Devils with Wings (18 page)

“They’re in the process of packing up sir, I was about to get you to sign the orders for their recall.”

Student returned to his desk, looked up at his Ops officer and ordered, “See it’s done Heinz, but make sure they’re well aware of the secrecy of this assignment. They are to be told nothing, other than they are to be attached to a Trials Battalion. I want all reference to Fallschirmjager and their military ranks removed. Understood?”

“I will see to it right away sir,” he turned and left Student to his thoughts.

Student deliberated on the task he had been set by Hitler. The entire Western offensive could be dependent on the success of the mission entrusted to him, which he was now going to entrust to more junior officers.

Student sat back in his chair, lacing his clasped hands behind his head, contemplating the outcome of this bold plan.

Germany it appeared was to go to war again, this time his Fallschirmjager would have a key role to play, but what about the bigger picture he pondered.

They had just finished a war with Poland. Britain and France were sabre rattling, where would a war with the West lead them.

The decision had been made; he couldn’t influence the outcome now, only ensure that his paratroopers played their part and played it well.

He pulled across a sheet of paper and started to draft the high level plans for this daring operation, born from the mind of their great leader, Adolf Hitler.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Paul, Max and the rest of the platoon had been recognised for their success in the recent action in Poland and had been seconded to a trials Battalion.

They didn’t quite understand what this meant and were initially disappointed that they were being pulled out from an operational unit and sent to a camp in Hildesheim.

Their new Company Commander, Oberleutnant Faust, Oberleutnant Volkman having moved to Battalion HQ as the Adjutant, assured them that they would not be disappointed.

Hildesheim, a city in Lower Saxony, Germany, is located in the district of Hildesheim, about thirty kilometres southeast of Hanover on the banks of the Innerste River, which is a small tributary of the Leine River.

The Hildesheim camp started off as a sports airfield, primarily used by gliders, prior to being utilised as a long-range reconnaissance school in 1939.

Paul and his Platoon arrived there in the grey light of dawn, and were picked up at Hildesheim station and driven, by military truck, to the camp.

At the guardroom, their identification was thoroughly checked before they were allowed through the gates. Security was extremely strict and once in, nobody was allowed to leave the barracks without the appropriate authorisation.

Prior to their arrival at Hildesheim, located in the foothills of the Harz mountains, the seriousness of the mission was impressed upon them and they were ordered to sign a declaration stating, ‘I am aware that I shall risk sentence of death should I, by intent or carelessness, make known to another person by spoken word or illustration anything concerning the base at which I am serving.’

They had been ordered to discard their paratrooper uniforms prior to arriving at the training camp. Equally, no signs of rank were to be worn. The enemy was not to be aware of the paratrooper specific operations training at Hildesheim, and certainly not the prospect of using gliders to land on a target.

They reported to the airbase administration and were allocated their quarters.

On the way to their accommodation they saw a strange engineless aircraft. This was the first time Paul and his platoon had seen a DFS-230, a ten-seat glider. They had known nothing of their existence until then.

“I don’t know about you Max, but I certainly wouldn’t want to pilot one of those, or be a passenger for that matter.”

“Perhaps they’re for dropping supplies sir, not much use for anything else.”

“Maybe they’re still waiting for engines to be fitted,” said Leeb suddenly, not wanting to consider the potential alternatives.

Little did they know that in six months, they would be dropped out of the sky in those very same gliders onto one of Belgium’s strongest forts.

“Bloody airfield construction platoon!” moaned Max, “how do I explain that to the females in the bars of Hildesheim, sir?”

“Max, neither you nor I will be going to any bars for some time. You know the orders,” cautioned Paul, although he knew that Max was just playing the jester for the benefit of the Platoon, trying to raise the spirits of the unit.

Although also disappointed, Paul suspected they would be doing something out of the ordinary. Even though, as yet, he couldn’t foresee anything preferable to remaining in an operational unit and being with their comrades in Poland.

“Anyway, I’m sure you would come up with some cock and bull story that made you out to be a hero of the fatherland.”

“That’s not fair sir,” said Max smiling.

“You just want to flash that medal of yours around.”

“No point in having it sir, if you don’t get the benefits.”

Looking at Max’s grin, which spread from one side of his face to the other, he knew exactly what he meant.

“You are incorrigible Unterfeldwebel!”

The rest of the Platoon were also smiling now, they were used to the banter that flowed between their two seniors.

They arrived at a brick built, three storey barracks and were allocated accommodation for the Platoon.

Paul and Max had a room each, while the rest of the platoon bunked down in rooms of eight.

They acquainted themselves with their new home, followed by an evening meal in the cookhouse. For how long it was to be their new home, they could not comprehend.

A good night’s sleep and they would then be briefed the following morning on the purpose behind their stay at the salubrious, Luftwaffe hotel.

It was eight a.m., on a cold winter’s morning and Paul and his Platoon, along with other soldiers, pilots and civilian staff were assembled in one of the wooden training huts in the Hildesheim Army camp.

Situated in the foothills of the Harz Mountains, it attracted the cold weather like a magnet. The temperature was barely reaching two degrees during the day and dropped to well below freezing point during the night.

The black, wood-burning stove, dominating the centre of the room, gave out just enough heat to make the temperature in the hut comfortable, although those at the extremities of the building often felt a slight chill.

The surrounding area was used by the German Army for training and manoeuvres and was well suited to the type of training the Assault Force would need to facilitate.

The training hut, barely lit by the four, low watt bulbs suspended from its low ceiling, slowly filled up until just under five hundred officers, men and pilots were in attendance.

Paul and his Platoon felt quite inconspicuous in the mass that was assembled there.

There was a buzz of sound as some paratroopers were reacquainted with old friends or colleagues and swapped stories catching up on old news. There was also, naturally, a good deal of discussion about the purpose behind such an assembly of soldiers and airmen.

The door at the far end of the hut opened again, letting in, briefly, a cold blast of air, making the stove flicker as a result of the draught caused.

In walked Hauptman Kaufmann, followed by Oberleutnant Faust and Leutnant Krause, who made their way through the assembly to a small raised platform at the far end of the hut.

The three of them mounted the platform and stood behind the chairs and small table that had been placed there for their use.

“Gentlemen,” boomed Kaufmann’s voice. “Please find yourselves a seat, or at least somewhere to perch for the next twenty minutes.”

The assembled men found what seats or benches they could, or sat on tables or desks, or even just propped themselves up against the hut’s wooden wall. Although most tried to get as close as possible to the only source of heat in the hut.

Once they had all settled down, Kaufmann continued.

“I’m sure you are all keen to know why you’ve been brought here,” he resumed, loud enough for all to hear, “to this dismal place, and plucked away from your parent units.”

Hauptman Kaufmann, was a tall handsome officer, born in Bonn, Germany in nineteen ten. In nineteen thirty eight, he was promoted to Hauptman and actually trained as a pilot, but was quickly brought back to his unit to form Sturmabteilung Kaufmann, which consisted of the individuals now sat listening to him.

“I’m afraid I can’t reveal all to you just yet, but I can tell you the basics, and that we are to train for a number of key operations to be conducted sometime in the future. This group of soldiers and airman, the training that you’ll be conducting, is highly secret. You have all signed the secrecy pledge. Be in no doubt gentlemen, if the purpose of our group and its activities was to get out, it would not only jeopardise our country’s interests, but could put our future operations, and our lives, at risk.”

He looked around the room, attempting to make eye contact with as many soldiers and pilots in the room as possible, to emphasise his point.

“Any breach, by any of you in this room, will have dire consequences for that individual or individuals, one of those consequences being the firing squad.”

He remained quiet for a few seconds; giving people a chance to let what he had just told them sink in.

“Right, enough of that, now to the purpose of our mission. We have to secure four targets; the targets will not be revealed to you at this stage. In order to secure those targets I will be forming four groups. Sturmgruppe Beton, will be commanded by myself. Sturmgruppe Stahl will be commanded by Oberleutnant Adler, his second in command being Leutnant Fleck.”

Paul looked at Max, and like Paul, Max’s look was one of disbelief. Erich too had been dragged into this escapade. He would try and see his friend as soon as the meeting was concluded.

Kaufmann continued, “Sturmgruppe Eisen, will be commanded by Leutnant Schiffer with Leutnant Janke as his number two.”

Again, Max and Paul looked at each other in amazement. Elements of the first company they thought they had left behind in Poland must be in the room with them somewhere.

Paul and Max started to look around the crowded room and at once started to pick out troopers that looked vaguely familiar as being from second and third Platoon, comrades who had fought alongside them in Poland.

“And finally,” Kaufmann was still speaking, “Sturmgruppe Granite, commanded by Oberleutnant Faust with Leutnant Brand as his second in command.”

Now it was Max’s turn to stare at Paul in astonishment, and he was sure that in this tightly packed room, Leutnant’s Fleck and Janke would be experiencing the same level of incredulity.

“I know you will have lots of burning questions, but please hold them back for the moment. Once this meeting has broken up, your respective Group Commanders will brief you. Thank you gentlemen, we will see each other frequently over the next few months.”

The trio gave instructions as to where the particular groups were to meet their respective Commanders and then left the stage and exited from the training hut.

The soldiers and airmen in the hut slowly moved towards the single exit point, making their way to their next meeting place. Paul’s group, were to go to a hut similar to this one, but towards the end of the camp.

Before they left, Paul and Max frantically searched for their comrades.

Paul spotted Erich first; he looked less skinny than the last time they had been together, clearly back on decent rations was doing him good. Paul clawed his way through the throng, grabbing Erich’s right hand, shaking it hard and gripping his shoulder with his left.

“God, it is good to see you Erich!” exclaimed Paul

Erich grabbed Paul’s shoulder and the fallout they recently had was completely forgotten. Both were ecstatic at once again being together, although it was to be short lived.

“It’s great to see you Paul, you too Unterfeldwebel.”

He also shook Max’s hand, genuinely pleased to see the stocky sergeant also.

Paul suddenly shot forward as a huge hand clapped him on the back, making him lose his balance. It could be only one person who would consider greeting Paul in this way, and Paul turned to see Helmut, with a beaming grin across his face.

“One day,” said Paul, “you’re going to do that to the wrong person you know.”

But it was said without malice, it was just Helmut’s way, larger than life.

He also shook Paul’s and Max’s hand, then threw his arms around Paul, giving a huge bear hug.

“Has he been behaving himself Unterfeldwebel?” questioned Helmut.

“I couldn’t possibly say sir,” responded the diplomatic Max.

“If you officers will excuse me, I’d like to track down some real soldiers,” and Max went off in search of the other Platoon Felds to catch up on the news.

The three looked at each other, a trio that had gone through training together; through their first combat experience together and here they were again.

“So Paul,” interjected Erich, “are you airfield construction, experimental tactics or toilet cleaning?”