by Harvey Black
“I need to sit down she said, my legs are shaking.”
“Mine too,” admitted Paul, “they feel worse than when I completed my first parachute jump.”
“You must tell me about that,” she said, touching his face with her fingers. “I want to know all about you and what you’ve done. I’ve never been compared to a parachute jump before,” she added pouting.
A voice coughed close to them, a waitress in a black dress with a white apron was stood next to their table.
“Good morning Oberleutnant, what can I get you?”
Paul looked at Christa. She turned to face the waitress. “One Viennese chocolate please, with extra cream.”
“And I’ll have a white coffee please,” added Paul. The waitress left to get their order.
“So, what plans have you got for us today then Oberleutnant Brand?” she said smiling.
“I have to confess I didn’t think beyond meeting you Christa,” he said embarrassed. She reached across and fingered the medal on his tunic pocket.
“You have had much on your mind my poor man.”
“Well, I shall come up with something then,” he said, determined to make her day enjoyable.
She slipped her slim handbag off her shoulder and after rummaging around for a few moments produced two tickets, which she proceeded to flutter in front of him.
“What about the Staats-theater? Flucht vor der Liebe?” she said with a twinkle in her eye.
“Christa, you never cease to amaze me, that sounds great.”
The waitress returned with their drinks, placed them on the table and then left.
“Where did you go after Maastricht?” asked Paul
“I was asked to go to France, they had converted some of the French hospitals to military hospitals. It was horrible Paul. So many wounded and they were just boys. What about Belgium, tell me what happened.”
He talked about the attack on Fort Eben Emael, occasionally touching his scar reminding him of how close he came to being killed. He mentioned also the exercise they had just completed. She listened attentively, intermittently asking questions, particularly about Max and the junior NCOs who came to the hospital to visit him. Before they knew it they had been there for two hours, their drinks remaining untouched. Realising this brought about another outburst of laughter. And after calling over the waitress they ordered the same drinks again along with some lunch. Paul had smoked ham and cheese on sonnenblumenkenbrot, sunflower seeds in a dark rye bread, his favourite, followed by a slice of black forest gateaux. Christa had a more gentile meal of a German tomato salad.
The tickets were for the 2:30 show, so they finished their meal, paid the waitress and walked the three kilometres to the theatre on the other side of the Tiergarten. The three hour show was enjoyed by both of them and when they left they were buzzing with excitement. Not just because they had enjoyed the performance, but the sharing of it together. They were stood outside the theatre, debating what to do next, when Christa reached up placing her hand round the back of his neck, pulling him down and kissing him full on the lips.
“You go back to your unit tomorrow?” she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.
“I’m afraid so,” he replied.
“Then tonight you must stay in Berlin, with me.”
Their eyes met.
“Stay overnight?” he said.
“Yes,” she said almost breathlessly.
“I know where.”
He grabbed her hand and they headed off to the hotel Paul often stayed over in with his parents.
He was floating on air. He couldn’t remember ever being this happy. It was almost worth being wounded in order to have met this wonderful woman. Christa was equally happy.
***
Paul’s time with Christa now seemed like a dream. The affection, the intimacy between them was indescribable and their evening of passion during their overnight stay in Berlin was exhausting. They parted the next day, committing their undying love to each other and promising to meet up again as soon as he could get away on leave. When he returned home the next day to collect his gear, ready for the journey back to his unit, he’d had to explain to his mother where he had been overnight, although she had suspected. Although initially worried about him not returning home the previous night, she could see the elation in her sons face and clucked around him like a mother hen. His father was at work, so he didn’t get to say goodbye to him, but left him a short note. He would understand.
On Paul’s return from his leave in Brandenburg he was called immediately to Hauptman Volkman’s office where he had been met with some shocking news that Leutnant Krause had requested a transfer to another unit, which had been immediately accepted by Volkman, who was pleased to get rid of him. Paul was initially displeased.
“He just needed time sir, he lacked confidence.”
“He’s a liability Brand, and we’re best rid of him.”
“But he was my responsibility sir,” anger clearly showing on his face.
Volkman stood up, slapping his stick down on his desk.
“If it was peacetime Brand I would agree with you, but we’re at war, we haven’t got time for complacency.”
“But sir.”
“Drop it Brand, dismissed.”
Paul came to attention, saluted, turned on his heel and left the Raven’s office. One piece of compensatory news though, was Krause’s replacement, newly promoted Leutnant Leeb. One of Paul’s Unteroffizier’s, one of his troop commanders during their time in Poland and Belgium, he had been flagged as potential officer material and he had been accepted for accelerated officer training.
Paul had gathered his men together outside of the canteen. It was too nice to be stuck inside on this warm autumn day. They had dragged the chairs and a couple of tables out of the canteen and placed them on one of the few stretches of grass on the Luftwaffe base. An area often used for BBQs when the base’s occupants put pressure on the mess staff. The Luftwaffe Feldwebel responsible for the day to day running of the canteen had protested vehemently at having the canteen disrupted in this way. But a little persuasion from Max had calmed him down. That’s not to say that Max’s impressive size and sheer presence didn’t help influence the outcome.
The newly appointed Leutnant Leeb stood out with his pristine eagles on his tunic denoting his new rank. Sat either side were his fellow platoon commanders. To his left the Impetuous Roth and to his right the steady Nadel. Max was stood behind them, like a rock, his hands resting on the backs of their chairs, as if watching over his charges. The role reversal between Max and Leutnant Leeb would be interesting, thought Paul, Leeb now being senior to Max, in rank at least. Paul was also coming to terms with the authority he held, not only due to his rank of Oberleutnant, but also the fact that he was one of the now famous ‘Green Devils’. As Max often muttered to himself, “he’s coming out of his shell.” Even so, he was still very protective of his young commander.
“Come on people, sort yourselves out,” shouted Max.
“Grab yourselves a drink on your way to your seats,” added Paul.
Max had suggested to the Luftwaffe cookhouse that the provision of an urn of orange juice would be most agreeable. They were eager to comply. The company had finally settled down in their seats, the occasional roar of an aircraft engine being tested and the odd plane landing or taking off in the background. It was far from the front lines of the French Coast and England, but it was still an operational airfield.
“Right,” Paul coughed, clearing his throat. “I have just come from a briefing with the Battalion Commander.” He hesitated before he continued speaking, allowing the assembled soldiers to finish their speculation of what the briefing may have been about. He rarely held formal briefings, preferring to sit with his platoons and talk with them over a coffee or a beer, or while they were partaking in some scheduled training, and get individual feedback on his suggestions, ideas. Today though, required a more formal setti
ng. “I’m afraid I have some bad news and some good news gentlemen.”
All of a sudden the low hum from the soldiers died down and they looked pensive, clearly concerned that something disastrous may have happened.
“Our Luftwaffe have been unable to completely destroy the RAF.” There was a groan from the hundred men gathered around their company commander. “It was imperative that the air force destroyed the RAF before launching Operation Sea lion. To that end, the operation has been cancelled.”
The groan deepened. Not so much the disappointment of the failure of the Luftwaffe, or even the invasion of England. It was more a disappointment of not being able to utilise their paratrooper skills in helping to lead the German Army to victory.
“I know it’s not what you, what we, expected or wanted to hear, but that’s the way it is gentlemen.”
“Is the decision likely to be rescinded sir?” piped up Max.
“No Feldwebel Grun, it has been well and truly axed.”
“And the good news sir?” said Max, suspecting there wasn’t any good news.
The rest of the company looked from one to the other, the expression on Max’s face giving out a message of doubt. Then a smile slowly spread across the tough sergeant’s face, softening some of the hard lines. Equally Paul’s face split into a grin, then they all knew what was coming.
“We get to do extra training Feldwebel Grun, of course.” They both burst into laughter, steadily followed by the rest of the company.
“Dismissed.”
The cook looked out of the window, shaking his head. Even the Battalion Commander picked up the sound of laughter carried towards his office on the gentle breeze. He stood up from his desk and moved to one of two windows that looked out onto the camp. His dark, hooded eyes peered through the glass. Brand, he thought. Why am I not surprised? The world could be falling apart and it still wouldn’t dampen his spirits or that of his men and his sidekick of a sergeant.
He smiled for the first time that day. He was as disappointed as the rest of the Fallschirmjager that Operation Sea lion had been cancelled.
CHAPTER FIVE
Paul hailed Max as he saw him striding across the parade ground,” Feldwebel Grun.”
Moments later the burly sergeant was stood to attention in front of him, saluting.
“We’ve a job at last Max.”
“About bloody time too sir, I was thinking of transferring to the cookhouse, they get more action than we do.”
“You a chef Max?”
“Well maybe not sir, don’t want to lower my sights do I? Anyway it sounds like you’ve come to my rescue. Where are we going?”
“Greece Max, Greece.”
“What’s happened out there for them to need us?”
“Well since we came to Mussolini’s rescue the battle has been progressing well Max. 9th Panzer Division have reached Kozani and are looking to force a river crossing. They’ll be across the Aliakmon River before we know it.”
“Where the bloody hell is that sir?”
“West of Thessaloniki and they’re heading south to Corinth, Geography not your strong subject at school then Max?”
“School of life me sir. So, let me get this right, the Greeks kick the Italians out after they fail to invade them and we have to come to their bloody rescue, can’t they sort themselves out?”
“They’re our allies Max and they obviously need our special talents.”
“Of course they do sir. I could have told them that.”
“Are the troops still on the ranges?”
“Yes sir, I was about to join them.”
“Let’s go together then, I can brief the men. Have you got any transport?”
“I’ve got a Steiner and driver sir, follow me.”
They made their way through the barracks to the waiting Steiner jeep, and sped off for the short journey to the camp’s firing range. The regular cracks from the Kar 98s, indicated that range firing was in full swing.
The jeep pulled up, dropping the two paratroopers off before returning to the barracks HQ. Paul and Max headed for the range firing points, having stuffed cotton wool in their ears. The company was on a range training day. It was imperative, as an elite unit, that they maintained a high level of competency in handling and firing their personal weapons. He pulled the cotton wool from his ears as the men had ceased firing at the sight of the officers approaching.
“How will the guys react Max?”
“They’ll be relieved to get away from the camp sir.”
“You’ll be able to top up your tan Max and flaunt those muscles of yours.”
“One of the lads has been to Greece, I’ll have to get his feedback on the Grecian women.”
“We’ll no doubt be far too busy to allow you time for philandering Feldwebel Grun.”
Max came to attention smiling. “Jawohl Herr Oberleutnant.” They both laughed.
Max relaxed leaning against one of the firing posts. In the distance they could see that Leeb had got his men together and along with Unterfeldwebel Eichel, was taking them through some refresher weapons training. Although a number of his platoon had seen action, as had Leeb, his specialism was small arms and he had quickly earned the respect of his men and his NCOs.
“Is the full battalion going sir?”
“No, just our company to start with.”
“Hauptman Volkman has either got it in for us or he favours us. Not quite sure which yet.”
“He’s making sure you get first options on the Greek beauties Max, didn’t you know.”
“I didn’t think of it like that sir.”
“How was Hamburg?”
“Not as bad as I expected, the RAF have missed most of the residential areas, but the docks are a bit of a mess.”
“You might want to get your father to move Max, it will always be a target. It’s got shipyards, U-boat pens, oil refineries; the RAF will hit it regularly. Is your father ok?”
“He’s fine thanks sir, it would take more than the RAF to do for him, and he won’t budge. How’s Berlin sir?”
“I’ve just had a letter from my Mother, she says that the first bombing was fairly light, but the more recent one was quite bad. They’re just retaliating, I hear the Luftwaffe hit Buckingham Palace not so long ago.”
“Did you see anything when you went home at Christmas?”
“I didn’t go into Berlin, so didn’t get to see the damage.”
“Ah,” said Max smiling. “Nurse Keller came to yours for Christmas didn’t she?”
Paul quickly changed the subject. “Will you give Leutnant Leeb a shout? Where are the other platoons?”
“Second are cleaning weapons and the third are in the hut getting a brew,” said Max pushing himself off the firing post, recognising it was back to work.
“Tell the Platoon Commanders I’ll see them in the hut will you Max?” He looked at his watch. “Say in about ten minutes? I want to go and talk to some of the men.”
“Will do sir.”
Max saluted and strode off to seek out and gather the other two officers and Paul wandered over to Leeb’s platoon. He approached the platoon and sat on the ground as their commander gave them some advanced instruction in the use of the Kar 98. The Karabiner 98K was a control fed, bolt action rifle, with an effective range of up to five hundred metres. Leeb was showing them a quicker method of loading the internal magazine, which could hold five 8 x 57mm rounds, with a stripper clip. On noticing his Company Commander, he leapt up from his crouching position, immediately calling his platoon to attention.
“Shun.”
They quickly clambered up of the ground straightening their uniforms as they did so. Paul quickly flagged them down with a wave of his hand.
“Relax men, at ease.”
Paul crouched back down and the paratroopers resumed their previous positions on the sandy ground by the firing points. The wooden posts at regular intervals apart, like sentinels. Th
e posts were used to mark the three hundred metre line from the targets and butts. The firing posts were adjacent to a slit trench, fronted by sand bags. On Paul’s direction, Leeb left the platoon, crossing over the open space between the firing positions and the administration area, to go and join Max and the other two commanders in the range hut.
“Something in the air sir?” Uffz Fischer was the first to ask the question that was now on all of their minds. They could sense something was afoot.
“Extra duties for your troop no doubt,” called Konrad, the other troop commander. The assembled men laughed.
“We’re going to Greece gentlemen.”
There was a stunned silence which must have lasted nearly a full minute. Paul looked at their faces, mouths agape, waiting to be put out of their misery by their company commander. The only sound was the men shifting position to get more comfortable on the sandy ground.
“Yes Unteroffizier Jordan, Greece.”
“Wow”, said Fessman, “that’s somewhere I’ve never been.”
“There’ll be no poaching there,” shouted a few members of the platoon. It was well known that in a past life Walter Fessman had been a poacher, a skill that had proven useful when taking out a sentry, silently, during their first action in Poland.
“Do we know what our mission is sir?” asked Oberjager Kempf.
“Not yet, but I would expect to know before we fly out, or at least as soon as we get there.”
“The full Battalion?” questioned Straube.
“Initially no, but I’m sure they’ll not be far behind us.”
“They’re sending the best first then sir,” suggested Roon. This brought a bout of agreement from the men and triggered a melee of questions, comments and suggestions. Paul stood up ordering the platoon to remain seated.
“I also need to go and tell your platoon commanders what’s happening.”
He left them buzzing. The main topic of conversation being their observation that the Company Commander had informed them about Greece even before the platoon commanders. It gave them a sense of importance and their already high respect for this young officer was enhanced further.