by Harvey Black
“It will be a silk drop Brand and it will be here on this high ground west of Kavos. It’s about two to three kilometres west from the coast. You’ll be dropped about five minutes after the main glider assault goes in, we don’t want to give the enemy early warning of our intentions.”
“My full company sir?”
“Yes. We don’t anticipate the high ground being occupied, but there are some one thousand plus troops in the area, so they may quickly move to secure it, to bring fire down on the assault.”
“But no heroics Brand,” added Fuchs. “Just attack and secure your target. Make a few probes towards the canal to keep the enemy occupied and on their toes, but don’t follow through with a full assault. Back off and dig in.”
“We don’t want you getting mixed up with the follow up forces and we end up shooting at each other,” interjected Egger.
“Is there an exit route sir, should the main attack be unsuccessful?”
“It won’t fail Brand,” interjected Fuchs, “but if it should, then we will attempt an extraction by sea.”
“Do you have a problem with any of this Brand?” asked Egger.
Volkman jumped in. “He’s part of my battalion sir.”
“Is there anything you need?” checked Fuchs.
“Nothing sir,” responded Paul, still reeling from the enormity of the mission being thrust upon him and his men. “Just access to maps, ammunition and supplies. Oh, and somewhere for my men to prepare.”
“Have you brought your own chutes with you?” asked Fuchs.
“Yes sir, parachutes, weapons and weapons canisters.”
“Excellent. There is a building west of the airfield you can use as your base. I shall have someone show you. Make sure you give them a list of your ammunition and supply requirements.”
There was a sudden drone of aircraft overhead.
“More aircraft arriving by the sound of it,” observed Volkman.
“How many so far?” Egger asked Fuchs.
“We have two thirds here already sir, another one hundred and thirty will be arriving the rest of this evening and tomorrow.”
“When is the jump off sir?” questioned Paul, keen to glean as much information as possible and then get his unit ready.
“The main drop is at oh seven hundred the day after tomorrow.”
Paul did a quick calculation in his head. That meant the morning of the twenty seventh of April, which gave him and his men a full day to prepare.
“Your men will drop five minutes later.”
“You will be allocated fifteen Ju 52s for your men and equipment. Once you’ve been informed of which ones, it will be up to you to liaise with the flight commander, understood?” continued Fuchs.
“Yes sir.”
Paul turned to his battalion commander, “is the rest of the battalion taking part sir?”
“They will be joining us in a few days, but you are on your own for this one.”
“Right,” interrupted the Regimental Commander. “If you’ve no more questions gentlemen, I need to focus on other elements of the operation.”
It was a gentle dismissal and Volkman and Paul saluted and the Raven escorted him to the entrance of the HQ.
“Sorry to drop this one on you Brand, but you have the most experienced company and you will be the representatives of the battalion so I can’t afford any cock ups.”
“My men will welcome some action sir. They were getting pretty bored back at the barracks.
“They may think differently when they hit the ground,” suggested the Raven. “Go and get your men ready.”
Paul saluted and left the HQ, his mind already swirling with the myriad of tasks he had ahead of him to prepare for the drop in less than two days.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The men were lined up, the engines of the Junker 52’s throbbing behind them. Paul didn’t give a speech; he had spent the previous day with his men as they were all preparing for today’s assault. He had probably spoken to most of them individually at some point. He had gone through the plans in detail with his three platoon commanders. After numerous troop, platoon and a full company exercise, Paul, Max, Roth, Nadel and Leeb were satisfied that they were ready. The men were grouped into their flights, which equated to one troop per aircraft, the rest of the transports carrying their weapon canisters. Paul approached each troop, wishing them luck, finishing with a final confab with his officers and Max.
“Well this is it gentlemen, we embark in five minutes, time check.”
They all looked at their watches and synchronised the time with their commander, it was five minutes past five, and they were due to parachute drop in just over two hours.
“Leeb, your men must get their weapons from the canisters quickly and run like hell to secure the slope to the north east. We won’t have the cloak of darkness when we land, so speed is of the essence.”
“Yes Herr Oberleutnant.”
They had been over and over it the previous day, but Paul had learnt that you could never be too well prepared and they hadn’t exactly had a great deal of time to absorb their mission requirements.
“Nadel, your platoon will have to gather the weapons containers sharpish and group them on Leeb’s position, we may well need that ammunition.”
“Jawohl Herr Oberleutnant.”
“Roth, your three troops will be responsible for our immediate security and they must recce west, south and east. But, keep your men within two hundred and fifty metres of our landing spot. I don’t want us spread to the four winds if we get bounced.”
“Understood sir.”
“Max, I want you with Leeb’s platoon and I’ll stay with Nadel until I know what our next steps will be.”
“Sir.”
Paul noticed one of the Luftwaffe ground crew nervously trying to attract his attention, the engines now shut down ready for embarkation.
“They’re ready for us sir.”
“Right, let’s go.”
The paratroopers made their way towards their respective aircraft and Paul gripped Max’s arm.
“See you on the ground Feldwebel Grun.”
“I’ve no other plans sir,” he said grinning from ear to ear.
Paul smiled back at Max’s infectious grin.
Paul made his way towards his assigned aircraft and joined Leeb’s first troop. Max would be on a different plane. The rest of the officers would also be dispersed around the fleet, ensuring that command was spread throughout the flotilla should they encounter heavy fire and lose some of the planes. In the distance, Paul could see some fighter planes lifting off, rapidly climbing and disappearing into the blackness of the still early morning, the roar of their engines quickly drowned out by the huge flotilla of the first wave of Ju 52s following behind them.
Paul stood at the side of the access door to the belly of the aircraft, loaning them the use of his arm for support as they clambered up the metal ladder.
“Thanks for organising this little jaunt just for us sir.” Stumme was heard to say as he heaved himself up into the guts of the plane.
“Don’t thank me just yet Oberjager Stumme, you haven’t seen the scenery yet,” responded Paul. He sensed a presence behind him.
“Anyway Stumme, you’re responsible for refreshments on this trip,” shouted Max after the paratrooper.
“Jawohl Herr Feldwebel.”
Stumme was then the target of ribaldry from the rest of the troop.
Paul twisted his head around, Max had come by to give his final report.
“All well Max?”
“Yes sir, my troop will be loading shortly, they’ll be the last ones to board.”
The last trooper to board Paul’s plane was Fessman, a close friend of Stumme.
Paul turned to Max and gripped his hand.
“I’ll see you on the ground Max. You keep that unsightly head of yours down, I don’t want to have to run the company on my own.”
“At least I don’t stand out above the crowd sir,” he said laughing referring to his commander’s lanky height. Max turned around and walked away and Paul took his turn to heave his body into the aircraft, aided by Fessman. He looked around the darkened interior and took his seat opposite the doorway.
“All in sir?” asked the Absetzer, the Dispatcher.
“Yes, seal her up Unterfeldwebel.”
The Dispatcher closed the door immediately, shutting out some of the din from the three throbbing BMW engines and the noise of the other fourteen Junkers that had restarted and were warming up their engines for the departure.
“Make yourself comfortable sir, it’s going to be a bumpy two hour ride.”
“No entertainment Absetzer?” asked Fessman, who was sat on Paul’s right.
“You men will have all the entertainment you want when you hit the deck, we don’t want to overload you now, do we?” he said smiling. The Unterfeldwebel was obviously an experienced Dispatcher and knew how to handle the boisterous Fallschirmjager.
“You’re the men from the Eben Emael escapade aren’t you?” he shouted over the excessive noise as the engines revved to full throttle. Paul blushed slightly, at being recognised for their past exploit.
“I thought we’d travel in style this time,” he shouted back.
The comms handset buzzed and he turned to pick it up. He spoke into the hand set. “Yes, yes.” He then turned to Paul. “We’re off now sir, we’ll do one circuit of the airfield then head straight for the target.”
The message was passed down the line and the troopers made last minute adjustments before they set off.
Looking through the window, diagonally opposite, Paul could see they were manoeuvring from the apron onto the runway. They were passing a JU 52 on their left and looking over his right shoulder he could see one on their right.
Once in the air, the three aircraft would fly in an arrow formation, with five further kettes behind them.
“Where is the donnerbalken, thunder-beam, on this taxi Unterfeld?” hollered one of the paratroopers from the front.
“When we’re at three thousand metres, I’ll open the door and the entire landscape will be your latrine,” he responded. The aircraft occupants burst in to laughter, easing some of the tension.
Paul felt his stomach drop as on reaching take off speed the pilot wrenched the stick back and the lumbering plane lifted off leaving the runway behind. After a few moments the pilot banked the plane to the left to complete a circuit of the airfield allowing the remaining aircraft to take off and form the chain that would fly to the target. Once completed, the fifteen aircraft settled down to a steady drone at three thousand metres at a speed of one hundred and eighty kilometres an hour.
A trooper at the front burst into song and after a couple of seconds the entire troop was singing a traditional unit song.
“Trup zweir! drei! vier!
Hinter den Bergen Strahlet die Sonne
Glühen die Gipfel so rot....”
They sang it through to the end. Then it was just silence, just the steady rumble of the engines and the wind rush through the thin metal skin, leaving each individual to his own thoughts.
Paul also drifted into his own world. Fighting to keep the rising doubts that often fought their way to the surface just before going in to battle. Had he done enough preparation? Would his tactics prove to be right? Would he lead his men bravely and successfully?
He was brought back to reality with a shake from the Absetzer.
“We’re ten minutes out sir.”
The flight time had passed relatively quickly. Next they were given a five minute warning. The two hour flight was nearly over. They had flown over the Pindus Mountains and were now dropping down to only fifty metres above the Gulf of Corinth making a beeline towards their objective. There was a haze covering the gulf which would help to cover their approach, although they could be heard and the glider assault ten minutes earlier would be warning enough that all was not well.
“Ready,” shouted the Absetzer.
The paratroopers stood up as one and turned to face the doorway.
“Hook up.”
They took the static line from between their teeth, held there so their hands were free to hang on should the plane be buffeted by a strong gust of wind or anti-aircraft fire, and hooked it onto the central cable.
“This is it sir,” called Fessman from behind him.
The dispatcher yanked open the door and a blast of wind tore through the aircraft causing those near the hatch to squint. The Unterfeld held up two fingers indicating two minutes. Then one minute. On the other two aircraft, part of Paul’s Kette, the same thing would be happening. Almost all of first platoon would land on the ground at the same time, along with up to ten weapons canisters.
Paul was called forward; he would be the first to leave the plane. He shuffled closer to the doorway, the wind taking his breath away, grabbing the two handles ready to launch himself forwards.
“Geh. Geh. Geh. Go. Go. Go.”
Paul launched himself from the security of the metal box, his safety net for the last two hours, followed seconds later by one of his men. He was whipped sideways as he exited the plane and plummeted downwards. The static line snatched the chute out of its bag, successfully deploying his parachute, yanking him backwards as the chute filled out gripping the air. The drag on the shoulders was vastly reduced, thought Paul, since they had replaced the older model.
His thoughts quickly ran through a checklist. Looking up to confirm his chute had fully deployed, noting they weren’t receiving any incoming anti-aircraft fire and as yet no small arms fire from the ground. He looked about him as best he could and was able to see that other parachutes were above him and paratroopers were now tumbling out of the second Kette. Terra firme was rapidly approaching, the scrub covered ground looking dark brown in the early morning light.
Thump.
He was down, sprawled on his hands and knees, his gloves and knee pads providing some protection. He jumped up and quickly ran round his chute, collapsing it, releasing his harness and at the same time looking about him. He saw a weapons canister land close by and sprinted towards it. He would feel much happier with an MP40 in his hand, rather than just his pistol. He was lucky, the markings showing it to be the canister containing his personal weapon and ammunition. Other troopers were also approaching to collect their weapons.
He ripped open the top, grabbed the MP40 that was secured inside, along with a second MP40 and two Kar 98s. Fessman slid down beside him and quickly acquired a rifle, speed was of the essence. Paul grabbed ammunition and magazines and placed them in his pouches, which he had transferred from the inside to the outside of his tunic. He looked about him again. He could hear the crack of rifles in the distance, coming from the north east close to the bridge over the canal. The chain saw like buzz of an MG 34, indicating that the paratroopers at the bridge were laying down some heavy firepower.
Paul’s men were on what could be deemed as a shallow hillock, the ground typical to the area. Hard, dry, dusty, interspersed with dry looking shrubs and the occasional olive or lemon tree. To the south the ground tapered away to an orchard of olive trees, while to the west it was fairly open. To the north, where they were headed, it dropped away more steeply to a tree line of more olive trees, separating the hillock from the outskirts of a small town or village.
Leeb joined them and knelt down, quickly followed by Max.
“One troop is already on their way sir, it’s about five hundred metres,” informed Leeb.
“Good, and the rest of the Company?”
“The full company is on the ground sir, Feldwebel Grun and I will join my platoon.”
“Ok Leeb, I’ll join you both shortly.”
The officer and NCO shot off towards their objective. Two troopers from second platoon attached wheels to the weapons canister ready to transport it to the tree line, which Leeb’s platoon was securing
, consolidating their ammunition and supplies in one defendable location.
“Finished sir?”
“Yes, yes.”
They too left the area, leaving Paul alone with his Signaller.
“I have comms with Regimental HQ sir,” indicated the radio operator, part of his Company HQ. He grabbed the handset from him and spoke into the mouthpiece.
“All successfully down sir, over.”
The tinny response could be barely heard. “Any enemy activity, over?”
“None sir, and we’re moving into position now, over.”
“Good, carry on Brand, out.”
The conversation was short and sweet. Oberst Egger would be focussing on the taking of the bridge over the canal, not Paul’s small sideshow. He handed the handset back to Bergmann.
“Let’s go.”
He leapt up and sprinted towards Leeb’s position, Bergmann close on his heels, the canister with the radio in it rattling behind him. They both arrived at Leeb’s position, breathing heavily, in part due to the exertion of running and part due to the adrenaline pumping blood through their veins. Leeb had two troops facing north above the tree line and one troop covering their rear in a semi-circular arc. This could be the company base, Paul thought.
He looked about him, feeling the coolness of the morning on his skin, but the sun was close to rising. It was all quiet apart from the shots in the distance, the cicada’s symphony in the undergrowth and the occasional dog barking. To his front the ground gradually sloped away from them, the other side of the tree line showing the first of the dwellings they would have to patrol through later.
The light was brightening by the minute and he could see a number of square, white buildings, typical to this country, through the trees — whitewashed three times a year to keep their homes cool, the blue domes on top of some representing the sun and the sky. Further to the right, he could see what looked like a church, a small dome supported by four slim pillars on top of the main building. A good place to locate a spotter, thought Paul. The increasing light was definitely starting to give shape and definition to objects and he had an uneasy feeling that they would be badly exposed in the full light of day. He made the decision that he would move the unit down into the tree line, leaving a small force on top.
