Devils with Wings (11 page)

“Would you be a farmer Max?” he said pointing to the farmer toiling in the field.

“Not a chance sir, plodding around in all weathers, mucking out cattle. I haven’t seen a single milk maid since we’ve been in this god forsaken country.”

He laughed, Max’s outlook on life, never failed to raise his spirits.

“I have some good news for you,” interrupted Paul, still keen to avoid Max’s original question. “You are to be awarded the ‘Iron Cross Second Class’, along with Fessman and Stumme. I too will receive an award.”

“Well deserved too sir,” beamed Max, jumping up and grabbing his hand to shake it, “but why me?” asked an astonished Max.

Paul flexed his hand, trying to get some feeling back into it, and pulled Max back down onto the bench.

“Because Unterfeldwebel Grun, the success we had the other day was due to you, and soldiers like Fessman and Stumme. In fact, I’d like to give the entire platoon a medal, they fought well. You also saved my life Max, that cannot be forgotten.”

“Hmm,” said Max

Paul looked at Max’s serious face, “what is it?”

“The girls in Hamburg would be quite taken by a returning hero bearing medals,” said Max grinning.

“You are a rogue Unterfeldwebel!” Paul’s mood was lifted.

“We have a new posting, the platoon is being sent to an experimental training unit in Hildesheim.”

Max stood up suddenly, disappointment clearly on his face, “But sir, why are they sending us back to a training unit? We’re needed here at the front surely! How are the rest of the Company, and the Battalion for that matter, meant to manage without us?”

“I understand your disappointment Max, but bear with it. The platoon has been highly commended; they won’t waste our expertise for nothing.”

“But what sort of training?”

“That is all I can say for now Max.”

“But sir.”

Paul interposed, “I’m ordering you not to question it further Max, understood?”

Max looked down at his Commander, his confusion obvious. They had just proven their worth; surely their place was at the front, and not training spotty faced recruits. But, his trust in Paul was implicit.

“Jawohl, Herr Leutnant.”

“Good. Let’s go and talk to the platoon.”

“One other thing I need to discuss before we go sir.”

“Yes?”

“The mail has finally caught up with the Company.”

It was one of the Reich’s true achievements that the mail could get through to the troops under any circumstances.

“Is all well Max?”

“Unfortunately Jager Roon has been notified that all is not well with his mother. His last letter informed him that her doctor could no longer treat her illness and she has had to go into hospital.”

“How is he?”

“He’s naturally upset sir, unfortunately a later letter from his father told him that his fifty eight year old mother, has died. Due to the late arrival of the letter he’s been unable to attend his mother’s funeral. I’ve said that I’ll speak to you about getting him home on leave.”

“Of course Max, he must go. I will clear it with the Oberleutnant.”

“I told him I thought you’d try sir, but he insists on staying with the unit. He thinks his father will be fine. He’s written to him. With the unit being operational he is insisting on staying with comrades.”

“I understand that Max, but I will speak to him anyway.”

Paul got up off the bench and rested his hand on Max’s rock hard shoulder.

“Let’s go and brief the platoon, eh Max, we have a parade to prepare for!”

The two comrades, the officer and the NCO, walked back to the village. The solid stalwart, loyalty to his Commander unspoken, and the tall, rangy leader, as dependent on Max as Max was on him.

The railway station was busy. Surprisingly so, due to Poland still being in a state of war and now an occupied country. Though some residents were still travelling on the Polish railways, Paul was bemused as to what pursuits could possibly entice them to use the trains during a time of war. The majority of the trains though, stopping over and passing through Pulawy, were troop trains.

The steam trains passed through the station at high speed, engulfing the platform and its occupants in a billowing cloud of oily smoke and steam. People disappeared in its swirling mass, appearing later as if wraiths suddenly returning from the dead.

The platoon had been secured a carriage to take them directly to Warsaw, changing trains there for their onward journey.

In Warsaw they were again promised a priority carriage that would transport them west to Berlin, via a stopover at Poznan.

Finally back in their home Country, they would be transferred to Braunschweig and finally shuttled to Hildesheim by military transport. The priority given to Paul’s unit intrigued him, as it did the rest of the Platoon. Clearly they were heading for an important task and the reservations of leaving the front and their Battalion were slowly dissipating, replaced by a soldier’s natural curiosity.

The Platoon were drinking coffee from a field kitchen, set up on the station to service the passing German soldiers and airmen.

Watched over by the inevitable Chain Dogs, willing the boisterous paratroopers to step out of line. But the medals that some of the troopers sported, making them a little wary, so for the moment they would let them be.

The Platoon did what soldiers do well, eying up the local talent. They all had a particular eye for one of the German female volunteers serving them. Max was worried that if they continued to drink coffee at the current high rate they would explode.

Two hours later they boarded their train, the carriage being surprisingly comfortable and very soon the majority of the Platoon were asleep.

Paul joined them, slowly slipping into a deep sleep, his last thoughts being about the experimental training unit, but he also turned over in his mind his training days at Stendal.

The mesmeric click, click, click of the carriage’s wheels over the track, soon having their effect, closing Paul’s eyes and shutting down his spinning thoughts.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Paul arrived at Stendal station; the home of General Kurt Student’s slowly growing 7 Flieger Division. At this time the Division was only two Battalions strong. Paul got off the Deutches Reichsbahn train with his single kit bag, holding his personal effects and other elements of his Luftwaffe uniform, and looked for the assembly point.

The local band were happily playing the Kadetten Marsch, the Cadets March, obviously welcoming them to their temporary new home.

There was doubtless more than a hundred young men milling around the station, wearing a variety of uniforms, mostly air force, but also including a sprinkling of uniforms from the Army and some even in civilian clothes. Many looking as equally lost as he felt. Some looked even younger than Paul’s twenty years of age.

It was obvious they were all heading for the same place as him, Stendal-Borstal, the home of the Parachute training depot, the home of the Fallschirmjager, and home of the ‘Green Devils’.

He had seen a pamphlet, the air force wanted volunteers for parachute training. It sounded like a good idea at the time, but perhaps also a good way to commit suicide. The Luftwaffe eagle on the cover of the brochure struck an immediate chord with Paul. The more he thought about it the more it whetted his appetite. Although the thought of flying into battle rather than slogging through the countryside on foot allured him, there was a twinge of doubt at the thought of jumping out of an aircraft, his life depending on a circular piece of silk!

At eighteen years old, Paul joined the Reichswehr, where, as a Junior Leutnant, he spent nine months with a Wehrmacht Infantry Regiment. Within a week of approaching his Company Commander for a transfer, Paul found himself on the train to Stendal, ninety kilometres west of Berlin. And here he was.

There were various signs indicating where they should form up and group prior to the arrival of their reception committee. Paul walked over to the appointed collection point, joining the rest of the milling throng, all waiting expectantly, all with some trace of anxiety on their faces as to what the future held for them. As he got closer to the collection point he found he was walking alongside a youth of a similar age to himself, not so tall, probably two inches shorter than Paul’s six foot two, but slightly bigger built than Paul. They looked at each other.

Paul made the first move to speak.

“Are you,” with a slight shake in his voice, “are you joining the Fallschirmjager?”

His newfound, short-term companion smiled back. Erich was six foot with a similar athletic build to Paul, but more filled out, more bulk. His oval face lit up as he responded to Paul’s question. His blonde hair and deep set blue eyes gave him a look of confidence, a look of self assuredness that belied his age of nineteen.

“Yes I am, my name’s Erich, and yours?”

“Paul, Paul Otto Brand,” they shook hands.

“Well, something is going to happen soon Paul; there must be well over a hundred of us here by now, and still more arriving. And I’m starving; I’ve not eaten since early this morning. My parents packed me a lunch, but I’d eaten that by mid morning.”

“I know how you feel,” agreed Paul. “I could eat a horse at the moment.”

“That’s probably what they will feed us on,” laughed Erich. They both laughed, clearly more at ease now that they had found a fellow adventurer and they both seemed to get on quite naturally.

They chatted about their hopes and fears for the future and hit it off extremely well. They had both been in the RAD, where together, they had demonstrated the necessary attentiveness and instant obedience to orders; qualities that were recognised as prerequisites for the German Officer Corps and in particular the Fallschirmjager.

Just as they were about to continue their conversation they heard the loud roar of heavy goods vehicles arriving at the station. The four vehicles grinding to a halt alongside the station building, the locals looking on.

The Feldwebels and Unteroffiziers who were going to take care of their future training, leapt out of the army vehicle cabs. There was also a Steiner jeep, which an Officer exited from, an Oberleutnant.

Whistles were blown, they were shouted at, screamed at, pushed, shoved and dragged into some semblance of order along the collection point outside of the front of the station.

Civilians looked on, not sure whether to smile or turn away, seeing it with a mixture of amusement, yet a slight feeling of anxiety for these young men, at the thought of the harsh training these youngsters were about to experience. Some veterans thought back to their youth, when they had gone through this day, at perhaps another military camp. Some were just civilians out with their families for the day, on a day trip or just out shopping.

It was becoming a more familiar sight these days, young men going off to various barracks throughout Germany to train to become future soldiers of the new Third Reich. Was it a good thing or a bad thing? Most kept their thoughts to themselves, but all had to agree that Germany was regaining its pride and its prosperity.

They were arranged together in groups of about forty, Erich and Paul managing to stay together. They had already made the commitment to keep together that day and if possible throughout the gruelling training that was ahead of them. Although they had an inkling of how tough it was going to be, they really had no idea what was in store for them. They would need each other’s mutual support throughout the duration of the gruelling eight weeks of training.

The groups of forty were each allocated to a troop carrier, a heavy goods vehicle with a canvas top. They scrambled up on the tailgate and climbed in, there was barely enough room for forty, but the alternative was to walk, or even worse, face the wrath of one of their instructors.

Erich and Paul ended up crushed in towards the front of the truck, about a third of the way along from the back and there were still young recruits climbing on board. When they were all onboard, some were left sitting astride the tailgate, hanging on precariously as the truck drivers restarted their vehicles for the journey to the barracks.

The cab doors slammed shut as all of the training staff boarded the trucks and with a roar of engines and belches of smoke, that drifted into the back of the vehicles, making some of the recruits gag from the smell and choking fumes, they moved off.

They had only been driving for about thirty minutes when, unexpectedly, the four trucks pulled over to the side of the road, coming to a sudden halt with a screech of brakes and a cloud of dust threatening to choke the occupants in the back a second time.

The trucks stopped so suddenly that those sat astride the tailgate were nearly thrown off and had to hang on as if their life depended on it.

“Are they out to finish us off before we have even started our training?” joked Erich.

“We’ll soon find out,” replied Paul with a grin. But it was a grin that held unknown expectation behind it.

The cab doors opened and the whistles, shouts and screaming started again. Orders were bellowed at them and they were told to jump down from the vehicles.