Devils with Wings

by Harvey Black

  All was well, they were three quarters of the way across now, and they could do this thought Metzger. Just as his optimism grew, the sky lit up. The fort’s defenders had launched a flare, the Commander, not tracking it as it arced across the sky.

  Although his night vision had been affected, he still closed one eye, safeguarding his night sight as best he could, and looking down into the boat to protect the other from the blinding light.

  It didn’t matter, it was too late. The fire suddenly started and they were now under a continuous hail of fire from the opposite bank.

  Thump, thump, thump, of the anti aircraft guns could be heard, and the subsequent whine of the shells rebounding off the rock and the immense concrete bunker.

  Boat after boat frantically crossed the river, undeterred by the incessant bombardment of grenades, machine gun fire and the occasional shell from the turrets still operating on Eben Emael.

  The rowers hacking at the water with their oars, the other soldiers joining in with their rifle butts, anything to get more speed out of the ponderous boats, get them to the bank. Not necessarily to safety, but at least to get their feet on terra firma.

  The first pioneer assault wave reached the western bank, despite the hail of gunfire being thrown at them.

  They leapt out, guns facing towards the unseen enemy, firing their rifles from the hip, more for their own peace of mind than to hit anything. But, it would perhaps help to keep the enemies heads down.

  Metzger charged forward, his machine pistol spluttering death ahead of him. They threw themselves down on the ground, just behind a lip in the terrain. Wolf hurled himself down alongside him.

  “The second wave has landed sir,” he informed him, looking back.

  “Right, let’s keep moving then,” and he was up and forward again.

  They ran forward to meet with the lead platoon that had secured the enemy positions, now abandoned. They had deserted their positions once the pioneer’s had landed, knowing that there were too few of them to hold back the onslaught.

  Once landed and re-grouped, the reinforced company advanced towards the Northern tip of Eben Emael to relieve the paratroopers still in combat there.

  They grabbed whatever transport they could, local cars and merchant vehicles, bicycles, anything, loaded them up and travelled as fast as they could, taking out any enemy on the way.

  They had to root some of the enemy out of trenches, shell holes and buildings, those who stubbornly continued to put up a defence. They made steady progress, but had still not reached the embattled paratroopers.

  Metzger called a council of war with his senior staff, going through the options open to them.

  They huddled in a bomb crater, a result of the earlier bombing by the screaming Stuka’s.

  “The options open to us gentlemen, are pretty limited.”

  “When will we get more support sir?” Wolf enquired.

  Metzger shifted in the crater, trying to get more comfortable, ducking down when a bullet plucked a stone from the edge of the crater. “There’s still some fight in them yet,” he surmised.

  “We’ll have another company joining us, but we need to do something now, we’ve to get into the fort. I’m less worried about securing the surrounding area at the moment.”

  Oberfeldwebel Pfeifer, spoke up, “my platoon could make it into the fort sir.”

  Metzger looked round at him, “and how do you propose to do that?”

  “With a reinforced platoon sir, I could take them south along the edge of the canal, hit the moat, a cul-de-sac, that leads to the fort and attack them right under their noses.”

  Metzger looked at him, mulling it over in his mind.

  “Where’s the map?”

  The Oberfeld pulled a map from his tunic pocket, unfolded it in front of his Commander and pointed to the canal tributary that he was referring to.

  It was still quite dark and he could barely make out the detail, but could just about extract enough information for him to agree with the sergeant’s suggestion.

  He suddenly grasped the Oberfeld’s left arm, “I think that just might work.”

  He turned to Wolf, “we could continue to probe west, keep them occupied.”

  “We’ve only got just over a hundred men across at the moment, but it could be done” he responded enthusiastically.”

  He turned to Pfeifer, “Would fifty men be enough?”

  “More than enough sir, any more would be too noisy. Stealth will be our true weapon.”

  “We’ll go with your suggestion, what weapons will you need?”

  He stroked his top lip unthinkingly, “a flamethrower for one. Probably best to take one of the new hollow charge weapons, I’ve always wanted to see if they are worth all the fuss made about them.”

  “See to it Wolf,” commanded Metzger. “Oberfeld, get your platoon together, we’ll get the equipment down to you on the canal bank. What boats do you want?”

  “I’ll go for the smaller ones sir; we’ll be harder to spot.”

  He then headed off to gather his men and prepare for this new escapade.

  The boats had been gathered alongside the canals edge, ten four man dinghies, but each would carry five men.

  They loaded the equipment they would need, in particular a fifty kilogram hollow charge and a flamethrower.

  Once all were on board, they pushed off from the side and made their way south, sticking close to the edge of the canal shore.

  Pfeifer’s platoon cautiously made its way along the canal until the junction with the moat at the forts northern tip, and then followed the moat until they reached the area of Block two. Dawn was starting to break through; it was the second day of the battle to relive the paratroopers.

  They grounded their boats on the bank, getting as close to the bunker as possible without being seen.

  Pfeifer called forward his flamethrower team, Riemer and Broch, forward.

  “I’ve got a section covering you on your left and right. Once we throw the smoke grenades it’s over to you. Are you ready?”

  “Yes Oberfeldwebel,” replied Broch, picking up the flamethrower, the tank of fuel strapped to his back.

  He hissed the command to his men to throw the smoke grenades, indicating for the flamethrower team to move forward.

  The grenades explode, two in all, a fog of smoke immediately issuing from them obscuring the area directly in front of the bunker.

  They ran forward, stopping at about twenty-five metres from the target, the maximum effective range of the weapon.

  Broch knelt down, the thirty-six kilogram weight heavy on his back. Riemer joined him, covering him while he focused on firing the deadly weapon at the bunker in front of them.

  Broch aimed and squeezed the trigger. The flaming oil, a mixture of petrol and tar making it heavier and giving it better range, was ignited by a hydrogen torch. The fiery liquid shot out, a smoking flame of death hitting the bunker, feeling its way through the gaps and crevices.

  The thick, black smoke blowing back onto the operator as the wind changed direction, but he still maintained the first blast for a full four seconds, the soldiers behind the bunker walls screaming as the flame found its way in and onto their skin.

  The soldier that was struck the worst had been peering through an observation slit and the burning liquid fuel instantly stripped the skin from his face, and then his hands as he used them to try and protect himself, but to no avail.

  He fell to the ground, face and hands blackened and charred, screaming, demented by the pain that any human being could not possibly imagine. The sickly smell of burning flesh, percolating through the bunker making some soldiers gag.

  Broch released the trigger for a split second, before firing a second blast of death and destruction at Block two, catching more soldiers in its blistering heat.

  Although the soldier now lying on the floor was no longer screaming, but blissfully unconscious, the skin had been stripped from his hands and wrists, pulled away from the bone a
s one of his comrades tried to drag him to safety.

  The rescuer got caught in Broch’s second blast, the burning fuel blistering the man’s face, his clothes smouldering, desperately trying to get some nonexistent oxygen into his tortured lungs, he flew from the site of his torment, screaming in agony as he fled down the bunkers steps, seeking safety and relief, that was not forthcoming, from the horrific pain.

  The harrowing scenes, smell, and noise of screaming men, were too much for the remaining occupants, who pulled back to a place of safety down the steps. They could no longer defend Block two.

  Pfeifer still had work to do and calling back the flamethrower crew, ordered his men to place a hollow charge weapon on the observation dome.

  This they quickly did with the force of the explosion shattering any likelihood of resistance inside the bunker and engulfing the Oberfeld’s platoon in a cloud of smoke and debris.

  The noise, the smoke, and the toxic fumes from the flamethrower was too much for the Belgian sergeant commanding the detachment at the sand bagged barrier blocking the tunnel to Block two, and he reported that the Germans had blown the steel doors, and withdrew his men.

  This was not true; the sergeant had reported this to his superiors erroneously.

  Pfeifer immediately tasked three of his men to follow the tunnel as far as MiSud. Once there, they threw explosives down the shaft which then blew the doors under the steel barrier off their supports. The Belgians soon abandoned the barricades in the tunnels to both positions; the two bunkers now belong to the German Pioneer’s.

  Now they needed to move south east and meet up with the paratroopers.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Paul, Max, Fischer, Kienitz and Leeb hunkered down just outside the bunker complex of MiNord. It was now nine in the morning and daylight was well and truly with them.

  They needed to plan their next actions.

  “Gentlemen, it appears we’ve taken out most of the targets set for us, although unfortunately some of the targets were actually dummies, so some of our strength has been wasted.”

  “So, our next steps sir?”

  “Well Max, the way I see it, we haven’t yet been hit by a counter attack by the Belgians, and it must only be a matter of time before they do. Secondly, it seems that we probably won’t be relieved on schedule.”

  “Have we an ETA for our relief sir?” asked Leeb

  “I’m afraid not, but there are problems getting across the Maas and the canal at the moment.”

  “We’ll need some re-supply sir,” added Fischer, “we’re not too bad for ammo at the moment, but if we’ve more fighting ahead of us, we need it re-stocked.”

  “Water too sir,” joined in Kienitz, “we’re all pretty low.”

  “It’s true,” supported Max, “we’re all gagging.”

  “Me too,” agreed Paul, “Can you organise a re-supply Max?”

  “Sure sir, shall I keep my troop here as a reserve?”

  “Yes, that would make sense.”

  Paul pulled out his plan of the fort’s defences. “Right, we have two missions. Mission one, is to take a force down into the tunnels beneath the complex, we’ve got to keep them occupied. We’ve battened them down so far, so if they are not coming to us then we will have to go to them.”

  “The tunnels sir?”

  “That’s the only way Max, so Leeb, I want you to take your troop down into Maastricht one, understood?”

  “Yes sir, will do.”

  “What charges have we left?”

  “We have one hollow charge left sir and a couple of one kilogram conventional explosives.”

  “Excellent that will more than do the job of blasting through that steel door.”

  “Unterfeldwebel, I want you to organise resupply and defend MiNord, if it all goes to pot, this will be our fallback position. Ok?”

  “Understood sir.”

  “Mission two, we’ve been getting sniper fire from the shrubbery northwest of here. It’s quite possible they’re forming up for a counter attack, so I’ll take mine and Fischer’s Troop to flush them out. Any questions?”

  “Max?”

  I’m fine sir, we’ll get resupply organised,” and with that he headed off to organise his troop.

  “Fischer?”

  “I’ll get the two troops together, move out in five?”

  “Kienitz, are you ok with that leg wound?”

  “It’s only pain sir,” he said smiling, “I’ll be fine.”

  “Right, let’s get moving then.”

  Paul met up with Fischer who had pulled the two assault troops together.

  Paul called the two groups together to talk through their tactics.

  “Fischer, I want you to cover us while we advance, we’ll sweep round to the north, but be ready we’ll be pretty exposed. But I want to take Lanz, Sesson, Braemer and Roon with me”

  “We’ll watch your back sir don’t worry.”

  Fischer led his men northwest until they could see the shrubbery that his Commander was going to check out. They got themselves into position, with the MG 34 on their left.

  Paul took his troop East of MiNord, they then advanced northwest moving towards the shrubbery where a possible enemy could be waiting.

  They didn’t have to wait long, flashes lit up the bushes opposite them and rounds started coming their way, kicking up lumps of earth in front of them.

  They hit the dirt.

  “They are immediately to our front at about two hundred meters!” called Kienitz, “it looks like a slit trench behind some sand bags.”

  “I see it too sir,” shouted Forster, returning fire. Just as the Objgr spoke a grenade was launched from behind the sand bags, fortunately they were too far away and the grenade exploded short.

  To their left, Fischer’s troop had opened up, trying to pin the enemy soldiers down, giving Paul’s men a chance to retaliate from the opposite flank.

  Kienitz called out to his men, “Straube, Hempel, throw smoke then cover me. They were manning the second MG 34, so would put a hail of fire down once they had thrown the smoke grenades. The rest of you with me, ok sir?”

  “Yes, go for it Kienitz,” shouted Paul.

  Kienitz began to move forward as the two smoke grenades exploded in front of the trench, Paul at his side followed by the rest of the troop. The machine gun manned by Straube and Hempel laid down a wall of bullets across the front and to the side of the trench, the MG 34 machine gun firing its belt at the rate of six hundred rounds a minute.

  Kienitz ran forward and as he threw himself to the ground in front of the sand bagged slit trench; he threw a grenade over the top. Paul and Kempf joined in. Once prone on the deck they proceeded to prime a second grenade, which they lobbed over the top, immediately after the first one had exploded.

  Their fire support had ceased in anticipation of their next move and when the second grenade exploded they were up on their feet and round to the side of the slit trench pouring in fire from rifles and machine pistols at the three soldiers writhing in agony from the devastating effects of the grenades exploding amongst them.

  The remaining Fallschirmjager, who had been providing covering fire, joined their colleagues.

  Paul moved his team back slightly ducking below the line of sand bags offering him protection against the whining and spinning fragments of bullets and shrapnel constantly making its way towards them. They had not finished yet.

  Now the smoke had cleared, Fischer’s gun group again opened up, giving Paul and his men a moments respite, the enemy ducking down to avoid the intense fire coming their way.

  Paul ordered his men to start firing over the top of the sandbags, he wanted Fischer and his men to join them and provide cover again as they moved further forward. Paul felt sure the Belgians were up to no good.

  They put down a wall of fire and Paul saw Fischer and his men pack up and start to move towards them.

  Fischer stood out easily from the rest of his section, being only five feet eight inc
hes tall and wiry with it. But lo and behold anyone who thought that was a weakness and took advantage of it. Fischer had quite a reputation of being able to take care of himself, and more than one Infantry soldier had picked on this wiry paratrooper and regretted the day that they had met him.

  “Fischer threw himself heavily down by Paul and Kienitz. My half section at your service, he said grinning like a Cheshire cat.”

  Fischer ducked as a bullet whined over his head.

  “Even if you stood up they would miss you Karl,” joked Kienitz.

  “I thought he was standing up,” interjected Forster.

  “Alright you guys stow it for now,” cut in Paul.

  But all were smiling at Fischer’s ribbing, including Paul. Paul knew he could and would take it from his fellow paratroopers, but it would be a different story if it were someone outside the family.

  “Now you’re all here this is what we are going to do.”

  Fischer’s team fulfilled their role again of providing cover, both through the use of smoke grenades and the MG34, although they were rapidly running out of ammunition for the machine gun, while the rest of Paul’s men snaked around to outflank the enemy.

  He took his men quickly north under cover of the smoke, then west, he hoped on the flank of an unsuspecting enemy.

  They were fifty metres away from the enemy when they came under fire. The red tracer, theirs was green, coming from the concealed enemy.

  Some of the Belgium soldiers had obviously been ordered outside to try to gain control of the nightmare that was occurring in and around them. Like a sleeping giant awoken by an army of ants, they were desperately trying to swipe them off as their bites dug painfully deep.

  Their fire was wild. Although good troops, they lacked the discipline and training of the German Fallschirmjager, the ‘Green Devils’.

  Keinitz’s section quickly returned fire with their machine pistols and karbines and within seconds an MG 34 was brought into play which quickly forced the Belgium troops to go to ground and to take cover from the blistering swathe of metal coming their way.