Devils with Wings: Silk Drop (33 page)

“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 called 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.

Paul instructed Roth to follow on behind Leeb, his orders to cover Leeb’s right flank and the road. Roth’s men clattered about him.

“Viktor, leave a troop to cover you, then run like hell for the Wadi. Go, now.”

He looked across to his left, the smoke screen was already dissipating, prompting the enemy to take some action, knowing the smoke probably meant a German withdrawal.

Two of Roth’s troops picked themselves up off the ground and headed west, covering ground they had transited across earlier.

“Get some fire down,” Paul called over to Unterfeld Kienitz, the platoon NCO who had remained behind with the troop who would provide covering fire for the withdrawing forces.

“Any targets sir?”

“Anywhere in front,” responded Paul, frustrated that he was losing control of the battle. “Just let them know were still here, give the others a chance to get away.”

The troop opened up, MG34 rounds spat towards the enemy positions, covering an arc east to west, knowing their comrades would be well clear of the local area by now. After a couple of minutes, and just before he was about to order the final evacuation, the clanking of a Matilda tank could be heard approaching their position. Max crashed down beside his company commander, his chest heaving from the exertion of the sprint getting here, the midday sun already starting to sap a man’s energy and strength.

“We’ve got a big problem sir, we have to pull back now, there’s no time to wait.”

“What is it Max?”

“You were right, they were making their way up Bardia, at least a company, if not more.”

“Who’s holding them, Leeb?”

“Yes sir, along with Leutnant Nadel. Both have lost two men.”

“Has Leeb got any men back to Piggi?”

“Yes sir, but he left a troop to back up Leutnant Nadel.”

“If we don’t go now we’re going to be trapped between two large forces,” said Paul to himself, but loud enough that Nadel heard him.

“Sir?”

“Viktor, pull back now, and fast. Head for the house, skirt along the road and come in behind Nadel and he can then pull back through you.”

Roth quickly issued commands to his men. No panic, although with a sense of urgency, just firm instructions and a controlled withdrawal. The MG fired off one last burst, the platoon then skirmishing backwards, ensuring an intermittent stream of fire found its way towards the enemy, holding off an enemy attack for as long as possible.

They reached the house, now punched full of holes by the armoured piercing rounds from the Matilda’s gun, the terracotta tiled roof smashed and all but collapsed. Roth checked off his men, Abt with a shattered arm but able to continue with the aid of his comrades, the alternative of being left behind was not even contemplated.

“Go, go,” urged Paul. He needed to get his men on to the road and then race for Bardia, then on to Piggi. Then at least he would have his command in one place and potentially hold their ground until he could plan his next move.

“Max, with me, we’ll head straight for the Wadi.”

They both slotted fresh magazines into their machine pistols, and then shot off at a fast pace where they would find Nadel’s covering force. The dip loomed up in front of them and they could see Nadel’s men, along with a troop from Leeb’s platoon, withdrawing under heavy fire, swarms of Australian soldiers pouring through the Wadi from the north, forcing their way over the top to pursue the German soldiers they had on the run. The determination was evident on their faces. Gritted teeth, shouts of encouragement to each other, calls of ridicule following the fleeing enemy, pay back for the pounding they had received from the Luftwaffe Stukas and the repeated attacks by the Green Devils.

“We need to run like hell sir,” yelled Max.

As he turned to check his company commander was behind him, two rounds from the turret mounted, besa machine gun, slammed into him. The first striking his shoulder, spinning him around clockwise, the second tore into his abdomen, the impact lifting him off his feet and over the edge of the Wadi. His limp body slid down its shallow walls, dust and rocks cascading after him.

“Max,” screamed Paul as he ran to the edge, charging down after him, looking down to see his friend lying on his back where he had finished up, next to a small, low, anaemic looking olive tree ringed by waist high shrubs. He quickly examined Max, nothing could be seen on his upper body, but a dark patch was already starting to proliferate along his side.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Although all the options careered through Paul’s mind, there was only one he could truly consider, treating his friends injuries and getting him to safety. During his first action in Poland, Max had saved his life. He would not be here now had Max not interceded, taking the life of a Polish artilleryman who was about to snuff out his commander’s life. But, it meant that he had failed as a commander, he had failed his men when they needed him most.

He flinched as a mortar round exploded on the sides and centre of the Wadi, showering the Allied soldiers in shrapnel and dust. Richter had
been ready, his action covering the withdrawal of his company, giving them a short respite from the enemy assault, allowing them to dash to safety. Although Leeb was the most junior of the three platoon commanders, Paul was in no doubt that he was the most capable tactician. He would already be planning his next move and making the appropriate suggestions to Roth, the most senior, that they withdraw the full company to the Wadi Piggi.

He snapped out of his reverie, hearing Max groan below him.

“Go sir,” croaked Max. “You have a company to look after, not just one man.”

Paul’s thoughts raced, the enemy would be on top of them soon. He could already hear the Matilda’s engine growling as it spun to the left towards the road, in an effort to bypass the German forces. The driver crashing through the gears, knowing speed was of the essence, sideways on for too long and they would make the perfect target for an anti-tank gun. Paul knew the infantry would be on top of them soon.

“Go sir, bloody go.”

Paul ignored his plea, moving round to the top of Max’s upper body, blood now clearly oozing from his left shoulder, the lower part of his tunic sodden. He needed to get them both under cover first, then see to Max’s wounds.

He grabbed the heavy sergeant by his ‘Y’ straps and dragged him centimetre by centimetre towards the shrubs that would give them the cover they needed. Max groaned, the pain starting to set in as Paul dragged him to cover.

“Sorry Max, I have to get you out of sight.”

“Just leave me sir,” Max’s voice pleaded.

“Quiet, you dumb Hamburger.”

He manoeuvred his heavy weight companion in to the protective shrubs, as close to the trunk of the shrivelled tree as he could. The patch they were hiding in was only a few metres across, if they stayed lying down and quiet they could remain undetected. He placed his hand over Max’s mouth.

“Shush,” he whispered in his ear, as boots thudded across the eastern side of the Wadi, bodies could be clearly heard sliding down the sloping sides. They thudded across the bottom, then clambered up the other side, the pounding of the boots continuing until at least a platoon had passed by them.

To the south he could now hear the tank clattering along the metalled road, the engine powering the tank close to its top speed of twenty four kilometres an hour, the tank commander only slowing to allow his infantry escort to catch him up. It may be a mobile, steel bunker, but without infantry support an enemy could quickly get close to it, disable the tank and the crew would then face capture or death.

Paul peeked out of his cover and could distinctly see the silhouette of the Matilda, its pointed nose on the end of an oblong main body, turret situated well to the front. The clanking of the tracks slowly receded as the ‘Queen of the Desert’, as it was known, crept along the road towards the next Wadi, Wadi Piggi. Paul’s mind wandered to where Helmut might be, how far away is he likely to be from the Wadi where his men were now forming up for another attempt at consolidating and holding off the superior forces heading towards them. Helmut’s one hundred plus men wouldn’t help to outnumber the enemy, but it might tip the balance.

Crump, crump, crump.

At least Richter was making his presence felt, probably disrupting the Australian advance as they probed further forwards, taking advantage of the mayhem they had caused by pushing troops up the Wadi and hitting the German invaders hard in the side.

Apart from gunfire in the distance, it was now quiet in the immediate vicinity. He turned to Max, now his priority. Max’s lower tunic was soaked, the blood still wet even though the temperature was in the high thirties, indicating to Paul that blood was still flowing freely. He pulled his gravity knife from his trouser pocket and cut away the lower part of the blood soaked uniform, Max’s kit getting in the way. He unbuckled the belt, unhooked his MP40 magazine pouches, unbuttoned the tunic and pulled it aside, slicing more away with his knife.

The woollen shirt beneath was also soaked, Paul cut into it swiftly, exposing Max’s flesh. The blue, black hole, the size of a man’s thumb, stared up at him, seeping a steady flow of blood. He attempted to roll Max over to look at the other side, but the Beefy Feldwebel was too heavy to move easily on his own. He pulled the shirt up higher and ran his hand round to the side of Max’s back, it didn’t take him long to discover the jagged hole of the exit wound. Max groaned as Paul’s fingers explored the wound. He was able to push at least two fingers into it. He withdrew his hand, sticky, covered in blood and particles of tattered flesh.