Devils with Wings

by Harvey Black

  “It’s not just blown a hole, it’s shattered the door completely, taking it off its hinges!” exclaimed Petzel

  “Excellent, but we’ll still take out the observation dome as well,” informed Leeb.

  “Fessman,” he hissed, bring up those small charges, hurry let’s get this done”, he ordered, impatient to get their task completed.

  “Stumme, Petzel, chuck some grenades through the entrance and spray it with machine gun fire, quickly, before they come round.”

  Fessman ran forwards, Beiler at his side with the ladder. He thumped the ladder up against the bunker side; noise no longer an issue, the enemy was well aware of their presence by now.

  Fessman scurried up the ladder, keen to get the job done, the weariness of his legs forgotten for the moment, the task his priority.

  Once on top he ran rapidly to the dome, placing both charges on top, setting the fuses, and counting down in his head as he sped back to the ladder.

  He practically fell down the ladder in his haste to get away before the charges detonated, nearly crashing into his comrade looking up, watching out for him.

  In the meantime Stumme and Petzel hand thrown two grenades each through the opening and after firing a full magazine in for good measure, they could hear no activity.

  “Fire in the hole!” shouted Fessman. They all hit the deck, the charge erupting a few seconds afterwards.

  They waited for a few minutes for the dust to settle, then shone their torches in to the darkened interior of the obliterated artillery battery. There was no sign of life, but it was obvious that the bunker could not be used to fulfil its purpose of firing on the bridges over the canal.

  Rejoining their troop, they held a quick con-flab.

  “Well done,” praised Leeb, pleased with their nights work.

  “We’re done here guys; this is what we’re going to do. Stumme, Petzel, rejoin Menzel, get the prisoners and bring them over to MiNord, got that?”

  “And you sir?” questioned Petzel.

  The rest of us will head over to MiNord ahead of you, in case there’s a problem. I don’t want you turning up with prisoners and walking into a trap.”

  “We’ll be off then,” with that they both headed towards where they’d left the glider, their pilot and the Belgian prisoners.

  He gathered the remaining four of his assault troop and they headed northeast towards MiNord.

  The route there was uneventful, but gunfire and explosions were still occurring around the perimeter of the fortress.

  They were met at the HQ by one of the sentries and quickly taken to Paul.

  Once there, he could see that Fischer, Kienitz and the Unterfeldwebel had already arrived.

  He received claps on his back from his two fellow Uffz’s, who were naturally pleased to see their comrade safe and well.

  “Have you done it?” Asked Paul and Max in unison, both having just joined the group and keen for an update.

  “Yes sir, those charges certainly do the trick, blew the steel door right off its hinges, made a right mess of the bunker inside. And the rest of you?”

  Fischer jumped in first, “not so hot on our target, didn’t penetrate the turret, we had to blow the barrels in the end.”

  “But it’s finished?”

  “Definitely, they’ll not be firing again.”

  “Sir,” interposed Max, “we haven’t got time for a school boy update.”

  “Quite right Unterfeldwebel Grun, the bunker, we have plans to make.”

  The Uffz’s faces reddened, recognising that they had been chattering like teenagers swapping stories, while a war was still going on around them.

  They headed for MiNord, for a council of war.

  They gathered around their platoon Commander, Max and Oberfeldwebel Waechter.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Oberst Whilhelm Meisters’s Infantry Regiment, with a Pioneer Battalion attached, commanded by Oberstleutnant Hans Metzger, was to spearhead the German advance to Eben Emael.

  Metzger’s primary mission was to complete the capture of the fort and as a consequence relieve the hard-pressed assault group granite.

  The Oberstleutnant, responsible for the attached Pioneer Battalion, ran up to the command tent pushing the tent flaps aside, seeking out his Regimental Commander.

  The forty year old Commander was bent over the map table, studying the routes allocated to his units to get them to their objective. The roads would no doubt be severely congested, he thought. Various units would be given priority, his included, in order to pave the way for the bigger, heavier formations following close behind.

  “They’ve managed to blow the bloody bridge over the Maas!” he said as he stormed into the tent.

  The Leipzig born Oberst, looked up, “What’s being done about it?”

  Metzger joined him by the map table, “an assault bridge is being put up now, sir”

  “How long’s that going to take, we’re behind the schedule already?” he demanded, looking down at his watch frustrated by the destruction of the bridges in Maastricht, now slowing his advance.

  “We hope to have it ready by midday sir.”

  Metzger, his broad face with wide narrow mouth and flattish nose, pointed to the map, “we’re taking this route, and providing the bridge is ready on time we could be starting to cross within the hour.”

  “We’ve got to get to the Fort Hans, those paratroopers will be in the thick of it already and we don’t know how long they can hold out for.”

  “Or even if they’ve succeeded sir.”

  “I have every confidence in them,” he said, moving around to the other side of the map table, pointing to the fort, but if they don’t succeed; then we’ve got to secure it.”

  “If they don’t knock out at least some of those guns, it’ll cause mayhem at the crossing points.”

  “Don’t remind me,” he responded, reflecting on the immensity of the responsibility on his and the Fallschirmjager units shoulders, “what’s your planned route after the Maas?” he continued.

  “Still the Kanne bridge sir,” he said pointing to the crossing at the southern point of the canal, “we can go down Canner weg, that way we can avoid the built up areas,” he said tracking the route with his finger.

  “Ok Hans, just do it,” he ordered, the frustration clearly etched on his face, “the entire bloody army is waiting on us.”

  “We’ll get it done sir,” he said, starting to move towards the exit, itching to get back to his command.

  “Get off with you then Hans, I’ll move my HQ to the Kanne Bridge, you can update me when I get there.”

  Metzger flashed a quick salute, then brushing the tent flap aside rushed out, jumping into the passenger seat of the Steiner jeep, waiting for him outside, with its engine still running.

  “Let’s go Gunther,” he commanded his adjutant.

  “How’s the old man sir?”

  “Frustrated as hell, but at least he didn’t chew me out.”

  The Major steered the Steiner expertly through the busy streets, all of the traffic military, the civilians still in a state of shock, staring at the invaders as they passed by.

  They cleared the built up area travelling north along the edge of the Maas, a barrier they needed to cross quickly.

  They started to enter the built up area again, a mix of shops and commercial premises. Just as they were approaching the bridge, the one that was no longer available to them, having been blown up by the Dutch engineers, they were stopped at a barrier, manned by a section of Chain Dogs, Military Police.

  The Oberstleutnant returned the Feldwebel’s salute and impatiently handed over his orders.

  The policeman scrutinised the orders, not seeming in any particular hurry.

  “Damn you man, let us through quickly, we have a bloody war to fight, not sit here while you scratch your arse.”

  “We need to check all documents sir,” the policeman replied officiously.

  “Listen Feldwebel, it says on that
docket that we are to be given priority over all other units, if you can’t fucking read that then get an officer here who can,” his anger growing by the minute.

  The Feldwebel knew he was on dodgy ground, and the officer was an Oberstleutnant, so he shouted to the soldier, who was manning the barrier to lift it and let them through.

  Metzger flicked his hand in a mock salute and the Steiner roared through the barrier which the soldier barely had time lift up and was sure at one point that the jeep was going to hit it.

  “I know we need Military Police, but they don’t half take their duties to the extreme at times,” grumbled Metzger.

  “They certainly pick their moment’s sir,” agreed Hoffmann, smiling. He knew that military police baiting was one of the Oberst’s favourite pastimes.

  They got to the site where the assault bridge was being assembled across the Maas, the pontoons and boats being floated out in to the centre.

  When questioned how long they would be, the bridging unit informed them at least another hour.

  By midday, the assault bridge was complete and the Pioneer Battalion was allowed to cross, their task being the most urgent.

  Once they had crossed over, the Battalion took a narrow road that ran close alongside a smaller inland waterway that linked the Maas with the Albert canal.

  This time they had a Military Police escort, ensuring they had a fast passage to the Kanne Bridge. Parked either side of the road was the paraphernalia of war, tanks, armoured cars, Infantry sat on the roadside, smoking cigarettes and passing the time waiting for the call to go forward and into action, small arms fire and artillery pounding in the distance.

  By late afternoon the lead elements of the Pioneer Battalion reached Kanne.

  Metzger looked out of the side window; a flight of Stuka’s droned by overhead, en route to inflict more pain on an enemy already in a state of shock after the events of the day.

  His thoughts were sharply brought back to his immediate vicinity as the jeep slid to a halt, a half-track blocking the road.

  He was out of the vehicle in double quick time, recognising the Oberfeld as one of his advanced guard.

  “What’s the problem he demanded?!”

  The Oberfeld saluted, “the bridge has been blown sir.”

  “God, not another one!”

  Hoffmann appeared at his side, “problem sir?”

  “You might call it that; the Kanne Bridge is down as well.”

  They were again to be frustrated, this time by the demolition of their second crossing point. This was the designated route for the combat engineers, so Metzger had to come up with an alternative plan.

  “Christ, this isn’t going our way at all is it, what about one of the other bridges?”

  “Even if they’re open, it’s too far to move there now. Anyway, we’d never get our lot through the traffic that’s backing up.”

  “Bridging operation?” suggested Hoffmann.

  “Take too long, times not on our side Gunther, and we’re running out of it.”

  “Excuse me sir,” interrupted the Oberfeld, there’s always the boats.”

  “Of course, the boats, how many men could we get over?”

  “That’s high risk sir,” challenged Hoffmann, “we only have the four and eight man rubber boats.”

  “We’ve no option Hartwig, we’ve got to get across now. I want Oberleutnant Wolf ’s company down to the canal as quickly as possible.”

  He turned to Oberfeld Pfeifer, “where are the boats?”

  “They’re with the Oberleutnant’s company sir, they were sharing transport.”

  “Excellent, right let’s move it.”

  He turned to Pfeifer, “re-join your platoon, Oberfeld.”

  He laid his hand on the man’s arm, “and thank you,” then he turned and dashed back to the Steiner, Hoffmann already revving the engine.

  They arrived at the company position, the company that had the un-envious task of crossing the exposed canal, probably under fire. Although by the time they were ready to cross it would be close to dusk, there would still be enough light to make their crossing difficult.

  Metzger quickly got down to briefing the young Oberleutnant, and he and his two senior Commanders stood round the front of the jeep, map spread out across the bonnet, peering at the canal and its approaches.

  The Oberstleutnant straightened up, “Wolf, you’ve got twenty boats. Once we get into that water we’ve got to row for our lives. We’ll be even more exposed if we turn back and try to get the men back up the canal bank, so our best option is to keep going.”

  “At least we’ll be a moving target sir,” he replied with a grin.”

  The adjutant broke in, “you sound like you’re going with him sir,” he said in astonishment.

  “This is too important, Hartwig, we’ve got to make it across.”

  “Then let me go instead sir,” he said, almost pleading.

  The young Oberleutnant looked away slightly embarrassed, feeling like an interloper.

  “I need you to look after the Battalion in my absence.”

  “But…”he didn’t get to finish as Metzger raised his hand to silence him.

  “I’ve made my decision. Wolf, get those boats moving.”

  They made two attempts at crossing the canal, but had been driven back on both occasions, receiving heavy fire from Canal Nord. Embedded in the sheer wall of the cutting, it had two mutually supporting, two-story emplacements, with a sixty millimetre anti tank gun and supporting machine gun.

  It was now twilight, the early hours of the morning and the Oberst was pushing his men to make yet another attempt.

  The increasing pressure to get across and relieve the paratroopers was adding to the Battalion’s woes.

  They approached the Albert Canal again; the water looked deep and unwelcoming. Above and to their left towered the cliff face with its gun emplacement embedded deep in its side. At the moment it lay quiet, like an omnipotent demon.

  The company making the crossing on this occasion was lined up on the bank of the canal; it was Wolf ’s company again. They had made the first attempt earlier the previous day. But now, rested and reinforced from three company they were to try again.

  Alongside the men, lay a mixture of four and eight man, black, rubber inflatable boats, lined up and ready.

  They threw rope ladders down the sheer concrete sides of the canal, looking nervously at the cliff face that dominated their view.

  The Anti-aircraft guns, assigned to Metzger’s unit, moved into position to their north, setting up on the eastern bank of the canal to provide fire support for the river crossing. Once the crossing attempt was spotted, which was inevitable, they would discharge their projectiles at the Belgian bunkers across the river.

  They would hold their fire until the last minute, not wanting to give the enemy prior warning of the impending third canal crossing. The hope was that the enemy, having thrown the German sappers back twice, would think they had given up.

  They groped their way down the ladders to the bank, the heavy boats straining at their shoulders, crushing the men underneath, pulling at the soldiers lowering it from the top.

  Once the boats were grounded, they had a few moments to catch their breath; the last thing the Commander wanted was his men totally exhausted before they had even started to make the crossing.

  Eight soldiers carried the larger assault boats, four either side.

  The boats were heavy and cumbersome, lighter once in the water, but would offer no protection should they be hit by enemy fire.

  Metzger and his nine men, and their eight man dingy reached the water’s edge and they eased the assault boat into the water. He had decided to squeeze two more soldiers in; they would be needed on the other side.

  Either side of them were a further eight to ten assault boats also being tentatively edged into the water with over one hundred assault troops quietly embarking.

  The Commander looked across the eighty metres of the canal, it
looked silent to the front, but in the distance a fire-fight was ensuing on top and beneath Fort Eben Emael.

  Once across they needed to fight their way into the fort and meet up with Faust’s force.

  The water was relatively calm with a slow meandering flow making the going easy. The conditions were good but it would still be a strong pull for his men and when on the other side they would still need to find the reserves to fight the enemy waiting for them.

  They had to cross; they had to relieve the embattled paratroopers, isolated in hostile territory.

  The commander stepped into the boat, being held by one of the soldiers. It wallowed beneath his weight and he had to shuffle his boots to maintain his balance.

  The last soldier boarded; the one who had been holding the boat and they pushed off.

  The four oars, two either side, propelled them slowly across the canal with the water rippling around the oars as they thrust the boat forward.

  Ten men in the inflatable boat caused it to be overcrowded and unsteady; the slightest movement that placed excessive weight on any one side the dingy would tip over.

  The soldiers listened, not without some trepidation, at the noise created by the rowing. To them the sound seemed magnified beyond all proportion to the actual noise they were creating.

  The soldiers not occupied with the rowing, watching the puddles created by the oars, rippling out across the canal waters; willing the rowers to be quieter.

  In reality they would not be heard by the Belgian soldiers on the opposite bank, the fighting on Eben Emael and the fighting at the bridges would mask their approach. Their biggest risk was actually being seen, from reflections off their equipment or splashes from their oars in the water.

  The other boats were in the water now, heading west to the opposite bank. Looking down on them they would look like black beetles or water Boatman scurrying across the black water.

  Under cover of twilight, the rubber dinghies crawled across the water, their immediate vicinity still relatively undisturbed.

  Halfway across, the Commander looked left and right to check that the assault boats, immediately adjacent, were in line. The boats either side would line up on their leader, ensuring that they all hit the shore at the same time. The second wave, four or five boat lengths behind the first wave, would land some twenty seconds later when, hopefully, if all went to plan, the first wave had disembarked and was making its way inland to secure the landing area.