by Harvey Black
“It’s gone sir,” shouted the pilot.
The pilot gently pulled the stick around and slightly up, compensating for the height he knew they would lose in the turn. The glider tilted and Paul shouted back the command to brace.
He could feel the glider losing height, as if the glider knew that it’s tormentor could no longer control it and it could now drop back down to the earth.
He looked through the cockpits left side window, watching the ground getting clearer as they lost height. Looking forward he could see the pilot firmly gripping the joystick, keeping control as the glider bucked, caught by a cross wind, throwing it sideways.
But, the pilot was good; he knew his stuff and soon had the glider back on track.
Looking over the pilots shoulder at the altimeter, Paul could see that they were below five hundred metres, confirmed by the ever-increasing speed at which the trees and fences were passing by below.
“Standby, standby,” shouted the pilot, not looking at Paul on this occasion. He had his hands well and truly full, coaxing this one tonne dead weight to a safe landing on the ground.
There was no runway, just a field.
Paul shouted back again to his troop. “Brace! Brace! Brace!”
He could see very little now, the pilot had pulled back on the stick to gain a little extra lift to slow them down and flatten out the aircraft to prevent them from ploughing into the ground nose first.
He wondered what it was like for the men in the back, they would be completely blind to what was happening and the glider only had a few very small, low windows.
Then they hit, slowing from a speed of a fast train to one of a motor car in a matter of seconds, they were immediately thrown forwards, holding on to their seats, bracing themselves for the impact that wanted to tear them out of their positions, shoving them into the man in front of them.
The glider scraped along the ground, the pilot had made a perfect landing, now it was in the hands of the ground, the gliders central ski and the barbed wire attached to help slow it down.
They stopped suddenly. The wing flipped over onto the ground and the pilot unbuckled his harness, stepped up onto his seat, unlatching the cockpit and pushing it up and over, leaping out onto the front and down.
Paul followed suit, climbing on the seat as the pilot had done, having to duck more due to his height, and levered himself up with both elbows, careful not to catch his machine pistol as he pulled himself through and joined the glider pilot on the ground in a defensive position.
Inside the glider, Forster had kicked out the hardboard hatch, to clear the egress from the body of the plane, ducked under the wing and out, running around to the tail of the plane to secure the rear of their position.
He was quickly followed by Straube, Kienitz, Kempf, Weyer, Forster and Konrad, who formed a circle around the glider, securing their position.
Paul shouted the all clear and they formed up at the front to share their experiences.
They chattered like monkeys, any fear or anxieties they had about flying in the glider and landing on the ground dissolved.
They gathered around the pilot clapping him on the back, laughing and joking. He had just become the eighth member of the troop, having more than earned his place.
Paul looked across the field at the other three gliders that had just landed and could see Max, his heavy-set figure unmistakable, talking to his men.
Max looked over, saw his commander surveying the landed gliders, and held his thumbs up for him to see. Giving Paul the message that all the gliders had landed successfully and safely, he knew that the safety of his platoon would be at the forefront of his mind.
All they had to do now was land at dusk, over enemy territory and attack a well-armed target.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The preparation for the assault on the three bridges crossing the Albert Canal just west of Maastricht was near completion, as were Group Granite’s preparations. The assault force was all but ready to conduct the assault on the Belgian fortress, Eben Emael.
Training had started immediately when they had gathered together at Hildesheim, and now they had been practicing and developing their tactics for over six months and were as close to being ready as they would ever be.
Some of the best glider pilots in the country had been conscripted into the experimental, transport glider command. It was commanded by Lieutenant Krause, who, in November nineteen thirty nine, got his marching orders to immediately move from Gibenat to Hildesheim, leaving the training of glider pilots there, to others.
They had been training extensively on the DFS 230 glider, starting with flying empty gliders adding cargo, and ultimately, passengers, the Fallschirmjager, who they were going to transport into battle.
They had resolved all of the issues that had arisen. From the way the explosives and weapons were lashed to the rear and the sides of the glider, to slowing the glider down on landing. By wrapping barbed wire around the central ski and through using braking board, they were able to stop close to the target.
The pilots had excelled themselves, after a shaky start, and were now consistently landing within twenty metres of their chosen target. That was in ideal conditions, they were yet to be tested under fire, over a strange target and under combat conditions.
The paratroopers too had worked hard to prepare for the undertaking ahead of them. Their levels of fitness had been honed to perfection, as both Hauptman Kaufmann and Oberleutnant Faust were firm believers that physical fitness was a key factor to the success of the mission.
They had frequently practiced carrying their equipment from their pseudo glider-landing place to their target, which included the fifty kilogram hollow charged weapon. They practiced carrying it in two parts, one in each hand, running with them to their target and assembling them in a matter of seconds.
This they had to do at night and they also practiced blindfold, so it became second nature to them.
Secrecy had been paramount during their training and the build up to the assault on the fort. Should it become known to the Belgian forces that the German army was to use Gliders in an attack or they had the new hollow charge weapon that could pierce twenty-five centimetres of steel, it would have seriously jeopardised the mission.
In fact, two Fallschirmjager had been sentenced to death as they had inadvertently disclosed who they were to some civilians. This was later reprieved, and they participated in the action.
Faust had a tough task on his hands and was unable to disclose the location to his assault force, which made it difficult to plan and train for the operation.
To help provide a semi-realistic training programme, Faust superimposed the objectives dimensions on the training ground; this helped them to develop the tactics necessary to secure their kill.
At first, they only had plans and documents of their target to view, later photographs supplemented these.
Although initially scarce, towards the end of their training, information and intelligence slowly filtered through, released to them, as they got closer to their jump off date.
Some photographs had been taken overtly from Lufthansa flights flying over the target area. Picture postcards collected from tourists and visitors to the country were also used to increase their knowledge of the fort and the surrounding areas.
One big advantage they had was that two German companies had been involved as sub contractors on the construction of Fort Eben Emael. Interviewing these companies gave Faust’s team a deeper insight into the construction of the fort.
As the quality and volume of photographs increased, they underwent stereoscopic analysis to better evaluate the targets depth and associated dead ground, further improving their knowledge.
As a result of this additional intelligence they were able to build a sandbox, a three dimensional representation of the target improving on the plans and photographs. This was added to daily as new reconnaissance photography was updated.
Later they were given a model of t
he target, made by one of the glider pilots, giving them an even better feel for the layout and complexity of their quarry.
They had completed a rehearsal in April, now it was time for a full rehearsal, a final one.
Previously they had been placed in the locations where they would be expected to land as if they had been in a glider, and on the sound of a whistle, to signify that they had landed, were then free to sprint to the target, carrying their full range of equipment, and carry out the assault.
This final rehearsal would involve a full glider landing, consisting of the flotilla of eleven gliders and eighty-eight Fallschirmjager.
Paul was in the hangar; with his four assault teams, going through the final briefing before commencing the exercise.
“Unterfeldwebel Grun, Fischer, Leeb, Kienitz, front and centre,” ordered Paul, leaving the rest of the soldiers to continue with their last minute equipment checks.
They had been given the approximate date of their mission, which was only a week away. This rehearsal was crucial.
This was to be an exhaustive final check of their preparations. If there were any flaws in their strategy or tactics, this would be the last opportunity to iron them out. It was unlikely, they had pursued every likely occurrence that could impact on their mission, and they had trained to counter every conceivable incident.
“The gliders are in situ,” confirmed Paul.
“Are they hooked up to their tows?” asked Leeb
“Yes and the pilots are doing their final checks. Max, are you happy with the stowage of your equipment?”
“Yes sir checked and double checked.”
“Leeb?”
“I’ve had Geister check it over independently, all is ready sir.”
“Fischer?”
“As ready as we’ll ever be sir.”
“Kienitz and I have both been over ours, it looks like all is ship shape then. We load in twenty minutes, gather the men together Max.”
Once they had grouped themselves around their platoon commander, he spoke to them quietly, but confidently.
“Well, this is the final practice. We’ve done this before, we know what we’re doing, and there’s no reason for it not to be a success.”
He looked around the group, they were fit, had trained hard in practicing their tactics and handled explosive like it was second nature to them.
He caught Fischer’s eye, who nodded, he was ready. Kienitz gave him the thumbs up. Leeb beamed, as confident as ever. And Max? Well Max never seemed perturbed, his confidence unshakable, and seeing his staunch sergeant, banished any brooding thoughts he may have had.
“We’ve been through hundreds of dry runs. Treat this like the real thing, and remember, go in hard, go in fast. Troop two with me, let’s go.”
The paratroopers picked up their personal weapons, whether it was an MP 40 or Kar 98, and walked out into the coolness of the early morning air. It was still quite chilly, although the temperature would rise above fifteen degrees during the day. It was three thirty in the morning, still dark; dawn wasn’t due for another hour, the time of their landing.
The gliders, with their tugs, were all lined up on the runway, and Paul’s assault troops made their way to their respective transport.
Paul saw Faust walking over to him, accompanied by Hauptman Kaufmann. They were in combat mode, so no saluting; instead they shook hands and wished each other good luck.
Paul left them and headed over to his glider, glider number two, his would be the second to land; Leeb’s being the first.
He popped his head through the door, ducking under the wing, and saw that the pilot was in position, in his cockpit seat, already strapped in and ready to go.
“A fine morning for a flight sir,” said Hempel cheerfully, “but a bit bloody cold.”
“A bit of exercise will soon warm you up,” shouted Forster from somewhere towards the rear of the plane.
“So, when do we get refreshments?” shouted Kempf.
Then the laughter started, jokes passed to and fro, releasing the tensions that were inherent before the start of any operation of importance. None wanting to fail, none wanting to let their mates down.
“Looks like I have a plane full of comedians’ sir,” countered Hempel smiling.
Paul looked to the right, “how are the first class seats back there?”
Konrad, who would be sat directly behind Paul during the flight, answered, “the children are a bit lively sir, but they’ll settle down once the airsickness sets in.”
Paul felt a tap on his shoulder and extracted himself from the main body of the glider.
“It’s time to load and secure sir,” said a Luftwaffe airman, who was obviously acting as runner for Oberleutnant Faust.
Before Paul could say thank you, the airman had shot off to warn the next glider crew to get ready. The excitement was discernible; this was probably the biggest thing to have occurred since the airman’s recruit training days.
Paul took one last look around, climbed into the glider and helped Konrad secure the kick out panel.
Paul touched the Pilots shoulder, “how long do you think?”
A matter of minute’s sir, you can see, it’s getting lighter already,” he said pointing up into the slowly lightening sky.
Paul looked out of the window, and could see the beginnings of dawn. This would only be a short flight to the target, the aim was to practice a full landing and an assault on their targets, not to test the pilots flying abilities, they had already proven themselves to be competent in both take off, transiting and landing.
The aim of this rehearsal was to hone their ground tactics. Their very last opportunity to correct any faults before they enacted the real thing.
“The Junkers is powering up his engines sir, not long now.”
Paul shouted back to his troop, passing on the pilot’s information.
He looked round, with difficulty as they were so tightly packed, Konrad was leaning sideways so his officer could see better. Although it was starting to lighten up outside, inside was still dark and all he could see were their mudded faces and the whites of their teeth showing through their grins.
These were his men, they would not let him down, and he would not let them down.
There was the sudden bright light of a flare, flickering above the cockpit, travelling higher in the sky.
“That’s the signal sir, were on our way, “informed Hempel.
Paul heard Konrad passing the message back.
The three engines of the Junkers screamed and the plane was soon pushing forwards, dragging the reluctant glider along with it.
The sudden feeling in the pit of Paul’s stomach told him that they had left the ground and were climbing up towards their intended ceiling.
It seemed only a matter of minutes before the pilot informed Paul that they were releasing the glider. There was no sickening drop; the pilot had full control of his flight. The familiar banking to the left told Paul that they were losing height and that Hempel was positioning the glider and searching out his target.
“Got it sir,” he shouted out excitedly, we’re going down!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
It was the morning of ninth of May and they were at a new location, the airfield at Ostheim, near Cologne, some two hundred and forty kilometres from Hildesheim. The entire assault Group Granite had been moved there in some secrecy.
The camp was secured by barbed wire with rush matting used to block out any prying eyes and patrolled twenty-four hours a day by military guards.
Some elements of Sturmabteilung Kaufmann had joined them, other elements having been transferred to an alternative airfield close by at Butzweilerhof.
The paratroopers had been kicking their heels, and as the days got closer to the launch date for the operation, tension mounted. Their training now complete, all they had left to do was go over their mission again and again. Checking and double-checking that the team members all knew what was expected of them when the day
came.
Max was sat on the ground outside the building designated as their canteen for the short time they would be there. He sat with his back up against the brick wall, his feet stretched out in front of him, a glass of orange juice in his hand, passing the time of day with the three Uffz’s.
“Five days to go,” said Leeb to no one in particular.
“Getting close now boys,” added Max keeping the relaxed conversation going.
“Are your nervous Feld?” asked Fischer, sitting up. Until then he had been lying on the ground with his arm over his eyes as if asleep.
“Not nervous,” he responded, “just wanting our teams to do well. Not let the rest of granite down.”
“We’ve got it off pat now though,” threw in Kienitz.
“It’s never pat,” countered Max, “if the gliders are ok, if our pilots land us in the right place, if we land in one piece, if we get to the target and we come back alive, then it’s pat. All we can do is put into practice what we have been taught and trained to do.”
“I don’t think we can do anymore to prepare,” added Leeb.
“I don’t disagree,” supported Max, “you can over train. But we’ve done enough and I think we’re ready.”
Before anyone could add to, or comment on Max’s statement, Kienitz jumped up and pointed to some furniture vans driving into the base. “Is somebody moving in?” he queried.
“They’ve come from a big house,” added Fischer, “that’s the fifth vehicle that has just pulled up.
“Let’s go and take a look,” suggested Max, picking himself up off the grass, and heading over to the recently built hangars.
The three junior NCOs’ also leapt up to follow their platoon sergeant to investigate what was going on.
The hangar doors were being slid back as they arrived and one of the removal vans reversed into the cavernous space, alongside one that was already in place.
“It’s the gliders!” blurted out Leeb.
“They’re in bits,” added Kienitz
“The crafty buggers,” said Max as he ran his hands down the canvas side of one of the glider bodies.
