Free Devils with Wings by Harvey Black

don’t catch you treating the locals like this again, Feldwebel”
    “Look at them,” said the Feldgendarmerie, pointing in the direction of the villagers, all frozen to the spot. In fear of staying and getting embroiled in the dispute between the two German soldiers but also in fear of walking away and drawing attention to themselves and bringing down the wrath of the policemen on to them.
    “They are just cowardly scum that need a firm hand if they are to be brought under the control of the Third Reich.”
    “The ones I fought yesterday were not cowardly, Feldwebel,” threw in Paul, feeling and getting angrier by the second.
    “They may have been inexperienced, and not as professional as our soldiers, but they were far from cowardly. But then you wouldn’t know much about that would you, from the safety of your billet in the village?”
    The Feldwebel spluttered back, “We still have an important job to do Herr Leutnant.”
    But the Feldwebel was clearly embarrassed and his companion chose to look away, not wanting to see the shame being heaped upon his colleague. First, because the officer was right, they had both been in the rear area while the fighting was in progress and secondly, he didn’t want this paratroop officer switching his attention to him and the embarrassment of being berated by him in front of the very peasants he despised.
    The first military policeman though, needed to save face here and slowly regaining his composure, replied.
    “The control of the rear area is our affair Herr Leutnant, and we come under the control of the District Commander, not the Fallschirmjager. I will report this incident, of your interference in rear area military police affairs, to my Commander.”
    “As you please Feldwebel, but if I see you beating the locals again, I may well show you a taste of it. You are dismissed.”
    The two Feldgendarmerie saluted and, disgruntled, left the area.
    Paul noticed that the Polish victim had scampered away as had the rest of the villagers that were here only a few moments ago. He thought nothing more of the incident and headed back to the cottage where he was billeted.
    Again lying on his bed, he was reflecting on his performance, at the recent battle, and that of his men. He had been told that the mission overall had been a success and that his platoon, and as a result of that, his Company, was held in high regard.
    The downside was the dead and injured. His platoon got off lightly with only two injured. Jager Kempf from second troop with an injured right arm and Jager Geyer with a shrapnel wound to the buttocks. A painful, non-life threatening injury, but providing great amusement for the platoon.
    No doubt this event would be replayed over and over again in the future. The most popular joke being, that at least Geyer had got rid of his constipation problem.
    Both would be back with the unit within the next four weeks.
    The rest of the Battalion was not so lucky, losing eight killed and thirteen wounded, fortunately all of the wounded paratroopers would recover.
    For the Polish unit, things had been very different. Fifty Polish artillerymen had lost their lives, leaving behind mothers, fathers, sons, daughters and wives. Many more had been wounded. Although they fought bravely, they were no match for the Fallschirmjager. Their training and military skills were no match for the aggressive, tough, professional paratroopers that made up the 1st Fallschirmjager Battalion.
    Paul was staring up at the low, wood beamed ceiling when he was disturbed by the sound of clattering boots and Erich bursting into the bedroom.
    “Paul, you are wanted at HQ, the Raven is screaming for you!” exclaimed Erich excitedly.
    “What’s it about?” asked Paul as he quickly scrambled off his bed, frantically searching for his jump boots, which he found kicked under the bed. They badly needed a polish, but they would have to do for now, it would not do to keep Oberleutnant ‘The Raven’ Volkman