by Harvey Black
CHAPTER TWENTY
The paratroopers were roused at four in the morning, the skies still dark, the coolness pleasant after the blazing heat of the previous day. Most had managed to bag three or four hours sleep, even though they had LP and sentry duty during the night. But once released from duty, sleep overwhelmed them. However, faces were drawn with exhaustion, limbs strained and aching, blisters punctured and taped, ready for another days marching or fighting. Some had even attempted to scrape off their two days of stubble, wash some of the grime off their faces, to then re-apply their camouflage. During the six hour break, weapons had been cleaned, dust and grit not only invaded the working parts of their weapons, potentially causing a stoppage, but their eyes, nose and ears, a constant layer of dust grinding its way into their uniforms, rasping their skin raw.
The unit formed up, led by Nadel and his men, and trooped through the blackened village, the whitewashed houses like white ghosts, the occasional dog barking at their departure, seeing them off their territory. Fessman and his band had already scouted the empty buildings again, ensuring they were free of enemy soldiers, tagging on to the procession as it passed through. Their boots clattered on the metalled road, the first one they had encountered since landing on the island, but they weren’t to remain on it for long.
Leaving the village, they dropped down again, re-joining the track that continued to take them north east. They could see very little of the countryside either side of them. But as they got closer to Rethymnon and the darkness slowly gave way to the dawn, what they saw differed little from the dry, barren land they had travelled across the previous day.
The occasional dwelling broke up the monotonous scenery as they got closer to the outskirts of the town, prompting an upsurge in their alertness as they got closer to the concentration of enemy troops ensconced there. The track switched east again, passing Adele to the south, a metalled road running through the village and continuing east parallel to their route of march. After about a kilometre they came across a Wadi and Paul checked his map and conferred with officers and Max.
“This has to be Wadi Piggi,” said Paul pointing to the line running south to north on the map, “and back there we’ve just passed Adele, agreed?”
They all nodded.
“We’re getting close now sir, should we fan out a bit?” asked Leeb.
Paul pondered the question. “Not yet Ernst, it will slow us down, we’ve to keep moving fast. I want us south east of the town by midday and ready to start probing the outskirts, we need to start taking some pressure off our units there. Saying that, make sure your platoons are ready to switch to extended order at a moments notice. Understood?” He looked at each man in turn, checking their understanding.
“How’s the prisoner Feldwebel Grun?”
“Apart from being a bit footsore, he’s fine sir. Those flying boots aren’t made for marching in this terrain.”
The group all laughed.
“Have Fink check him over, I don’t want him holding us up. We move out in five, Wadi Bardia is about two klicks away.”
They moved off after their five-minute stopover and after two kilometres they crossed the Wadi Bardia, continuing east. The baking sun burning their arms and faces as the column hurried east, conscious of their commander’s urgency. They pushed forward for a further five hundred metres before running straight into the jaws of an Allied counterattack. Their reaction was instinctive.
Nadel, who was the lead platoon took to the ground, his two troops fanning out, two MG 34s spraying suppressive fire to their front, although they were still unable to catch sight of their enemy. Roth took his platoon to the left and Leeb to the right, wary of a potential attack to their flanks. Paul called his commanders together, crouching low as the firefight built up to a crescendo, the Fallschirmjager putting down a two hundred and seventy degree arc of continuous fire. Their troop commanders reining them back, conserving their limited ammunition.
“What’s the situation to your fronts?”
“There are troops to our northeast sir, putting down some pretty heavy firepower,” responded Nadel.
“How many?”
“I don’t know sir.”
“Guess, dammit.”
“Could be a platoon or more sir.”
“Roth.”
“No contact at the moment sir. I have my lads spread out along a hundred metre front, west to east.”
“Leeb.”
“Nothing yet sir. I’ve sent a half troop with an MG to cover the road on our right, the rest are covering Dietrich’s right.”
“Hold position for now, except I want a full troop on the road and I want a troop moved closer to Nadel’s position, covering his left. Leave the rest of your platoon where they are; Ernst, but move back about one hundred metres, hold a line across our rear in case Dietrich needs to pull back, he can filter through your position while you cover him.”
“And me sir?” asked Richter.
“Place your mortars behind Leeb’s line, but keep them silent. We’ll keep your boys as a surprise should we need them.”
Paul pictured the layout in his mind, Nadel to the front, Leeb covering the road, their right flank and a troop backing up Nadel, Roth covering their left.
“Let’s move, Max with me.”
The platoon commanders quickly dispersed, Paul and Max running, hunched over, towards Nadel’s position, rounds zipped passed them, the relatively flat ground offering little protection. Nadel had shifted his men back about ten metres, finding a shallow dip in the ground to give them some modicum of cover.
“What’s happening?”
“There’s definitely a build-up sir, there has to be at least two platoons in front of us, but they seem to be bedding down to our northeast.”
“Any probing?”
“Nothing sir, just harassing fire, they don’t seem to be making any effort to move.”
“The buggers are up to something sir,” advised Max.
“We could pincer them sir. I could keep them pinned down while Ernst and Viktor attack their flanks.”
“Shush,” hissed Max, raising his hand for silence. “What’s that?”
“All I can hear is gunfire Feldwebel,” responded Nadel.
“No, listen sir. Can you hear that clanking sound?”
“Look, smoke,” called Nadel, pointing east towards a cloud of blue smoke.
Paul grabbed his binoculars from their case, rounds zipping passed him. One so close, he felt the wind from it against his cheek.
Max pulled him lower. “Best keep low sir, there’s no cover here.”
“Get their heads down sir,” Max called to Leutnant Nadel.
He then turned to Fischer, lying next to him. “Don’t forget your training, keep the men changing positions, don’t let them home in on you.”
Max turned back to his commander. “Can you see anything?”
“Yes, look,” he said and handed Max his binoculars.
Max scanned the area in front of him and about three hundred metres away, on a road that ran across their front, he could see the blue smoke spewing in to the air as the two twenty five ton tanks revved their engines, ramping up their speed to a faster than walking pace of twelve kilometres an hour.
“Scheisse, tanks. We’ve nothing to stop them sir.”
“We could use Richter’s mortars to try and shed their tracks,” suggested Nadel.
“Not a chance sir, the armour is so bloody thick, even the 88s struggle to stop them. They look like Matilda’s, Infantry support tanks, and they’re designed to take punishment.”
The clanking of the two tanks got louder the closer they got, the three man turret of the lead tank whining as it turned towards them.
Boomf.
A 40mm round shot out of the barrel, passing Paul’s group some distance away, but they still felt the shockwave as it whipped passed them, smashing into a rock, but there was no explosion.
“It’s
an armoured piercing round,” said Max with some glee. “They mustn’t have any HE shells.”
“Max, get Richter to put a few rounds down on top of the tanks.”
“They won’t do much good sir. The armour must be at least sixty millimetres thick.”
“It will keep the heads of their infantry down, give us some time to figure out what’s going on. Oh, and get Leeb to move further back towards the Wadi we crossed, anchor a line on that building next to the road. He can cover us if we need to pull back. Take Bergmann and the HQ with you. Get Bergmann to let Regiment know what’s happening.”
The lead Matilda’s engine screamed as it swivelled round on the spot to face them, before moving off the road in their direction, the turret moving to keep it in line with the enemy, its barrel sniffing out new targets. The engine revs remained high as the one hundred and ninety break horsepower of the two diesel engines, pushed the tracks of the tank over the rough ground, its speed now reduced. The second tank continued along the road until it had passed beyond its partner, then after stalling and crashing through the gears, it too turned west to head towards the German paratroopers.
Boomf.
Boomf.
Both fired, now joined by the staccato fire of their Besa, 7.92mm turret machine guns. They were three hundred metres away, slowly crawling towards Paul’s immediate front line. He quickly calculated how long they had before they were on top of them. Seven kilometres an hour, he estimated, that would see them amongst his men in less than three minutes.
“Infantry sir,” pointed out Nadel.
Paul could see the helmeted, khaki uniforms, some in full battledress, others in shorts with rolled over socks, dashing behind the tanks, seeking cover behind their steel charges, amongst the dust and fumes that was surging around them. Paul’s tactical mind ran through what he knew about the situation, the scenario’s the enemy could enact and how his men could counter them.
To his right, a metalled road, one of few at this level, ran adjacent to them, west to east, running west back to the small town or village of Adele. Behind him, the Wadi Bardia, that ran down to the coast. They had crossed it earlier, a good fall-back position surmised Paul. In front of him he had two tanks, at the moment, and about a platoon of infantry. To his left, approximately two platoons probing Roth’s position. Was it just a company counter attack, or was their more, he asked himself? What if it was a full battalion out there.
“Scheisse.” They could come up the Wadi and attack them from the side and behind, his mind raced.
“Sir?” asked Nadel, trying to ascertain what was wrong.
“One tank has stopped,” called a trooper down the line. “Look the crew are climbing out.”
“Nadel, as soon as the mortars open up, I want you to pull back. Go through Leeb’s line and head straight for the Wadi, got it?”
“Yes sir.”
“And make sure you cover it to the north.”
“Yes sir.” He turned to get his men ready to bug out as soon as the mortars opened fire.
Although the first tank seemed to have stopped, possibly due to mechanical difficulties, it had certainly not been hit, the second one overtook it and continued to rattle towards the beleaguered Fallschirmjager.
Boomf.
Another armoured piercing round sped passed them in Leeb’s direction.
Crump, crump, crump.
Three mortar bombs landed amongst the tanks, an eruption of reddish soil and rocks showering the infantry and their juggernauts in a coating of dust, shrapnel and rock splinters ricocheting off the tank’s armour, some hitting the accompanying infantry, slicing through their thin uniforms and tearing into their tender flesh, as if mere rice paper.
Crump, crump, crump.
Three more rounds, Richter had certainly proven his worth, thought Paul.
“Run,” screamed Paul
They were up off the ground, sprinting as fast as they could as another three rounds landed amongst the enemy, disrupting their advance. One of Nadel’s men went down, picked up by one of his comrades, thrown over a shoulder, as his friends covered him, the trooper staggering under the extra weight to the perceived safety of Leeb’s line.
“Leave the injured man here,” ordered Paul. “Get to the Wadi now.”
Max joined him as Fink bolted passed him to help the injured soldier.
“All hell is breaking loose sir. Roth is up against at least two platoons.”
“Is he holding?”
“Yes, but it won’t take them long to flank him.”
Richter thumped down beside them. “I have fifteen bombs left sir.”
“Hold off for now, pack up and get back behind Leutnant Nadel’s men. Make sure you can cover the Wadi to the north.”
They all turned as they heard the clanking of tank tracks. Having survived the onslaught from Richter’s mortar troop, the tank continued its trek towards them, although light half a dozen escorts after the mauling from the mortars that had rained down on them. A shell whistled passed them, hitting the house on the edge of the road, where Leeb had set up an MG34, to act as his anchor point for his new extended line.
“You need to move now Unterfeldwebel, we won’t be able to hold this line for much longer,” Leeb informed Richter.
He hastened towards his troop, to gather up his men, pack up his Granatwerfer 34s, and reposition them west of the line, Wadi Bardia.
“Ernst, give Dietrich five minutes to get in to position, then pull back.”
“What about Viktor sir?”
“Max and I will get him now.”
Leeb confirmed his understanding of his orders and Paul and Max ran, hunkered down, towards Roth’s location. Rounds zipped passed them, like angry mosquitos, but far more deadly. The grazing fire from the enemy was so intense, they were as likely to get hit by accident as they were an aimed shot.
“What’s the situation Viktor?”
“Fifty plus sir, by the quantity of iron that’s coming our way.”
“How’s ammo?” asked Max.
“I’ve restricted the MGs fire to two Feld, were getting through it fast.”
“Have they attempted to assault or flank you?”
“No sir, I don’t understand it. They’re keeping us well pinned down, but don’t seem to be in any hurry to take advantage of it. I’m watching my flanks, but nothing.”
Paul rubbed the scar above his left eye, a habit he had formed and was trying to break. The Wadi notion flitted into his deliberation again.
“It is the bloody Wadi they’re after Max, we need to get out of here now, before they get in behind us. Get Leutnant Leeb back to the Wadi now, we’ll be right behind you.”
“What about you sir?”
“I’ll be with Leutnant Roth, I’ll be right behind you.”
Max hesitated for a second, gripped Paul’s upper arm, a vice like grip. “Keep your bloody head down sir,” then he dashed off to carry out his orders, racing across the broken ground, jinking from side to side like a wild hare. Bullets whistled passed him, although the intensity of the fire had moderated, the quiet before the storm, he thought.
Paul grabbed Roth’s shoulder, shouting into his ear as a tank round shot past behind them, smashing into the building where moments before Leeb had an MG34 emplacement set up. The projectile pierced the fragile wall, hitting Primke, who had returned to pick up the remaining ammunition, in the chest, punching a hole the size of a man’s fist, death was instant.
“Start pulling back, don’t bother to skirmish, just get the hell out of here.”
“Smoke?”
“Yes, make it two or three.”
Roth called out to his men and they prepped themselves to pull out at a moment’s notice. Smoke grenades were hurled in the direction of their adversary, an instantaneous smoke cloud forming in the desert like heat. The cloud billowed forwards towards the enemy and about the paratroopers, they didn’t need the order repeating when they were calle
d on to pull back.
They had almost made it to the building unscathed, when a rogue Vickers round struck a man down, clean through his throat. After a few moments of gurgling panic, pink froth foaming at his mouth as the soldier tried desperately to breathe, a quick attempt by one of his comrades to stem the blood that was spurting out from the torn internal jugular vein, spraying their uniforms and faces as they frantically tried to stop the flow, he succumbed and was left. They would have to find time to mourn for their comrade later, now they needed to ensure their own survival.
Paul called encouragement to his men, although not a rout the initiative was not theirs any more. But they didn’t need rousing, even with the loss of their comrade their morale was high, their confidence in themselves and their leader unabated. One half of Paul’s brain was planning his next move, the other section questioning his leadership, leading his men into a superior force that was now hitting them back, and hard.
Leeb was pulling back as instructed. He looked about him, the ground strewn with empty shell cases. He must do an ammunition check soon, they had expended an inordinate amount these last few minutes. He hit the floor as another armoured piercing round smacked into the building, now completely devoid of any living Fallschirmjager. He pulled Leeb, who had just joined him and also flung himself to the ground, towards him.
“Go passed Wadi Bardia, head straight for Wadi Piggi.”
“What about the rest of the company sir?”
“We’ll catch up with you. We’ve walked straight in to a full battalion counter attack. Dig in along the Wadi, we will need to pull back towards you quickly.”
As Leeb started to get up, Paul grabbed him again. “Take Richter and his men with you. Get him to set up behind you. Once he’s used up his mortar bombs he can watch your back. Now go.”
“Sir.”
Leeb was off, gathering the last of his men about him, shouting orders, urging them to move quickly, the enormity of what his commander had just shared with him sinking in. Their small force of fewer than a hundred men, would be no match for a full battalion of Allied troops. His men headed west, the intention to pass through Nadel’s position on Wadi Bardia and setting up a covering force along the next Wadi, Piggi.
