Devils with Wings: Silk Drop

by Harvey Black

  “Well Heinrich, ready then?” Krause jumped when Paul descended alongside him, not a good sign.

  “We’re ready sir.”

  “Well, you know what you’ve got to do, so move out.”

  “We move in two,” he hissed to his men.

  Feldwebel Eichel joined them. “Which is the lead troop sir?”

  “Ugh, number one,” he responded.

  Paul’s fear of his officer’s inability to lead his platoon had just been compounded. If it hadn’t been too late in the day, he would have switched the defence of the road to another platoon. But it was too late now he thought angrily, blaming himself for letting this happen. On reflection, he should have sent Max with him.

  The platoon moved off, climbing through a gap in the hedgerow, they ran across the one hundred metre meadow, staying close to the hedge on their right hand side. Hitting the hedge line parallel to the road, they followed the road that ran alongside the wooded area they needed to secure, Krause hanging back, still studying the map. He should know the area like the back of his hand, even without the map, pondered Paul. He couldn’t hang around any longer; he had a company to command, so he sped back to second platoon.

  “Any movement?”

  “Nothing sir,” replied Nadel handing him the binoculars.

  Paul quickly scanned the hilltop, he saw nothing moving. He looked at his watch, it was 5:30, and they had been on the ground for no longer than thirty minutes. Another thirty would see second company dropping onto the LZ. All they could do now was wait. The silence was only disturbed by the second wave of Junkers aircraft, carrying Two Company and part of Third Company. Hauptman Volkman would also be in this wave. The final wave would bring the rest of the battalion. The attack would then begin. If this was not an exercise, they would have had a larger allocation of aircraft and the full battalion would have been landed within the space of an hour.

  He watched as line after line of paratroopers poured out from the three Junkers transports flying in arrow formation. The un-inflated chutes and paratroopers initially horizontal as they were whipped from the aircraft, eventually falling vertically as their chutes billowed open dangling their human cargo beneath. It was a spectacular sight to watch, and would instil shock and fear in an enemy. Second Company, and elements of the Third, consolidated and moved up to the hedge line, joined by the battalion commander.

  “Sitrep Brand?” There was no small talk with the Raven, he thought as he responded.

  “Perimeter of the LZ secured, hilltop quiet, first platoon dispatched to secure the road, Herr Hauptman.”

  “That’s Leutnant Krause’s platoon?”

  “Yes sir.”

  Volkman looked at him, but said nothing. Paul knew exactly what he was thinking.

  “He has to be given a chance sir.”

  “Be it on your head if things go wrong Brand.”

  “Sir.”

  “This is Oberleutnant Graf, he will be acting as an umpire, he’ll be with you. We also have an umpire with the main body.” The two men shook hands. “I’m going to move east with two company, leaving elements of three to maintain security. I want you to leave a platoon here as a blocking force and your remaining platoon on the west side as planned, ok?”

  “Yes sir.”

  Volkman left and was immediately replaced by Max.

  “All sorted back there sir, Hauptman Volkman released me. Update sir?”

  “Leutnant Krause has moved out, I’ve sent a runner for third troop and once they arrive we’ll move out to our positions.”

  “Leutnant Nadel remaining here sir?”

  “Yes.”

  Third Platoon, causing a minor ruckus as they mingled with their comrades, suddenly joined them.

  “Leutnant Roth, Feldwebel Grun and myself will be joining you. So you lead off and we’ll slot in between your first two troops.”

  “I’ll get them organised sir.”

  Within minutes third platoon was ready to move out. Max grabbed hold of Unterfeldwebel Kienitz as he walked passed.

  “Keep a tight reign on your guys Karl, make sure you use those trees for cover. We don’t want those clod hoppers catching us on the hop.”

  “Will do Feld.” Many NCOs would be offended given such specific guidance by their senior. But they all respected Max for his experience and know how, and welcomed his advice, no matter how obvious.

  “Let’s get moving then!” said Max, slapping Kienitz on the back.

  They moved out. Leutnant Roth leading first troop, Paul and Max in front of second troop and Kienitz in front of the tail end troop.

  It was 6:15 and the grey sky was getting brighter by the minute, they needed to get to the trees quickly. Although they had clearly been seen parachuting down, the exercise didn’t officially kick off until the third wave relinquished their passengers over the drop zone. But, the paratroopers didn’t want to give anything away. They followed first platoon’s route, but crossed the road and moved through the trees that surrounded the base of the hill, steadily making their way to its western slope, but staying within the trees, keeping out of sight. Paul and his men then formed up along the tree line, looking up at the shallow slope in front of them, hidden from any prying eyes, or so they hoped. He had sent a small section of four men deeper into the trees, just to cover their backs, in case Leutnant Krause was overrun. They didn’t have long to wait before they heard the drone of the final wave of aircraft coming over.

  “Standby, standby,” hissed Paul. Before he could say another word, the whistle of artillery rounds flew from the west and started pounding the hilltop, only stopping when ordered so as not to interfere with the incoming planes. Behind him, Max could hear gunfire.

  “That sounds close sir,” exclaimed Max.

  “It does, take a couple of men with you and investigate, quickly.”

  Grabbing hold of two paratroopers, informing Leutnant Roth of what was happening, he then headed into the trees. The umpire tagged on as well. They rapidly joined the section that was guarding their rear. From here Max could see the road. A section had ambushed an enemy unit that had disembarked from their trucks under the sound of the artillery fire and were attempting to attack Paul’s force from the rear and reinforce the hilltop’s defenders. The sudden additional firepower from Max and the two paratroopers forced the attackers to seek cover. But the attackers were too many and they would soon be over run or outflanked.

  “Where the hell is Krause?” Max cursed to himself.

  The umpire crouched down beside Max.

  “You’ve got about two minutes Feldwebel, then I will be ordering you to withdraw, ok?”

  “Understood sir.”

  They kept up a high rate of fire, the umpire moving forward to liaise with is fellow umpire attached to the enemy force. All of a sudden, all hell broke loose. A force of paratroopers was taking the infantry from the other side of the road and the enemy was forced to withdraw, no doubt to prepare for a second, bigger assault. Unterfeldwebel Eichel and the umpire joined Max again.

  “Luck is on your side this morning Feldwebel. I’ve told them that due to high levels of wounded, they have to wait one hour to regroup before they can attack.”

  “Thank you sir.”

  Max turned to the recently arrived Eichel, “Where the fuck have you been?”

  “Sorry Feldwebel,” he responded startled by Max’s anger.

  “What happened?”

  “We thought it best to position ourselves so we could bounce the enemy, Feldwebel Grun,” interjected Leutnant Krause who had suddenly appeared standing above them.

  “Is that right?” Max said turning to Eichel, who just lowered his eyes, obviously embarrassed, but unable to disagree with his platoon commander.

  “I will set up the platoon here Feldwebel, you might want to let the company commander know that all is well and that we have his back covered, dismissed.” Max responded in the only way he could, suppressing the deep a
nger he felt. He knew that the Leutnant had got lost.

  “Jawohl, Herr Leutnant.”

  “I’ll speak to you later, Eichel,” hissed Max, and he jumped up to return to his company commander.

  When he arrived there Roth’s platoon was on it’s feet and he could see his commander talking to Hauptman Volkman and one of the Umpires.

  “Glad you could join us Feldwebel Grun.” Max came to attention in front of his seniors.

  “Is it over sir, have we taken the hill?”

  “We have Feldwebel, thanks to your efforts I believe. Right Oberleutnant Brand, the exercise is finished, were forming up on the drop zone and a field kitchen will be joining us so the men can get some hot food down them.” They came to attention again and Volkman left them to it.

  “Did I hear the mention of food?” hailed Helmut, who suddenly appeared behind them.

  “I knew something would get you up and about,” responded Paul

  “The food is only for the heroes sir,” added Max.

  “Well then Feldwebel, I’d better make my way to the DZ, fourth company practically captured the hill on its own.”

  “Max, send some runners out, pull the men in and we’ll form up on the DZ,” ordered Paul.

  “On my way sir.”

  Helmut put his arm around Paul’s shoulder and guided him away from the troops.

  “The rumour is already spreading that Krause has fucked up, what happened?”

  “That’s one of my officers Helmut. It’s for me to look into and take action if necessary.”

  “I know, I know,” he said backing off, “but he’s becoming a liability and is going to get your guys into trouble or even killed.”

  “I know you mean well, but keep out of it.”

  Helmut raised his hands, palms out, in front of him, “I’m backing, I’m backing, let’s go and get some grub.”

  “You go ahead, I’ll catch you up. I need to go and speak to someone.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Paul yawned and stretched his arms, pushing the blanket and eiderdown aside. His mother always put far too much bedding on for him; thankfully the window had been open throughout the night. Paul had been home now for five days, tomorrow was his last day. But, today he was meeting Christa.

  He glanced towards the window; the late August was sun just starting to rise and its rays were filtering through, promising a good day for them both. He rolled over in bed, hugging his two down pillows, suppressing the inner excitement that was threatening to well up and swamp him in its overwhelming force. They had not met since May, but had written several letters to each other, the passion growing stronger in each missive they had read. Today they would discover if the passion was still there, and if it was real. He pushed those thoughts aside, as he did his bedding and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. It was 6:30, time to get up.

  He glanced around the familiar room, his bedroom since he could remember. The large, chunky chest of draws, the two substantial wardrobes, the blanket box at the end of his bed, so familiar to him. He had spent all of his life in this house. He stood up, the view in the distance, the Havel. He never ceased to enjoy its allure and felt privileged at having been brought up in such a beautiful part of Germany. Padding across the wooden floorboards, he grabbed some clothes from his wardrobe, the one that specifically held his military uniform. Although he would have rather worn civilian clothes, his unit was classed as being on active duty, so uniform must be worn at all times. He threw his flieger blouse on the bed, grabbed a white shirt and black tie, and made his way to the bathroom to shave and bathe.

  Crossing the landing he could hear his mother below, clattering about the kitchen, no doubt preparing even more food that she would insist he eat. He washed and shaved, and then spent a few moments soaking in the bath. He heard his mother calling, so stepped out of the bath, dried off, went to his room and dressed, afterwards heading down the stairs.

  He walked into the large kitchen. The cream, two plated Aga, the long farmhouse kitchen table laden with ham, cheese and numerous types of bread was laid out in front of him.

  “Morning son,” said his father looking up from his morning paper.

  “Morning Papa, Mama,” he said in return.

  Paul sat down at the table, grabbing a serviette.

  “Did you sleep well?” said his mother coming over to him patting his hand.

  “I certainly did, now I’m ready for one of your breakfasts Mama.”

  Her face beamed. She headed back to the Aga, picking up the boiling kettle to make coffee and checking on the boiled eggs. She knew Paul liked them soft. His father looked up at him and they smiled at each other. His father knew that she fussed too much and tried to over feed their son. But he wasn’t home that often, so Paul could cope with the extra attention for short periods of time.

  “How’s the factory going Papa?” he asked as he gathered a piece of dark bread, spread it liberally with butter and added a slice of Westphalian ham, his favourite, only equalled by peppered salami. He added some cheese and took a deep bite.

  “Busy, busy son. We’re working full time manufacturing aircraft parts for the Luftwaffe, orders have doubled.”

  “They’ll be needed to help them fight the British,” responded Paul.

  “Why can’t we just leave them alone,” he said scowling. “We’ve kicked them out of France, surely that’s enough.”

  “Enough you two,” scolded his mother, “get on with your breakfasts.” They again smiled at each other.

  His mother joined them at the table, spooning two boiled eggs onto her son’s plate.

  “So, you’re going to see your young lady today?”

  “She’s not my young lady Mama, she’s just a friend.”

  “All the same, we’d like to meet her one day, wouldn’t we Papa?”

  “Leave the boy alone woman.” This time they both laughed. She looked from one to the other. He so looked like his father she thought.

  “You two and your private jokes.”

  His father put the paper down and stood up. Tall like his son, a touch over six feet, not looking twice the age of his son. The only signs of ageing being a few flecks of grey by his temples.

  “I must get to the factory, we have new schedules coming in today. Do you still want a lift to the station?”

  “Please Papa, I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

  “You shouldn’t make him rush his breakfast.”

  “It’s ok Mama, I’ve nearly finished and I’ve had enough now.”

  His father kissed his wife on the cheek, clasped his son’s shoulder on the way out of the kitchen and went to get himself ready for work.

  The train journey from Brandenburg to the centre of Berlin was short and he was in the city by eight thirty, a full hour before he was meeting Christa. He left the railway station and made his way south, heading for the Tiergarten, enjoying even more of the freedom from the restrictions of barracks and military life as he walked through the green park. They were to meet on the southwest side of the park, at the beginning of the Kurfurstendamm. He got to the outskirts of the park and headed south passed the Zoologischer gartens, hitting the Kurfurstendamm at its most eastern point.

  He caught sight of her first, or at least his heart did as it started thumping like an express train. She was as he remembered her, slender, petite, wrapped in a cream, flowery, summer dress, her skin looking soft and lightly tanned. He heard the rhythmic tattoo of her heeled shoes on the pavement, above all the other sounds around him. People passing by, wondering why this tall German soldier, in his splendid paratrooper’s uniform, his medals proudly displayed, was standing there as if mesmerised. She looked up, her auburn hair bouncing on her shoulders; it had grown since he had last seen her. Their eyes met, her eyes dark and mysterious, his hazel and sparkling with delight at seeing her. He came out of his trance and strode powerfully towards her. They met, pedestrians swirling around them, but they were
oblivious to their presence. Paul threw his arms around her waist, crushing her slender body to him, the scent of her hair in his face. She looked up at him longingly.

  “Oh Paul, I hoped you would come.”

  “I’m here now darling, I just had to see you, be with you again. Your letters were not enough.”

  She reached up with her right hand, gently touching the scar above his left eye.

  “You’re letters were the only thing that kept me going. Oh Paul, I’ve missed you so much.”

  Paul bent his head down, and holding her chin gently in his hand he kissed her softly on the lips. The taste of her moist lips, the scent of her skin, made his head swirl with intoxication. They were interrupted abruptly.

  “I’m sure you two lovers have a lot of catching up to do,” said a short, stout man in a brown apron, “but you’re blocking the entrance to my shop and customers can neither get in or out.”

  They both looked about them, realising they were obstructing the shop doorway and were completely unaware of all that was going on around them. They quickly parted.

  “I’m sorry sir,” apologised Paul.

  “That’s ok officer, take her somewhere nice eh?”

  “I will,” said Paul smiling, gently guiding Christa away from the shop.

  She linked her arm into his and within seconds they burst into laughter and joked together as they wandered further down the Kurfurstendamm, no destination in mind. The shopkeeper watched them go, shaking his head. Any nervousness or unfamiliarity had been broken; it was as if they had always been together. They continued to meander down the street, talking about Christa’s work, Paul’s comrades and Max, his parents and pointing in shop windows that caught their eye. They briefly touched on the war. They turned off the main street, exploring one of the smaller side streets. They found themselves outside a bijou cafe situated next to a small, relatively private square; Christa tugged him to a seat next to a small bistro table.

  They had ended up in a small square, their cast iron bistro table and chairs situated alongside a dozen others on a raised, fenced wooden platform with huge parasols strategically placed protecting them from the now bright sunlight.