by Harvey Black
“We’d better be last then sir, it is the last place they would want to enter once we’ve fried it,” said Max with his usual lopsided grin.
“Makes sense,” agreed to Paul, “see to it Max.”
“I’ll go and round up my guys.”
Paul walked over to his assault troop and called out their names.
“Obergefrieter Konrad, I want you to take the troop around the bunker. Get a good look at the embrasures and the general layout. When you’ve done that, I want you to pull together an assault plan for attacking the fort from the left side as we are looking at from the front, understood?”
“Yes sir,” responded Konrad, snapping to attention as he did so.
“Right you lot, get your gear together, we’re going sightseeing.”
The troop, designated as assault troop two, gathered their gear and followed Konrad to the structure dominating their immediate vicinity.
Obergefrieter Konrad was normally the number two of Uffz Fischer’s troop in its conventional organisational structure. Paul believed him to be a very capable soldier, and the most promising to one day take over from Fischer as troop leader.
This was an ideal opportunity to give him his head and test him while, thought Paul; he hadn’t got his troop commander looking over his shoulder.
Paul checked that all the assault troops were making their way to the bunker complex and followed them in.
Concrete steps led down to a heavy steel door, pushed back on its hinges by the preceding paratroopers who had left it open.
Paul stepped over a small raised edge of the frame into the dim interior, the low wattage bulbs, supplemented by the shafts of light passing through the gaps in the embrasures, were barely able to push back the darkness. One light bulb was flickering, making the paratroopers look as though they were participants in a black and white film.
The bunker was cold and it made him shiver, the damp smell invading his nostrils; it was dank and depressing.
Paul’s eyes slowly accustomed themselves to the gloom and he moved forward to the centre of the casemate, passing Petzel and Stumme, who were examining the thirty millimetre machine gun in the left hand emplacement.
The centre embrasure held a seventy-five millimetre gun, which would have been used to break up any potential assailing infantry before they could strike, or to be used against advancing armour.
At the far end of the bunker, opposite the third embrasure, with a second thirty millimetre machine gun, were a set of steps leading up to a circular armoured cupola. He headed over to it, slowly climbing the damp, slippery steps until he could see through the slits, situated on all four sides.
He looked through the front facing aperture, envisaging what the commander, probably a senior sergeant, would see.
The ground in front was clear of any trees or shrubbery, ensuring there was a good field of fire for the bunkers weapons. Paul envisaged that the bunkers on Eben Emael would have similar clear fields of fire.
Without this cupola, the bunker would be practically blind. But, it was protected by similar structures either side, with smaller, machine gun armed pillboxes, in between. A formidable target, he thought.
Hit this cupola, imagined Paul, and their sight would be severely restricted and their observations would be limited to looking through the gun embrasures. That would be difficult to achieve, as they would be pouring out a steady rate of fire if they were to be able to hold an attacker at bay.
He stepped down from the observation dome and descended the steps and walked over to Max, who was trying to peer through the right hand embrasure. Max heard him approach and turned in his direction.
“This is going to take some breaching sir,” pointed out Max as he ran his hand over the rough, deep, inner concrete skin, “this must be an arm’s length thick!”
“Perhaps the only way is to blow a hole through the top,” proposed Paul.
“I don’t think we could carry enough explosives sir, the gliders wouldn’t be able to carry that sort of weight,” replied Max gruffly, clearly concerned that maybe they were biting off more than they could chew.
Paul thought back to his briefing by Oberleutnant Faust. It would have to be some sort of special explosive to get through this lot he thought.
“The cupola up there looks pretty solid to you sir?” enquired Max, pointing to where his commander had just descended.
Paul looked back at the rusty cupola, made of solid steel and probably as thick as a man’s fist.
“Dislodging that would not be easy Max, I agree.”
Again Paul thought back to his conversation with Faust, and the picture of the cone shaped charge he had been shown. Could it really blow a hole in something like that? If that was the case, he was unable to share the information with his number two.
“You wouldn’t catch me fighting in a place like this all the same sir,” he shuddered, “It’s a death trap!”
“You’ve got to get near it first Max, then breach it.”
“I know that sir; I can now see the benefit of the gliders. If they could land us behind one of these things we would give them a nasty surprise,” said Max more cheerfully.
“Yes indeed, if we can be on top of them, in the dark, before they know what’s hit them, it would make a world of difference.”
“One of our targets is meant to be very similar to this, except it’s got three seventy five millimetre guns, and they are all forward facing,” added Max.
“Yes, a dry run on this site will definitely be good practice for us. Get the men together Max, it’s time we did some practice runs.”
Max headed off to round up the troops and Paul headed outside.
Although it wasn’t a bright day, a normal dull winter’s day, the brightness still blinded him when he exited the steel doorway leaving the dark interior behind him.
He climbed back up the steps and quickly walked to where the platoon’s trucks were parked, along with the equipment they had brought with them.
Fischer was already there, with his assault troop gathered around him, probably talking through the approach they were going to take in order to secure the site.
Paul called over to him, “how long do you need Fischer?”
“Another ten minutes sir, I just want to quickly go through a dry run.”
“Ok, you have ten minutes,” confirmed Paul.
The rest of the platoon had drifted back to their makeshift headquarters and Paul went over to his troop to see how Konrad was progressing.
Leeb was first up with a frontal assault. Not necessarily the best approach, but if the targets weren’t secured either side and they were unable to get beyond the front of the target, it may be their only option.
Leeb’s men positioned themselves ready and Max gave the order to commence.
Geister and Beiler were in position with an MG34, and immediately opened fire on the casemate, spraying the Cupola and the embrasures to keep the heads down of the fictitious enemy defending.
At precisely the time they opened fire, Petzel and Jordan jumped up from the grass throwing two smoke grenades each, which within moments, produced a billowing cloud obscuring the front of the complex within seconds.
There was a slight Easterly breeze that had Leeb not anticipated it, by having the grenades thrown slightly to the left, the cloud would have quickly cleared away the smoke screen, exposing the attackers to the defenders weapons. As it was, the smoke screen drifted nicely across the front of the bunker, hiding the attackers.
Again Paul thought about Leeb’s future prospects, and yes he would make a good platoon Feldwebel.
Paul was swiftly drawn back to the scene unfolding in front of him, as Leeb, Fessman and Stumme, carrying a now unfolded ladder, popped up and charged towards the bunker, throwing the ladder up against it to the side of the centre embrasure, directly in between two of the embrasures.
The MG34 had ceased fire, and Petzel and Jordan, having completed their task of throwing the smoke grenades ran towards t
he right hand embrasure to guard against a surprise attack from the defenders, should they leave the safety of their concrete hide to swat these impertinent paratroopers off.
They disappeared into the smoke and as it started to clear, Paul could make out Leeb, closely followed by Stumme, climbing the ladder with enough explosives, they hoped, to destroy the observation cupola, blinding the bunkers guardians.
Fessman, in the meantime, had approached the central embrasure, crouching beneath it, and was placing an explosive device, attached on the end of a long pole, through the gaps in between the concrete walls of the stepped embrasure and the seventy-five millimetre gun.
Petzel and Jordan were crouched down between the embrasures covering the backs of their comrades.
That done, and Leeb having placed the dummy explosives on the cupola, they all returned to the makeshift HQ.
There were no explosions, other than the smoke grenades, as all the explosives used were dummies. The only similarity to the explosives they would use for the real thing was the weight. They would get to use them in anger at a later date in their training programme.
The platoon reviewed the action of the Leeb’s assault troop and all agreed that it went well. Not the best approach to attack from the front, but if they had to, it couldn’t have been done any better. How they would have fared had it been manned, was another story.
The next two assault troops, Paul and Fischer’s, carried out their dummy attacks, again both were conducted successfully. But, all knew that against a determined enemy, the outcome had the potential to be very different.
Max’s assault troop was ready to kick off.
Again, an MG34 was the opening gambit, with swathes of steel splattering the face of the bunker, followed by the ubiquitous smoke grenades.
But this time, Geyer, who was armed with a flamethrower, leapt up and opened fire on the right hand gun position.
A stream of ignited, flammable liquid shot out towards the casemate, blasting a gap through the smoke screen, exposing the embrasure to its tormentor.
The flame engulfed the embrasure, spewing flames through the gaps left to allow the thirty millimetre gun to swivel from side to side.
Had the bunker been occupied, the men inside would have smelt the fuelled flame, felt the scorching heat and if unlucky, been splattered by the burning fuel, instantly igniting their clothes and possibly the ammunition next to them.
The stream of flame bouncing off the armaments, the walls and ceiling, potentially igniting the ammunition stored inside was a devastating weapon.
The other effect, apart from the sheer psychological impact on the defenders inside, was its hunger for oxygen. If not killing them by fire or explosion, then it would suck out the precious oxygen inside the bunker, depriving them of life that way.
Geyer ceased fire, handing the weapon over to Rammelt, giving him an opportunity to continue with the two-second bursts of death and destruction, expanding his experience of handling this deadly and unforgiving weapon.
They ceased firing, and the rest of Max’s assault troop placed dummy explosives on the steel door, which once disabled, allowed them to toss grenades inside, followed by the complete occupation of the bunker complex.
The bunker was a blackened mass, some areas of it still on fire, either from the burning gel, or as a result of the still searing heat.
Max and his team came out after only a few moments, in the bunker with their faces blackened.
They all grouped together for a post exercise review. The exercise had been beneficial. They now knew what they were truly up against, and if their final target was of a similar standing to this one, they were in for a tough time. That assault for real, they had little doubt, would be staunchly defended.
They packed up their gear, stowed it on the vehicles and headed to a local camp for the night, before returning to their camp back in Hildesheim.
It was a good practice session, but Max and the rest of the platoon were still not aware of the target. Later that week after further explosives training they were sent to some Polish fortifications to see the impact of conventional explosives on a real target.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
After their initial introduction to the DFS 230 glider, they spent many hours practicing getting on and off the fragile aircraft. They established the best way to position themselves within the glider and found that it was best to straddle the small central seat, one behind the other, facing the front of the aircraft.
Their gear would be stored, in the main, beneath their seats, held in place by their jump boots, the remainder hitched to the sides of the glider or to the tubular steel framework.
Large items had to be secure. If they broke loose during flight, it could cause mayhem for the paratroopers inside the glider, with their limited space and the restrictions on movement. Or, it could impact on the trim of the glider making it difficult for the pilot to control, or even damaging the glider and potentially making it totally unairworthy. On landing, the sudden deceleration from a speed in the region of one hundred plus kilometres per hour, to zero in a matter of seconds, would mean that any loose item would be a real danger to the crafts occupants.
Lieutenant Krause, and his glider pilots, not only had to learn to fly an un-laden glider, but also had learnt to fly the DFS-230s fully laden with equipment and troops. It was one thing to fly an empty glider, but the handling characteristics were very different when fully loaded with troops and their equipment. Equally, it could be quite disconcerting with Fallschirmjager on board breathing down your neck. Getting used to their ribaldry could be a distraction for a pilot not used to the Fallschirmjager’s sense of humour.
Today it was Paul’s platoons turn for their first flight in a glider. They had loaded the glider the previous day in the configuration they had finally arrived at after many hours of discussions and trials to get it right. They were particularly concerned about getting quick and easy access to the special weapons.
The lead Junkers pilot was given the signal to take off, and the throttles were pushed forward with the engine revolutions increasing until a tumultuous roar, almost in anger, and the tugging at the planes brakes, told the pilot the Junkers was ready to be released.
It was usually a slow, cumbersome aircraft, but then it was never meant to have been a thoroughbred fighter plane. But this day, it had to act as a tug, hauling a ponderous cargo behind it, a fully laden glider packed with paratroopers and their equipment.
Paul’s assault troop was in the first glider, followed by Max, Leeb and Fischer in the remaining flight of the four gliders.
Paul looked forward; he was sat in the number two position, directly behind the pilot. Although the pilot, Hempel, now a key member of Paul’s assault troop, didn’t appear nervous, he was anxiously checking and double checking his controls.
His safety was as dependent on his skill as a pilot, as were his passengers.
The tow-rope grew ever taught as the Tante June started to inch forward, but the glider remained where it was.
Paul didn’t want to distract the pilot during take-off, but he did need to ask the question “is there a problem Hempel?”
“No sir, all’s well, were just trying to ensure the tow-rope is taught enough before we go for it, otherwise there will be too much of a jerk and it may snap or come away.”
Just as the pilot had responded to Paul’s troubled question, the tension was suddenly broken and the glider jerked forwards, slowly trailing its attendant aircraft.
As the towing aircraft gained speed, with the glider following in its path, the pilot pulled back on the stick and the Junkers wing wheels gradually left the runway, its parasite still in tow.
In spite of the Junkers leaving the runway, the glider pilot kept the stick straight, clearly waiting until he was satisfied that the glider had reached take off velocity before committing to the rotation.
The pilot satisfied, he pulled back on the joystick, and the glider too started to leave the runway behin
d.
Paul watched through the cockpit side window, fascinated as the buildings and vehicles at the side of the runway flashed by faster and faster.
Its ungainly undercarriage was finally left behind on the runway and the airfield it had been struggling to leave was suddenly disappearing rapidly beneath them.
Paul clasped the pilot on the shoulder and said, “Looking good.”
“So far so good, sir,” he responded, but his eyes never left the tow plane or the flight instruments. In fact, his eyes danced over the controls and the Junkers constantly checking the position of his tow and the trim of the glider.
Both pilots of the towing aircraft and the glider relaxed slightly, the trickiest element of the takeoff having been completed successfully. All the Junkers pilot had to do now was get into the right position and order the release of the glider.
For Hempel though, his job would then, in reality, truly start.
They continued to climb, pushing to attain a ceiling of a thousand metres, hedges and trees below becoming smaller and smaller as they unhurriedly crept to their zenith.
The glider pilot, leaned back towards Paul, “we’ll be released soon sir, then I will bank the glider round to bring her in for a landing.”
“Feeling good Hempel?” inquired Paul.
“You’re in good hands sir, it’s not just you that I have to get down safely, I want to enjoy a good life too,” he countered with a grin.
Paul had every faith in him as a pilot and as a member of his assault troop.
Recognising that the pilots were an indispensable member of the assault force, Faust had ordered that they become a part of their relevant troop and train with them in all aspects of the operation.
Not only would they be a valuable member of the team, bringing additional firepower and able to carry some of the weighty explosives, they would in fact be one of the first out of the glider when it landed. They would be in a position to provide some immediate security for the rest of the troop while they extracted themselves from the body of the aircraft.
Paul passed the word back that the tow-rope was about to be released and it was passed down the line.
