Devils with Wings: Silk Drop

by Harvey Black

  Paul moved across the concrete floor of the tower to the parapet and looked out over at the flat roofed houses, some with orange, terracotta tiles, the relatively straight streets crisscrossing below.

  The tower gave them a two hundred and seventy degree view, fortunately where they needed it, from the northwest to the southwest. He looked right and could just see the hillock. He pulled out his Zeiss binoculars from their dark brown, leather case and scanned the area. Paul could just make out Roth’s troop digging in on the top, realising how exposed they were. Should they evacuate the church tower, they would have to move from the top of the hillock, an enemy spotter up here could bring down accurate artillery or mortar fire right on top of them. Their shallow trenches wouldn’t be sufficient protection, he thought. Looking down he could make out the olive grove and the tree line where Nadel’s men were set up, although he couldn’t see them. When they pulled back through this position, moving east along the edge of the grove would provide them with good cover.

  Sweeping the binoculars slightly left he could see the derelict buildings where the rest of Roth’s platoon would be ensconced, giving them cover while they pulled back from the hill top. They too were well hidden.

  He switched to the east, shielding the lenses from the sun that could clearly be seen on the horizon, preventing any glint from the lenses giving away their position. He could make out the coast, but wasn’t high enough to get a good view of the canal where the battle was still in progress. He stuffed his binoculars back in their case and turned just as they were joined by two troopers who would take the first stint with their troop commander, Uffz Forster.

  “We’ll leave you to it. Any enemy movement, send a runner to look for us.”

  “Jawohl, Herr Oberleutnant.”

  “Let’s go.”

  He made his way through the exit at the top of the stone steps, descending much quicker than when he came up, taking two steps at a time, a supporting hand on the right hand wall. He was followed by Fessman. They made their way back through the centre of the pews, Herzog alert at the entrance to the Church, Petzel obviously outside.

  “All quiet?” asked Paul

  “Yes sir, not a peep.”

  “Stay alert, it’s only a matter of time before we get paid a visit.”

  They left the church, passing the crouched Petzel as they went. Turning right, they continued down the street, moving deeper into the town, seeking out Leeb and his men.

  It didn’t take long before they came across Leeb, Max and some of his men. They were at a T-junction. Straight ahead, the street lined with more block shaped dwellings took them to the far edge of the town, turning right would suck them deep into the centre.

  “Sitrep Leeb.”

  “I’ve positioned a troop along the edge of town sir, just more bloody trees at the far end. I was leaving a half section here to cover any withdrawal and moving further into the town with Uffz Konrad’s troop, see if we can’t stir something up.”

  “Sounds good Ernst.”

  He briefed Max and Leeb on the situation back at the church, they then moved out.

  CHAPTER NINE

  They split the troop into two half sections and patrolled east along two parallel streets.

  Paul led one along with Max and Leeb led the other supported by Konrad. They had been making their way slowly east, the occasional civilian venturing their head out of the door, but withdrawing it rapidly when they saw the soldiers. They must have made a pretty ferocious sight, thought Paul. Weapons on display, bandoliers of MG 34 ammunition around their necks, stick grenades stuck in their belts, their uniforms and faces covered in a film of dust and their hob nailed boots crunching on the gravelly surface. Paul was sweating, as were the rest of his men, from the exertion and the steadily increasing temperature.

  He stopped his men, giving them the opportunity to quench their thirst.

  Max came up to Paul and whispered, “as soon as we see a water source, we need to top these up sir.”

  “Agreed Max, it must be pushing twenty already.”

  “And will get warmer sir.”

  They continued their patrol. All was quiet until suddenly, from an alley, some fifty metres to their front right, half a dozen soldiers charged out, sliding to a halt when they found themselves confronted by the German paratroopers. Paul’s men were quick to react. Paul and Max both dropped to one knee spraying the area in front of them with a hail of fire, aiming high to compensate for their low position. Two, 9mm parabellum rounds from Paul’s machine pistol smashed into the Corporal leading, one ripping through his throat, immediately stifling the scream that was welling up, the second shattering his upper jaw, splintering teeth and bone, giving him an almost manic grin.

  Max had been more successful, downing two soldiers, his thirty two round magazine quickly emptied. Muller, who had been on point, ran back under the covering fire of his Officer and NCO, throwing himself down beside them, his Kar 98 quickly brought into action. Kempf and Straube had been equally quick to react and were prone in seconds, the MG 34 up into Kempf’s shoulder was soon inflicting death.

  The Australian soldiers had not been idle and two, initially hidden behind their comrades’ bodies in front, had also reacted quickly. A short, squat Sergeant had also dropped to his knee and his Sten gun vibrated in his hands as rounds hurtled towards the Fallschirmjager. Oberjager Halm took the full force of the bullets, three of them punching their way into his body as he was attempting to bring his Kar 98 into play. The second Australian, heavy jowled and angry, drew the pin from a Mills 36 grenade throwing the pineapple directly at the German soldiers. It was a mistake. Instead of either tossing it just behind the group of enemy soldiers, or holding on to the grenade for a couple of seconds before releasing it, he threw it immediately to their front, the seven second fuse giving Max ample time to scoop it up and throw it back, the subsequent explosion added to the rest of the cacophony of sound. The shrapnel from the grenade, small arms fire and the heavy calibre rounds from the MG, round after round ripping through the tightly packed soldiers broke their spirit as well as their bodies. It was over in what seemed like minutes to the paratroopers, but was in fact just seconds.

  “Cease fire, cease fire,” shouted Paul.

  The firing stopped. The silence was almost eerie, even the firefight at the bridge failed to intrude. A cloud of gun smoke hung in the air and Paul could taste the tang of cordite on his tongue as he licked his dry lips. He looked up at the sun, shielding his eyes. He suddenly had an overwhelming thirst. Max moved first, his movements jarring Paul into action.

  “Muller, Lanz, cover that alleyway. Kempf, keep the MG facing down the road. Renisch watch our backs.”

  Paul joined Max at the side of the badly wounded Halm. “I’ll check the enemy, you look after him.”

  Leaving Max with Halm, he made is way over to the six soldiers, their bodies in disarray around the entrance to the alleyway they had shot out from.

  “All clear?” Paul asked the two troopers standing watch.

  “Yes sir, shall we scout further down?”

  “Ok, but not too far. The company is pretty well dispersed as it is and this fire fight may well bring some of their friends our way.”

  Paul had kept a close eye on the allied soldiers as he was talking, now he checked them individually, kicking their weapons aside ensuring they were out of reach. The Corporal with the smashed face was dead, along with his comrade killed by Max’s machine pistol, his vacant eyes staring up at him. The third had taken the full blast of the grenade, his uniform shredded, his bare arms, legs and face lacerated, he too was no longer alive. The remaining three, one slumped against a house, the whitewashed wall now stained with splashes of blood, already drying in the steadily rising heat of the day. The second was sprawled face down on the ground not moving while the remaining soldier was sat up gripping his shattered legs, groaning and rocking backwards and forwards. Paul doubted there was much he could do for him,
but he would try.

  He called Fessman over. “See what you can do for this one, I’ll take the one by the wall.”

  Approaching the soldier slumped against the wall he could see that he was probably the least wounded of the lot. It looked as if he had been the Bren Gun handler and two rounds speeding their way towards him had ricocheted off the light machine gun, one smashing the stock, the heavy calibre rounds narrowly missing him. But he was not so lucky with the 9mm round which had clipped his shoulder.

  Paul loosened off the soldier’s webbing, using his gravity knife to cut some of it away along with parts of his kaki shirt, exposing a small, bluish, ring shaped hole welling up with dark blood. The soldier winced as Paul felt round the back of the wound, although the injury was still numb, the worst of the pain was yet to come, retrieving his hand sticky with blood.

  “You’re lucky,” he said to the pale faced soldier, the makings of an eleven o’clock shadow starting to show. “The bullet has gone straight through, it’ll mend in no time.”

  He clearly didn’t speak German, so Paul held his right thumb and the soldier nodded. He found a first aid bandage amongst the soldier’s things, an item carried by all professional soldiers. He tore at the brown hessian like packaging, revealing a large, layered wad of absorbent material, placing it against the wound, grabbing the soldier’s left hand pressing it against the bandage to hold it in place while he wrapped the attached strapping around his body.

  A piece of brick and white plaster was chipped from the wall above Paul’s head as a .303 bullet smacked into it, followed by the thudding boots of Muller and Lanz heading back down the alley way towards them. They flung their bodies down beside Paul and the injured Australian, immediately returning fire down the alleyway at the advancing soldiers.

  “How many?” called Paul.

  “At least half a dozen sir, but definitely more following behind them,” responded Muller in between shots he was still putting down.

  Max rushed over to Paul. “I think it’s time we got out of here sir.”

  “Yes, yes,” he replied, his mind racing. “How’s Halm?”

  “Fucked sir. I doubt he’ll make it through the day.”

  At that same moment, the rest of Leeb’s troop, that had been patrolling parallel to Paul’s position, joined them.

  “Leeb.” shouted Paul above the din.

  Leeb loped over to join them.

  “Sir?”

  “I want a half section to cover our withdrawal, we’ll be like a magnet for every unit in the immediate vicinity.”

  As he spoke, further up the road, two hundred metres to their east the advanced guard of a platoon came into view, quickly setting up a Bren Gun. They were now under attack from two sides.

  “Shit, that decides it sir,” Leeb exclaimed and called out to the paratroopers close by.

  “Fessman, Renisch, grab Halm and take him back to the tree line, we’ll cover you.”

  “Jawohl Leutnant,” responded Fessman, grabbing his comrade and running towards the unconscious Halm.

  “But keep your eyes peeled, they may well have infiltrated behind us,” Max yelled after them.

  Renisch heaved Halm up onto his shoulder in a fireman’s lift while Fessman kept watch. They would have to take it in turns to carry him if they were to get back to the tree line in double quick time.

  Leeb had set up a blocking force across the street, rounds ricocheting off the ground around him, kicking up flying chips of stone, one searing his cheek bare. He instinctively put his hand up to the gash, withdrawing it, seeing the blood, but not having the time to contemplate its severity.

  Although the enemy had now set up a firing position down the far end of the street and were putting down some light fire, it was proving difficult for them as they identified that their own men were mixed in with the German soldiers.

  “Let’s go,” he shouted to his men, “move now.”

  They ran down the street, Leeb’s half section covering them, Leeb remaining with his men. They hit the T-junction where they had originally met up with Leeb and his troop and could see Halm being carried away in the distance.

  “Max, set up an all-round defence here, I’ll fire off the flare.”

  Max quickly organised the men. Eichel and Straube covering the street they had just come down with the MG 34, Lanz and Muller covering the northern approach, warned by Max to keep their eyes open for the rest of Leeb’s platoon that would also be bugging out and heading in their direction once they saw the flare. Kuhn was covering the south, their next route of withdrawal.

  With a Crack and whoosh, the green flare shot up into the sky climbing high above the town’s flat, white and orange tiled roofs.

  Within minutes of Max’s men settling into position, Leeb’s half section came pounding down the street, having completed their task of delaying the enemy. They tore passed Kempf calling, “They’re right behind us.”

  Paul called Leeb over. “Continue south, meet up with the men at the Church if they’re still in situ. We’ll collapse back on you, make sure the junction beyond is covered.”

  “Jawohl.”

  He called his men together and they set off at a pace, south.

  The MG 34, the butt pulled tight into Kempf’s shoulder, kicked off, rounds hurtling towards the enemy, the sound deafening in the narrow street, the ammunition belt running through Lanz’s fingers as he guided the belt into the receiver and top cover. The Allied soldiers went down, some to avoid the hail of steel coming towards them, some because they had been too slow and the heavy slugs had smashed into them. One, although dead, was still convulsing on the floor, his confused nervous system smashed by the bullet that had torn through them, was still sending signals to his limbs.

  “They’ll be on top of us in a minute,” yelled Kempf, intermittently spraying the area to his front with bullets. Max joined them to add his support, immediately joined by Paul.

  “As soon as Jordan’s lot get here we bug out,” shouted Paul above the ever increasing noise of gunfire. “How long can you hold them off?”

  “We’re ok for ammunition,” Kempf responded. “But they only have to chuck a couple of grenades and rush us and it’ll all be over.” As if to make the point, half a dozen rounds ripped into the plastered wall Max was crouched against, leaving a row of jagged holes where his head had been moments ago.

  “Shit, that was close. That sounded like an LMG,” he said brushing bits of white encrusted plaster off his arms. “They’ll start to outflank us. We need to move again soon sir.”

  “We’ll wait a while longer Max, I want Jordan and his men back in the fold first.”

  No sooner had he finished saying it, than they heard the booted feet of Jordan’s troop even before they could see them. The men had run flat out from the northern edge of the town as soon as they had seen the flare, heading back to the T-junction where they had separated from the platoon.

  “Not a moment too soon sir,” hollered Max as the rate of fire steadily increased from the enemies lines.

  “Kempf get ready to move. Lanz, get two grenades ready. Max, tell Jordan to take his men direct to the tree line and join Nadel.”

  Max was up and off as Paul produced two stick grenades, that were tucked into his belt.

  “Ready?” called Paul to Lanz, not waiting for an answer as he unscrewed the base cap allowing the cord, and the porcelain ball attached to it, to fall out, doing the same to a second stick grenade. Just as Paul was about to give the command to throw, two grenades bounced down the street some forty metres away from them and he and Lanz threw themselves to the ground. The grenades exploded issuing forth a cloud of dense smoke, obviously a prelude to an attack.

  “Now,” screamed Paul, recognising that timing was now critical if they were to extract themselves from this alive. Pulling the cord that ran down the centre of the hollow, wooden handle and igniting the five second fuse, he got ready to throw it. Counting two seconds, he heaved
the grenade as far as he could, quickly followed by Lanz. They hit the deck, immediately pulling the cord of their second grenade. Thirty metres down the street, the two grenades detonated and both were instantly back up on their feet throwing the second pair, the steel cans blasting the air apart seconds later.

  A full section of ten allied soldiers had been storming down the street under cover of the dense smoke, the discharge from the first two grenades blowing them aside smashing them into the walls of the houses either side of the narrow street. The second pair adding to their injuries and disorientation, the wounded groaning as they lay stunned on the ground, their comrades too dazed to advance directly.

  “Go, go, go,” screamed Paul at his men.

  “Come on, fucking move,” added Max helping Kempf up off the floor with his MG. “Their back up will be following through any second now.”

  They sped down the street, picking up the men at the church on their way, skirmishing back in good order, always ready to put down a swathe of fire if the enemy got too close, not stopping until they joined their comrades situated in the tree line at the base of the hillock.

  Paul grabbed Nadel’s shoulder. “They’ll be preoccupied for a while, but if they’re platoon strength or above they’ll be on our tail soon. Cover us while we withdraw to our extraction point, then pull back to join us. Make sure you move the men off the top quickly, they’re bound to have spotters in the church by now.”

  Max interrupted them. “Halm’s had it sir.”

  “Damn, well we’re still taking him back with us.”

  “I’ve had them rig a stretcher with branches and a poncho.”

  “Right Nadel, we’ll leave you to it.”

  They hurried along the tree line after Leeb had checked that his full platoon was in attendance. After about four hundred metres they found themselves directly opposite the derelict buildings, that would now be the company HQ and their extraction point. They climbed slowly upwards, challenged by one of Roth’s men who had been put in position to watch out for their arrival. Within seconds he was in conference with his Platoon Commander.