by Harvey Black
“Jawohl Herr Oberleutnant, Leutnant Roth and I have worked out some simple signals so they can spot for us.”
“Excellent.”
Paul checked his watch.
“Let’s get this procession moving.”
Roth’s platoon raised themselves up from their crouched position, weapons at the ready and moved out in column formation, at least a metre or more between each man. As the last of the platoon left the assembly area, Nadel’s men tagged on the end, but only two troops, the missing troop failing to manifest itself. Although they knew it unlikely that the missing unit had survived the stricken plane and would never show up, deep down some had the vain hope that one of their missing comrades would suddenly appear surprising them all.
Leeb called his men up and forward, less Fessman and his two scouts who were already traversing the tree line, quietly creeping through the trees and undergrowth, checking for enemy soldiers who could raise the alarm about the advancing company. Paul, Max and the HQ element tacked on behind Leeb.
Unterfeld Richter’s men were the last to move as he signalled his men to join the column, bringing with them additional mortar bombs carried in the wheeled drop canisters. He was already running through the mathematics of likely range settings, who would target what and the number of bombs they would use. His men had a critical role to play. Should the enemy manage to escape to the east and miss the trap set for them, the venture would have been for nothing. He was determined that he and his men would fulfil their role and contribute to the success of the mission.
The column moved across the undulating ground, the rustle of scrub and crunch of limestone and phyllite rocks beneath their boots, the only sound to be heard other than the occasional clash of a weapon or the subdued tones of the distant firefight towards the coast. After eight hundred metres, Paul, who had moved to the head of the column, held up his right arm, bent at the elbow, the signal for Roth and Richter to break off to the right. Moments later he repeated the signal with his left arm, Nadel extracting his platoon to move them off to the northwest. As they got closer Paul surveyed the tree line, it looked quiet and undisturbed. He felt optimistic they hadn’t been seen and felt confident that Fessman would have found a way to let them know if there was a problem. Had there been an LP, Fessman would have taken them out, silently, or a firefight would have ensued.
Nadel was the first to reach his objective, positioning his two troops to act as a blocking force, denying the enemy the road as an escape route. He scrutinised the area below him, peering through the trees. In front, lower than they were, but higher than the road, set on the embankment, the cream, two storey building, the terracotta roof standing out like a beacon. The road was about fifty metres away, the building some ten metres the other side of that, perhaps two to three metres above it. To his right, he could just make out the one storey building, the starting point for Ernst’s assault on the village.
Movement. His binoculars were up to his eyes as he saw an enemy soldier come from the building in front of him, from a door around the back he assumed. He focused in on him. He moved to the edge of the embankment, mentioned earlier by one of Oberleutnant Fleck’s scouts, and stared out to sea. The soldier looked over his shoulder and beckoned to someone out of sight. Another soldier joined him. This one had a single chevron on his right sleeve, probably the section’s second in command thought Nadel. Both wore Khaki uniforms, with short sleeved tunics with matching knee length shorts, socks pulled to their knees and wrapped over just below.
The Lance Corporal was gesticulating towards the coast. He said something to the other soldier then returned to the house. The sentry sat down on a rock, placed his rifle across his knees and proceeded to roll himself a cigarette, oblivious to the paratroopers watching his every move. Nadel instructed one troop to move to the left, filter down through the trees out of sight of the enemy post and then cross the road. Four men and an MG 34 would cover the road, the other six men would cover the occupied building. Number three troop were spread out along the tree line, the MG 34 on the right, to pick off the enemy once the firing started.
“They will not want to come this way,” he whispered to Fischer.
Paul and Leeb met up with Fessman.
“Well?” asked Leeb impatiently. Not nervous or annoyed, just apprehensive. This was the most dangerous period. If they were jumped by the enemy now, they would lose the initiative, they would be at their least prepared.
“Fairly quiet sir. The main building seems to hold the bulk of the force in the centre, although we’ve only seen half a dozen men. But they’re just brewing up, don’t seem to have a care in the world.”
“What about the southern sector?”
“We’ve seen five men, we think that’s all there is. They too seem pretty relaxed. They were constantly in and out checking out the coastline in the direction of Hania, but apart from that appear pretty much settled.”
“They’re perhaps not aware of the scale of the attack,” suggested Max. “Did you see any sign of comms?”
“We haven’t seen any Feldwebel, there aren’t any trailing antenna visible in the trees.”
“The north?” asked Paul, keen to get the assault moving.
“We saw one sentry, but heard other movement inside the building. I would suggest a half section same as the south sir.”
“Ok, thank you Uffz Fessman, re-join your troop.”
That simple statement, about re-joining his troop, filled Fessman with a deep sense of pride.
“Deploy your men Ernst, let’s get this moving.”
Leeb’s platoon infiltrated deeper into the tree line, to the edge of the higher ground. Konrad’s troop went first, minus four men and the MG 34, who were to stay above and move along further south to cover the central building, the Mandarin.
They dropped down through the trees, coming in directly behind the single storey building, which provided them sufficient cover from the raised ground across the road. They slipped in through the door on the left hand side and quickly covered the two windows facing the road. There was no door or glass in the windows, although it didn’t appear to have been abandoned for long. He looked left and could see the house that was being covered by Leutnant Nadel. He couldn’t see anybody from this angle, but did occasionally hear the clank of equipment, perhaps a soldier washing mess tins or maybe cleaning his rifle. Then he saw movement, briefly, what looked like a soldier moving away from the building towards the embankment. There were no longer any parachutes to be seen, but there were Stuka’s circling, like vultures seeking out their next prey.
Konrad sent a runner back to his platoon commander, giving the all clear for the rest of the unit to move down, and continued to check the positioning of his men, discussing arcs of fire, key points and confirming actions on contact with the enemy.
Leeb instructed Fessman to move his troop down next. He turned to Straube, who would be commanding the MG 34 section that would remain at the top.
“For God’s sake keep a good look out for Fessman and Jordan, they will be moving right into your line of fire. Once you see them, just hold your position and cover, understood?”
“Jawohl, Herr Leutnant.”
Leeb left them to it and went down to join the rest of his platoon. He was in his element. The skills of a soldier and a leader came naturally to him, reinforced by his Fallschirmjager training and being in combat on three separate occasions.
He moved carefully between the trees, constantly checking the higher ground opposite and joined the rest of his platoon, some twenty seven men crouching in and around the white building. Paul, Max, the medic and the Company HQ joined them. The HQ group would stay with Konrad and his men.
Roth reached the top of the escarpment and studied the target area below him. He handed Kienitz the binoculars. “You can see two soldiers to the right of the house, it looks like they’re burning diesel to make a brew.”
“See them. They look pretty indifferent sir.�
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“To the left, one hundred and fifty metres you can make out the Mandarin, probably their main force and platoon HQ.”
“Got it. Looks like some movement, may be five or six soldiers getting ready to move.”
“Quick, let me see.” Roth grabbed the binoculars and swept the area of the building.
“You’re right. I bet they’re going to reinforce the men at the other end.”
“Shall I send a runner to warn the company commander sir?”
“No, it’s too late now. I’ve lost sight of them, they must be around the bend in the road. Wait, there’s another group coming out. They’re moving this way. They must be reinforcing each end of the village. Let’s get in to position quickly.”
He arranged his men. Two troops along the escarpment directly opposite the end building and one troop further along the road as it sloped down from the village. The killing zone was set up.
Keller took the baseplate, the traversing and cross-levelling gear off his back pack placing them on the reddish, dusty ground where he had cleared off the scrub earlier. In the meantime, Trommler had removed the barrel and elevating screw pillar allowing them to assemble the 50mm mortar ready for action. Sommer extracted the black stencilled, dull red, one kilogram mortar bombs from their case and laid them down ready for use. Richter ran passed the three mortar positions giving the paratroopers their targets and ranges, two would be targeting the other side of the village road, the third would bombard the enemy as they tried to evacuate the village.
Keller, on the mortar position furthest to the left and one of the tubes used to keep the enemy from escaping the village east, pressed the quick release lever, unlocking the catch of the sliding collar, freeing it to slide in its glide, elevating the barrel. He locked the sliding collar in its glide, then using the elevating screw he finely adjusted it until it was set for two hundred and sixty metres. Trommler, the layer, threw himself down by the left side of the tube, wriggling forwards on his belly until he was able to hold the levelling handles, pressing on the baseplate with his forearms, ready to add his weight for stability. Keller got into position on the other side of the tube ready to load the TNT filled, high explosive bombs. Richter checked each tube, confirming they were ready and verifying the range settings.
Paul instructed his company HQ, including the radio operator and medic, to stay with Konrad’s men, reinforcing his reduced troop, there to cover any speedy withdrawal.
He turned to Max. “We’ll go with Fessman, Leeb can manage a troop on his own.”
“Ok, sir.”
He looked at his watch, it was 0830. Running through the timings for Nadel, Roth and Richter to set up in their positions, he concluded they would be ready.
“Let’s do it then Max.”
He gripped Max’s hand.
“And keep that big mug of yours out of sight, it’s a target no one could miss.”
The confident brown eyes set above the slightly bent nose, broken more than once, looked back at him.
“And you remember to stoop a little sir, or you’ll get that head of yours blown off,” he said, his face breaking in to a grin.
Paul indicated for Fessman to lead the way and signalled to Leeb that they were moving out. They manoeuvred from around the back of the building where they had been hidden from the road and quickly scurried across, eyes looking left and right and up towards the ground above them, praying they wouldn’t be seen crossing the hard packed surface to reach the other side.
They reached the embankment edge undisturbed and moved up the forty degree slope, using the scrub, the odd boulder and small olive tree to keep out of sight. Paul signalled to Leeb, who was still across the other side of the road, to start the advance. They would have to keep checking each others position to ensure one didn’t get in front of the other. Fessman took the lead, shadowed by Herzog and Gieb, Paul behind them, then Max and the rest of Fessman’s troop.
Leeb and Jordan’s troop also set off, making their way south, ten metres from the edge of the road, again using the scattered trees, tall patches of grass and scrub to hide their existence as best they could.
The six Allied soldiers approaching in the opposite direction, to re-join their comrades at the northern end of the village, currently overlooked by Nadel and his men, happily smoking cigarettes and chatting, guns slung over their shoulders, bumped into the darkened Fallschirmjager coming their way.
Fessman was the first to react, his beloved Kar 98K/42, held at waste level, spat out a round that took the Corporal, leading the party, full in the chest. Herzog and Gieb reacting seconds later also fired their Kar 98Ks, Gieb hitting the soldier immediately behind the Corporal in the shoulder, Herzog’s round whistling through the air and over the head of a very lucky serviceman. All three, once they had fired, threw themselves to the ground, Fessman already working the bolt like lever of his Carbine, ejecting the empty case and feeding another 7.92mm round into the chamber.
Paul saw the three men dive to the ground and swept the area in front, firing above the troopers’ heads, striking the Corporal again as he fell to his knees, his mouth open, but no cry issuing forth, falling backwards from the impact of the round. This was the signal for the rest of the company to react.
Nadel’s platoon opened up on their target. The sentry, still sat on the rock, who seconds earlier was happily rubbing fine shag into his cigarette paper, was hit three times, his colleague next to him twice. The two who charged out of the house to take on this sudden appearance of the enemy ran into a hail of fire, one struck down immediately, the other managing to get down the side of the building, sprinting as fast as he could to re-join the main bulk of the force. His luck ran out as in his panic, he collided with Rammelt and Petzel, the troop’s tail end charley, who cut him down.
Straube, situated on the high ground opposite the command building, the Mandarin, ordered the MG34 to open up, adding to the dissonance of sound steadily building. A torrent of 7.92 rounds smashed into the HQ building, some punching through the thin walls, some shattering the glass in the windows, others piercing the terracotta roof, fracturing the delicate tiles, broken glass and splinters of tile cascading on the defenders beneath.
***
Roth looked at Kienitz, nodded and they continued to wait patiently for their turn to get to grips with the enemy.
***
Richter also took his cue and ordered tubes one and two to open fire. Trommler, holding the bomb above the tube, dropped it and immediately went for the trigger, both of them burying their faces in the ground.
Thunk, thunk, the two mortars lobbed their bombs over the tree line, over the heads of the units near the road, landing the other side of the HQ building, left and right. They didn’t fire a second round, waiting for confirmation that the rounds had landed where they were meant to.
“There,” shouted Keller, seeing a trooper with his rifle held in both hands above his head, the signal that they were on target.
“Now we have work to do,” added Richter, giving the order to recommence firing.
They fired the rounds slowly and deliberately, working them along the far side of the road, not the rapid six rounds in eight seconds they were capable of. Instead they created a wall of high explosives and splinters discouraging the enemy from even considering moving in that direction.
***
A Bren gun, it’s distinctive curved, thirty round magazine clearly visible, had been set up in the upper window at the end of the tangerine house, the paratroopers nicknaming it, the ‘Mandarin’. Now it was spitting .303 rounds towards Paul and his men. In the window below it, two men were firing rounds as fast as they could cock their rifles, emptying their ten round magazines, thrusting new five round chargers in as rapidly as they could. Three men who had got out of the door further back had thrown themselves down by the side wall on the side of the road, were also firing back, the rest of the men remaining inside covering other sectors should an attack from another dire
ction emerge.
Jordan, across the other side of the road, could see the firefight taking place and hear the clamour of sound, splintering trees and chipped walls, but dare not fire for fear of hitting his own men.
Bullets whistled passed Paul’s head as he too went to ground. He was anxious, he knew they had to do something, or they would lose the initiative and get bogged down. The approaching six men had prevented them from getting close to the house unseen. Richter’s mortar rounds were not limitless and a counter attack was inevitable. His tactics were based on keeping the enemy on the move, forcing them out of the village where Roth and his men, supported by Richter’s mortars, were waiting to spring the trap. Without another thought, he pulled a grenade from his belt, unscrewed the cap, pulled the string, counted two seconds, and then threw it as far as he could towards the enemy lines, some forty metres away. Before it had exploded he was up on his feet, his MP 40 clutched at waist height, a fresh magazine loaded, was spitting fire at the entrenched enemy.
Rounds zipped past him as he sprinted towards his foes, his boots pounding on the ground, his heart pumping in sync, hammering in his ears. The grenade exploded in front of the soldiers at the side of the house, stunning them temporarily, the Bren gunner ceasing fire as he endeavoured to reposition the light machine gun to fire down on the interloper getting dangerously close.
The two in the doorway both aimed at Paul as he ran through the dissipated explosion, the gleam in their eyes indicating their confidence in being able to kill this German soldier with ease. Their faith quickly evaporating as a 9mm round from Paul’s machine pistol struck the soldier on the left and a 7.92mm round struck the one on the right, Fessman’s Kar98/42 still smoking as he chambered another round.
Petzel and Stumme with the MG 34, now had their turn, spraying the upper window with a lethal rain, Max’s grenade following through, flying through the window finishing the Bren Gun’s dominance for good.
