by Harvey Black
Ten minutes later he was joined by his remaining two platoon commanders, he gathered them and Max around him. With a stick he had found close by, he scraped a square into the gravelly surface, representing the hillock they were now on, placing a row of twigs to represent the tree line below them.
“Report.”
“All of the weapons canisters have been secured sir, only one was damaged but the contents are ok,” responded Nadel, his pale, but blackened face, looking even more pinched than normal.
“Leutnant Roth?”
“We’ve done a complete sweep sir and nothing. It’s pretty desolate, except for a derelict building to the east.” He placed a stone on the eastern part of Paul’s ground plan.
“It is pretty exposed here sir.”
“I concur Roth, hence we’re going to move.” He pointed at his layout. “North of the tree line, at the bottom of the slope we have the start of the outskirts of a small town,” he said placing a number of small pebbles. “There is what looks like a church with a small tower, here about fifty metres into the town.” He placed a larger, darker stone to represent it. “The south here, on the opposite slope, there looks to be an orchard of some sort.”
“Probably an olive grove sir,” suggested Max
“That is likely Feldwebel Grun. And to our west there seems to be some scattered habitation. So, this is what we’re going to do gentlemen. Roth, you’ll need to split your platoon. I want one troop dug in here.”
“We’ll be badly exposed sir,” interrupted Roth, concern clearly etched on his face.
“I know Viktor, but we can’t afford to let the enemy get the high ground and come in behind us.”
“Understood sir.”
“But you’ll need a little more than shell scrapes Leutnant Roth,” suggested Max.
“Agreed,” Roth nodded. “The other two troops sir?”
“Send a troop to occupy the derelict building to the east,” he pointed to the single stone placed there earlier. “That will be our fall-back position and where we’ll exfil through. That’s the route we’ll take to join our forces in the main town, or down to the beach should we need to be extracted by sea.”
“The final troop sir?”
“You’ll need to split that troop into two sections, one patrol to the west and one to the east, understood?”
“Jawohl.”
“Nadel, your platoon is to space itself out along the tree line, below. If there are any enemy forces based in the town, then it is likely they’ll come from that direction to move us off the hillock, so be ready. Keep a three sixty watch though, in case they slip through Roth’s patrols.”
“Will we pull back through Leutnant Roth’s position sir?”
“Yes Feldwebel, we’ll collapse in on the tree line, before moving east along it then up to Roth’s troop situated in the derelict building.”
“The trigger sir?”
“A green flare,” Paul said tapping the flare gun in the holster strapped to his side.
“Right, your platoon Leeb. I’ll take a section forward to the church we can see in the town. We can man the tower and use it to keep a watch on our area of operations. You are to take the rest of the platoon on a fighting patrol through the town.”
“How far in sir?”
Paul pulled a map from his pocket and spread it out in front of him and pointed to the town.
“Through to the far side, but don’t go beyond that. There’s a further drop this afternoon with the specific purpose of mopping up and we don’t want to get entangled in that. I don’t want casualties from friendly fire. But, we do need to make contact with the enemy, draw some of them away from the canal area.”
“Will you stay with the tower team sir?”
“No, once I’ve had a chance I will join Leeb’s platoon. That’s also where I want you Feldwebel.”
Max nodded.
“Right. Let’s get to it,” Paul ordered as he stood up. He immediately crouched back down. “Listen.” The men remained crouched, straining to pick up the sound that their commander could obviously hear.
“There,” hissed Max, “I can just make out the drone, it’s a Junker’s flight coming in.”
“It sounds like the next wave coming in to support the glider attack,” added Leeb.
Paul stood up. “We need to go now, we need to start distracting the enemy.”
The rest got up and headed for their respective platoons to carry out their orders.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The parched, brown hillock dropped down towards a tree line on the edge of what appeared to be an olive grove, interspersed with the odd lemon tree. Paul led the small section forward ahead of the main force, dropping down the side of the hillock eventually passing through the first of the olive trees. The section was made up of Uffz Forster, Obergerjager Herzog, followed by Petzel, Stumme and Fessman. All had fought with Paul before in Poland and Belgium.
They patrolled carefully through the olive grove, the trees bare, the olives having been picked clean during November and December, the narrow, wide spaced trunks offering little cover. Within minutes they were through to the other side and hit a stoned road running west to east, alongside, at irregular intervals, were a number of white washed houses. Opposite and slightly right another road ran north.
They looked left and right, it was clear. Paul indicated for two men to cross the road and secure the junction. Once they were in position, the rest stepped out of the cover of the grove and in a staggered formation, three on each side, they made their way down this new road. They moved further into the town, different shaped dwellings either side of them, their small, high windows making it difficult to see in.
“Keep back from the doorways,” Paul hissed reminding them of their trade craft, that some appeared to have forgotten.
Fessman, the trooper on point, suddenly jumped, startled by a woman leaving her home through the front door of her house. His finger was a hair’s breadth away from squeezing the trigger of his Kar 98K. The old woman, dressed in black with a shawl wrapped round her head and shoulders, saw the weapon pointing in her direction, screamed and ran back into the house slamming the door behind her, the sound of bolts being slid across could clearly be heard. Fessman looked back at the men behind him, shrugged his shoulders and grinned.
“I don’t know who was more bloody scared, her or me.”
“You’re enough to scare anyone,” muttered Stumme.
“Move out,” called Forster, impatient to get his men moving again, conscious that his company commander was in attendance.
The section continued on, hearing an increase of gunfire in the distance, the recently landed Fallschirmjager clearly in action. The buzz saw resonation of an MG 34 adding to the cacophony of sound. They must have passed a dozen houses and as the road started to bend round to the right the church came into view on the right side of the stony road.
“Down, down,” hissed Fessman.
The unit stopped and hunkered down, Paul ran forward in a crouch to see what the problem was. Fessman pointed to the soldier leaning against the front of the Church, facing away from them, smoking a cigarette, his Lee Enfield propped up against the wall. His Slouch hat indicating he was Australian Infantry, part of the British Commonwealth Forces. He was dressed in British tropical uniform, shorts with knee high socks. The church was situated on the corner of a junction, the soldier positioned a couple of metres from the corner.
“Can you handle him Fessman?”
“Of course sir,” replied a disgruntled Fessman amused at the question as his commander had seen him in action taking out a sentry in Poland. “There’s a road back there on the left sir,” he said pointing back down the road they had patrolled down. “It will take me on a circuit and bring me to the corner without being seen.”
“Ok, we’ll cover you from here, do your stuff.”
Fessman made his way backward slowly, not wanting his boots to scrape on the groun
d. Although the fire fight in the distance covered some noise, the scraping of a boot on the gravelled road would be quite distinctive. He left the bulk of his equipment with Stumme, all he needed was his knife and pistol.
“Found something for you to do at last?”
“Best man for the job Friedrich mate.”
Stumme patted his shoulder as Fessman ran softly down the road, turning left, heading east. After he passed half a dozen houses there was a narrow passageway on his left, he darted down it until it brought him out on the road that dissected with the corner of the church. He turned left, moving more slowly now as he could see the T-junction at the end. He passed the last house and was now up against the Church’s southern wall. He crept forward, running his right hand across the cool, flaking white washed side of the building, all was quiet.
Two metres from the corner, he sidled further forward, desperately trying to bring his breathing under control, sounding like a wind tunnel in his head, listening for any activity coming from the vicinity of the enemy soldier. There was the crump of an explosion in the distance, thank God for the firefight. He crossed himself. Although not a religious man, he thought it better not to take any chances.
He got to the corner and could see the Oberleutnant covering him and keeping his eye on the sentry. He was given the thumbs up; the soldier was still looking the other way. He crouched down and anxiously peered round the corner of the church wall. The soldier was still leaning against the wall, lighting up yet another cigarette, almost nonchalantly, oblivious to the German paratroopers close by. He placed his Luger P08 in its holster.
He peered around the corner once more; the soldier was at least two metres away. He wouldn’t be able to creep right up to him; the crunch of grit beneath his boots was bound to give him away. He would be able to take a couple of steps and then would be reliant on speed and surprise. He didn’t dwell on it any longer, slipping round the corner, gripping the knife he would use, tightly in his right hand.
He eased forwards, then froze as the soldier shuffled slightly, relighting his cigarette. He used this opportunity to move closer to the unsuspecting Australian and when within one metre he made his strike. Stepping forward onto his left foot, reaching round with his left hand, clamping the surprised Australian’s mouth in one swift movement before the soldier could take a second drag on his cigarette, crushing his jaw preventing even the slightest sound from escaping. Sliding the blade between the base of his jaw and neck, pushing it through the soft flesh, blood running down the knife onto his hand, at the same time yanking him backwards and down onto the ground on top of him wrapping his legs round the soldiers thrashing limbs, gripping them like a vice, restricting his movements.
The thrashing accelerated as the soldier’s panic escalated, his hands tearing at Fessman’s in a last desperate attempt to pull them away, knowing that death was moments away. But it was too late, Fessman’s kill was assured as the knife went deeper, severing the Carotid Artery, and slicing into the gristled oesophagus, extinguishing life.
The body went limp, a warm trickle of urine released by the dead body wetting Fessman’s combat trousers, the smell as the bowels also evacuated making him gag. He pushed the now limp, but heavy corpse off him, extracting the knife that may be required at a later date, wiping it on the Allied soldiers tunic top.
He was joined by the rest of the section.
“Well done Fessman,” whispered Paul grasping his shoulder. “You’re getting to good at this.”
“Glad to be of service sir, but I think it unlikely he is on his own.”
The rest of the section covered the entrance to the church and the surrounding area as a couple of paratroopers dragged the body away from the doorway.
“Stumme,” he hissed.
“Yes sir?” he responded joining his commander.
“Your turn. He probably has some friends in the tower. I want you to check it out. I’ll be right behind you.”
“What’s the AI, Immediate Action, sir?”
“If there’s just one of them, then take him out silently. If more than one then it will be both of us and it’ll be pistols.”
“Understood sir.”
Stumme led the way, his Model 38, Sauer, drawn and in his right hand, his knife tucked into his belt ready. Paul had also drawn his Walther and was ready to support him. They made their way through the doorway beyond the pushed back, wooden double doors and entered the dim, cool interior of the church. Stumme waited, allowing his sight to adjust to the sudden dark interior, four metres above him the flat roof supported by decorative dark wooden arches.
They inched their way down the central aisle, ornate, wooden pews in neat rows either side of them, heading for the alter and the door that was located to its right, where they felt sure they would find the steps that would lead them to the tower. They reached the alter, beyond it the paraphernalia of objects associated with the locals religious beliefs, probably Christian Orthodox. An ornate wooden framework stood behind it, some three metres high, taking it close to the ceiling, religious paintings either side, a large two metre high cross stood in the centre. To the right, the door.
Paul nodded to Stumme, indicating that he should proceed through the door. The heavy wooden door was ajar and he carefully eased it open, praying that the hinges were well oiled, peering round it to the left. He indicated that all was clear and stepped silently through the doorway.
Paul followed finding himself in a narrow corridor, leading round to the left going behind the wall containing the religious idols. They both waited, allowing their eyes to adjust to the gloom inside. After less than a minute, but seeming longer, they were both able to see a faint light coming from the centre of this second wall, and what looked like concrete or stone steps leading upwards.
Paul tapped Stumme on his shoulder and they made their way up the steps, taking them one at a time and being careful how they placed their booted feet. Stumme leant back against the dusty wall edging round to the right as he slowly ascended, peering upwards as he went, his Luger gripped in his right hand, his left hand cupping the butt. After three full circuits of the upward winding steps the light had improved significantly and Stumme held up his hand and hissed to Paul.
“I can hear voices sir, sounds like two of them.”
He acknowledged and they continued upwards, both gripping their pistols tighter as they went, their breathing laboured as the adrenaline kicked in, knowing now that it would be pistols and not a knife that would deal with the spotters above them. Stumme hesitated and called his commander forward pointing to the brightly lit exit right in front of them and the two soldiers leaning, chatting, on the parapet wall that encircled the tower.
There were four sides to the tower, the entrance where they stood and three sides, with a one and a half metre parapet wall closing them in, overlooking the town below. A supporting leg on each corner, holding up the dome above them. The two soldiers were directly opposite the entrance, one of them using binoculars, probably attempting to ascertain what was going on at the Canal.
“I don’t know what’s bloody keeping Davy, said the taller one, “he was only going for a piss.”
“We’ll give him five minutes, then you can go and look for him,” said the other who was wearing a Lance Corporal Chevron on his sleeve.
“Probably chatting up some local bird,” the other responded.
“Yeah, but with these Krauts about we’d better be sure.”
Paul was about to indicate that he would take out the soldier on the left, the one closest to him, and Stumme the other, when the taller soldier turned to face them.
“I’m going to find the lazy... “ He didn’t finish his sentence. His mouth dropped open, his eyes widened as he saw the two helmeted, dusty German Paratroopers, pistols held out in front of them, looking back at him.
He grabbed for his rifle that was resting by his side up against the parapet, but Paul’s pistol barked twice as he double tapped and two
nine millimetre rounds stopped him in his tracks. One round hit him in the chest, the second his shoulder. The enemy was pushed back against the wall and then slumped to his knees, his hand clutching his chest as his heart failed him, pink froth forming at his mouth as he coughed, trying to clear his lungs and catch his breath as his lungs started to fail, falling forward on top of the Lee Enfield rifle he was so desperate to reach for.
The second Australian had even less time to react as Stumme’s two, 7.6mm rounds, both hit him in the side of his chest as he turned, finished the soldier’s life in seconds as he too collapsed to the ground.
The two paratroopers reacted quickly not allowing the killings to cloud their thoughts; there would be time for that later. They rushed forwards, moving any weapons out of reach and checking the two men for life. There was none. It was war, thought Paul, but somehow it didn’t make the killing any easier.
“Let’s drag them out of the way,” he instructed Stumme. Paul grabbed the one he had shot, pulling his body into a corner of the tower, Stumme following suit.
“Someone was bound to have heard that sir.”
“Possibly, there is so much going on out there that they may not suss where it came from,” he replied placing the Walther back in its holster. Suddenly Forster crashed through the entrance, down on one knee, his MP 40 sweeping the area seeking out potential targets.
“A bit dramatic Uffz,” he joked, grinning.
“That’s how they do it in the movies sir,” he said standing back up. “But it looks like we weren’t needed. What now sir?”
“I’ll take Fessman with me and we’ll re-join the Platoon while you take command here. I suggest you leave two men at the door downstairs, or else,” he said as he mimicked a knife blade across the throat.
“Yes sir, lesson learnt there I think,” he replied as he looked about him at the two dead Australian soldiers.
