Devils with Wings

by Harvey Black

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Paul looked towards the front of the glider, and through the glazed removable cockpit, necessary for the exit of the pilot and himself; the rest leaving by the kick out panel at the side.

  Over the shoulder of the pilot, he could clearly see the searchlights stabbing the early morning sky with their beams, searching out the impudent enemy breaching their sovereignty. He shouted a warning to his men that the glider was about to be released.

  The Junkers aircraft towing the glider jolted and seemed to rear upwards, this was a result of releasing the dragging weight of the glider that for the last twenty minutes had been threatening to pull it out of the sky with its seemingly inability to fly independently.

  The one tonne glider took what felt like a sickening dive, now that it had lost its power source and almost its capability to fly anywhere but down. The glider was not necessarily designed for flight, but more a controlled decent. The pilot, Hempel, who had only completed twelve hours flight training, struggled and fought with the controls which appeared to want to tear his arms out of their sockets and control its own short lived destiny.

  Hempel shouted to Paul, “There’s no turning back now sir, it’s down all the way,” he said.

  He sounded relaxed, considering he had no engine and that the flak batteries somewhere down below were still trying to seek him out and bring him down quicker than he had planned.

  Hempel actually felt relaxed, he was in control now, and the lower they got, the harder it would be for the flak to get them.

  He didn’t want to wish ill on his colleagues, but it was likely their prey now would be the rumbling Junkers transports, rather than the silent gliders.

  “How long,” asked Paul?

  “I’d say about eight minute’s sir, the tugs released us a bit closer to the target than planned.”

  “Does that cause us any problems?”

  “Crossing the Dutch border under tow hasn’t helped; an armada of throbbing aircraft crossing into your airspace is hardly difficult to miss.”

  Paul had to agree, they had lost some of the element of surprise. He could only hope that the fortress garrison believed that an attack, if there was in fact going to be one, would occur elsewhere, their perceived invulnerability clouding their judgment.

  The glider shook as an explosion burst somewhere off to their right.

  “I think that was wide of the mark sir, I don’t think they have us in their sights now, we’re probably too low.”

  “ETA?”

  “No more than four minutes.”

  Paul called back to his men; it was time for them to complete their final checks. There wasn’t much they could do in the confined space.

  It was more about keeping them appraised of events. All they could really do is ensure that their weapon was ready, their magazine was secure and they could see any explosives they would need to exit the plane with, were close at hand.

  Some reached beneath their seat touching the equipment stored there, making sure it hadn’t moved since the last time they had checked, probably no more than a couple of minutes ago.

  It was a reflex action, nothing more.

  Hunched together, some whispered encouragement to each other, others ran through the sequence of events yet again, not wanting to fail their comrades and others hummed a song to themselves, or just waited in silent anticipation of what was to come.

  Another flash in the sky above them, the pilot had been correct, the enemy gunners were pursuing the impertinent Junkers pilots cursing them for their audacity in crossing their borders.

  As assault Group Granite headed towards its target, their comrades in the other assault groups were approaching their assigned objectives. Assault Group Steel in their transport gliders flew through a hail of anti aircraft fire as they approached the Belgian border and their target bridge, at Veldwezelt.

  Assault Group Concrete and Iron had flown too far over the Dutch border and the enemy had been alerted by the sound of the straining JU 52’s. They too were receiving the attention of the Dutch and Belgian defences.

  Lieutenant Brand was motioned to lean forward again towards the front of the shaking glider. The pilot proceeded to shout instructions into the officer’s ear.

  “It’s going to get a bit bumpy sir; I’m getting some cross winds, everyone to hold on tight.”

  Paul reiterated the warning to his men.

  “Stand by, stand by, yelled the pilot, two minutes!”

  The one hundred and one kilometre flight had taken them only thirty two minutes, soon they would be landing, soon they would be on their target, soon they would be in action.

  Paul turned around as best he could, to face Uffz Kienitz, his second in command, informing him of the situation, who in turn talked to Jager Straube.

  The message was passed along the line to each member of the troop, warning them that they were only two minutes away from their objective. The Fallschirmjager each checked their equipment again and in turn checked their comrades.

  A close-knit, crack unit like this recognised their interdependency on each other.

  Paul cast an eye over his troops as best he could, sat behind each other on the wooden bench down the middle of the tubular steel, linen covered aircraft. Some of them were obviously feeling airsick, resulting from the gliders well known instability in the air.

  Sat in the dark, with a constantly buffeting aircraft played havoc with your senses and they would no doubt look forward to the moment when they could exit the aircraft, no matter what that held in store for them.

  He thought about wishing them good luck, but that would sound down beat. They didn’t need luck, they just needed to do what they had been trained to do and were good at.

  One minute later Paul held up his arm indicating they were a minute away from landing.

  Paul gave the command to brace, and the other six Fallschirmjager behind him held on as if their life depended on it, and in some way it did. The glider curved round as the pilot shouted to Lieutenant Brand that the fort was in sight. The glider whistled as it plummeted further and further down and closer to the ground and closer to its target.

  Ten other gliders containing the remaining members of assault Group Granite were all streaking towards their respective target points on top of Fort Eben Emael.

  Paul shouted a final “Brace! Brace! Brace!” warning.

  Now there was anxiety in Hempel’s eyes as the glider got closer and closer to its target and subsequently closer to the ground. Not anxiety because of the impending action, but apprehensive of missing the target or even worse, crashing the glider and letting his comrades down.

  Their target was construction twelve, Maastricht one, a complex of three, seventy-five millimetre guns.

  The pilot could now see his target landing area, between construction eighteen and twelve and pulled back on the stick at the last minute in an attempt to put the glider into a semi stall, slowing it down before allowing the front of the skid to strike the ground.

  It struck with a nauseating thump that threatened to tear each man apart as they were thrown from side to side in the plane, like papier-mâché dolls.

  The glider screeched and scraped along the ground the barbed wire around the central skid acting as a brake trying to slow the glider down, the additional brake attached below also adding to the friction and braking effect.

  The paratroopers had been flung forward as the glider had touched down, and they remained where they were knowing the stopping force would get worse yet.

  Coming to a jarring halt as it swerved around to the right, on itself, tipping over onto its left wing, which shattered under the force, sending splinters of wood and pieces of fabric across the ground.

  There was almost a second of silence. The scrape of the glider on the roof of the fort had ceased, the wind was no longer whistling past and the grunts of the paratroopers thrown back and forth and side to side as they came into land had stilled.

  But Paul shattered
the silence, “Out! Out! Out!” he yelled at the top of his voce, shocking the gliders occupants into action.

  The front canopy of the glider was ripped open, pushed upwards and to the side.

  “Out quickly!” shouted Paul again.

  Speed was essential; they could now hear the shouts of alarm from the guards in the fort, immediately shaken out of their reverie by the sudden attack from the skies over their heads.

  To the south east, the anti-aircraft battery was in full swing, firing at the descending gliders, hoping to destroy them before they landed, or at least kill as many of the occupants as they could.

  That was Fischer’s target, they couldn’t help him; he was on his own.

  Hempel was up on his seat, launching himself out of the glider, jumping down from the left, the clear side of the cockpit, immediately taking up a defensive position to cover his comrades while they also exited.

  Paul also followed suit, seconds behind the pilot, the cockpit was also his best option for a fast exit.

  He crashed down by the side of the pilot, and seeing Maastricht one in the murky distance he congratulated the pilot for his accurate landing.

  “Well done Hempel, remind me to use you again.”

  Hempel smiled at the praise, but Paul didn’t see it, he was already making his way round to the side of the glider assessing their location on top of the fort as he went to meet the rest of the troop. He had put to memory every inch of this fortified stockade.

  Although the greater part of the forts weapons were placed to defend an attack from outside the fort, they did have weapons covering the flat, exposed centre. Both MI Nord and Maastricht two posed a significant threat to the landing gliders and were pre-destined to be targeted early in the operation.

  Paul hoped they would be successful, if not it would increase the danger to his team.

  Immediately on landing, Konrad had kicked out the side panel attached to the wall of the glider, pushing it aside as he too exited the plane as fast as he could, the rest of two troop leaping out of the aircraft behind him.

  The troop quickly moved left putting some distance between them and the glider that so far had not come under fire, but its large profile could possibly draw the attention of the fort’s defenders.

  They didn’t need any orders; they knew exactly what to do. Forster had grabbed the collapsible ladder; Straube and Kienitz each had one half of a fifty-kilogram charge in their hands, weighing them down heavily. Kempf and Weyer had set up the MG34 to cover the troop as it prepared its equipment ready to move forwards. Konrad had a twelve and a half kilogram charge on a strap around his neck and shoulder.

  Paul turned to his men to check they were all ready.

  A second glider struck the ground behind them.

  “That will be Uffz Fischer, hissed Kienitz, going for the AA battery.”

  A third troop glider hit the ground with a sickening crash, striking one of the small machine gun emplacements killing two Belgian soldiers who had ventured outside to seek the source of the pandemonium occurring outside.

  That would be Leeb, thought Paul, taking out Cupola Nord, south east of them.

  “Right, let’s go,” he shouted to his troop.

  Paul and Konrad led first as they were the least encumbered by equipment and explosives. Behind them ran Forster, Straube and Kienitz, Kempf and Weyer off to the right ready to cover them with sustained covering fire if necessary.

  Another glider landed to their west, probably Max going for Maastricht two, thought Paul

  A blinding flash lit up the dawn sky, followed quickly by the explosive sound of a German grenade going off in the distance, the action had well and truly started and Group Granite was in the process of subjugating the enemy fort.

  Then all hell broke loose, a Fallschirmjager off to Paul’s right went down, it was Weyer, a bullet into the right shoulder exiting out of his lower abdomen, a second bullet from an enemy rifle striking him in the chest, with a third in the leg meant it was unlikely he would survive the day.

  Kempf dove to the ground, grabbed the MG 34 off the badly wounded Weyer, and in the prone position pulled the machine gun into his shoulder ready to fire. Once he could see any tell tale flashes of gunfire, he would give them some of their own medicine, he thought.

  They would have to leave Weyer to his own devices for the moment, the mission had to take priority; there were other German lives depending on their actions today.

  “Hempel, strip Weyer of any MG belts, quickly,” called Paul, “we need to get of here, and we’re too exposed.”

  Hempel quickly complied, rapidly crawling over to where injured soldier lay and taking the spare ammunition belts for the MG34 from around Weyer’s shoulders.

  A second Fallschirmjager cried out as two bullets zipped passed him; Paul dived for cover and returned fire along with the other members of the troop. The other troops were also experiencing fire as the enemy recovered from their initial shock.

  Although Kempf was on his own now, with the MG34, he quickly put down some covering fire, which seemed to do the trick and the enemy went to ground.

  They were again up on their feet; they had just fifty paces to get to their target, which was now clearly visible.

  They skirmished forward, the ankle high grass swishing as it was brushed and trampled by the Para jump boots. Every time Paul hit the deck the air was forced from his lungs and no matter how much training you did, no matter how fit you were, under intense combat conditions your breathing was always laboured.

  They were twenty paces from their target and could see the three embrasures angled away from them, the home of the three, seventy-five millimetre guns.

  The sky lit up to their right, obviously one of the other troops had been successful in their attack on their objective, or at least were attempting to take out a target.

  They were now facing west and were situated south east of the target casemate.

  Their target was now in front of them, they had approached it from its front left side, so they were invisible from the embrasures, but not necessarily the observation cupola on the top.

  Paul quickly shouted instructions to his men. The instructions were brief, they had practiced this so many times, and apart from Weyer being badly wounded, it seemed little different from their last rehearsal. They all knew their respective roles and were in complete control.

  “Kempf, set up the MG around the front to cover us, Hempel, you’re his number two.”

  Kempf picked up the MG34 again and followed by his new number two, Hempel, scooted to the front corner of the casemate to cover his comrades from an attack in that direction.

  “Konrad rear side cover, I will join you shortly.”

  Konrad didn’t reply, just made his way into position.

  They were now covered from a surprise attack from three hundred and sixty degrees.

  Paul didn’t need to say anything to the rest, they were already in action.

  Forster had assembled the portable ladder, placed it up against the casemate and was covering the southern arc, while Straube and Kienitz heaved their charges up the ladder.

  Straube peered over the top of the casemate, before taking the last step up on the ladder. He lifted the heavy charge and placed it gently on the concrete roof in front of him before heaving himself up on to the top.

  He crouched down and moved to the side, casting his eyes over the top of the bunker, it was quiet. He moved the charge across, so it was now at his side, covering Kienitz as he joined him on top of the bunker.

  They could see the armoured observation dome at the other end of the concrete casemate, and headed for it as quickly as they could. Straube, who was in front, felt sure he had seen a pair of eyes glinting at them through the observation slit.

  “Better be quick Uffz, I think we’ve been seen by the occupants,” he hissed back to Kienitz.

  “Once they get a taste of this lot, they’ll have other things on their mind,” retorted Kienitz, as he heaved the lowe
r twenty-five kilogram element of the hollow charge weapon on to the top of the dome.

  He could see lights inside the bunker and smelt what seemed like rotten eggs, obviously the consequence of an enclosed space continuously occupied by men.

  Straube followed suit with the top half of the device and began to assemble it ready for setting the fuse.

  In the background he could hear the fire-fights in the distance, but was sure he could also hear a clambering sound beneath the dome and the sound of someone out of breath.

  Time to go he thought.

  Just as he had finished connecting the two parts, a fire-fight started below them between the Fallschirmjager’s MG and some Belgian soldiers who had decided to venture out of their bunker to see what was happening.

  Straube must have been correct in his thinking that they had been spotted through the domes slits.

  They heard a clunk as an object bounced off the steel dome and landed at Kienitz’s feet.

  He looked down, his eyes widened in disbelief.

  “Fucking hell,” he screamed realising it was an enemy grenade. His reactions were swift, dropping his rifle to the roof of the bunker and in one sweep of his right hand; he had the grenade up and thrown back down to his unknown attackers. The heavy thump of the detonation was clearly heard as it exploded amongst the Belgian soldiers who had launched it in the hope of sweeping the impudent paratroopers off their fort.

  It had backfired. That, and the devastating fire coming from the troop’s machine gun proved too much for them and they scuttled back into their protective shell.

  Straube had completed the assembly of the device now, and set the ten-second fuse.

  Go, go, go!” He shouted, counting out as he charged towards the other end of the casemate, Kienitz close on his heels.

  “Nine,” they had reached the top of the ladder.

  “Eight,” Straube swung his rifle, on its sling, round to his back and lowered his legs onto the ladder and scooted down.

  “Seven,” Kienitz followed suit and they both landed with a thump besides Paul.

  “Bugger, sir, that was a close one,” exclaimed Kienitz

  “Six,” never mind that Kienitz, it’s time we weren’t here.