Devils with Wings

by Harvey Black

  But before that, two grenades were thrown in for good measure and once the force of the blast had dissipated, they climbed through.

  Oberjager Forster and Jager Straube gently eased their way in. They knew they had a few minutes grace as the enemy would still be recovering from the exploding grenades, but that didn’t stop them from tossing one back, if they knew that enemy soldiers had entered their gun room.

  When they climbed through it was very dark and full of smoke caused by the various explosions. They waited for the smoke to disperse not knowing what they would walk in to, but it didn’t and they couldn’t see a hand in front of their face. The smoke and fumes was also starting to gag on their throats, coughing would give them and their position away.

  Eventually they put on their gas masks and eased their way further into the casemate, the bunker. There were no lights, so they hurriedly found their torches, glad that their platoon commander had insisted that they should be ready at hand, and scanned the inside of the bunker, seeing three dead soldiers lying there along with two wounded.

  It was carnage!

  Both were wounded badly and suffering from severe concussion. They went to look at them, but there wasn’t much they could do. They needed to look to their security first.

  They moved further into the bunker and saw a second Belgian gun crew, they had all fallen by the northern machine gun post, and they were all dead.

  The trooper felt his way further and further into the room, hearing the breathing of Straube rasping through the gas mask following behind him.

  Somewhere to his front and to the right a telephone suddenly rang. The paratrooper visibly jumped.

  Straube said, “It’s just a telephone, aren’t you going to answer it?”

  “Ok then,” replied Forster, slightly bemused by this event.

  He felt his way along the wall getting closer to the field telephone and picked it up.

  “Was ist eine Angelegenheit, dies ist nun ein Deutsch Festung (What is a matter, this is now a German fortress).”

  There was a scramble of voices on the other end of the phone and Forster put the phone down.

  Forster and Straube both suppressed a laugh, had they not been wearing gas masks, their grins would have been easily seen by torchlight.

  When they got to the end, they slowly made their way down some steps, but at the bottom steel doors barred their way and so they returned to the top.

  The Belgian troops probably demoralised by the sheer and destructive force of the explosions had retreated from the casemate and pulled back down the tunnels into the interior of the fort, leaving their dead and wounded behind.

  They returned back to the wounded, they were both in a bad way, but they had to leave them as the fort was still not completely in their hands, just yet.

  They switched off their troches and headed for the light now showing through the gaping hole in the side of the bunker and climbed back out to report their findings to their officer.

  On getting out they peeled off their gas masks, breathing the fresh air, their faces smoke black where the mask had not covered them.

  Paul handed them his canteen, he could imagine what their throats must feel like having to initially breathe in the smoke, fumes and dust inside.

  “Well, report.”

  Paul needed to know, he had decisions to make about whether to move his entire force to the HQ, or leave an element here.

  Forster started, “it’s a bloodbath in there sir. The machine guns are finished; they won’t be using them again very quickly.”

  “What about soldiers?” probed Paul, needing a full assessment.

  “There are at least five dead that we could see sir, and two wounded.”

  “How badly?”

  “One won’t make it through the night, but the other could survive if treated soon.”

  “What else?” asked Paul quickly.

  “We followed the steps to the bottom, but the steel doors were well and truly shut, I think they know that there is nothing to come up here for. It’s finished as a defensive point.”

  Paul called Obergefrieter Konrad over to join them.

  “Forster will update you, but I want you, these two and Hempel to remain here. Get a recognition signal on top and see what you can do for the Belgian wounded.”

  “Will do sir,” responded Konrad, “where will the rest of the troop be?”

  “I’ll take them with me to our HQ, which is hopefully MiNord, for an update. Once I know the current status, I’ll get word to you. Keep your wits about you, this isn’t over yet.”

  “I agree sir,” approved Max as he joined in the conversation. “They haven’t counter attacked yet, but it’s bound to happen soon.”

  “You heard the Unterfeldwebel, stay alert.”

  “We need to get away sir,” reminded Max, “there may still be plenty to do and we need to touch base with the Group.”

  The remainder of Paul’s troop rapidly moved away from the emplacement, followed by Unterfeldwebel Grun and his men.

  They had again picked up Weyer, who was still unconscious, although they had managed to staunch most of the blood loss, but he needed to remain in one place, not jigged around every five or ten minutes. Once at the headquarters, he could get more attentive treatment.

  They headed north east towards MiNord and after a matter of minutes were challenged by German paratroopers from the other glider parties that had landed to secure MiNord, Eben two, an observation cupola, and two further cupolas that were found to be dummies.

  The bunker had been secured and Paul could see the effects of a fifty-kilogram weapon against the side of the casemate, where a hole big enough to climb through had been blown.

  Oberfeldwebel Waechter, whose troop had attacked this bunker successfully, met him.

  “Good see you’re ok sir, how are your men doing?”

  Paul updated him, making him aware that MiSud; Maastricht one and two had been secured or destroyed.

  “The others sir?”

  “I’m waiting for Uffz Fischer and Uffz Leeb to meet us here, but I’ll send a couple of runners out to look for them.”

  “Good,” he replied, “I can get that reported back to Hauptman Kaufmann pronto.”

  “Where is Oberleutnant Faust,” queried Paul?

  “He’s on his way sir, he had a mishap on the way. He’s had to get another glider and tow. We also have a second glider missing, so were down by sixteen men now. You’re in command until the Oberleutnant joins us sir.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Max leant forward; he was sat directly behind the glider pilot.

  The pilot had circled twice, scanning the ground below, attempting to get his bearings and discern his landing point.

  “How’s it looking?” he enquired

  The pilot, Stadler, looked about him before responding.

  “There’s the junction of the canal and the Meuse River,” he said, “but I can’t see the bloody target, where the hell is it?”

  “What’s that there?” said Max, pointing to what he thought was a glider coming in to land below them.

  “Yes, there it is, there’s the target,” he said excitedly. “Damn it, I’ll have to go round again.”

  “Have you enough height?”

  “Just, we’re coming in from the east, and I’m tracking round to the north west now,” the right wing dipping down as the glider tilted over to the right.

  “We’re about four hundred metres from the target.”

  After taking the glider round on a circuit, he levelled off and pushed the stick forward slightly as he lost more height in readiness to hit the ground.

  “There Max, there!” shouted Unterfeldwebel Stadler, pointing to the casemate that could be seen out of the port side of the cockpit Perspex.

  Max, sat in tandem with the rest of his troop in the cramped glider, could just make out his target. It looked to him, as if they would land slightly behind it and to the right.

  Perfect he thou
ght, the guns are targeted to an arc covering from the north west to the north, they would be approaching the casemate from the south, as planned, from its blind side.

  The glider pilot was now coaxing his plane, which was rapidly losing height, to the ground and on to its target.

  He tipped it round slightly to the right, coming on a line directly north. If he’d got it right, he would come to a stop just behind and to the right of the target.

  He was dead straight now and very low, passing Cupola Sud on his right as he dropped the glider for the last time to bring in to land.

  Max’s troop had to destroy Maastricht two, the sister casemate to Maastricht one, the target of his platoon commander.

  “This is it Max, I’m committed now,” he said with a grin, “there’s no turning back now.”

  Max leant back, shouting at the top of his voice.

  “Brace! Brace! Brace! We’re going in.”

  Just as Max had finished shouting the warning the gliders ski connected with the ground.

  He needn’t have worried; it was a textbook landing. The glider slewed to a halt, coming to a standstill with the exit hatch of the glider facing their target a mere thirty paces away.

  “You’re a bloody marvel,” praised Max, “now let’s get out of here.”

  The pilot quickly pushed at the Perspex cockpit, it comfortably moved up and out of the way allowing Stadler, with Max hot on his heels, to make a quick and clean exit.

  A bright flash to the east indicated that Group Granite was starting to make itself felt.

  He heard the panel being booted out, and was quickly joined by the rest of his troop.

  He sent Pelz and Renisch to scout ahead, while he waited for Geyer and Rammelt to grab the heavy hollow charges.

  They both came out clutching one half of the heavy weight charge each, quickly followed by Geib and Waldau.

  Two further gliders hit the ground, both containing other troops of group granite.

  One of the gliders struck the top of the fortress at too steep an angle, nose first, the front of the glider digging into earth, somersaulting over onto its back. Still sliding along, the wings shattering as they hit the uneven ground, being ripped from the main body.

  Amazingly the troop onboard, although dazed, still deplaned as they were trained to do, seeking immediate cover and moving towards their respective objective.

  Max looked round, as did the other members of the troop, as a huge explosion erupted to their front, coming from the direction of Maastricht one.

  “Leutnant Brand has started the party then,” concluded Geib.

  “It’s one nil, so far then,” added Rammelt.

  Max looked confused, he was clearly not party to the bets that were being wagered that his troop would be the last one to complete their task.

  He promptly forgot about it and focused back on the matter in hand.

  The target was now to their front and they swiftly hard targeted towards the casemate, where they met their companions who had been sent on ahead.

  “Its all clear, they are quiet as mice,” informed Pelz.

  “They must be bloody deaf,” added Renisch, we’ve scouted the front and sides, there’s no one to be seen.”

  “They’re probably wondering what the hell is going on to their front,” suggested Max, “that can only be good news for us.”

  Their target was now directly in front of Max’s troop, they had approached the target from the rear, on its left side facing the front, so they were invisible from the embrasures.

  “Let’s get it done, ordered Max.

  They implemented their well-rehearsed plan.

  Geib set up the MG just around the side of the casemate to cover their right flank to the north and east, while the others assaulted the bunker, Stadler acting as his number two.

  Renisch covered their left flank.

  Max placed the ladder up against the rear bunker wall, and held it steady as Geyer and Rammelt struggled up it with their heavy loads.

  Once on the top, they both headed for the armoured observation cupola on the upper surface of the concrete Casemate as briskly as they could; bearing in mind the heavy loads they were carrying. Geyer, who was leading the way, quickly heaved up the heavy, lower part of the device onto the dome.

  Rammelt joined him and he too hefted up his section of the device, marrying it up with its partner.

  As separate items they were a normal explosive charge. Still deadly, but when married together as one, it was lethal.

  “It’s done, I’m setting the fuse now,” warned Geyer, “headache time it is.”

  And with that he dashed off to the ladder, scuttling down it as fast as he could, with Rammelt close behind him practically landing on top of him in his haste to get away.

  They flattened themselves against the wall; waiting for the thunderous explosion they knew would come.

  I’m getting too old for this thought Max, but his notions were driven from his mind as the shattering explosion above rocked them all with its crippling blast, fatal to the soldiers directly below, cowering in fear of what was transpiring above them.

  They had seen an attack occur on their sister casemate, Maastricht one and their command centre had warned them that they were under general attack.

  They were in the process of getting the guns ready to fire, when they heard thumps and clangs coming from the dome above them and could see boots blocking the visors.

  Their curiosity was quickly answered, the overwhelming shock wave from the detonation of the hollow charge above, shattered their ear drums with its violence.

  Then as if still not satisfied, it rained hot molten metal and shards of concrete down on them. Pelting them with its violence, slicing, gashing, piercing and burning their soft bodies, extinguishing their lives and snatching the victory they had imagined they would achieve through a last heroic defence.

  Although protected from the blast, Max’s troop still felt the effects of the pressure wave as it first wrenched the air from their lungs, tugging at their uniforms, before the vacuum created by it sucked the air and dust back, to swamp them in its blanket of soil and fine dust.

  They were far from finished, their task was to put the gun emplacement completely out of action, and at that moment in time they could not be sure of what permanent damage had been done.

  Pelz and Waldau sprinted around to the front of the casemate placing a twelve and a half kilogram charge, beneath one of the seventy-five millimetre guns.

  “If Egon and Stefan haven’t given them a big enough headache, then this ought to.”

  They scampered round to the back of the bunker quickly followed by the MG team, and all tucking their heads beneath their arms, elbows covering their ears, waited for the explosion they knew would come.

  The flames and debris shot out of the front of the beveled wall, the rest of the force of the blast, rupturing the gun and blowing a hole in the embrasure.

  The Belgian soldiers were crouched behind the mechanics of their guns, waiting for the enemy soldiers to attack and finish the job.

  Many of their comrades were lying dead beneath the observation dome, some just wounded but screaming in agony, begging for water, for help and even their loved ones.

  Although scared, they held their rifles out in front of them in readiness to make one last stand. They had agreed to go down fighting.

  The explosion burst amongst them, their stand finished, the fight finally knocked out of them. They extracted themselves from the carnage, taking what wounded they could carry, or drag, with them.

  The paratroopers felt the power of the blast as it was transmitted through the walls of the casemate to where they were taking cover.

  Pelz and Waldau quickly recovering from the calamitous noise, made their way back round to the front, the explosive had done its job.

  They approached the still smoking embrasure that was now a jagged hole. The gun could no longer be seen; they assumed it had been blown back inside.

 
Pelz tried to climb through the gap, but the smoke was still billowing out, choking him, so his attempt to enter the bunker was stalled.

  Too much time had been lost; they would have to throw grenades in before they made another attempt at entering the bunker.

  They tossed them in and once exploded didn’t wait, but entered immediately after the explosions of the three grenades had subsided.

  Waldau covered, while Pelz cautiously entered the casemate, desperately holding back a grating cough caused by the smoke and dust surging around him, filling his nostrils, gritting on his teeth. Whether he breathed through his mouth or his nose, the effect was the same. His throat already dry, the dust just aggravated it, but to cough and clear his throat would only announce his presence but give away his position attracting possible enemy fire.

  He held his breath, taking his helmet off and quickly donning his gas mask. Pulling the straps of his mask over his head, settling the rubber surface snug into his face and replacing the helmet, he breathed out heavily to clear the toxic air. It had taken precious time and he was annoyed that he hadn’t thought of it sooner.

  He groped his way forward, the grey, dawn light offering little illumination inside the enclosed bunker, resorting to his torch to find his way around.

  He was surrounded by death and destruction, the smell of the acrid, toxic gases still evading his sense of smell through his mask.

  He pulled two stick grenades from his belt; priming both he tossed them down, what appeared to be an ammunition elevator. He remembered seeing something similar during his training on forts in Czechoslovakia and Poland.

  He rapidly clambered out, dragging his comrade back round to the rear of the casemate.

  The grenades exploded, damaging the ammunition elevator feeding the three guns, and the metal staircase, which was the only access to the guns and impaired some of the electrics.

  The Belgian artillerymen who had sought shelter down the steps to the level below the gunroom were flung back from their positions as the grenades did their work. Smoke filled their lungs and blinded their eyes and they moved back further down the tunnel seeking safety.

  Unterfeldwebel Grun’s assault troop had completed their task.