Devils with Wings: Silk Drop

by Harvey Black

  Paul looked down at the lifeless body. His mother would not see him again, or hear the sound of her son’s voice. His death, although not completely forsaken, his comrades were close by, he could see them looking over, but his family could not take part in it. He and his men had caused so much death in the last twenty four hours.

  Paul placed the boy’s jacket over his face, his comrades looking on, one grizzled Corporal nodding, acknowledging that although they were enemies, he appreciated Paul’s demonstration of compassion. Behind him, tugging him back to the world around him, he could hear Bergmann’s radio crackling.

  “Venus, Venus, over.”

  “Venus receiving, strength five, but you are breaking up, over.”

  The caller could clearly be heard, but the signal was weak and the voice crackling. Bergmann conversed with his fellow operator at the other end.

  “Oberleutnant Fleck is moving his company to ambush the rest of the escaping Tommies sir. Wait a minute.”

  Bergmann listened in to his handset.

  “It’s Major Volkman sir.”

  Paul turned to Max.

  “Get the prisoners and wounded in to the gully and get the recognition strips out. Visibility is good now and our pilots will be out hunting again. I want the two injured men and two men from Braemer’s troop to form a guard. I suspect we’ll be moving again soon.”

  Paul didn’t look to see if his orders were being carried out, he knew he could leave it in Max’s hands, the Raven was already on the line.

  “Outstanding job Brand, what’s... condition of... company? Over.”

  “Still checking sir, but I have a strength of at least two platoons.”

  “Good. A Junkers... managed to land... Maleme airfield... “

  “Does that mean reinforcements sir, over?”

  “Yes Brand, so... low lying hills... east, over.”

  “You’re breaking up, head north then east? Over.”

  “Yes, over.”

  “We need a resupply, over.”

  “Liaise with HQ supply, over.”

  “What about the prisoners sir? Over.”

  “Leave... small guard. Move quickly... hard time... Rethymnon, over.”

  “Understood. Rest of the battalion sir? Over.”

  “Fleck... south Hania... by… company. Janke’s company... leap frog them... follow... , over.”

  “Janke behind us? Over.”

  “Yes, get going Brand, out.”

  Paul handed the handset back to Bergmann and sought out Max

  “How is it going Max?”

  “Most of the wounded are down sir. They’re in shit state, even the non-wounded.”

  “How are they off for water?”

  “Not a lot sir.”

  “Ok, send one of our guys with a couple of prisoners back up the gully to the village to get some water. If they’ve got a medic send him as well, he can look at their wounded. Then get the officers together Max, we’re moving out again.”

  Paul looked across at the sun, now above the horizon. It was going to be a long, tiring, hot day.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The sun was glaring. Not yet overhead, but already fierce and unrelenting as they picked their way down the gully that was widening the closer they got to the bottom. They passed the goat herder’s hut, but of him, or his goats and sheep, there was no sign. A bird circled above them, a ‘Bearded Vulture’ a knowledgeable paratrooper informed the group, with a wingspan of nearly three metres.

  “It’s tracking us,” one of the men was heard to say.

  “Probably a Tommy spy,” added another.

  Leeb’s platoon led the way down the gully, Fessman’s troop in the lead as usual. The troop proud of their acting Uffz’s reputation and theirs now, as the scouts of the company. Nadel’s men followed behind them, then Richter’s Mortar troop and Roth’s platoon acting as tail end charlie. The headquarters company was ensconced in the middle. The two wounded soldiers from Leeb’s platoon and two others from Nadel’s already depleted platoon, had been left behind to secure the prisoners. Paul was comfortable they could handle the task, even though wounded. He couldn’t leave anyone else, if they met a much stronger force he would need all of his fit men.

  The column halted and Paul and Max made their way forward to the front of the line, knowing Fessman would have only stopped the march for a good reason. They arrived at the head of the line, the inverted triangle of Hania much broader now that they were closer, the slopes either side of the gully more shallow, the ground levelling out ahead. Gunfire could be heard coming from the direction of the coast, the 3rd Fallschirmjager Regiment probing the 10th New Zealand Brigades front line.

  “We can swing east now sir. It looks like a track about two hundred metres ahead on the right,” pointed out Fessman, and handed Paul his binoculars and shifted his favoured Kar 98K/42 into position to repel any possible attack.

  His troop had already fanned out either side of the gully providing cover for the company commander and the head of the column. He takes command well, thought Paul.

  Studying the route ahead he could see the ground flattened out further, the drop towards Hania more gradual. There were a number of buildings scattered about before the ground reached the more densely populated town, some two to three kilometres away. To the right, the track Fessman had picked out. He would not normally choose to use it. Everything he had ever been taught about tactical movement, excluded the use of tracks, ideal locations for an ambush. But, he knew he had no choice if he wanted to move east quickly and get to the southern point of Rethymnon and take some of the pressure off the Fallschirmjager there who were battling to clear the landing strip and break out of Stavromenos. He needed the track; to try and move across the rough ground quickly was not an option.

  Paul handed the binoculars back to Fessman, looked at his watch, it was showing ten fifteen. He turned to Max.

  “We have about three klicks to go until we get to the resupply drop area.”

  “We’ll have time sir, it’s not due ‘till mid-day. So long as we don’t get held up again,” replied Max.

  They all looked north. The firing south of Hania was escalating, bursts of MG 34s more persistent now as the battle raged.

  “Do you think the Tommie’s have run into Oberleutnant Janke’s boys sir?”

  “Quite possibly Max.” He turned to Fessman. “Move out Uffz, take the track. I don’t need to remind you to keep your eyes peeled.”

  “Yes sir. Right you lot, move out,” he called to his troop, indicating that they angle across to the track ahead.

  They moved off. Paul raised his arm in the air signalling the company to move, then, along with Max tagged on the end of Fessman’s troop. They turned right along the narrow, gravelled track, almost tinged pink in colour, following its weaving path. To the right, the slope leading back up to the low foothills where they had come from earlier and to the north gently sloping down towards Hania to their northwest.

  The first few hundred yards took them passed one of the many olive groves that seemed to dominate the countryside and on their left an orchard of lemon trees. Although the temperature was slowly ramping up to its peak of forty degrees, this early part of the morning was almost pleasant and the steady rhythmic march of boots along the elongated column was therapeutic.

  “You wouldn’t think we were in a bloody war sir.”

  “It does seem a bit surreal Max.”

  “What’s that sir?”

  “What Max?”

  “Listen, it’s like a hum, a steady hum, almost a droning sound.”

  “You’re right, I can hear something.”

  They continued to tramp east, the track taking them left and right as it meandered across the landscape ahead of them. On their right the olive grove had long since been replaced by scattered trees strewn with broken rocks. The humming became louder, clearly heard now above the steady footfall of their boots, the sound almost pul
sating.

  “There sir,” pointed Max to the left. “Beehives.”

  In a small open patch, there must have been at least thirty beehives, in undeviating rows, alive with drones and worker bees, returning with a stash of nectar appropriated from the nearby plants. Looking more closely at the track side the soldiers could see the purple plants were alive with honeybees darting from flower to flower.

  “It’s a shame we didn’t have time to raid them, fresh honey would be nice,” mused Paul.

  “You’d be on your own sir, you won’t catch me going near them.”

  The droning sound slowly diminished as they moved down in to a shallow dip in the track, continuing round a long bend, ahead of them row upon row of cultivated trees in yet another grove. The track narrowed even further, overgrown with ankle to knee high grass in places, dropping down to meet the exit point of a small gully, before rising back up again and levelling out. Petzel leading the way, Fessman slightly behind his right shoulder, both scanning left and right, aware of the possibility of an ambush along this particularly narrow stretch of path. Suddenly Fessman reached out with his left hand, grabbed the back of Petzel’s ‘Y’ strap, and yanked him back.

  “Down, down, don’t move.”

  At the same time he raised his karbine in his right hand signalling the column to halt.

  Paul, Max and Leeb quickly made their way to the front of the file.

  “What is it Uffz?” asked Leeb crouching down next to him.

  “There sir,” he said pointing to the ground about two long strides in front of them, “a trip wire.”

  “I can’t see anything.”

  “Neither can I,” said Paul. “You’ve got good eyesight Uffz.”

  He turned to Max. “I want Leutnant Roth watching our back and Leutnant Nadel to put a troop out either side of our line of march. They would have opened up by now had they seen we’d discovered their trap, but I still want the area secured.”

  Max shot off to carry out his orders and after closer scrutiny Paul and Leeb were able to make out the very small stretch of trip wire that was barely visible passing across a bare patch of grass, its green colour blending in well with the surrounding blades.

  “How the hell did you pick that out?” exclaimed Leeb, who even now lost sight of it if he turned away for too long.

  “The benefits of being an ex-poacher,” informed Max who slid back down beside them. “Troops are moving into position sir.”

  “If you were going to put down a trip wire sir, it would be the most obvious place, most of the track has been bare up to this point. There’s also good cover each side.”

  “Can you deal with the trip Uffz?”

  “I’ll do it sir,” interrupted Max. “It’ll be good to keep my hand in.”

  “You sure Feld?” asked Leeb

  “Yes sir.”

  “Are sure Max,” added Paul

  “I’ll sort it.”

  “Right we’ll leave you to it. Ernst, move the men back thirty metres.”

  Max handed Fessman his MP40, helmet and stripped off his Y straps and any other items he wouldn’t need. He took his P38 from his holster.

  “I’ll hang on to this though,” he said, tucking his pistol into his belt.

  “Take it easy Max,” warned Paul. “We can always go round.”

  “Oberleutnant’s Janke and Fleck wouldn’t thank you if they blundered into it.”

  “Good point Max, but be careful.”

  “Take it slowly Feld,” advised Fessman

  Paul and Fessman pulled back to join the rest of the unit leaving Max to study the ground ahead of him. To the right of the trip wire the grasses were much higher, interspersed with small yellow and purple flowers. To his left, a jumble of rocks and a large purple plant, like nothing he had ever seen before. It was the size of a man’s head, a velvety, purple, lolling tongue with an even darker protuberance coming from the centre, the flower backed by a ring of large green leaves, the trip wire disappearing behind it.

  He lowered himself to the ground, creeping forwards until his face was millimetres from the green trip wire. He looked along the wire, tracking it with his eyes until he could see the end where it was tied off to a thick stalk of a shrub. He could see nothing else around it. He moved gently to the left, even more cautiously now he knew where the device was likely to be. He peered around the purple plant, the sun beating down on him, its rays burning into his exposed skin through his short cropped fair hair, now without a helmet to shield it. Sweat was pooling along his back as he reached out with his left hand and gently pulled aside the plant’s leaves, exposing the device.

  It was a simple mechanism — a tin can wedged between two rocks, inside a grenade had been lodged. Its pin had been removed, but in the confines of the tin, the lever arm couldn’t be released. Had Fessman’s lead scout kicked the ankle high trip wire, it would have dislodged the British Mills grenade from the can, allowing the spring loaded arming lever to be released, forcing the firing pin to strike the percussion cap and exploding the grenade. Depending on whether it was a four, four and a half or a seven second fuse would have dictated who in his troop would have been injured or killed. With the longer fuse, Fessman and his lead scout would have been a dozen paces away when it exploded, targeting those in the middle of the patrol.

  Max saw a glint in the undergrowth, it was the pin that had been discarded after being taken out of the grenade. He picked up the pin, careful not to dislodge the trip wire and grenade, and placed it down in front of him. Gripping the wire with his right hand, his heart thumping in his chest, his left hand hovering above the tin, he gently eased the Mills bomb out grasping it tightly before the lever arm could be released. He held the grenade tightly, his lungs sucking in air as he had been involuntarily holding his breath for the whole time he was making the trap safe. He buried his face in to the ground waiting for his breathing to slow down and his heart beat to settle before he re-inserted the pin and made the Mills bomb safe.

  He got up, wiping the sweat pouring off his brow and running into his eyes, placed the grenade in his pocket, thinking it may come in handy, and turned towards his comrades showing a thumbs up. He was joined by his company commander who slapped him on his back.

  “Well done Max, what was it?”

  He pulled the grenade from his pocket. “An English egg sir, hard boiled and still intact,” he said with a grin.

  “Just something left to hold us up, not part of any larger scheme.”

  Paul looked at his watch, they had less than an hour to get to the resupply point which was still a Kilometre away. He turned round and signalled the company to continue its advance, the two troops on the flanks collapsing back in on the line of march. Max donned his equipment, congratulations and compliments winging their way in his direction and the unit resumed its fast pace east.

  They arrived at the chosen location thirty minutes before the scheduled drop time. Recognition markers were laid out and the company set up in an all-round defence. The site chosen was to the north of the track, a flat piece of ground covered in a short layer of grass and a scattering of shrubs. A pillar of smoke was spewing upwards somewhere between Hania and Rethymnon, the battle for the island continuing. All they had to do now was wait.

  Bergmann had been in communication with Regimental Headquarters and they verified the drop was still on, albeit running late by up to ten minutes. After a twenty minute wait, they heard a steady drone to their west, parallel to them, the change in the tone indicating they were swinging east to fly over the drop zone. Shielding their eyes they searched for the first signs of the aircraft, the forty plus degree heat causing the horizon to shimmer, distorting all they could see.

  “There,” pointed out Leeb, “three of them, they’re starting to drop down.”

  The three Junkers were in an arrow formation, slowly descending to the correct height for dropping their loads, on a heading that would take them on a route directly in f
ront of Paul’s unit, on target for a perfect drop. The droning grew more forceful the nearer the planes got, eventually thundering by Paul’s small force, two Mischlast Abwurfbehälter, wooden drop containers, with seven hundred kilogram payloads, dropped from the two outer aircraft and four steel drop canisters fell from the lead plane.

  The aircraft flew so low, the paratroopers could see the pilot’s heads silhouetted against their cockpits and waved to them, a link with other German combatants, a much needed reminder that they were not on their own. The chutes deployed and the containers swayed as they were gently lowered towards the ground to land a few hundred metres away from the paratroopers waiting expectantly.

  Even before the Junkers had started their climb in preparation to bank towards the north and return back to base, the designated Fallschirmjager were up on their feet, racing across the open ground to recover the containers and their contents. Although fairly confident that the enemy were not in the immediate vicinity, they still didn’t want to take any chances. The low flying aircraft may have attracted unwanted attention. With wheels attached to the canisters and the wooden containers unloaded, the supplies were dragged quickly back to the track and the contents checked. Ammunition belts for the MG34s, rounds for the MP 40s and Kar 98Ks were found, along with rations and supplies of water. No mortar bombs had been dropped, they would have to suffice with the ten rounds per tube left.

  They distributed the ammunition and rations between the troops, any residual items were left in the wheeled canisters and taken along with them. There was surplus machine gun ammunition and water, although the water wouldn’t last long, each man was consuming at least four litres of water a day.