Devils with Wings: Silk Drop (21 page)

Paul joined his stick, in the main it was men from second troop of first platoon, men he had commanded as a Leutnant. Now though he had a headquarters group attached to him; his radio operator, a medic and three troopers, a mini-command within his larger one.

“Radio up to scratch Bergmann?”

“Working like a dream sir, just hope to God it stays in one piece when it lands.”

They marched to the waiting aircraft and climbed on board via the four-rung ladder hooked on to the floor of the doorway to the right of the wing. Once on the plane the men settled as best they could in the confined space.

It was relatively silent, the aircrafts engines not yet started. Some men smoked a cigarette, the smoke mingling with the vaporised aviation fuel that pervaded the nostrils. Some checked their equipment over and over again, some men just sat in silence, in their own world, their thoughts kept to themselves. One man, Sommer, was holding a silver cross, stroking it gently with his fingers.

The aircraft juddered as the engines turned over one at a time. Coughing and spitting, as if reluctant to be woken so early in the morning. Once they caught, the pilot slowly increased their revs, listening for the sounds that told him all was well or a problem was in the offing. The Absetzer gave the signal to Paul that they were ready to move and set about securing the door of the plane for take off. The aircraft shook and rattled with the vibration from the engines as the power slowly increased ready to pull the aircraft into position for take off. The force and the noise increased even further as the pilot geared up the plane to move it into position, one of the ground crew dragging away the chocks allowing them to rattle their way into formation, a staggered line, on to the runway.

Once on the runway and given the go ahead by their superiors the engines screamed like banshees and the shuddering planes surged forwards as one after another they built up speed and raced down the hard packed runway, a swirl of dust spewing behind them showering the aerodrome with a light film of grit. They took to the air in sequence, circling to gain height, waiting for the rest of their flight before heading south to their destination, the island of Crete. A host of aircraft blotted out the slowly lightening sky, like a swarm of locusts.

The men were generally silent now, apprehension on some of their faces. In the main they were veterans and had not only parachuted into battle, but had even attacked a target after landing by glider. Bravado wasn’t necessary, they didn’t need to hide their fear through inane comments now, they just accepted they were going into combat and their best lifeline was to focus on the battle ahead, put the training and the skills they had learnt in to practice.

After nearly two hours of flying, the paratroopers, crammed inside the aircraft, along the canvas seats either side of the plane, were relieved when the Absetzer signalled that they were ten minutes out. Each man did a final check of his equipment and also the man next to him. Five minutes out from the target and the Jump Master gave them another signal. This time they discarded their life jackets, given to them in case they went down over the Mediterranean Sea. The last thing they wanted was this extra bulk as they exited the plane.

Then the two minute warning, the silence was palpable. Even the sound of the plane’s thrusting engines was mere background noise, the paratrooper’s ears now sensitised to the din, each man lost in his own thoughts, their eyes focused on the still closed door near the wing of the aircraft. Flashes of light erupted in front of the cockpit, flickering inside the cabin, the pilot’s eyes squinting, his head pulling back as if to get away from the hostile event occurring in front of him. He sent back a message, warning the passengers to hold on tight as they were coming under fire from the ground.

Paul gripped the plane’s infrastructure with both hands, the static line held between his teeth. The Absetzer tapped Paul on the shoulder, it was time. The signal was given to stand and hook up. Each man stood, clipped their static lines onto the cable that ran centrally down the cabin roof and waited the order.

The door was pulled clear and Paul made his way to the opening, the wind whipping through the open space. He got to the doorway, gripped the handles either side and saw the Junkers opposite and slightly back and lower suddenly judder as it was hit two thirds of the way along the fuselage, just behind the wing and in front of the tail. A bright flash, that diminished almost as quickly as it appeared, and the tail section tore itself away from the main body and plummeted to the ground. The front section of the aircraft lost control, banking to the left, fortunately away from Paul’s plane, and went into a slow spin towards the ground, leaving a trail of paratroopers and their chutes exiting the door. He counted eight before he was distracted by the Jump Master hailing him.

Suddenly rounds from a British anti-aircraft gun punched through the floor, the forty millimetre rounds tearing jagged holes through the delicate fuselage, the Bofors crew below loading as quickly as possible to attain a rate of fire of over one hundred rounds a minute. Scherer, one of the new men who had recently joined as part of the company HQ strength, took a round through the torso, ripping through his smock and tearing a fist sized hole in his chest. He was slammed into the man behind him before slumping to the floor, leaving a trail of blood and fragments of uniform and flesh spattered on the smock of his newly found comrade, he was dead before he hit the deck of the transporter.

The rounds continued to punch into the stricken aircraft. The pilot rocked the plane from side to side in an attempt to shake them off, but to no avail. Two heavy calibre rounds slammed into the starboard engine, the pilot violently banked left, nearly throwing the unprepared Paul through the doorway. The Junkers seesawed, shaking excessively, the now unstable engine and damaged controls, making it impossible for the pilot to keep the craft steady. The starboard engine caught fire, the prop stopped turning as parts melted and seized, fuel and oil suddenly splaying across the cockpit and along the fuselage, the flames from the burning engine igniting it immediately.

“Aus. Aus. Aus. Out. Out. Out,” screamed the Absetzer. “You must get out now. Geh. Geh. Geh.”

Paul looked back along the oscillating aircraft, flames already melting through the fuselage, his men cowering away from the flames licking around their shoulders. All were standing, hooked up and ready, each man willing their commander to jump so they could follow and escape the rapidly increasing heat.

“How far are we from our LZ?” Paul yelled at the slowly panicking Jump Master.

“You’re due to jump in seconds sir, go now for God’s sake. The pilot won’t be able to keep the plane level for much longer.”

Paul nodded, there was no decision that needed to be made. He looked at his men, motioned they were going and leapt forwards.

At this same time, in the succeeding kette, Max was also stood at the doorway of a Tante June, waiting for the order to jump when one of his kette was hit in the main, central engine. The flames blossomed, the engine exploded, flaming oil and aviation gasoline funnelled back through the body of the aircraft, killing the pilot, his co-pilot and many of the paratroopers sat near the cockpit. The plane banked, out of control, the paratrooper at the doorway was thrown back inside against his comrades, trapping them, submitting them to a horrible death as the aircraft went down on its side, spinning out of control, preventing the troopers inside the opportunity to escape death.

Max swallowed, a troop of men that he knew, would never again fight at his side or laugh at his humour or drink with him ever again. He was tapped on the shoulder, bringing him back to his own circumstances and he leapt from the plane.

The shock of the prop blast tore at Paul’s helmet, catching him unawares. Rounds still zipped passed him, the gunners below not satisfied they had decimated their target, they also wanted the deaths of the men falling from the plane above. Paul could see a carpet of chutes below him, drifting south, one of the other companies of his battalion; it crossed his mind that it may be Helmut. If this was bad, he dreaded to think what it would have been like for the units attacking the Maleme airport directly.

As he dropped below the cacophony above and the gunners switched to better targets as more and more Junkers headed their way, it became almost peaceful. Paul looked down and about in attempt to get his bearings. It was light enough now that he could see the mountains to his south, or were they hills. The Gebirgsjager would no doubt class them as mole hills. He couldn’t see the coast to the north, behind him, the rest a pale patchwork of rocky undulating ground, covered with various forms of flora and fauna. It would make for a hard landing and be a test for ankles and knees.

He scanned the ground to the east frantically trying to pick out some sign of Erich and his scouts. He thought he picked out a weak flash of light off to his left, possibly from a torch. He didn’t see it again, but it did home him on to the red and black swastika flag pinned to the ground by small rocks. They were going to miss it by at least half a kilometre, but he had registered the direction and he felt sure Erich would already be making his way to their likely landing spot. They would be a difficult target to miss, over one hundred men, not forgetting the tens of weapons containers following them down.

Before he knew it the ground came rushing towards him. He struck the ground hard, fell forwards, his cricket like knee pads absorbing most of the force, propelling him forwards on to his gauntlet covered hands and then rolling him on to his side. He jumped up, grabbing the lines of his chute, the breeze slightly stronger at this higher level tugging at the canopy in a vain attempt at jerking the interloper across the rough ground. He wrenched the shrouds towards him and quickly ran round to the end of the chute as fast as he could, collapsing the chute and unbuckling his harness. He looked about him seeing more of his men had landed and were getting rid of their chutes as fast as possible.

Two weapons canisters caught his eye and he sprinted towards the first until he saw the markings were not correct and switched direction to the second one ten metres further on where he hit gold, the markings indicated it is where he would find his MP40, along with weapons for other members of his stick.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Paul ripped open the canister, unsecured his machine pistol, unbuttoned his smock and extracted a magazine which he slapped into the automatic weapon. He did another quick scan, there were still no signs of any enemy forces. He slipped his smock off his shoulders, moved his equipment on to the outside and then re-buttoned his tunic.

Paul felt ready now for whatever was thrown at him, up until then he and his unit were very exposed and vulnerable, with only their pistols as defence. Against a determined enemy, with heavier firepower, they would be at their mercy. He completed another three hundred and sixty degree scan of the area, looking for signs of enemy troops, orientating himself with his surroundings and thinking through his next moves. He pocketed his gauntlets, crouched down, one hand on the ground, rapidly withdrawn when it came into contact with a green spaghetti like shrub that proved to be spiky and painful. Two figures joined him, his radio operator, Bergmann and the new medic, Fink.

“The radio ok Bergmann?”

“Seems intact sir. I’ll need to do a comms check though.”

“See if you can get Regiment, let them know we are half a klick west of our LZ.”

Paul scanned the immediate area. To his north and west the ground crested before dropping away. To the east, somewhere beyond the line of trees, the village of Pagantha, his first objective. The backdrop to the south, mountains, with their snow capped tops. He was quickly joined by the key elements of his Company. Max first, followed by Roth, Nadel and finally Leeb. Max’s news was not good. He turned towards Nadel.

“Sorry sir, but I think you will be shy a troop. I saw a Junkers break up and go down, I’m pretty sure no one got out. I certainly didn’t see anyone jump, it happened too fast for anyone to react.”

“What a waste of good men,” exclaimed Nadel. “It must be second troop. I’ve seen most of one and three assembling.”

Paul reflected on what he had heard. They had lost nearly ten percent of their company and the battle hadn’t even started. He kicked into action, there wasn’t time to dwell on it now, that would have to wait until later.

“Leeb, secure the flanks to our west and north. Roth, secure the containers and bring any with supplies or ammo left in them to the northern ridge. Nadel, put out a screen, one hundred metres out, east and south, but watch out for Oberleutnant Fleck and his scouts. We missed the LZ, but he would have seen us and will no doubt be making his way to join us. Unterfeld Richter, assemble your men by the northern edge and check over your equipment. That’s all gentlemen; report back when complete, I’ll be at the northern edge with Leutnant Leeb.”

The officers scattered to carry out their orders and check on the assembly of their platoons.

“Max, I want a full status report on the company. I need to know our current strength and confirmation that the missing troop hasn’t suddenly appeared.”

“On my way sir.”

Max left to gather the information requested and Paul was joined by Bergmann again.

“Any joy?”

“Not yet sir, the radio seems ok, I just can’t make contact. Might be a better signal if I join Leutnant Leeb.”

“Let’s go then.”

Paul shot off the two hundred metres to get to the edge of the flat piece of ground, followed by his HQ element, two Fallschirmjager, Mauer, Ostermann and the medic. Scherer was missing, killed by the anti-aircraft shell on their inbound approach. He threw himself down next to Leeb who had positioned one troop along each drop, the third held back close to him in reserve.