Devils with Wings: Silk Drop

by Harvey Black

  In front of the assembly of cobbled together seating, shuffling bits of paper and aerial photographs, constantly cross checking with the maps behind him, was Hauptman Kurt Bach. Once the Raven had received his Majority, Bach’s appointment as captain and second-in-command of the battalion was assured. The hangar echoed with the buzz of conversation. It was astonishing how talkative a collection of officers could be when placed in one room prior to a briefing, each one having an opinion of what was to happen and how they would personally recommend it was conducted. Assembled in the hangar were the twelve platoon officers from the four bayonet companies, the four company NCO’s, Max being one of them, and the battalion clerks and other staff making last minute preparations.

  Meinhard, who was sat at Paul’s left, turned to him and whispered, “Sorry about your loss Paul. I’m speaking on behalf of the battalion as a whole. Everyone wanted to pass on their condolences, but we felt it would be better if it came from just one of us, then we’d leave you in peace. But we needed you to know that all our thoughts are with you.”

  “Thank you. I do appreciate everyone’s understanding. It doesn’t change what has happened, but your collective concern does help give me the strength to get through the day.”

  A burst of laughter came from the direction of the senior NCO’s, Oberfeldwebel Schmidt, the battalion’s most senior NCO, was at the centre of the group obviously giving the men around him a reason to laugh.

  Helmut, sat on the other side of Paul, tapping the armchair he was sat in. “This is a bit of all right, I’ll confiscate this after the briefing and have it moved to my tent,” he said with a chuckle that caused those around him to look on.

  “You’ll be wanting a Harem next,” hissed Meinhard leaning over Paul.

  “We’ll get one strapped in a tante June for you,” added Manfred, sat on Helmut’s right.

  Paul couldn’t help but smile and suspected that the ribbing of Helmut, although a regular event, was on this occasion partially for his benefit, an attempt to bring him back into the fold. The frivolity was interrupted by the loud snap of Oberfeldwebel Schmidt’s clicking heels and his bellow.

  “Shun!”

  The assembled men rose up from their seated positions as one, stood to attention, their arms by their sides as Major Volkman made his way through the menagerie of furniture, his stick tapping his leg in time with his movement forward.

  He kept them stood at attention longer than usual. When he arrived at the front of the assembled group, his hooded eyes surveyed the leaders of his Fallschirmjager battalion, the men he was dependant on to do his bidding in a time of war, picking out faces, holding eye contact for a brief second before moving his gaze on. He caught Paul’s eye and for a fraction of a second his eyebrows knitted together as he could see the pain etched on the young officer’s face.

  “Stand easy,” he said moving behind the table to join his Adjutant.

  The paratroopers sat back down in their comfortable armchairs and the less comfortable stools and crates. The stick was placed on the table, everyone knowing that it would be back in the Raven’s hand within seconds, probably without him realising he had ever put it down. It was said amongst the battalion, and even espoused by some senior officers in the Division, that he would rather lose an arm than his swagger stick.

  “Gentlemen.” He waited until he had their full attention before he continued. “It has been many weeks since the battalion has been together in one place.” He moved around to the front of the table and perched on the edge. “We are here for a specific purpose, to support the capture of the Island of Crete.”

  There was a murmur amongst the group.

  “Our special status given because we have proven our capabilities, our skills as soldiers, not just in training, but on the battlefield. Oberleutnant Brand and his men,” all eyes turned towards Paul and his officers sat behind him, “in particular have recently distinguished themselves in battle for this very town. Captured enemy soldiers spoke of the terror they provoked amongst their army, operating behind their lines. It is through actions like that and men like you in this room, that we have been favoured by the powers to be selected for special tasks.”

  Paul’s face reddened with the embarrassment of the compliment thrown his way and the back slapping of his comrades, the occasional good humoured jeer at them being selected for this unsought after praise from a man who rarely let slip acclaim. Volkman stood up and started to pace up and down the small space available to him, the assembled men tracking his movement.

  “But... to the reason we are here today. Crete gentlemen, Crete is our target.”

  He paused and slowly turn to face them.

  “Operation Merkur is the assault and complete domination of the island, the last Allied and Greek Army bastion in this immediate area. To expedite this assault we’ll be bringing the largest airborne force ever, together to complete this task. Flieger Corps XI will be committed to this task, consisting of 7th Flieger Division, made up of FFR 1, 2 and 3, the Luftlande Sturmregiment and ourselves as an independent asset. The Division will also have an artillery, anti-tank, machine gun and combat engineer battalion in support.”

  He was off on his pacing again, placing his stick on the table and walking away with his hands clasped behind his back only to pick it up on his return leg.

  “We will also have our mountain climbing comrades,” he said with a smile. “But rather than climbing mountains they will be shipped in a Tante June.” This brought a laugh from the group. “The 5th Gebirgs Division brings with them three infantry regiments and an artillery regiment, so you see, a significant force to carry out the task in hand.”

  He turned to Bach and nodded, moving away from the table, allowing his number two to come to the front. Bach, who had been resting his hands on the table, leaning forward listening intently to his commander’s briefing, even though he knew the events that were to unfold, stood up and came round.

  “We mustn’t forget our fly boys of course. We have at our disposal from Flieger Corps VIII, three Sturzkampfgeschwader with Stuka dive bombers, Kampfgeschwader 2, with Dornier twin engined bombers, Lehrgeschwader 1, with Heinkel twin engined bombers, Zerstorergeschwader 26, with twin engined, Messerschmitt fighter bombers, Jagdeschwader 77, with Messerschmitt fighters and four Geschwader of transports, three of Junkers and one of Gliders.”

  “Thank you Kurt,” Volkman picked up the reins again. “The Fallschirmjager will spearhead the attack.” He walked to the map behind the table tapping the western end of the island with his stick. “We only have five hundred transports, so a drop of six thousand is all we can manage in one hit. So, we will initiate four drops on Day 1, Maleme and Hania in the morning and in the afternoon the airfields around Rethymnon and Heraklion.”

  He stopped to drink a glass of water that had been placed on the table for him by his orderly before continuing. “Group West, consisting of the Luftlandesturmregiment will be in the first wave, their target to secure Maleme airfield. They have all of the glider force gentlemen, so there will be none for us on this occasion,” he said looking round the room.

  “Group Centre, consisting of FFR3, along with two glider companies detached from the sturmregiment, will land in Prison Valley, here,” he said pointing to the map again, “between signal hill and Varipetro. I know you are all keen to know about our task and I will get to it soon. It is important you get a feel for the bigger picture first.”

  “Group East will be landing on Day 2, with FFR1 along with a battalion from FFR2, their target will be Heraklion. Also on Day 2, Group West will be reinforced by the two battalions from FFR2. A large proportion of our reinforcements on Day 2 will be from our mountain climbing comrades, from the 5th Gebirgs Division who will be flown in to Maleme. They won’t have any mountains to conquer, just air sickness,” he added gaining a ripple of laughter from his audience.

  “Now to the detail and our role in this great expedition,” he said tapping the map again. “I
t all kicks off at 0800, on the morning of the 20th May, gentlemen. The Luftlandesturmregiment, LLSR, landings will begin by seizing the bridge over the Tavronitis River and establish a bridgehead in what we believe to be an RAF camp,” he pointed to the bridge on a larger scale map just pinned up by the Adjutant. “2/LLSR and 4/LLSR battalions will land just west of the Tavronitis to make a follow up attack towards the airport. A Company from 16/4/LLSR will land near a small town, Polemarhi,” he dragged his stick across the map to a position south of the airfield. “Two companies will be dispatched to take Hill 107 from the south.”

  He stopped and turned suddenly to face the room, picking out Paul.

  “Now to our task,” he said, sensing the entire room leaning in towards him to catch every word. “I have nominated your company for this task Brand.” Paul sat up and took serious notice of what was being said, peering at the map to where his battalion commander had been pointing moments ago. His grief pushed aside, for the moment.

  “You and your men,” he continued now looking directly at Paul, “are to land southeast of that hill and provide a blocking force to prevent the enemy reinforcing any troops on that hill, attacking our units from behind and acting as a flank guard for the LLSR in general. Your unit will be isolated Brand, maybe for some time, understood?” Paul nodded in acknowledgement.

  “Yes sir.” Christa completely to the back of his mind, as his thoughts switched into those of the tactician he was. Rapidly thinking through the complexities, the supplies he would need.

  The Raven continued. “3/LLSR will land to the south east of the airfield. This is where the rest of the battalion comes in, just in case you thought you were being were left out Janke.”

  “I knew you would have a place for us sir,” responded Helmut, nudging Paul as he said it.

  “But there are no cafe’s in that area,” added Bach. This brought howls of laughter from the group at Helmut’s expense, even Paul struggled to hold back a glimmer of a smile.

  “We will be acting as a screen, in company groups,” continued Volkman, “shielding the assault on the airfield. They will have enough to contend with once they leave their gliders, so it is down to us to baby sit them while they punch into the enemy. We must take that airfield if we are to fly in reinforcements, our mountain climbers. Brands men will be landing here,” he said indicating the small village of Pagantha, on the larger scale map pinned up by the Adjutant. “The rest of the battalion will land here, here and here, he indicated, sweeping a line running north to south, east of the airfield.

  “We will need to be in a position to repel any counter attacks that the Allied forces are likely to throw at us. Company groups will be too small to hold them back for long, but we need to hold them back long enough so we can take that airfield,” he said banging the table, making some of the assembled men jump.

  The Raven returned to the other side of the table and sat down in a vacant seat facing the assembled men and nodded to Bach to continue.

  “Order of battle. As a result of our ‘special status’, we will not have the same establishment as the rest of the Division. But, we will have some additional troopers at Company HQ level but not the mortar troop that our brethren have. But we will have a medic attached to Company Headquarters going forwards and for this operation only we’ll have a mortar detachment joining each company, except the Headquarters Company. They will receive two additional MG 34 sections of five men each.”

  There was a murmur amongst the group. Although they accepted that as a result of their new status they needed to be light on their feet if they were to carry out these independent roles, the lack of mortars did weaken their firepower when compared to standard battalions. Paul thought back to the enemy troops in the farm buildings preparing to assault them on the hillock. A few rounds from a Granatwerfer 36, would have soon smoked them out.

  “It will give you some well needed additional firepower,” added Volkman, still remaining seated.

  “They will be joining you tomorrow,” added Bach. “So make them welcome and integrate them into your units. That’s all for now, there will be more detailed briefings, by Company, tomorrow, to enable you to prepare your men for what is expected of them. Any questions?”

  “What will the mortar troop consist off sir?” asked Helmut.

  “Normally it would consist of four tubes and twenty men, but we will be allocated three tubes and ten men.”

  “How many rounds will we carry sir?” asked Nadel

  “Twenty four bombs per tube, so that means additional container drops I’m afraid. You must allow for more time collecting your equipment and supplies in your calculations when planning your movement timings.”

  Paul started to speak, it came out as almost a croak to start with. “What’s our role once we’ve completed the blocking manoeuvre sir?”

  “I’ll take that question Hauptman,” interrupted Volkman holding his hand up to the Adjutant. “The attacks on Maleme, Heraklion and Hania are just the start. The Division will have to sweep through the entire northern coast of Crete from Maleme to Sitia. Our role will be to shadow the main force on its most southern flank, warning the main body of counterattacks and disrupting those attacks until the main force can respond. So, prepare your men for a prolonged fight.

  “Thank you sir,” responded Paul.

  They spent another hour questioning their two senior officers about the various aspects of the mission, probing their individual areas of concern, Paul’s being the difficulty of resupply. Once all had been extracted, the meeting was adjourned, with the entire battalion staff repeating one of the Fallschirmjager’s ten commandments.

  “You are the elite of the Wehrmacht. For you, combat shall be fulfilment. You shall seek it out and train yourself to stand any test.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “The men are ready sir,” said Max, having thrust his head through the tent opening.

  “Thank you Max, I’ll be with you in two.”

  Feldwebel Grun left to re-join the assembled men, waiting the attendance of their company commander.

  Paul was sat on his bunk, reading a letter, from his mother, he had received the previous day. They both sent their love and wished him safe during whatever it was he was involved in. It had been nearly three weeks since he had been home and the shock of discovering the loss of someone he had grown close to. The ache was still there, eating away at him. Restless, sleepless nights of tossing and turning, his mind running through the events leading up to his first discovery of the bombed out apartment building.

  He quickly snapped out of his preoccupation with Christa’s death and refocused his attention on this morning’s event. A pep talk to his men prior to going into battle tomorrow. They expected it, not so much due to tradition, but more about seeking reassurance from their commander that the strategy was right and the tactics sound. Although all knew, particularly Fallschirmjager, that jumping into the jaws of a hostile force there would be casualties and loss of life, it was still good to know that it was for a purpose and well thought out. Paul was not sure what to say to alleviate their concerns. This was the largest airborne assault ever, and had no precedence, so the consequences of such an action were unknown. He thought about it with some concern. Heavy anti-aircraft fire. That moment suspended in space when they would be exposed to small arms fire from the ground, potentially surrounded by the enemy when they were on the ground and ammunition running short before they had barely started.

  He tucked the letter into the pocket of his tunic and eased himself up off the bed. Looking around his confined space, checking off his equipment that was placed ready for when needed, he grabbed his MP40 and peaked cap off the hook suspended from the side of the tent. Ducking under his four pocketed Tuchrock suspended from the centre of his billet, not needed now as he was dressed in his no. 2 pattern jump smock, the new camouflaged version, he headed towards the exit of his palatial abode. He pushed through the tent flap and stepped out into a sunlit d
awn, the sun low in the sky. At least the meeting with his troopers would be relatively cool at this time of day. He walked away from the tent, making his way through the bivouacked lines to one of the few grassed areas of the airfield.

  His men immediately rose from the burnt grass as he approached, commanded by Max, and stood to attention, the officers and Max throwing him a smart salute.

  “At ease, make yourselves comfortable. As comfortable as you can in these salubrious surroundings.”

  The men sat or crouched back down on the soft grass, smiling at Paul’s early attempt at humour.

  Paul squatted down in the semi-circle of his assembled men, already feeling more positive being amongst them, another family.

  “I just want to get a status check, go through a few minor details before the operation tomorrow and then get what rest or sleep you can. Reveille will be at 0400, and on board the aircraft for six.”

  He took off his hat, the rest of the unit taking it as a signal to follow suit, the officers removing their caps, the men their Fallschirm, wiping his brow with the back of his left hand.

  “Report please Leeb.”

  Leeb stood up, his face dead pan as he delivered his report on his units readiness for battle. “Platoon present and correct bar one, sir. We’ve managed to scrounge some extra water bottles, but not enough for two per man.”

  “Feldwebel Grun, could you use your persuasive powers to lighten the Quartermasters stocks?” Asked Paul.