by C T Glatte
Suddenly there was a loud crump and the plane bucked to the left. He felt his safety belt tighten, keeping him from being flung into space. Out the door, he saw little puffs of angry black clouds erupting all around their flight. In his headset he heard, “Hold tight. Flak.” The light changed from yellow to red indicating one minute to jump. He unstrapped the belt, which had just saved his life and held on tight with both hands.
Another close explosion above the plane pushed it down and for a sickening instant he felt his feet come off the ground as he went weightless. The plane quickly righted and his feet slammed down hard. He saw men fall in the aisle but were quickly helped up by comrades.
There was a zipping sound and he recognized it from live fire exercises; heavy caliber bullets. The fabric of the starboard wing seemed to spring leaks suddenly and he saw clear liquid streaming out. He pressed his send button on the radio, “Starboard wing leaking fuel.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. He flung the headset off his ears. His internal countdown told him the one minute was nearly up. His count ended and two seconds later the light turned green. He instantly flung himself out the door and spread his arms over his head. He felt the freezing fuel hit his face and he hoped he didn’t ignite. There was an instant of free-fall then his chute was pulled when his chord hit the end of the rope, and his fall immediately arrested. He swung wildly beneath the chute.
He looked up and was relieved to see a fully deployed canopy. He grabbed the risers and looked at the ground searching for landmarks. He saw the Idlewild Airport spread out beneath him. There were burning hulks of planes and he could see tiny ant-like men scuttling around, some with fire hoses. He was right on target.
He pulled his right riser and felt the chute cut right and turn. Once directed the way he wanted to go he angled both risers forward and traveled toward a small outbuilding he could use for cover and a rally point. The sudden ripping sound of an anti-aircraft weapon caught his attention. He saw streaks of tracers arcing from behind a building, he recognized as Hangar Two.
He’d studied the schematic of the airfield intensively and knew it better than he knew his own house. He had no idea how the Korth were able to give them such detailed photographs, but even they hadn’t spotted that particular anti-aircraft gun. He internally marked the location, they’d have to take it out along with all the rest.
When he was a few meters from the ground, he pulled on his risers to slow his descent. An enemy soldier rounded the corner right in front of him and their eyes met for an instant. He held a Thompson sub-machine gun at port arms. His mouth gaped open in astonishment. Ricker pulled his pistol, his Schmeisser was too strapped down, and aimed. The soldier saw the danger and brought his weapon up slightly before Ricker pulled the trigger four-times quickly. Compared to the anti-air gun, it sounded like a toy, but one of his bullets smacked into the GIs shoulder and he fell to one knee and dropped the Thompson.
Ricker hit the ground harder than he wanted. He absorbed the impact and rolled onto his feet, aimed and fired twice more. The stunned GI’s head snapped back and he fell backwards.
Ricker holstered his pistol and quickly unsnapped his rigging, letting it fly away in the wind. Normally he’d wrap it up to keep it from fouling another trooper, but with enemy so close he didn’t have time. He loosened the straps holding his Schmeisser MP-40 then unsnapped one side and freed the machine-gun. With the smoothness that only comes from countless hours of practice, he unsnapped his ammo pouch and pulled and inserted a thirty-round magazine with a satisfying, ‘click.’
Another soldier rounded the corner and reeled when he saw his dead comrade’s brains at his feet. Ricker released the safety and fired a short burst into the soldier’s chest. He fell and his blood spattered the wall.
Another soldier nearly came around the corner but arrested his momentum and dove back. Ricker fired and his bullets put gouges in the concrete wall and sent dust and rock chips flying.
Ricker ran forward and pressed his back against the wall, keeping an eye on the corner. Movement from the sky caught his eye and he saw Fallschirmjäger flying their chutes his way. There was a shot from around the corner and he saw one of his men scream and writhe at the end of his lines.
Sheisse. He stepped to the corner and quickly thrust his body around, his machine-gun at his shoulder. The GI was lining up another shot. His eyes widened and he tried to shift his aim, but Ricker fired first, nearly emptying his magazine.
Soon, he was surrounded by paratroopers. He reloaded and directed his men. “Heinz, take Zoller and Henrichs and find the heavy weapons container. We’ll need Panzerfausts soon enough.” The three men hustled off, keeping low. He pointed, “Sergeant Hoch, how many men?”
“Eight so far, but not everyone’s down, sir.”
Ricker nodded, “Take First Squad to the edge of the runway. Second Squad,” he found another soldier with stripes on his sleeves. “Cover First Squad, then join them and take out those AA units. There’s more than we thought.”
More troopers were joining every second, honing in on their platoon leader’s black parachute, which had snagged and was blowing in the wind like a beacon.
Suddenly the sound of heavy machine-gun fire filled the air, making them all hunch lower. Lieutenant Rommel recognized the fearful .50 caliber machine gun and cursed under his breath. Great gouges and plumes erupted behind the building they cowering behind. The fire shifted, spotting the rest of First Platoon sprinting toward cover. Ricker yelled a warning. “Get down! Take cover!”
Six paratroopers instantly dove and tried to make themselves as small as possible. The closest man was ten meters away, laying in the slight depression of an artillery shell’s impact. He pointed, “It’s coming from the tower.”
Ricker saw one of the troopers hopelessly exposed on the concrete tarmac. Heavy slugs marched toward him. He sprang up and was cut nearly in half, great gouts of blood spilled. Dammit. He risked leaning out and saw the muzzle flash in the tower. He quickly pulled back. “The tower’s Second Platoon’s job. Where are they?” There was no answer and the men were looking to him for guidance. He felt the weight of command on his shoulders. He licked his lips. “Our job’s the AA and that’s what we’re gonna do.”
He grasped Sergeant Hoch’s shoulder. “I want fire on that tower while we get the rest of those men in here.”
Hoch nodded and shouted, “First Squad prepare to fire on the tower.”
Ricker yelled at the remaining pinned-down troopers. “When I tell you, get your asses over here.” He looked at Sergeant Hoch who had his men stacked on the wall, waiting for his command to leap out and fire. “Now, Sergeant.” He waited a second until he heard firing then yelled, “Now! Get here, now!”
He watched the remaining five paratroopers leap up and run with their weapons held firmly in front. Seconds later they slid in on their knee-pads. Ricker yelled, “Cease fire, Sergeant.”
First Squad immediately found cover. The steady hammering of the .50 caliber shook the building as it slowly tore it apart, piece by piece. The five soldier’s, members of Third Squad, slapped backs and shook hands with the others, thankful to be alive.
Ricker got their attention. “We must get across this open ground and take out those AA guns before Stark Company drops,” he looked at his watch, “in eight minutes.”
There was a flurry of firing coming from the other side of the airfield, near the tower. Hope filled Ricker’s eyes, “Those are Schmeissers. It must be Second Platoon.”
One of the five men, Ricker recognized him as Private Kleinowitz nodded. “I saw chutes way off the landing zone. They looked like they were near the water. It must be them.”
The hammering of the .50 continued but it was no longer targeting their building. Ricker nodded. “Okay, let’s go. We’ll cover First Squad, then Second Squad then Third. Klar?” There were nods all around. “Okay, Second Squad get ready to cover them, but don’t fire unless you see enemy, we don’t know the status of the assault on the
tower.” The men nodded and readied themselves. “Go!” Ricker shouted.
Sergeant Hoch was the first around the corner with the rest of First Squad close behind. Ricker’s chest swelled as the men automatically spread out, not making an easy target. Thankfully, there was no fire directed their way and Second Squad didn’t fire a shot.
Sergeant Hoch slid in beside the next building and when his men piled in beside him, gave a thumbs-up.
“Second Squad, go!” They were up and across quickly. The sound of battle from the tower intensified then there was a whoosh and a loud explosion. Ricker peered around the corner and saw the tower’s windows spewing white smoke. “The guns had it. Let’s go.” He waved Third Squad forward and they ran hunched over. Ricker took a look around and saw the three Americans he’d killed. Their faces were gray and little specks of dirt clung to the congealed blood. He didn’t feel anything. He’d simply killed them before they killed him.
The sound of snapping bullets passing nearby made Lt. Rommel cringe and run faster toward the cover of the edge of the concrete hangar. He’d trained incessantly for this moment for years but now that he was finally in combat, he realized no amount of training could have prepared him for the sheer terror.
He dove headfirst, imagining he could feel the heat of near misses. Despite his heavily padded arms, he felt the scrape and hardness of the ground and the pain made him suck in his breath. He’d made it across alive and unscathed and the notion filled him with awe.
“You hit, sir?” asked Sergeant Hoch.
Ricker did a quick self-assessment and shook his head. “I’m intact, Sergeant.” He got to his feet and adjusted his helmet. “Where’s that coming from? The tower?”
Sergeant Hoch shook his head, “No, sir. There’s a bunker around the AA gun. Fire’s coming from the Americans protecting the gun.”
Ricker sidled up to the edge of the wall. He looked at the ground adjacent to his position, there was very little cover. Most of the vegetation had been cut down to keep the land from encroaching on the hangar. The spread-out trees beyond were too far away. “Let’s get inside this hangar. Find an entrance,” Ricker ordered.
Seconds later Corporal Heinrichs yelled from halfway down the hangar wall, “Over here, there’s a door.”
Ricker nodded and waved the men forward. “Let’s go.” The fire coming from the Americans was still raging and Ricker imagined they were targeting other troopers. He glanced at his watch, four minutes until the next drop. “Hurry,” he urged.
They stacked to either side of the door leading into the hangar and once they were in position, Ricker nodded at Sergeant Hoch, who touched the trooper’s shoulder in front of him.
The trooper let his MP-40 sub-machine gun hang and used both hands to push the door lever down. He whispered, “Unlocked,” then flung the door inward and leaned away allowing the rest of the troopers inside. They flowed in like water with their sub-machine guns at their shoulders.
Ricker was the sixth man through. The inside of the hangar was dim and at first, he couldn’t distinguish one shape from another. The sharp controlled burst from a paratrooper’s MP-40 told him the hangar was occupied.
“Contact right,” came the calm voice from Sergeant Hoch.
More MP-40 fire and Ricker moved right with his own weapon at his shoulder and ready. He moved quickly, sweeping his weapon, searching for a target. He saw movement left and swung his muzzle. A soldier appeared around the edge of a large piece of machinery. He staggered and held a pistol, unsteadily aiming at him. Ricker reacted and squeezed the trigger. The Schmeisser shook in his hand as five rounds knocked the man to his knees with multiple gunshot wounds to his chest. Between adrenaline charged breaths, Ricker managed, “Contact left. Target down,” and kept moving, his weapon at his shoulder.
He stepped over the twitching body and ducked behind cover, keeping his weapon at his shoulder. He heard more firing from MP-40s to the right, but kept scanning his own section. He heard Sergeant Hoch, “Clear right.”
More paratroopers swept past Ricker’s position, leapfrogging forward. They got to the back of the hangar and yelled, “Building’s clear.”
Ricker got to his feet, letting his weapon dangle from the strap. He trotted forward, finding his men huddled near another door opposite the one they entered. He saw Private Zoller and Heinz trotting forward holding Panzerfaust rocket launchers. He pointed at them, “Get ready. This doorway should give you a good shot at the AA gun.”
They nodded and Zoller moved in front of the doorway and crouched. Private Heinz did the same directly behind. Zoller whispered, “I’m ready.”
There was a sudden roar of heavy caliber fire outside and Ricker looked at his watch. “That gun’s targeting the second wave. Now,” he urged.
Sergeant Hoch touched Private First Class Maddow’s shoulder. Maddow reached for the door handle and pulled it open. The dim room lit up with the sudden daylight streaming through. Zoller held the Panzerfaust ready at his shoulder, but didn’t fire right away. He scooted forward until he could see the gun emplacement, then depressed the bar on top of the tube, completing the electrical circuit which ignited and fired the armor piercing warhead.
Zoller suddenly pitched backward as bullets slammed into his chest and head. The single use Panzerfaust clattered to the floor. Hands reached out and pulled Zoller’s body from the light and into cover. Maddow leaned out and fired a long burst out the door then leaned back as more bullets slammed the side of the hangar, sounding like a heavy hailstorm.
Despite the danger, Pvt. Heinz scooted forward into the light, his Panzerfaust ready. He leaned forward, steadied his aim, depressed the trigger and quickly dove sideways as a hail of bullets missed him by centimeters.
The hammering of the AA gun continued but the incoming small arms fire diminished noticeably. Lieutenant Rommel ordered, “Go, go, go! We have to take that gun out!”
The men didn’t hesitate. Sergeant Hoch was the second man out behind PFC Maddow. He moved left and fired his MP-40 from the hip as he ran. Ricker was the last man out. He squinted in the sudden daylight but saw his men engaging the AA gun emplacement. Some were crouched firing, while others ran hard directly into the danger. Ricker saw the smoking holes the rockets caused and saw green clad American soldiers writhing on the ground, some missing body parts.
His men flowed over the position like floodwater, firing into the remaining soldiers. The AA gun’s lethal fire stopped. Ricker leaped over the leaking sandbags like a high-hurdler and slid in beside the gun, his weapon at the ready, but there were no enemy soldiers left alive. He looked at the carnage they’d wrought. Men with gaping wounds and torn limbs were everywhere. He was relieved to see none were wearing the gray camouflage of his Fallschirmjager’s.
Sergeant Hoch slapped his shoulder and Ricker followed his pointing finger. He saw the second wave passing over, the sky was filling with parachutes some dangling men, some holding large containers full of weapons and ammo. He saw a dark track which he figured had been an aircraft and wondered if the men inside had made it out or ridden it into the ground.
There was a smattering of gunfire, but the incessant and intense firefight seemed to be over. The neat, orderly airfield was now a battlefield. Structures smoked and there were chunks torn in the runway. The engineers would need to get busy before they could land aircraft, but that was not his mission.
Ricker felt pride well in his chest. He’d completed his mission. He allowed himself only a second before he barked, “Get the men spread out and dug in for a counterattack, Sergeant. We have to hold out til the armor gets here.”
9
Rex Crandall came to his senses. Without opening his eyes, he evaluated his body. One by one he tensed his limbs and found them tethered. He was in a sitting position. He guessed he was tied to a chair. His body ached but his mind felt sharp. He remembered the awful feeling when he was shot with whatever he’d been shot with. The feeling of intense pain as every muscle in his body seemed to contract
and cramp all at once was still fresh in his mind.
Keeping his head slumped forward he risked cracking an eyelid. He was inside a well-lit room. The floor was gray concrete and he noticed a tiny crack zigzagging beneath his chair. He glanced to the side and saw a white wall. He couldn’t help jolting when a loud voice suddenly filled the room.
“Your vitals are being monitored. We know you’re awake, Five-twenty.”
Rex slowly lifted his head, the stiffness in his neck making him nearly gasp. He opened his eyes. He was in the center of white room with no features. It reminded him of his first introduction to his new life so many months before. He rotated his head, trying to stretch the stiffness out. He knew better than to ask questions but he couldn’t help himself. “Where am I?”
There was no answer. A minute passed and he used the time to flex and move his body as best he could. He wanted to be ready to react if he were given the chance. Finally a door opened in front of him. The door seemed to materialize and normally he’d be impressed, but he’d seen these invisible doors before.
He watched a figure step through. He recognized the same man who’d first introduced him to The Branch and the feeling of deja’vu was intense. For an instant, dread filled him as he thought he was in some endless, pain-filled cycle in the pits of hell. “Mr. Black,” he muttered.
Mr. Black wore a dark suit with a meticulously tied tie hanging from his thick neck and passing over his thick chest before disappearing into the V of his suit coat. His expression didn’t change. “Ah, you remember. How sweet.”
“I’d never forget a prick like you,” Rex said in a flat voice edged with hatred.
Mr. Black’s face stayed a mask of calmness, but Rex noticed a dangerous fire in his eyes. “You’ve progressed well through your training. You’re ready for the next step.”
Rex felt momentary relief as he thought perhaps he wasn’t going to be executed. He kept his face a blank mask and asked, “Next step?”
