by Harvey Black
They took their kit to the barrack room.
Paul, Erich, Helmut and Curt, had been allocated a room in the barracks. Paul and Erich had dragged Helmut along on the march to the barracks and Curt had been with them. As officers, they seemed an obvious grouping to share the four-man room.
They changed into their training gear and went back outside for what was likely to be another beasting.
CHAPTER EIGHT
In the early hours of the morning on day two, loud whistles and shouts sharply awoke the recruits, Paul, Erich, Curt and Helmut, ensconced in their four-man room.
They scrambled out of their bunks; sleep still dragging at their eyes and weary limbs struggling to quickly pull on their full combat gear. Being constantly reminded by the instructors that they were already late for the assembly on the parade ground outside.
All Paul could remember from yesterday was fatigue. He had trained in the Wehrmacht as an officer, but could not remember experiencing such exhaustion and there were still nearly eight weeks to go. He had fallen asleep with the first Fallschirmjager commandment ringing in his ears, ‘You are the chosen ones of the German Army. You will seek combat and train yourselves to endure any manner of test. To you, the battle shall be fulfilment.’
But their first real day was about to start, Harte und Aus Dauer, toughness and endurance.
Paul grunted to Helmut as he bent over to lace up his boots, “I wonder what delights they have planned for us today?”
“I’m sure it will start off with a nice cooked breakfast served personally by our good natured instructors,” replied Erich, pulling on his jump smock.
“More like a five mile run,” laughed Curt, joining in the revelry.
“More to the point, when will we get fed?” interjected Helmut with a pained smile, “I’m starving.”
“Yes we know Helmut, you’re always starving. You’re hungry ten minutes after you’ve eaten,” joined in Curt, the fourth Lieutenant sharing their room.
“By the time I have finished with you four, food will be the last thing on your mind Janke,” hollered Feldwebel Geyer, who had magically appeared in their room.
“If you’re not all outside in one minute I will ensure that it will be a long time before you get the chance to eat again! You now have forty five seconds.”
Feldwebel Geyer left the room to inflict fear into the other recruits struggling to meet the tight timescale set for them to prepare.
The recruits wrestled with their kit to get ready to join the other innocents they could already hear forming up outside in readiness to be inspected and, probably, to receive the wrath of the Feldwebel yet again.
When ready, the four rushed outside to join the rest of their comrades forming up on the parade ground.
They all shuffled awkwardly as they attempted to get into some form of order that would satisfy the instructors prowling on the sidelines, propelling, coaxing, bullying the one hundred and sixty men of training Company twenty-seven.
The Non Commissioned Officers, NCOs, continued to scream at the recruits, berating them for their slackness, the poor state of their uniforms and then informing them that this was just a practice and they were to return to the bunks.
Paul, Erich, Curt and Helmut dragged their tired bodies back to their room to disrobe and fall back into bed and hopefully get some sleep, as it was only two o’clock in the morning.
They were to be disappointed. At three o’clock it started all over again, a second parade was required because they had been so bad at the previous practice. The instructors’ sense of humour was very much their own. By three thirty they were again back in their beds, desperate for sleep.
But, at five o’clock in the morning, they were dragged out of their beds for the real start of the day, a five kilometre run before breakfast.
The cross-country run put a huge strain on their already tired legs. As a result of overnight rain and a short rain shower earlier in the morning, the going was soft and slippery and with a shorter stride length to compensate it put a greater demand on their leg muscles. It was an important part of their training, and a valued toughening up exercise.
Forty minutes later they were back in the barracks, waiting to be released so they could get a quick shower before breakfast; should there be any hot water left, thought Paul. In the weeks to come they would not care about the temperature of the water, they in fact wouldn’t even know they had been in the shower they would be so bone-tired.
After a hearty breakfast, when they finally did get the chance to eat, the food was good and plentiful, even Helmut couldn’t complain. The rest of the day involved weapons handling, square bashing on the parade ground, unarmed combat, bayonet practice and various lectures.
The lectures were the hardest, they spent most of the sessions desperately trying to keep their eyes open and stay awake. The training staff had the ideal cure for sleepy paratroopers, press-ups, press-ups and press-ups.
All around them men were coming and going, vehicles leaving and arriving and Junkers aircraft could be heard droning overhead. Troops who had already passed out marched by, heads held high, smartly dressed in their Luftwaffe blue service dress with their recently issued Parachutist’s badge.
Another Company, halfway through their training, marched past, looking like ghosts. Their eyes were sunk deep into their heads, their uniforms were encrusted in dirt and dust, and although marching they could barely pick their feet up off the ground.
Paul looked at Erich and could see what he could see and was probably thinking what he was thinking.
“They look like they’ve been to hell and back. That will be us in four weeks.”
“It looks like there are only about thirty in each platoon,” responded Erich.
Helmut chipped in, “That’s a twenty five percent dropout rate and they’re only half way through!”
“It just seems so far away,” added Curt rather despondently.
“Look at them, they don’t look as if they have been fed for a month,” piped up Helmut.
“Food again!” the three comrades uttered in unison.
All four burst into laughter, even Helmut saw the funny side of his statement. Food was the least of their worries.
“I can see that you four are enjoying yourselves too much. Well, we shall have to make things a little more interesting for you,” threw in Feldwebel Geyer, who had suddenly come behind them.
“Get in line, now!” he yelled.
They all groaned, their moment of respite over.
Their first full day was the start of several days of tests, part of a test programme to establish their suitability as potential paratroopers.
An exhausting mental and physical syllabus started the eight-week training course. This included an air experience flight in an ageing, twin engine Dornier. Many of them, including Paul and Erich, had not flown before. It was an exhilarating first-time experience. The serious aspect of it was to identify those that became dizzy or sick as they were quickly failed as the resulting dehydration from this effect would impact on the paratrooper’s fitness and they needed to be totally fit and alert when they landed, particularly in enemy territory.
By the end of the day, the four comrades and the rest of the training Company were beginning to realise what physical exhaustion really meant.
CHAPTER NINE
They were now in their second week.
The fifteen kilogram pack weighing heavily on Paul’s shoulders. His platoon had just finished a five kilometre run; to warm them up for the assault course they were told. It now stood in front of them as their instructors, Feld Geyer and Uffz Kienitz, shouted out instructions. It looked fearful to say the least.
“This is going to kill us,” whispered Erich out of the side of his mouth.
“We’re still here,” replied Paul, “stick with it and you and I will see this through.”
“You sound far more confident than I feel,” grimaced Erich.
Helmut stuck his head between them,
“We can walk this thing guys, stop worrying.”
“Only if we drag you over it,” responded Paul, pulling on his pack straps, Helmut almost tumbling forward.
The Uffz shouted for them to drop their packs as they were going to have it easy first time round.
They lined up in front of the first obstacle in two columns and started the assault course in pairs. When it was Paul and Erich’s turn they ran towards the first obstacle, a one metre horizontal post. They looked at each other and grinned, triumphant, not yet knowing that this optimism was to change as the day wore on. They both attacked this first obstacle with confidence, overcoming it easily, despite the wet and slippery wood.
The second obstacle was not so easy, a one and a half metre high horizontal post, again wet and slippery and difficult to grip to pull yourself over. They achieved this with some straining and grunting; their fellow recruits close on their heels.
Next was the two-metre wall. Here they had to help each other over, completing it but with grazed hands from the brickwork. So far they were coping, but breathing heavily.
“I’m knackered already said Erich,” panting.
“I know how you feel,” replied Paul, gasping for air, “keep moving, Geyer’s watching us like a hawk.”
They now faced the four-metre wall, twice the height of a man. It looked daunting to say the least.
They had been taught how to climb a wall this high, but now it was time to put it into practice.
Two recruits had crouched down against the four-metre wall facing Paul and Erich, holding their clasped hands in front of their bodies at just below waist height.
Paul took a run at the wall first, his breathing heavy and his heart pounding as he placed his right boot in the cupped hands of the recruit crouched to the right, launching himself up and placing his left boot in the clasped hands of the second recruit on his left. The two recruits then, at the same time, raised themselves up, twisting round to face the wall, forcing Paul up into the air, allowing Paul, who was holding his body flat against the wall and at the same raising both hands, to reach and grip the top of the wall.
At the same time, a fourth recruit sat astride the top of the wall, leaning down, grabbed hold of Paul’s uniform and helped yank him up and onto the top. Here Paul would remain to help Erich up, while the fourth recruit who had helped Paul dropped down on the far side of the wall and continued on to the next phase of the assault course.
Erich joined him commenting, “What’s wrong with using a bloody ladder?”
“When we do our parachute jumps, I’ll make sure there is room on the plane for a five metre ladder, with its own parachute of course,” responded Paul, having the last laugh as he lowered himself down the other side the wall, dropping the last two metres with a sickening thud.
If anything was going to get them through the course, it had to be their sense of humour, although the instructors’ exasperation at that may be their undoing.
Erich thudded down by Paul’s side, grunting as the wind was knocked from his body. They headed off for the next obstacle, this one they would have to crawl under.
It was down in the prone position, either keeping their heads and buttocks down in the mud or catching their helmets or backsides on the vicious, sharp, barbed wire strands, criss-crossed above them.
They were forced on by the efforts of their instructors, admonishing them for taking their time. The exertion required to move forward with short sharp movements of the arms and legs, along the ten metre distance was starting to tell on them, their uniform and helmet being constantly tugged at by the sharp, rusting barbs above them. Their initial confidence and cockiness was slowly draining away, as was their strength.
They had ditches to jump, running along tree trunks raised above the ground, maintaining their balance or falling into a quagmire either side. Climbing a thick rope net that tried to wrench their arms from their sockets, hand over hand on a suspended rope and swinging by rope across a wide stream, the course seemed endless.
Reaching the end of the assault course they were shattered, but if they had any thoughts of a brief respite to catch their breath, they were surely disappointed. Their instructors seemed to be everywhere, tormenting them and urging them on faster and faster.
They were all hot and the sweat was pouring down inside their uniforms. Their arms and legs ached, feeling like lead weights. They thought they would never be unable to pick up their limbs again, let alone continue on any further. But they did; a mixture of their own determination and their ever-present instructors pushing them on made sure of that.
The hurdle the next day was to instil even greater fear into them. One they would have to complete if they were to be successful in becoming a Fallschirmjager in this elite unit. They ran up numerous, narrow ramps until they were some twenty metres above the ground, the height of a six-storey house.
Facing them was a narrow plank, supported by a frame that was one metre away from them and one metre below them. Had it been two metres off the ground it would have been simple and tackled with ease, but twenty metres above the ground it was daunting. This was the test they must pass, otherwise their training would stop here and now and they would be transferred back to a Wehrmacht Infantry or Luftwaffe unit the very next day.
Paul did not want that. He had been conscripted into the Wehrmacht as a junior Lieutenant, through the RAD, and he had now made the decision to join the parachute regiment, he was determined to see it through. He had no intention of failing this.
Paul, like Helmut and Erich had served twelve months in the RAD, which was originally a labour scheme for the many unemployed in the early nineteen thirties. He had been proud to contribute to the rebuilding of his country’s infrastructure, but on completion of his obligatory twelve months, he had little desire to go back to the factory and continue his apprenticeship.
It was not an easy life though. The days were long, often starting at five in the morning and sometimes finishing as late as seven in the evening. But Paul had excelled and was quickly spotted as potential officer material for the Army.
He had been invited to join the Heer, by a visiting Army officer, which he gladly accepted, and here he was now, working his way towards becoming a paratrooper.
Paul reached the twenty metre high platform and moved out to the edge of the plank, where one metre below him sat the other board he would have to leap to if he was to continue on this path to become a paratrooper.
He had never feared heights, but then he had never been this exhausted, never had so much resting on this one jump, the anxiety of it all making him sweat even more than the assault course. He was surprised he had any moisture left in his body after the hard training he had been through. His mouth was dry and his tongue felt swollen in his mouth, he was dehydrated and near to collapse.
He gritted his teeth, pushed his left foot forward and out and pushed off with his right leg and hit the plank below before he had even registered the leap. He suspected that his eyes might have even been closed.
The relief was palpable and he could feel his limbs trembling as he continued on the rest of the trapeze seeing the grinning Erich and Helmut waiting for him at the bottom. Even the instructors gave him a reluctant well done. He had passed this test; he was one step closer to his precious eagle’s wings.
It was day fifteen; today they had gone through the second fear of heights test for new recruits. Each recruit had to jump into a tank of water from a fifteen metre high tower. All passed, generally the case if they had successfully completed the trapeze course the previous day.
The next day was spent on a long cross-country run followed by the obstacle course again. They were tested against the clock and against each other, again and again. Platoon competitions were fierce and extracted their innate aggression to the full.
Up until now Paul and Erich had only received training in using hand grenades and the Wehrmacht’s standard Mauser Gew 98 rifle and the Kar 98 carbine, both typical bolt action rifles with a f
ive-round box magazine. Their knowledge of weapons had to be extensive and intuitive. Behind enemy lines, isolated, they would come to depend on this knowledge.
Now they were to learn a whole new range of weapons, such as pistols, machine guns, such as the MG34, sub-machine guns, mortars and mines.
Day after day, all they had to look forward to was arduous physical training, morning, noon and night, a toughening process tailored to the light Infantry role that the Fallschirmjager were to fulfil. Physical exercise and drill on the square occupied much of the day during the early weeks. Bayonet practice, unarmed combat sessions, weapons instruction, the training and testing was relentless.
Other tests were to follow, some designed to test leadership qualities, looking for inherent initiative and imagination. Manual skills such as field stripping and re-assembling weapons again and again, as ever against the clock and sometimes blindfolded. The worst of the training Paul hated was the written and oral tests, and exams on subjects as various as military law and National socialist history and doctrine.
Their training programme progressed from squad level tactics through to Platoon and Company level exercises. As Officers, Paul, Erich, Curt and Helmut were pushed and tested even harder than the rest. Everything they did, they were expected to do it better and faster than the rest of the platoon. This added a new dimension to the pressure they were already under.
Eventually they would tackle such obstacles as replica fortifications with lashings of real barbed wire and dummy minefields.
The real test, the test that they all feared the most, more so than even the dreaded obstacle course, the one that caused most of the recruits to be RTU’d (Returned to Unit), was the interview with the Commandant who they first saw on day one. His probing questions were designed to tease out the reasons for a recruit wanting to join the Fallschirmjager and test their suitability to be part of this talented unit.
