Devils with Wings

by Harvey Black

  “Stay put Leutnant Brand; you’re not ready to move just yet.”

  Paul stopped struggling, settling back into his wheelchair, and frustration patently on his face.

  “I’ll be out in a few days sir.”

  “Glad to hear it Brand. Now, nurse, I need a moment with the Leutnant, if you would excuse us.”

  “Certainly Herr Hauptman, but the Leutnant isn’t fully recovered and shouldn’t be taxed too much,” she said defiantly, feeling very protective of her charge.

  “He is a Fallschirmjager officer Nurse,” he peered at her name badge, “Keller, he has experienced much worse I can assure you. Now please leave us.”

  Christa, stormed passed the Raven, stopping to warn him that he had no more than ten minutes.

  But before she could leave the Raven added, “If you could get someone to organise a hot drink for the both of us, it would be appreciated.”

  She continued her vexed exit and went back to the ward and to finally book off duty.

  Volkman took her vacated seat, crossed his legs and placed his crop in the iron table.

  “She’s a feisty one Leutnant Brand; you will need to handle her with care.”

  The bemused Paul responded, “I’m not sure what you mean sir, I’m sure she was just doing her job.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” he replied distinctly aware that his junior officer had no idea of Christa’s attraction to him, “she is just concerned for your health.”

  He leant forward, “you have made quite a name for yourself Brand; the attack on Eben Emael was a resounding success. Everyone is talking about the Fallschirmjager, the Green Devils.”

  “We lost some good men though sir.”

  “I know Brand, but the casualty count was nowhere near as high as was expected, and certainly not as high as it could have been had it not been executed so successfully.”

  “The troops did well sir, to be honest the Belgian defenders didn’t really stand a chance. They didn’t have the aggression, or more importantly the motivation to defeat us sir.”

  “Or the leadership, it is evident that they were badly led and made too many mistakes.”

  “At a high cost sir, they lost a lot of men.”

  “Yes they did. But one thing we have learnt from them and from this particular action is that the shock tactic worked Brand. Suddenly hit out of nowhere by gliders full of well trained troops with the appropriate equipment, we had an impact on the enemy that was disproportionate to the size of our force.”

  “I take it the powers to be are satisfied with the Fallschirmjager sir, maybe there will be a greater role for us in the future?”

  Before Volkman could answer, an orderly arrived with a tray, holding a pot of steaming coffee, milk, sugar and even a plate of biscuits.

  He placed the tray on the table and asked. “Do you want me to pour sir?”

  “Damn it man we’re not invalids! Be off with you.”

  The orderly scooted away, pleased to get away from the frightening Fallschirmjager Captain.

  “Coffee Brand?”

  “Yes sir, thank you.”

  He stood up, pouring both of them a cup, “milk and sugar?”

  “Please sir”

  “We need to get you out of here soon Brand; you’ll be getting soft with all of this pampering.”

  “I’m ready to return to the unit sir, just as soon as I can get out of this chair.”

  “We’ll get you back soon enough,” he said as he passed the coffee to Paul, “but in the meantime I have something for you.”

  He looked curiously at his Adjutant, “what’s that sir?”

  The Raven stood up and walked over to Paul’s chair, pulled out a small oblong box. On opening the lid Paul could see the lining looked velvet in texture. The Hauptman proceeded to pull out a medal, the Iron Cross.

  “The other senior officers and NCOs’ are at this very moment receiving their awards from the Fuhrer himself. He sends you his congratulations, and regrets that you cannot, through your injuries, be with the others at this moment in time.”

  The Raven lifted the Iron Cross, First Class out of the presentation box and proceeded to pin it to Paul’s dressing gown.

  “General Student himself was coming to the hospital to present this to you, but I requested that honour, I hope you don’t mind?”

  He then straightened up and saluted him, “congratulations Leutnant Brand, I’m proud to have you in my Battalion and the Fallschirmjager is all the better for having you in its ranks.”

  He held out his hand and shook Paul’s.

  “I don’t know what to say sir. Everything has happened so fast. One minute we were landing on top of a fort in enemy territory, the next minute I’m here in a Maastricht hospital.”

  “A few more days rest Leutnant Brand and you will be as right as rain. Speaking of rest, your guardian angel is on her way to chase me off. So, before she gets here, I just want to add that you have shown true courage and leadership, you are a credit to your unit and I look forward to you rejoining the Battalion.”

  He saluted and marched away, leaving Paul staring down in disbelief, at the Iron Cross pinned to him.

  “At least you can be left in peace now,” huffed Nurse Keller, as she came up behind him, “I’ll wheel you back inside, the Doctor wants to check you over and speak to you.”

  She moved around to the front to titivate his blanket and noticed the medal.

  She gasped, “Is that what I think it is?”

  Paul looked down at it, embarrassed, “yes for some reason they think I deserve it.”

  Paul thought back to the dead and wounded Belgian gunners and his own injured men and in particular Weyer. No medal would bring him back and diminish the hurt and deep sense of loss his parents and family would be experiencing now at their demise.

  A tear ran down his face and he suddenly felt a deep sense of loss himself, he was desperate to get out of his wheel chair and return to his unit.

  Christa noticed his despair and knelt down in front of him instinctively placing her hands on his face.

  “It’ll be alright Paul, you’re getting better; you’ll be out of here soon.”

  She moved in closer, pulling his head into her shoulder, placing her head on his and just held him while the tears flowed.

  The Doctor was stood at the end of Paul’s bed, checking through his charts.

  “Well Leutnant, you’ve been with us for five days now and we think that is more than long enough,” he said smiling.

  “Your wounds are healing well, but when you leave here, you are to go home. You still need some rest and recuperation, and you won’t find that in an army barracks.”

  “When will I be ready for active duty, Herr Hauptman?”

  “Not so fast soldier, your wounds are healing, but far from healed. You rip those stitches open and you’ll be right back here with us, do you understand?”

  Paul nodded.

  “I’m not exaggerating Herr Leutnant; your wounds need time to heal properly. Anyway, from what I’ve heard you and your men have more than done your bit.”

  “Nurse Keller, I’ve signed the release papers,” he handed them to her, “has it been organised to have the Leutnant picked up?”

  “Yes sir,” she replied, “Unterfeldwebel Grun is bringing him a fresh uniform and will be taking him to the station.”

  “Excellent.”

  He walked round to the side of the bed and shook Paul’s hand.

  “I wish you the best of luck Leutnant, as much as I like you I have no wish to see you back here, ok?” He said scowling.

  “Right, I have other patients to see, I’ll leave you in Nurse Keller’s capable hands.”

  With that he walked to the end of the bed, replaced the chart on the hook and walked across the ward to his next patient.

  “That’s it Leutnant Brand, you are free to go.”

  She sat down on his bed; half way down, twiddling with the top sheet that was folded part way down the bed.
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  “Your sergeant is waiting outside, I will call him and we can get you dressed and ready to go.”

  “I can’t thank you enough for taking care of me,” said Paul, the tips of his fingers touching hers.

  “That’s what we’re here for Leutnant Brand,” but her hand stayed where it was.

  “Paul, remember?”

  “Yes, Paul. Where will you be staying Paul?”

  “The Luftwaffe won’t let me go back on duty just yet, so I shall go home. When will you return to Berlin?”

  “I don’t know; we are quite busy. Perhaps when it has quietened down here.”

  Paul looked straight into her eyes for a second, but quickly looked down, too shy to ask her to look him up.

  “Well Herr Leutnant, time to get you back into action I think,” boomed Max’s voice, making both Christa and Paul jump.

  “Keep your voice down Unterfeldwebel,” scolded Nurse Keller, you’re not on a parade ground now.”

  “Sorry,” whispered Max, pulling a bundled uniform from under his arm, “I’ve got some decent clothes for you sir.”

  Christa stood up from the bed; “I shall leave you two soldiers to it then. Good luck Herr Leutnant, I’m glad we could take care of you,” she said with a trembling lip, not unnoticed by Max, and she left the bedside.

  Max pulled the curtain around Paul’s hospital bed so he could get dressed in peace and with some privacy.

  “Get these togs on sir and then you and I are going to get ourselves a beer and flash these bits of tin they’ve given us.”

  “And you can tell me about your trip to see the Fuhrer Max,” Paul added.

  “Right sir, I’ll leave you to get dressed, I’ll be back in five,” he then pushed through the curtain and disappeared.

  Paul started to pull on his uniform, finding it strange wearing such restrictive clothing after his loose hospital gown. He would need some help with his tunic jacket he thought, but he could manage the rest.

  Max returned ten minutes later, helping him with his tunic jacket and lacing up his boots.

  He stood up, still feeling a bit woozy.

  “Take it easy sir, you’ll feel better once we get you out in some fresh air.”

  Max plucked the curtain aside and escorted Paul out of the ward.

  Paul looked around hoping to get a last glimpse of Christa, but she was nowhere to be seen and his face dropped.

  They arrived at the exit door, where he came in, but that was on a stretcher, plastered in blood and delirious.

  Max handed him a piece of folded paper, “you might be needing this sir, and you can hardly pay the young lady a visit if you haven’t got her address can you?”

  His face lit up, “you rogue Max.”

  He was led outside, and waiting for him was the entire platoon to greet him, a deafening cheer drawing the attention of all around them.

  She looked through the glass in the exit door.

  You have clearly earned the loyalty of your men Paul Brand, I hope one day I can share in it, she thought wistfully.

  She turned round and walked back into the hospital; she had patients to see to.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Paul stood on the platform of the Anhalter Bahnhof, looking up at the high covering, the sun glinting on the glass-covered roof of the station.

  On this Monday morning in late June, the weather not hot, but pleasant, he was on his way back to his unit, his convalescence now over.

  His father had driven him to the station, his mother remaining at the hotel, where they stayed overnight after enjoying an evening at the theatre, to upset to see her son going back into what she felt was surely more danger.

  In some respects Paul was glad to be going back to his unit, although his mother had made sure he didn’t go without, after a while it had started to become oppressive.

  He loved her dearly, but like many sons, he needed some space to himself. He had spent much of his convalescence strolling along the der Havel, probably contributing most to his recovery.

  He had spent many hours walking along the water’s edge, his thoughts running through the battle on Fort Eben Emael, testing alternative scenarios, considering the what ifs.

  Had he led his men better, would Weyer have survived? Would the other men that had been killed be alive today? He never found the answers and as each day went by, he challenged himself less and less.

  He touched the scar above his left eye, a noteworthy reminder of just how close he came to death.

  Now he needed to get back to the familiar sights and sounds of a Fallschirmjager unit, be amongst his men, his comrades and his friends.

  He had received many visits from his friends. His closest friend, Erich, had stayed overnight on a number of occasions.

  The boisterous and larger than life Helmut had also been to his home in Brandenburg.

  Max had been twice, it being much harder, as an NCO, getting away. His visits had been the most welcome. Although his subordinate the bond between him and his Unterfeldwebel, although strong from the very beginning, had been tempered by war.

  But the Battle for France, the German invasion of France and the Low Countries, executed on the tenth of May, nineteen forty, had now ended.

  The two main operations, Fall Gelb, Case Yellow, where German armoured units pushed through the Ardennes to cut off and surround the Allied units that had advanced into Belgium, and the second operation, Fall Rot, Case Red, executed from the fifth of June, German forces pushing deep into France, outflanking the Maginot Line.

  Paul’s unit played a significant role in bringing off the success of the attack.

  On the twenty second of June, an armistice was signed between France and Germany, the war in the West was over.

  Paul was jolted back into the realms of the station, the tannoy announcement informing him that his train for Rathenow, where he would change for Stendal, would be departing in thirty minutes.

  He brushed some fluff off his uniform jacket. He was still getting used to his new uniform, which Max had delivered on his last visit to the Brand home.

  He looked at his four-pocketed jacket, his preference to the flieger blouse, with his trousers and jump boots. Under it he wore a white shirt and black tie.

  The golden-yellow, Fallschirmjager waffenfarbe denoting him to be in the now famous Green Devils. The exploits of the unit had been plastered across the media, and they were now famous.

  Paul was aware of the glancing looks of the other station occupants as they walked by, recognising his uniform.

  To the public he was the archetypal soldier; young, fit, wearing his Luftwaffe ground assault badge, his Iron Cross second class ribbon and Iron Cross First Class medal pinned to his left pocket, and now a hero of Fort Eben Emael.

  He touched the two eagles on his collar, showing him now to be an Oberleutnant. He had received one more visitor during his convalescence, Hauptman Volkman. The Raven had informed Paul of not only his promotion, but that he was to take command of one company, the very company recently commanded by Volkman himself.

  He looked at his watch, it was time to make his way to his platform and the train that would whisk him back to the arms of the military regime he had come to know and love.

  He hoisted his kit bag on his shoulder, still careful, even though his back had fully healed; it was still sensitive in places.

  He made his way through the throng, soldiers saluting him as he passed them, finding his train and quickly boarding and finding a seat next to a window.

  After ten minutes, the train shunted forward, the steam and smoke plying its way passed his window. The steady shunting slowly changed to a more rhythmic sleep inducing resonance.

  The conductor clipped his ticket and laying his head against the window watching the city suburbs slowly changing into green countryside Paul slowly drifted to sleep. His last thoughts were of Christa, and her failure to come and see him.

  Maybe Max had got it wrong, maybe she just pitied a wounded soldier or mayb
e her affections were now shown elsewhere.

  He awoke to the conductor shaking him awake, “We’re here Oberleutnant, at Rathenow.”

  Paul yawned and stretched, thanked the railway official, grabbed his kit bag and changed trains, this next one taking him to Stendal.

  Max, looking smart in his Fallschirmjager uniform, met him at the station, throwing him a parade ground salute. It was good to see him again.

  “Welcome to Stendal Herr Oberleutnant,” said Max beaming, enjoying calling Paul by his new rank.

  Hauptman Volkman sent me to collect you, for some reason he said you needed to see me, is all well sir?”

  Paul returned his salute, “no Feldwebel Grun it’s not.”

  A frown formed on Max’s brow and a look of concern clouding his joy at seeing his platoon Commander again, although no longer responsible for just a platoon.

  “What’s the problem sir?”

  “You are improperly dressed Feldwebel.”

  Max looked puzzled.

  Paul’s face broke into a smile, as it was slowly dawning on Max what this was all about.

  “I can’t be expected to run a company for the first time, without a decent Company Feldwebel can I?”

  “I don’t know what to say sir.”

  “Say nothing Max, it is well deserved, and I can’t think of anyone better to help me command one of the best companies in one of our countries best units, can I?”

  Max was speechless.

  “Right Feldwebel, lead me to my transport, then as soon as we get back you had better get that eagle sewn on. I want you properly dressed for when we meet our company for the first time.”

  He walked up to Max, grabbing him by both shoulders, looking down on his sturdy comrade, “Congratulations Max, now let’s go.”