”

  “They couldn’t have kept you cooped up here for much longer either Max.”

  “That goes for all of us sir.”

  “Right then Max, let’s go.”

  Max reached out his arm to haul his officer up off the bed. Paul clasped his NCOs’ burley wrist, not moving for a second, but saying, “thank you Max, your strength has helped get us through these last six months. As a result we’re better prepared.”

  Max pulled him up off the bunk, “don’t you fret sir; we’ve got this licked.”

  They left the room to join the rest of their men.

  The paratroopers went about their preparations quietly and seriously. This was a serious business. They were composed because they were confident in the plan, confident in their unit and confident in themselves.

  At three thirty, assault team granite was formed up in full battle gear, Oberleutnant Faust going over the final checks with his officers and senior NCOs.

  They made their final preparations. Paul was wearing a stripped down version of the basic load-carrying belt; a leather belt, ‘Y’ straps, automatic pistol holster on the left hip, as he was right handed, gas mask bag, bread bag for his rations and one canteen for water.