Devils with Wings Page 11

  Finally, back in their barrack room, lying exhausted on their beds, the three soldiers swapped stories of the painful day they had experienced.

  Erich had caught his combat trousers on the barbs while doing the leopard crawl, and was now making repairs.

  Helmut came into their room, throwing himself down onto his bed completely burnt out. He had just completed, for the fourth day in a row, a punishment for talking in the ranks. The latest one was for grumbling about his hunger pangs, again. For half an hour, he had been running on the spot with his rifle held above his head, which was excruciatingly painful after only a few minutes. Then he would have to run a few yards, again with his rifle held aloft, dropping to the floor in the prone position, back up again and continue to run on the spot.

  Curt was just staring into space, his mind elsewhere other than the barrack room.

  Paul rolled over in his bunk and looked at him.

  “Are you ok Curt?”

  “My needle’s broken, damn it,” cursed Erich from across the other side of the room.

  “Can you throw me your sewing kit Paul?”

  Paul sat up and rummaged through his kit bag and finding his ‘housewife’ he tossed it over to Erich who continued at his attempt to make a repair.

  “Just tired,” responded Curt to Paul’s question.

  “We’re all tired.”

  “I know, but I can hardly move. How am I going to get out of bed tomorrow?”

  “A good night’s rest and you will feel like a new man tomorrow,” Paul said encouragingly.

  “That’s if they allow us a full night,” responded Curt despondently.

  The last four nights they had been pulled from their beds to parade in front of Oberleutnant Nagel. They looked dog tired and untidy compared to the immaculate turn out of the Oberleutnant. He had participated in all of their activities, completing some of the tasks twice over, due to him having to run backwards and forwards, encouraging the recruits to achieve their best endeavours. He seemed tireless to Paul and his friends.

  “It will be ok Curt old buddy,” joined in Erich, “Just do what I do. Pretend you are sleep-walking, go through the motions and when you return you will be asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow.”

  “I’ll give it a try,” Curt replied tentatively, not sure of the validity of the advice.

  Helmut, as usual, was describing the last Wiener Schnitzel he had eaten back home, at the same scoffing a biscuit he had acquired from somewhere; constantly being told to shut up by the others whose stomachs were also growling with hunger. But all of them would have probably been too fatigued to rise off their beds to eat anyway.

  “As if the training wasn’t harsh enough,” exclaimed Helmut, still panting on the bed. That was the last they heard from him that night, he was asleep before he had taken a breath after his pronouncement.

  At that point the lights were switched off.

  “Shit!” exclaimed Erich, “I’ve just stabbed my bloody finger! I’ll just have to make do and hope it doesn’t fall to pieces tomorrow,” he said disgustedly, throwing his trousers over the end of the bed.

  He looked around. No one was listening; they were all asleep, grabbing their three hours a night. Seconds later Erich was in the same state of sleep as his comrades.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Tank was a Panzer Mark III. It was loud, big and spewed out smoke and fumes as the driver revved the engine.

  “This,” shouted the Feldwebel, “is a panzer light tank. It weighs over twenty tonnes, carries a thirty-seven millimetre gun and can hit a top speed of forty kilometres an hour. Today, you are going to learn how not to fear it, you will learn to conquer your fear.”

  The Feld indicated to the tank Commander situated in the turret, his upper body in clear view. The tank Commander looked down into the body of the tank and spoke to the unseen driver.

  The armoured vehicle’s engine roared, its steel tracks scraping on the road, ripping up the tarmac as they turned the armoured vehicle around a full one hundred and eighty degrees. The tank moved away from them, stopping at a distance of about three hundred metres.

  It swung back round to face them, the engine roaring even louder as the monster jerked forward, slowly gathering speed. Its tracks clanked on the hardened ground, the sound getting louder as it gained speed and got closer to the watching trainee paratroopers.

  The tank jerked in kangaroo fashion as the driver took the armoured vehicle through its gears, pushing it to go ever faster. By the time it reached the recruits, it shot passed at over thirty kilometres an hour, covering them in a film of dust. The tank came to a halt some one hundred metres further along, its glacis dipping and its back end rearing up on its suspension as the driver expertly brought it to a halt.

  “Right gentlemen, it is now your turn to perform. I want you in troops of ten, to lie down head to toe, in a line over there,” the Feldwebel pointed to the narrow track in front of them. “Make sure you keep your legs together and your arms by your side.”

  Erich and Paul were in the first group of ten soldiers to lie down. Paul lay with his head by Erich’s feet and his feet touching the head of Franz, another recruit he had come to know. He squeezed his legs together so tightly that he almost lost feeling in them and his arms became a part of his body.

  The revving of the tank’s engine could be heard as it lumbered slowly towards the first soldier in line. Paul could hear it getting closer and closer, sweat starting to pour down his face and pool on his chest as his racing heart attempted to cope with the fear that was welling up inside of him. The adrenaline added to the fear, pushing his body to fight or flight, wanting him to get up and run for his life. But that he could not and would not do, he was in this for the long run.

  The tank was just starting to move over the first recruit next to Erich. There was a scream, the fear obvious in the outcry, but the recruit remained where he was, frozen to the spot, the fear of getting up in front of the moving monster and then facing his comrades and instructors proved to have the greater dread.

  “I don’t like this!” shouted Erich, using his voice to make contact with Paul to help him control his fear.

  The tank slowly rolled over Erich, the huge mass covering him completely and Paul could sense the shadow of the tank’s glacis approaching him.

  Now it was Paul’s turn, the ground vibrating beneath him, shaking him and making his hair stand on end from fear. A dark shadow was cast over his face and a dark, blue tinted cloud of diesel fumes washed over him, evading every part of his nostrils, mouth and lungs. The tang of the diesel fumes bitter on his tongue. The light disappeared and he was in complete darkness.

  The noise was deafening, the roar of the engine and the clatter of the bogey wheels and tracks either side of his face. His face was centimetres away from the dark grey underbelly of this twenty tonne killing machine. The very tracks that were within centimetres of him now, had probably crushed an enemy as they were driven under and aside, as it relentlessly pushed its way forward to victory. Just by raising his hand in front of his face he would be able to touch its black underbelly.

  The rear of the tank moved slowly past him, billowing dust trailing behind, choking Paul even more than the smoke and fumes.

  The tank completed its run and Paul and the rest of the troop were ordered up and back into formation to watch the next victims. They were shaking and their limbs trembled and they all chattered nervously, until silenced by their instructors.

  This was something none of them would forget for a very long time.

  Their arduous training continued into week three, with a twenty-five kilometre forced march, with full packs and equipment that stretched them all.

  Many of them afterwards had blisters that had to be treated with iodine and powder. That experience was almost as excruciating as the pain of walking on burst blisters and skinned feet. Binding them tightly after the treatment was the only way to ensure that they could get through the next day and the day after that.r />
  Their last session of the day was to prepare for their first night time exercise, after that they were free to eat. Every day, after a full day’s training, they fell into their bunks exhausted.

  Day twenty-two was a full day on the range and although hard work it gave them a well needed break from runs and forced marches. Although they had to march three kilometres to the range, it was a breeze after what they had been through.

  Weapons training was their favourite activity; it helped to make them feel like real soldiers, not just cannon fodder for the crippling assault course.

  Paul and Helmut consistently scored over thirty-six hits out of a possible score of forty, at one hundred metres.

  Erich struggled to get over thirty five, but excelled with the heavy machine gun.

  They were frequently reminded of their fifth commandment, ‘The most precious thing in the presence of the foe is ammunition. He, who shoots uselessly, merely to comfort himself, is a man of straw who merits not the title of parachutist.’

  At the end of the session on the ranges, they were tired, had bruised shoulders from a full days firing, the recoil of the weapons unforgiving, but were satisfied. They had an hour practicing throwing hand grenades, and then it was back to barracks for weapons cleaning. Normally an onerous task, but today it was another opportunity to gain some respite and re-energise their depleted reserves.

  And for once, Helmut wasn’t down for any punishments, yet.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Today they were all at the end of their reserves, both physically and mentally drained. Erich was all for giving up. Erich, lying face down on his bunk in full kit, moaned.

  “I can’t take much more of this Paul; they’re weeding us out every day.” He looked across at Curt’s empty bunk, Curt’s gone, who’s next?”

  “Look Erich,” answered Paul, who was also lying face down on his bunk in full kit, “we’ve got this far, we’re not giving up now.”

  “But we started with forty in our Platoon and one hundred and sixty in the Company; we’re down to just over half of that!”

  “We can make it, we’ve just one more week to go until our parachute training, and we’re nearly there!” Paul looked across to Helmut for support.

  “Paul, I can hardly stand, let alone do another forced march.”

  “Bugger off Erich, get your arse in gear, let’s get out of here and get the show on the road. The sooner we get through this the sooner you can buy me a pint in Berlin.”

  Erich smiled, Helmut certainly had a way with words. He crawled off his bed just as one of the Uffzs came barging into the room.

  “Right, you three out,” shouted Uffz Blacher, “you have five minutes to get ready for the night manoeuvres!”

  The Uffz moved off to pass on the glad tidings to the other remaining members of the company.

  Paul was the first to stir.

  “Come on then Erich,” he said grabbing his webbing, pulling him up. “If I’m going out into this pitch darkness, then you’re damn well coming with me.”

  Helmut grabbed the other side of Erich and they both yanked him up off his pit.

  “If you insist. If we’re going to see this through, then we’d better get on with it, otherwise there will be another empty bunk in this room.”

  All three looked across at the empty bunk, only recently occupied by their fellow recruit, Curt. Curt was unfortunate in badly straining a leg muscle, but was told he could try again once he was fit enough. The three friends were not so sure, Curt was at the end of his tether and the injury was perhaps a lucky break for him. They didn’t believe he would be back. Many others, unfortunately, also didn’t make the grade, repeatedly failing on the exercises they were put through.

  “I’ll see you two shortly,” informed Helmut as he left the room. He had to leave earlier to be briefed, as he was to be Platoon Commander for this night’s manoeuvres. Paul, Erich and Helmut had to take it in turns to lead the Platoon at the behest of the instructors, testing their leadership further.

  Paul and Erich’s determination had got them through so far. When one was in despair of continuing the course, the other found the strength to rally them both and keep them both on track. They had become close friends since meeting at the railway station on their very first day.

  Had they known what they were letting themselves in for would they have turned around at the station and headed back home? At this moment in time neither could truthfully answer that question. The prize of the parachutist’s badge was a great incentive and the only thing that was making them drag themselves to the parade ground every time they were called.

  It was three in the morning, two days to go before they moved on to their parachute-training phase. Out of the original forty recruits in their platoon at the start, there were only twenty-two left.

  Their Platoon, one of three, were to assault the forth Platoon defending a pseudo ammunition dump, protected by trenches, barbed wire and a minefield.

  Paul, Erich and Helmut had each been given a troop to lead. They had to force an entry into the complex, as agreed at the planning stage the previous day, allowing second Platoon to pass through them and secure the complex.

  The third Platoon would feign an attack on the defenders elsewhere, acting as a diversion, hopefully distracting the defenders from where the real attack was coming from.

  Paul and his two friends cleared the wire and the minefield and bridged the trench, after killing two sentries, much to their disgust at having been caught napping.

  Second Platoon passed through the secured entry point and by six a.m. it was all over.

  They returned to barracks. Although physically and mentally drained, all the energy sapped from their bodies, they couldn’t help but feel euphoric and were grinning like wild men. The instructors still remained stern, but there was a lightening of their attitude towards the recruits.

  They knew that the surviving eighty-seven soldiers in front of them had proven their worth. The recruits too knew that they had crossed a line and that they had made the grade, and providing they passed through parachute training they would pass out as Fallschirmjager. Two more days to get through.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  This was the last day of the physical element of their Fallschirmjager training. Today Paul and his companions were told they would be completing a thirty kilometre march, with full packs, weighing twenty kilograms, plus their weapons and filled water canteens.

  The eighty-seven recruits started their march at six in the morning. Had they rested for a few days prior to the march, they would have found it relatively easy as their fitness had improved considerably since they had started their training.

  After one and a half hours and ten kilometres of marching, the company was well into the swing of it.

  Paul, Erich, Helmut, Franz and Wilhelm had grouped themselves together, committed to ensuring that they all made it through to the end of the march, giving mutual support throughout.

  By ten hundred hours and twenty-three kilometres later, they were starting to feel it. Blisters that had recently healed were becoming raw again. Tendons were swelling and rubbing against their boots, but it was bearable.

  Generally they were in good spirits, they knew that this thirty kilometre slog was the last hurdle, the last big push before they finished this stage and moved on to the parachute training.

  By midday, and having nearly completed the march, although physically drained their morale was high, the end was in sight. The column was halted and told to take a five-minute break.

  Paul and his group immediately held a conference.

  “We must have finished the march by now, surely,” Helmut kicked off, “but where are we?”

  “I don’t recognise this place,” added Erich.

  “It sort of looks familiar,” concluded Paul, “but if I’m right, then the camp is a good ten clicks from here!”

  “Don’t be stupid, the march is only for thirty Ks and we’ve done that,” uttered Franz.


  “Perhaps we are being trucked back,” suggested Wilhelm, hopefully.

  “Something isn’t quite right,” thought Paul out loud.

  His foresight, unfortunately, was proven to be correct, as the instructors roused the group, informing them that they still had another ten clicks to go.

  This time, their positivity left them and their aches and pains, that had earlier been subdued by their euphoria of the march being nearly over, all returned. The blisters that were sore, but could be shut from their minds earlier, were back with a vengeance and any pain they had felt before paled into insignificance, compared to the agony they were experiencing now.

  Their heavy packs were biting into their shoulders, chafing their backs and seemed to have suddenly increased in weight.

  Just when they were brooding on the prospect of not being able to take any more, they caught site of the barracks. Smiles started to return to some faces and even conversations were struck up between some of the soldiers. This was it, a kilometre to go, it was all but over.

  They marched up to the camp gates; relief clearly on their faces as it was now all over. That last hill climb had been unendurable and had nearly done them all in. Even the tough Helmut was looking extremely wasted.

  They formed up as if on parade and were then stood at ease, only to be told that once they had finished a five minute break, refilled their water bottles, they had another ten kilometres to go.

  The gasp from the Company was audible and the look on their faces was one of disbelief. One recruit was heard to say, “I can’t go on, I can’t do this anymore,” and to that end he sat down and did not move from the spot. He had got this far, but the course was incomplete, he would be failed.

  The instructors had thrown down the Fallschirmjager gauntlet and he had not picked it up.