Devils with Wings

by Harvey Black

  “Good, also make sure your men get their letters finished and lodged with the Feld Post. We don’t want to think the worst, but we don’t know how long we’ll be away on operations.”

  “Make sure they stay in touch with their loved ones,” added Max smiling.

  “Don’t let me down; I’m looking to you to ensure that the men are ready. We may need to move with as little as one hour’s notice, so keep on your toes.”

  The Unteroffiziers shuffled their feet, looked at each other and at Paul and Max expectantly. They were picking up on the obvious suppressed excitement within their officer commanding. They were equally keen to see some action and prove themselves, because many, like Paul, had not yet seen combat.

  In fact Max was the only one to have seen any action and that was in Czechoslovakia.

  “Right dismissed.”

  The Uffzs saluted and returned to their units to get them ready for the impending operation.

  “Max, a quick word. I want you to check and double check the platoon’s readiness. I want them ready for any contingency. Once I know what’s expected of us we can finalise our equipment. Keep the troops on their toes and be ready to move out at a moment’s notice.”

  “They will be,” assured Max as he saluted.

  Paul returned the salute and left them to it.

  He headed off to look for Erich and Helmut, his two fellow Platoon Commanders, leaving his Troop Commanders and Max to prepare for their upcoming operation. He had every confidence in them.

  He could see Erich, where he too had just finished briefing his men and made his way over to join him.

  They were camped at a large Polish farm about forty kilometres from the town of Pulawy, a town in Eastern Poland, in the Lublin Province.

  The farm consisted of a number of large barns which first company was using as its billet. Erich’s platoon was paraded in front of one of those barns, which was also their eating and sleeping quarters. His and Helmut’s platoons were similarly accommodated, at the much larger barn, much to the farmer’s displeasure, on the other side of the farm.

  “Have you heard anything yet?” enquired Erich as he saw Paul approaching.

  “No,” replied Paul, taking advantage of the bale of straw and sitting himself down, “I was hoping you might have picked something up.”

  “What do you think it’s all about Paul? Do you think it’s another wild goose chase? We’ve been running around after these Poles for days now! They’re like ghosts. My troopers are starting to get pissed off with it, but then so am I!”

  “You and me both,” responded Paul, “let’s hope it’s something real this time, eh?”

  Before Erich could add something else, which he was about to do, their fellow officer, Leutnant Janke, called them.

  “Hey you two, come on! We’ve been summoned by the Raven,” relayed Helmut as he approached his two brother officers. “If we hurry, all will be revealed at last,” he offered laughing.

  The two officers joined in with his laughter, noticing that Helmut, ever the pessimist, was in good humour today.

  “What’s that you’re eating?” enquired Erich.

  “I persuaded that miserable farmer to part with some Polish sausages, and he proceeded to pull out half a dozen kabanos, wrapped up in what looked like a newspaper.

  “I got you guys some as well,” and he held out the wrapper offering them the smoked sausages, “there’s two each, I need the extra one because I’m a growing lad.”

  They grabbed two each, stuffing one in their tunic pocket and one in their mouth, while Helmut rewrapped his last two and put them away.

  Mumbling through a mouthful of sausage, Erich reminded them, “We’d better get to company HQ, or the Raven will be making sausage meat out of us.”

  Suddenly dawning on them that they had been called to an operational briefing, they hurried off.

  Max looked across at the group of officers talking and laughing. All can’t be too bad with the world he thought, if Leutnant Brand and his fellow officers were in such high spirits. He returned to the kit inspection he was conducting with a lighter heart. Not too light that he couldn’t bollock one of the troopers if they had the audacity to present him with inadequate kit.

  Paul, Erich and Helmut headed off to the briefing by their Company Commander, Oberleutnant Gunther ‘The Raven’ Volkman. They found the Oberleutnant ensconced by a Stower 40, a light cross-country vehicle, with his company sergeant, Feldwebel Braun.

  The Raven was looking at a map that had been displayed on what very much looked like a school blackboard easel. It seemed quite relevant, sometimes with the Oberleutnant you felt you were back at school.

  “Paul, Erich, Helmut, pull up a seat, we finally have a task for the Battalion,” Volkman said sharply. He was smiling as he said it though, and was almost jovial which was very unusual for this tough company commander who often seemed to have little sense of humour.

  He was not known for his bedside manner, although he was a good soldier and a good officer, highly respected by his subordinates and his Commanders. But he was not known for small talk.

  Oberleutnant Gunther ‘the Raven’ Volkman, was a true Prussian aristocrat, born in Fischausen, East Prussia, on the fifteenth of January, nineteen thirteen. His dark hair, his deep-set, hooded, dark eyes and prominent, almost Roman like nose had quickly earned him the nickname ‘The Raven’. Even the senior officers, out of Volkman’s earshot, referred to him by his nickname.

  He had been a Platoon Commander during the occupation of the Sudeten and the later scuffles in Czechoslovakia, where he had earned an Iron Cross Second Class, his combat badge and wound badge. He had quickly appreciated that the Fallschirmjager, the elite 7th Flieger Division, was destined for great things. He believed they would have an active role in any forthcoming military action that the German forces would be involved in and this would be the best route to recognition, promotion and the possibility of further medals.

  They pulled up a canvas chair each and made themselves comfortable.

  “Bachmeier!” shouted Volkman.

  “Coffee for these gentlemen, I assume you won’t refuse a cup of coffee?”

  They all nodded fiercely, none of them having had a chance to get a coffee before being called to their Commander’s briefing.

  Volkman pointed to the map with his swagger stick, a fall back to his Prussian roots, he was very much the aristocrat.

  “Here,” he pointed to a village on the map, “eight kilometres from the Battalion’s current position we have reason to believe there are over five hundred Polish troops with horse-drawn artillery. We think them to be around the wooded area here,” he said tapping the map, “next to the village Wola-Gulowska, northeast of the town of Pulawy.”

  He paused while his orderly, Bachmeier, handed out coffees to the three Platoon Commanders and the company staff present, the Company Sergeant Major and two clerical assistants.

  Paul cupped the mug of coffee in his hands, savouring the warmth and the smell, waiting for it to cool further so he could also enjoy its taste.

  “When you are ready gentlemen,” he instructed impatiently.

  “The Second Company will assign a platoon on Hill 172, to the east of Wola-Gulowska, to cover the woods here. They will consist of two MG 34 sections and two rifle troops. The rest of Second Company will cover the woods to the South, a front of about three kilometres, Third Company will cover the North and West, and we will cover the East. You will be pleased to hear Brand that we will be using your platoon as our advanced patrol, supported by second platoon. Janke, your platoon will act as the company reserve.”

  Helmut looked at his colleagues, his disappointment obvious, their pleasure equally so.

  “Your platoon, Brand, will form up here,” informed Volkman pointing to a position on the map, east of some woods.

  “Second platoon will be on your right flank, slightly back from your line. You are to advance, in a shallow ‘V’ formation and will be the first unit t
o hit the tree line tomorrow. Leutnant Fleck, your platoon will give Brand a fifty metre head start and should they come into immediate contact with the enemy, you will be in a position to either cover their retreat or hit the enemy on the flank. Everyone understand so far?” questioned the Oberleutnant.

  They all nodded their assent.

  Paul placed his coffee cup down on the earthy but dry ground beneath his seat, and stared intently at the map.

  “I have a question though sir, when will the rest of the Battalion make their move, and if we do come into contact what are their orders?”

  “Good question Brand,” responded Volkman, leaving the map and walking back to his canvas seat and indicating to his orderly to refill their cups with coffee.

  “Drink up, we never know when supplies may dry up, so we might as well make the most of it.”

  “To answer your question Leutnant Brand, we are the beaters and the rest of the Battalion are the hunters. They will remain in position just outside the edge of the wood line. So, when you do come into contact with the enemy, which you will, you must force them west. Whatever direction they take after that the rest of the Battalion will be waiting for them. If you don’t make contact initially, then move further into the woods and flush them out. Once the action starts Brand, make all of the noise you can, make them think that there is a full Battalion coming towards them. That goes for you too Leutnant Fleck.”

  “What about my platoon?” chimed in Helmut, concerned that his men didn’t have a role to play.

  Volkman waited until Bachmeier finished refreshing their cups from a fresh pot of coffee before he answered the obvious concerns of the Platoon Commander.

  He could sense that they were all keen to get a piece of the upcoming action. But, the experienced Oberleutnant knew that even though a good percentage of his force would be needed for face to face combat with the enemy, a well positioned and effective reserve could turn a possible defeat in to a victory.

  “Your platoon will be the company reserve. Your role is just as key to the success of the operation as the other two platoons. If we’re taken by surprise, or the Poles decide to push back at Brand and go east, it will be your platoon that would plug the gaps and back up the rest of the company. Also, if any Polish troops filter back through one and two platoons’ lines, it will be up to you to deal with them.”

  “We move out at eight tomorrow. There will be a final briefing at one today, but in the meantime make sure you get your men prepared.”

  “That’s all gentlemen, dismissed.”

  The Platoon Commanders were dismissed and they returned to their respective platoons to brief their men, and ensure they were prepared and ready for tomorrow’s operation.

  Paul and Erich empathised with Helmut, but both were glad that their particular platoons would be at the forefront of the advance and would likely be the first in action.

  They chatted energetically together as they made their way back, discussing ideas and options for the task ahead tomorrow. Clapping Helmut on his back in condolence.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The one pm briefing went ahead the previous day as planned, and each platoon knew what their role was in the impending action. It was now six am, on the twenty fourth of September, and all three platoons were preparing to march out, as ordered, at eight o’clock.

  Autumn was usually Poland’s most popular season, refreshing, cooling weather after a hot, dry summer. Typically, during September and October, revitalising rains would saturate the dried countryside, turning the poor quality road network into a quagmire of thick, viscous mud, along with swollen and raging rivers.

  But this year the fall had remained dry so far, making it ideal for military type operations, allowing tanks and other vehicles to move easily over the dry, dusty ground.

  Paul had gathered his platoon together to give them their final briefing, a summary of the main one they’d had earlier.

  “Gather round,” directed Paul.

  The thirty men of his platoon gathered round in a semi circle.

  “We’ll be moving out at eight, there will be one truck per troop.”

  “No Tante June sir?” asked one of the troopers, Auntie June being the pet name for the Junkers 52 troop carrier, they would normally parachute from.

  “You’ll have to get your feet wet for a change Petzel, now button it!” retorted Max.

  Although a sharp retort, it was said with some humour, causing the assembled troopers to relax slightly; Petzel receiving guffaws and pats on his back from his fellow paratroopers.

  “We’ll be taking the North Eastern road, for about two kilometres,” continued Paul, smiling at the camaraderie that he felt for these tough men he had the privilege to lead, “swinging east to the village of Wola-Gulowska, through Konorzatka, then north for two kilometres to be dropped off at our final drop zone.” Although not parachuting in, Fallschirmjager terminology was always used.

  All picked up on the suppressed excitement in their Commander’s face. But Max knew that the rush behind Paul’s eyes hid deep anxieties he felt about leading his men into battle for the first time, doing the right thing and ensuring his men survived.

  “Unteroffizier Leeb, your troop will take the lead in the line of march.I want a good man on point, we don’t want to get caught napping. We’ll stay in line of march until we reach the drop zone, once there we’ll form our usual ‘V’ formation for crossing open country.”

  “Yes sir,” acknowledged Leeb.

  “Unteroffizier Kienitz, your troop will follow first troop.”

  “Understood sir,” replied Kienitz, confirming that he understood and had accepted the order.

  “Unteroffizier Fischer, your troop will be third in line and will be the platoon rearguard in line of march and the platoon reserve. I know you and your men will be disappointed, but you must still keep alert and on your toes, we don’t know how this is going to pan out and if your troop is needed you must be ready.”

  Fischer acknowledged the task set for him. “We’ll be ready if called upon sir.”

  “We’ll leave the drop zone and your troop will break away once we get to the start point. I will give you your coordinates and your troop will move forward at the allotted time of nine thirty. You’ll be on the platoon’s left flank two hundred meters back. Should the platoon get into any difficulty and need to pull back you will be in a position to cover our withdrawal or counter attack the enemy’s right flank. Are you clear on that Fischer?”

  “Yes sir,” answered Fischer, shoulders back and head held high at the potential importance of his troop’s role.

  “Should we get into deep shit, it will be your troop’s responsibility to help get us out of it. Any questions?” Paul opened it out to the entire group.

  Max asked, “Is the estimate of enemy troops still the same sir?”

  “Yes, about five hundred Polish troops.”

  “Do we know the quality of the troops we will be up against sir?” piped up Leeb, Commander of one troop.

  “We believe them to be artillery troops, so they’re not frontline infantry. But, there are still five hundred rifles out there; any one of them has the capability to kill you. So, be confident gentlemen, but not over confident.”

  “Unterfeldwebel, anything you want to add?”

  “Just this sir, remember the tenth commandment. Keep your eyes wide open. Tune yourself to the utmost pitch. Be nimble as a greyhound, tough as leather, hard as Krupp steel. You shall be the German warrior incarnate.”

  The troopers’ pride was obvious in their faces; this was one of the Ten Commandments they had to learn during their training at Stendal. In their minds it set them apart from all other soldiers, they were the elite.

  “And finally,” continued Max, “once in the woods keep your troops spacing tight, not too tight that they make a good target for a Polish grenade, but it will be easy for troopers to get separated if the woods become dense with masses of undergrowth. Understood?”

  �
��Yes Unterfeldwebel,” responded the Troop Commanders.

  “Understood?” repeated Max louder.

  “Yes Unterfeldwebel,” roared the Troop Commanders at the tops of their voices.

  Paul was just about to release the Commanders to go to their respective troops, when Oberleutnant Volkman joined them.

  They all snapped to attention.

  “At ease gentlemen. Is your platoon ready Leutnant Brand?”

  “Yes sir,” saluted Brand.

  “They have been briefed, and are ready for the job ahead Herr Oberleutnant.”

  “I’m depending on you Leutnant Brand; I don’t want any fuck ups. One company is leading the entire Battalion and one company is being led by your platoon. Fleck will be on your right flank and Leutnant Janke will be threehundred meters behind you in reserve.”

  “Fischer’s troop will be roughly in line with them sir on our left flank, acting as our platoon reserve,” informed Paul

  “Right Brand, you seem to have everything covered. Gentlemen, I shall leave you to it, good luck.”

  They all saluted their Company Commander and he left to join second platoon where he would have the company command post.

  “Right, get your men together,” commanded Paul “we move out in ten minutes. Max, I want you with three troop. Should we get into a situation, it may well be three troop that gets us out of it.”

  “Right sir,” confirmed Max.

  “Max?”

  “Yes sir?”

  “This could be a straight forward operation, but equally it could go belly up. Keep the guys on their toes; we can’t afford any loss of concentration. As ever, I and the rest of the platoon will be looking to you Max.”

  “I understand sir.”

  The stocky Unterfeldwebel moved off to round up the platoon, thinking, it’s you we will be looking to sir, if anything goes wrong.

  The fair haired, sturdy sergeant had only been with Paul for six months, and although they were officer and NCO, a mutual bond of trust and respect was forming between them.

  The six foot two, lanky, but athletic, Leutnant and the five foot ten, stocky, muscled NCO were like chalk and cheese. Paul, an intelligent, articulate and erstwhile tactician and Max the solid Rottweiler. To this day, no one knows how Max got into the Fallschirmjager, ten kilos over the accepted weight for a paratrooper.