Devils with Wings

by Harvey Black

  The casemate, known as Maastricht two, was no longer capable of taking part in any further action, its role of defending the Albert bridges had just ended.

  Its two remaining guns, although still aiming north in the direction of the bridges they were to cover, were powerless to intervene in the advance being undertaken by the German army below them.

  With the three guns from Maastricht One also out of action, Fort Eben Emael had lost the use of a third of its main artillery.

  With a further two guns lost at Cupola Nord 1, things were looking dire for the Belgian defence.

  Max called his troop together.

  “Well done lads, but we need to get moving and join up with Leutnant Brand and the rest of the group. We’ll head for MiNord, but go via Maastricht one, just in case the Leutnant hasn’t yet completed his task.”

  They were all crouched down, listening to Max’s instructions, daylight starting to peak through.

  “We have no idea what the score is, so we’re going to move tactically. I will take a half section forward first with Geyer, Rammelt and Geib. Stadler,” said Max turning to the pilot, also a sergeant like Max, “you follow up with Waldau, Renisch and Pelz. Everybody clear?”

  They all acknowledged Max’s orders.

  “Let’s go then.”

  The half section led by Max moved off and to the left, quickly running forward for about twenty paces then hitting the deck, covering a one hundred and eighty degree arc in front of them, weapons ready.

  The remaining section then thundered passed them on the right, and once twenty paces in front, they too hit the ground and took over covering the troop. The roles were reversed every twenty to thirty paces, speed was of the essence, the faster they moved the more difficult it would be for an enemy to latch on to them, and whilst they were running, their comrades would cover them.

  After about a hundred and fifty paces they could see Maastricht one and couldn’t detect movement.

  Max called a halt, brought the troop together, and then sent Geyer ahead to scout the area. Geyer quickly arrived at the bunker, but there was no troop two to be seen. He noticed the damaged embrasure and peered through; he could discern nothing but a mangled mess. He returned to inform Max.

  “There’s no one there Unterfeldwebel.”

  “What’s the state of the bunker?”

  “A bit of a mess, they’ve blown up at least one of the guns.”

  “Any sign of the enemy?”

  “Not a sole.”

  “Right, listen in. We’re heading north east, to MiSud. Same formation and we continue to hard target. I’ll lead, let’s go.”

  A few minutes later they hit the deck again. They could see MiSud, but could also see some activity around it. Max hoped to God it was a Group Granite team. He was hoping it would be the Leutnant’s men and not a Belgian force waiting in ambush for them.

  He again sent Geyer forward to investigate.

  He quickly returned, informing the troop that all was well.

  Max led them forward and saw that the bunker had been taken, smoke still floating around in the air. He scouted round looking for his platoon commander.

  He spotted Paul leaning over another paratrooper who appeared to be wounded. It looked like Kienitz; he hoped the injury was not too bad.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Fischer, Commander of the third assault troop, was also sat immediately behind the glider pilot, giving him a feel for the progress of the flight and immediate egress, following the pilot out of the cockpit canopy once they had landed.

  His platoon Commander had given his troop two tasks, the first to take out the anti-aircraft position, situated in between Cupola Nord one and Cupola Sud one, and then Cupola one twenty, two, one hundred and twenty millimetre guns encased in a revolving armoured turret.

  Their parent aircraft had released the glider and the pilot was now scanning the area in front of him, seeking out the target. It consisted of four, thirty millimetre anti-aircraft guns. To say that the pilot was uneasy about landing close to an AA battery was an understatement. He was deliberately piloting his plane, and his passengers, straight for the very thing that was designed, and put there, to knock them out of the sky.

  He was praying that they wouldn’t be discovered until the very last minute, when the angle was so low it would be impossible for them to bring their guns to bear.

  “I can see them Karl, down there shouted the pilot,” Uffz Engels.

  The glider was sweeping around from the east and then banking right to fly north and land alongside their first target.

  Fischer looked out of the cockpit and could see the guns below. Only three were firing, but away from Fischer’s position, aiming at a glider elsewhere.

  Then, having spotted this other attacker sneaking up on them from the east, they swung their guns round to meet it.

  The bright, radiant rounds coming towards them almost seemed leisurely, yet the standard configuration of one tracer round for every four standard rounds, meant that between each illuminated round there were four deadly bullets.

  Fischer looked at the display mesmerised by the show that was playing out in front of him, until common sense prevailed, and he remembered that they were attempting to shoot him out of the sky and kill him and all of his men.

  “They’ve stopped firing!” Engels pointed out.

  Fischer leaned forward and looked down; it was true; not a single gun was firing. The Belgian gunners were having severe problems, one of the guns failed to fire from the start and all three of the others jamming at some point during their firing. The forts anti-air defences had fallen almost without a shot fired.

  But, Fischer and his men were not aware of that and still had to destroy their first target. The soldiers could resolve the issues with the guns at any minute and they were also a force that could still be an inconvenience operating in Group Granite’s rear area.

  He shouted back to his troop, “lock and load.”

  He joined in with them and cocked his weapon. Making sure the pilots machine pistol was also ready, as he needed to concentrate on his flying.

  “We’re going down Karl, standby.”

  Fischer called back to his men, “Brace! Brace! Brace!”

  The glider’s ski made contact with the ground, the pilot still keeping it steady through control of the ailerons and tail flaps, but eventually it was left to chance.

  But, the landing was perfect; the glider slewed to a stop some twenty metres from their target, the battery being on the right side of the glider.

  Fischer and Engels quickly exited through the cockpit area, dropping to the ground, turning right and heading straight for the AA site, throwing a grenade as they did so, keeping the Belgian gunners heads down.

  Lanz, Halm and Braemer kicked their way out through the glider door and went round behind the pilot and their assault troop Commander as practiced, while Sesson and Roon with a light machine gun, supported by Wagner went around the tail of the glider and immediately hit the deck to provide fire support for the section moving forward.

  The three paratroopers gave covering fire almost immediately, as an ever-increasing swathe of metal found its way towards them, chipping bits of wood and cloth from the gliders wings.

  Fortunately, as the enemy slowly awoke from their preoccupation with the skies above, galvanised by the hell that had just descended upon them, they made the main focus of their fire the glider, little knowing that the paratroopers had already decamped.

  One section opened up a crippling fire on the Belgian unit from one angle, whilst being assaulted from the opposite side by a second group of screaming, angry Fallschirmjager, led by Fischer.

  Fischer’s section had opened fire on the rattled Belgian soldiers, who had now switched their fire from the glider. Realising too late, that it wasn’t returning fire, they shifted their fire to the MG34 team that was ripping them apart with its devastating firepower.

  Some turned to face the other assault, hesitating,
not knowing whether to fire at the glider still, the machine gun shooting at their left flank, or the screaming maniacs charging boldly straight at them.

  When three of the artillerymen had decided to target Fischer’s group, it was already too late.

  A grenade thrown by Halm exploded just to their rear, shrapnel taking two of the soldiers in the hips and lower legs, pushing their bodies forward, unconsciously, their arms raised in the air to counter their body’s uncontrolled movements.

  The astonishment on their faces turning to panic as it dawned on them what had just transpired. Their knees crumpled, their other colleague collapsing beside them as Fischer pumped rounds into him from his machine pistol.

  The remaining eleven Belgians still functioning, out of the sixteen man platoon, turned to face this second onslaught, but with two more of their number being taken out by the MG, they started to panic.

  An NCO tried to rally them, coaxing one section to keep the heads down of the machine gunners tearing into their left flank, and the second section to counter the assault that was almost on top of them.

  It failed, the young soldiers facing the MG were not able to pick their heads up for fear of being hit by the rounds zipping passed them at a phenomenal rate. Sesson, firing short five round bursts, conserving his ammunition and ensuring his aim held true, kept the enemies heads down.

  The second section, hit by a further grenade landing behind them panicked thinking they were being attacked from the rear, and delayed their response long enough for Fischer and his men to get amongst them.

  Halm struck one of the soldiers on the side of his face with the butt of his rifle, his Kar 98 having jammed during the attack. The young soldier hadn’t even raised his weapon to defend himself, so shocked by the suddenness of the attack and the aggression clearly etched on the paratroopers face, he just froze.

  Engels machine pistol, fired within an arms length of the NCO, who was still bravely fighting back, etched a row of bloody holes across his abdomen, throwing the soldier backward.

  Seeing their NCO struck down so violently, for the rest of flagging defenders it was the last straw, they quickly threw down their weapons and raised their hands in the air. The fight had gone out of them.

  They quickly disarmed the Belgian soldiers and grouped them together in the centre of the battery, dragging the wounded over to them.

  The grenades thrown by the attackers had damaged two of the machine guns, and Fischer had the remaining two disabled, making sure they couldn’t be used in again anger.

  He made a quick decision to leave Roon and the pilot with the prisoners. Two Fallschirmjager were more than enough, the Belgian troops were completely demoralised and had enough on their plate caring for their many wounded.

  Although he felt for the injured soldiers, Fischer had greater things to worry about. He gathered up the rest of his troop and they returned to the glider to get the explosives they would need for their next task, Cupola one twenty.

  They carried two sets of the heavy, hollow charge weapons with them and two of the smaller ones. With a five minute tab to their target, it was too far to run back if they needed to restock quickly, they were already running behind.

  Fischer set off with Lanz, Braemer, Wagner, Halm and Roon in tow, leaving a quarter of his assault team behind guarding the prisoners.

  There was a sudden explosion and a flash of light off to their left, north west of their current position on route to their next target.

  “That must be two troop sir, so it looks like they have beaten Unterfeldwebel Grun to it,” whispered Halm to his Commander who was in front of him, clearly proud that his troop may yet still beat troop four, commanded by Max.

  “It could be Leutnant Brand, they’re in roughly the same direction,” added Lanz.

  There was a drive to beat the sergeant’s troop, and bets had been placed in the form of drinks after the operation. The rivalry in the assault force was fierce, as it was across Group Granite, spurred on by Hauptman Kaufmann’s drive for perfection. But it was healthy competition and demonstrated the pride they had in each other for their respective abilities and those of their comrades.

  “That’s one down, we’ll be next, they’ll definitely be buying the drinks tonight then,” said Braemer, close in behind.

  “Quiet,” hissed Fischer forcefully. They hadn’t finished the job just yet. “I can see the cupola now.”

  They hit the deck.

  They had approached from the south east, and apart from fire-fights and explosions from other areas of Eben Emael; it was quiet in their immediate vicinity.

  The guns were pointing towards the north, but weren’t firing, which seemed strange to Fischer, as the rest of Sturmabteilung Kaufmann had already started their attacks on the bridges.

  Surely by now, they must know that an enemy has landed right in their back yard, but also that German Forces were at this very minute attacking their key bridges on the canal.

  “Look sir, the turret is turning,” called Sesson.

  Fischer could see the turret rotating slowly from side to side, but still no shells were being fired from the two guns that could be seen jutting from the slits in the armoured dome.

  It spurred him into action. His job was not complete until he had destroyed this last target, or at least had put it out of action. He was determined that this artillery emplacement would not fulfil its role of firing on an invading force attempting to cross the Albert canal.

  He called Sesson and Lanz to him.

  “I want you to place one of the large charge’s on the turret, just above one of the gun barrels, ok?”

  They both nodded their understanding, and without further hesitation picked up one half of the charge each and dashed forward to Cupola one twenty.

  They scrambled up the large concrete platform, in to which the armoured turret was embedded, moulding their bodies to it once alongside, ducking down as the turret swung in their direction.

  Once past, they quickly assembled the device, and both carrying it, tracked the rotating turret and placed it above the left hand gun barrel, set the fuse and bolted back to their comrades.

  They all buried their heads into the grassy top of the fort as deeply as possible. Although they had seen trial explosions of the device at Hildesheim, they had not seen it explode as it was meant to, attached to an armoured artillery turret. They were about to find out the results for real.

  Ten seconds after the fuse had been set, the charge exploded.

  The immense pressure generated by the detonation of the explosive, drove a high velocity jet of metal into the armoured dome. A cloud billowed out and up, with the sound drumming through their heads as they hugged the ground ever more tightly.

  They felt the searing heat pass over where they lay, thankful that it was not them on the receiving end of the explosion.

  They were suddenly engulfed in a white cloud of smoke, the dust mixed with it, finding its way into their nostrils and throats, making them gag as they breathed in more and more of the toxic fumes.

  Once the air had cleared enough, Sesson shot up and made his way back to the cupola. Although he could see where the blast had occurred, it had not penetrated the armour plate.

  He returned to pass the bad news to his troop Commander.

  “Nothing sir,” he informed Fischer, “it’s made a dent, even a small hole, but it hasn’t penetrated all the way through.”

  There was indeed a dent about fifteen centimetres across and ten centimetres deep, but it hadn’t blasted through the armour, the device had let them down.

  “Shit, I thought these charges were meant to be good!” He exclaimed.

  But, the turret had at least stopped moving.

  “We can’t leave it like this,” he concluded, “we can’t assume that the turret and guns are no longer effective.”

  “What about the barrels sir?” asked Braemer, “we could stick something down them?”

  “Excellent idea, my thoughts exactly, let’s get it
done.”

  “Two small charges should do it sir,” suggested Halm.

  Halm, who already had two of the small, standard one kilogram charges in his pack, was joined by Sesson and they both ran back to the turret.

  The cupola was still stationary and they quickly lit the fuse, dropping the explosives down the barrels. Four seconds later, the crump of the explosions could be clearly heard as they damaged them beyond use.

  Fischer called his men together and they returned to their grounded glider, where his two paratroopers were guarding the air defence prisoners.

  Once he checked that all was well, they set out to find their platoon Commander who was supposed to be at the group headquarters, at MiNord.

  They ran at speed. They had roughly a kilometre to cover, to find their platoon Commander, wanting to rejoin their comrades and make themselves available for other tasks, or to back up any unit that was in trouble.

  Halm almost somersaulted as the bullet passed through his leg, knocking it from under him, his momentum keeping him going until he tumbled to the ground.

  He ended up sprawled on the damp turf, feeling no pain, but unable to move his leg, not having a notion of what had happened. His first thoughts were that he had stumbled over a dip in the ground, but when he tried to move his foot, a stab of pain shot up his leg making him gasp, feeling nauseous and close to passing out.

  “I’m hit he shouted!” Hoping his comrades had heard him, as he didn’t want to shout a second time just in case he drew the wrong sort of attention.

  He sat up and looked down at his right leg, it felt numb and he couldn’t move it, no matter how hard he tried. The blood was seeping through his trousers now and he could see the dark stain spreading out.

  Panic started to well up inside him as he lay back down, his head resting on the cool of the grass. Another spasm of pain ravaged his leg and he had to grit his teeth to prevent himself from crying out in agony.

  He was just about to call for help again, when Sesson threw himself down by his side.

  He was quickly joined by the rest of the troop as they immediately formed an all round defence.