Devils with Wings

by Harvey Black

  Paul entered the building, which was just a bigger version of the cottage he was sleeping in, but more palatial due to its size.

  He had walked straight into the living room and rather than a wood burner there was an open log fire.

  The crackling, spitting log fire was a nice welcome after the dreary cottage, with its wood burner that gave out more smoke than it did heat. There were a few oil lamps scattered around the Head Quarters, clearly the Generators had not yet been set up. In the dimly lit quarters, barely sixteen metres square, the fire cast flickering shadows over the room and its two occupants.

  Either side of the fireplace, angled so that they faced towards the warmth of the fire, sat two officers.

  The half-light and the shimmering effect of the fire, made their faces seem artificially long and drawn. It was warm too, Paul could already feel the sweat trickling down his back, a result of his earlier rushing to get ready, his fast walking pace to get to the HQ promptly; then entering a fire baked room. Wearing his combat uniform plus steel helmet, only added to his discomfort.

  On the left of the fireplace was Oberleutnant Volkman and on the right an officer he did not recognise. But, he did recognise the Feldgendarmerie uniform and he felt his stomach knot as he realised what this might be about.

  He quickly came to attention and saluted the two officers.

  “Leutnant Brand reporting as ordered sir.”

  “At last Leutnant Brand,” rebuked Volkman, the hooked nose profile making him even more Raven like as he turned towards Paul.

  “I requested your attendance some time ago!” he said in a clipped, impatient voice.

  “I apologise, Herr Oberleutnant,” replied Paul, “I came as soon as I was notified.”

  “Well you are here now Leutnant Brand, stand easy,” indicated Volkman with the flick of his wrist and the swagger stick he always carried with him.

  Paul relaxed slightly into a stand easy position, his MP 40 pointing downwards, although he felt far from comfortable in the two officers’ presence. His eyes flickered to the window directly behind Volkman, distracted by a troop of Paratroopers marching by.

  “This,” informed Volkman, “is Major Eichel, of the Feldgendarmerie troop twelve, who has come to see me about a most disturbing matter.”

  Paul’s mind raced; what could it be he thought?

  The Major stood up; his uniform was immaculate, almost as impeccable as Volkman’s. Clearly there were aristocratic roots in the Feldgendarmerie as well.

  He was quite a short man, probably some 45 years old, which seemed quite old for the rank of Major, particularly with his aristocratic links. With grey, thinning hair, that was swept back, and a round face, he looked almost paternal. He was a good six inches shorter than Paul and although not stout, he noticeably had an appetite for good food.

  The father like impression was to soon dissipate. He walked across to the window behind Volkman and looked out, leaning on the windowsill.

  “Are you a crusader Leutnant Brand?” he asked without turning around to look at Paul.

  “I’m not quite sure what you mean sir,” responded Paul looking and sounding slightly bewildered.

  “Oh I think you do know, your love of the Polish peasant is evident in your behaviour,” mused the Major.

  It suddenly dawned on him what this was all about and he felt his stomach knot as he thought back to the incident with the Feldgendarmerie patrol yesterday.

  “It has been brought to my attention that you came to the aid of one of the Polish peasants yesterday,” informed the Major, still not looking around from the window. In fact he appeared to be examining the structure of the window framework, his face suggesting contempt for its poor fabrication.

  “Just look at the construction of this building and compare it to one constructed in the Reich, it is almost medieval.”

  “I stopped a German NCO from beating one of the local population sir, that is all,” defended Paul.

  At that point the Major swung round to look directly at Paul.

  “What my NCOs do in their line of duty is none of your damn business Leutnant Brand. We are still at war with Poland; we need to keep a tight reign on these peasants who may well be potential partisans, fifth columnists or even saboteurs. They must be kept in check if we are to ensure the security of the rear. Your Battalion will not always be here Leutnant Brand.”

  “But sir!” interjected Paul, “the locals were just going about their daily chores.”

  “That is your opinion Leutnant Brand!” the tirade continued, “Not the opinion of my NCO, who is a military policeman carrying out his duties, which you chose, in your wisdom, to interfere with.”

  “But sir!” Paul was not allowed to finish.

  “If we’re to have lebensraum, living space, we must have the occupied countries and the populace under control as quickly as possible. We do not need the services of a highly trained Fallschirmjager officer siding with and aiding the locals.”

  The lecture continued. “It will not be tolerated Brand, do you hear?”

  At this point the Major’s face was bright red and quite heated, his neck muscles were attempting to bulge out of the collar of his white, uniform shirt.

  “As I pointed out to you earlier Herr Major,” interrupted Volkman. “Leutnant Brand has just come back from a very taxing, but successful, mission against the very Polish enemy you speak of. I’m sure it was a lapse on his part as a result of the physical and mental fatigue he has experienced, this being his first time in action. I am sure he wishes to apologise and assure you that this momentary lapse will not reoccur.”

  “You’re correct Oberleutnant, you did make me aware of this fact and as a result of your intervention I shall not be taking any action against this young officer.”

  He turned to Paul, “I accept your apology Leutnant Brand, and your assurance that there will not be a reoccurrence. I hope you have learnt something from this meeting today.”

  Yes I have, thought Paul; it has just been reaffirmed to me that the Feldgendarmerie are a bunch of jumped up arrogant autocrats.

  But, he brought his feet together in a parade style click, his arms straight by his sides, looking over the right shoulder of Major Eichel and, in his best parade ground voice said, “Jawohl Herr Major, it will not be repeated sir.”

  Major Eichel walked back to his seat and reached for his cap that had been placed on the small table by the side of the chair.

  “You are dismissed Leutnant Brand, make sure that we don’t meet under these circumstances again.”

  Paul saluted and was about to march out when Volkman commanded, “Stay where you are Brand, I also want a word with you.”

  Volkman stood up, saluted his superior, who smiled, probably anticipating that Paul was going to get a further reprimand from his Commanding Officer.

  Eichel placed his cap on his head, returned Volkman and Paul’s salute and allowed himself to be escorted from the building.

  “Right, sit down Brand,” commanded Volkman, “and remove your helmet.”

  Paul moved across the room, removing his helmet as he did so, relieved to get rid of the hot sweaty piece of heavily padded metal, and took the seat just recently vacated by the Feldgendarmerie Major.

  “That was a stupid thing you did Paul,” reprimanded Volkman. “You don’t give these chain dogs any opportunity to get their claws into you. Once they have their hooks into you, they will keep you there and it can only hinder your career, not help it. Major Eichel has assured me that this will not be held on record and that the matter is forgotten.”

  “But sir,” defended Paul, we can’t just go about beating up the locals because they spill milk on an NCOs uniform!”

  “We are in a new world Brand,” Volkman spoke softly, almost unheard of, “all of us must tread carefully. We are soldiers, no, more than soldiers, we are Fallschirmjager. Our job is to fight our countries enemies and we have proven today that we do it well. We must leave the civilian administration and politi
cs to others. We have not had this conversation Brand. Right, now to other matters. You and your platoon excelled itself in the action against the Polish Artillery unit. This has been a credit to your platoon and as a result, a credit to your Company. For our first action as a Fallschirmjager unit we have come out of it with flying colours. You are to be commended and I recommended you for an Iron Cross, which has been accepted. This is one of the reasons why the Herr Major was so easily swayed from taking any further action against you. It wouldn’t look well to charge a true Fallschirmjager hero, now would it?” said Volkman grinning.

  Paul was in disbelief. Five minutes ago a Feldgendarmerie Major was tearing a strip off him, potentially putting a blot on his career for the rest of his Luftwaffe service, and now he was being told that he was being awarded an Iron Cross.

  “Thank you sir, I’m honoured,” stuttered Paul, still not believing the sudden turn around.

  “The Regimental Commander will be presenting the award to you personally, along with the other recipients. I am pleased to say that I will also be presented with an Iron Cross First Class.”

  Oberleutnant Volkman was already an Iron Cross, Second Class, holder, having fought bravely in Czechoslovakia as a Platoon Leutnant. Paul thought it was funny to think that Volkman had been just a Platoon Commander like himself and that one day Paul too would reach the dizzy heights of commanding his own Company.

  “So Brand, you will need to get your best uniform sorted out. You will be in front of the entire Battalion along with the other recipients of their medals. Your platoon was very much in the thick of the fighting and I have been able to allocate your platoon with some additional awards. That in itself is recognition for you and your platoon. Out of the twenty awards for the Battalion, four go to you and your men.”

  Paul was shocked and amazed. What seemed to him as merely carrying out his duty and doing what was expected of him, leading his men into battle and defeating the enemy, was clearly viewed by others as excelling in his obligations.

  “Have you anyone in mind Leutnant Brand?” queried Volkman.

  “Yes I do sir, Jager Fessman and Jager Stumme. Because their expertise and courage in taking out two sentries, without raising the alarm, enabled the platoon to successfully surprise the artillery unit and defeat them. Had they not been successful, the outcome could have been very different.”

  “That’s two,” informed Volkman, “the third?”

  Paul had no hesitation in identifying the third recipient. With the strong leadership he displayed, the additional experience he brought to the platoon and his insightful training approach, and last but not least, saving his Platoon Commander’s life. He thought back to the moment with a shiver, the enemy soldier rising up in front of him, the rifle aimed directly at his chest and Max’s intervention, killing the enemy soldier and saving Paul’s life.

  Volkman waited patiently, he knew the thought processes Brand was going through. He too had experienced combat and the smells, the names of men killed, incidents that resurrected deep thoughts bringing them to the forefront of your mind.

  “Unterfeldwebel Grun, sir. Although all fought well, without exception, these three stand out the most.”

  “Very well then,” said Volkman, “those three it is then.

  I want your written recommendations on my desk by last light. The parade will be held tomorrow at two, so make sure your platoon get their kit sorted out. I feel sure Unterfeldwebel Grun, would, without exception, be fairly intolerant of any Fallschirmjager letting the platoon down. Also, make sure yours is immaculate, don’t let me down,” warned the Oberleutnant.

  “The Fallschirmjager are the elite, we must excel at whatever we do.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Bachmeier!” called Volkman. “A glass of schnapps to celebrate Brand, yes?”

  “That would be very welcome sir.”

  “None of that peasant Vodka sweepings, it’s only fit for subjugating the peasants and keeping them happy and in line. Bachmeier, where are you damn you?” called Volkman impatiently.

  The be-speckled orderly rushed into the room and stood to attention at the side of Volkman, who was not a man who suffered unnecessary delays.

  “Sorry sir, I was organising lunch for our next visitor.”

  “Well you’re here now. A Schnapps for the good Leutnant and myself please.”

  The orderly rushed off to fulfil his officer’s wishes, the Raven was not one to be kept waiting. Being an orderly for the Oberleutnant must be a real challenge, thought Paul.

  “While he gets our drinks, I would like to discuss another matter with you, two actually.”

  Volkman uncrossed his highly polished, booted legs and leant forward towards Paul. Paul automatically did the same; almost feeling compelled to mimic his commanding officers actions. Volkman lowered his voice.

  “The first is that I shall be leaving the Company, but not the Battalion. I’m finally getting my Captaincy and will be taking up a position as the Adjutant at Battalion Headquarters.”

  Paul’s response could not be hidden, as his eyebrows were involuntary raised in surprise. Although not really a surprise. Not only was the ‘Raven’ ambitious, he was also a first class officer and soldier.

  “Congratulations sir, when do you take up your post?”

  “In a few days Brand, so you are not getting rid of me just yet,” smiled the Raven, noticing Paul’s reaction to the news. “Not a word of this to anyone Leutnant Brand, is that clear?”

  “Of course not sir,” responded Paul, but thinking, wait till I tell Erich and Helmut about this.

  Hauptman Volkman, thought Paul. The Raven was moving up the ladder, promotion to Hauptman and Adjutant was no small step; he would effectively be the Battalion second in command.

  Promotion, and an Iron Cross First Class, Volkman was doing very well for himself. Paul’s ambition at the moment was to reach the dizzy heights of Oberleutnant and command a Company of his own; he would worry about the step beyond that at a later date.

  “Who will be taking over command of the Company sir?” Paul enquired.

  “Your new Company Commander will be Oberleutnant Faust, you will hear more about him later.”

  “The second subject I wish to discuss with you concerns a new undertaking for you and your platoon. We have a special job for you and your men. You will be seen to be an airfield construction unit, but there is more to it than that. We’ll be joined shortly by Oberst Baum.”

  Baum was the Regimental Commander, so it must be something important, thought Paul. But he couldn’t imagine why he would want to talk to a mere junior Leutnant like himself. Maybe it was to congratulate him. Paul mulled it over in his mind; maybe his incident with the Feldgendarmerie had escalated. But Volkman would have surely said something, he thought.

  “He will tell you more about it,” continued Volkman, Paul realising that the Oberleutnant was still talking to him, “when he arrives.”

  At that moment the orderly returned with the schnapps. He placed the tray, holding a crystal decanter and crystal glasses, no doubt from Volkman’s personal store, on the table between the two Fallschirmjager officers and proceeded to pour each of them a drink. Volkman sat back, clearly waiting for the orderly to finish before he continued his discussion with his junior officer.

  The honey coloured drink, along with the crystal glasses, glinted, reflecting the dancing fire. The crackling of the logs, brought back memories of his last Christmas at home in Berlin. Paul had been sat in front of a fire, not dissimilar to this one, with his family, sharing a drink and a joke. But reality was opposite him in the form of his Company Commander.

  “Don’t be too miserly with it Bachmeier!” snapped Volkman.

  “It’s not every day that we get to drink to the success of two of our Fuhrer’s heroes,” Volkman imparted, clearly in one of his rare good moods.

  Promotion and a second Iron Cross naturally contributing to the Raven’s high spirits.

  The orderly placed a gla
ss on Volkman’s side table and a second glass for Paul on the bigger coffee table in between the two officers, and then left the room. The orderly had probably tucked himself away in the kitchen or, judging by the size of the cottage, a second room in the back.

  Volkman picked up his glass, sniffed at the aroma, a distinctive, but pleasant smell that was already filling the room, adding to the smell of the wood smoke given off by the log fire.

  He held his glass up and towards Paul, Paul following suit.

  “Here’s to the success of our Battalion, to the success of the Fallschirmjager and to the success of our beloved Third Reich. And of course, to you Leutnant Brand, you show promise and I shall be watching your progress closely. No more cock ups like yesterday though.”

  “To success sir,” joined in Paul.

  “Is there a spare glass for me, before you two drink it all?” boomed a voice loudly.

  They had been so involved in the discussion and the following toast that they didn’t notice the officer stood facing them with the sentry stood behind him.

  “I am sorry sir, but the Oberst insisted on walking straight in,” announced the unfortunate sentry looking flustered. But what was he to do, a private soldier; he could hardly stop the Regimental Commander from entering the Company Head Quarters.

  “That is all Keller, thank you,” said Volkman standing up to welcome his Regimental Commander.

  The sentry saluted and hurried back outside to continue his watch, worried that this might be seen as a lapse in his duties and could reflect on him badly. But the two senior officers, who had more important things to consider, already forgot him.

  Paul pushed back his chair and also stood up and both he and Volkman saluted smartly, the Oberst returning the salute with a flick of his right, gloved hand to his cap.

  Paul offered the Oberst his chair, but it was refused.

  “You stay there, Leutnant Brand, I’m sure the Oberleutnant can conjure up another chair and schnapps of course,” he said smiling.