Devils with Wings: Silk Drop (6 page)

He walked into the large kitchen. The cream, two plated Aga, the long farmhouse kitchen table laden with ham, cheese and numerous types of bread was laid out in front of him.

“Morning son,” said his father looking up from his morning paper.

“Morning Papa, Mama,” he said in return.

Paul sat down at the table, grabbing a serviette.

“Did you sleep well?” said his mother coming over to him patting his hand.

“I certainly did, now I’m ready for one of your breakfasts Mama.”

Her face beamed. She headed back to the Aga, picking up the boiling kettle to make coffee and checking on the boiled eggs. She knew Paul liked them soft. His father looked up at him and they smiled at each other. His father knew that she fussed too much and tried to over feed their son. But he wasn’t home that often, so Paul could cope with the extra attention for short periods of time.

“How’s the factory going Papa?” he asked as he gathered a piece of dark bread, spread it liberally with butter and added a slice of Westphalian ham, his favourite, only equalled by peppered salami. He added some cheese and took a deep bite.

“Busy, busy son. We’re working full time manufacturing aircraft parts for the Luftwaffe, orders have doubled.”

“They’ll be needed to help them fight the British,” responded Paul.

“Why can’t we just leave them alone,” he said scowling. “We’ve kicked them out of France, surely that’s enough.”

“Enough you two,” scolded his mother, “get on with your breakfasts.” They again smiled at each other.

His mother joined them at the table, spooning two boiled eggs onto her son’s plate.

“So, you’re going to see your young lady today?”

“She’s not my young lady Mama, she’s just a friend.”

“All the same, we’d like to meet her one day, wouldn’t we Papa?”

“Leave the boy alone woman.” This time they both laughed. She looked from one to the other. He so looked like his father she thought.

“You two and your private jokes.”

His father put the paper down and stood up. Tall like his son, a touch over six feet, not looking twice the age of his son. The only signs of ageing being a few flecks of grey by his temples.

“I must get to the factory, we have new schedules coming in today. Do you still want a lift to the station?”

“Please Papa, I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

“You shouldn’t make him rush his breakfast.”

“It’s ok Mama, I’ve nearly finished and I’ve had enough now.”

His father kissed his wife on the cheek, clasped his son’s shoulder on the way out of the kitchen and went to get himself ready for work.

The train journey from Brandenburg to the centre of Berlin was short and he was in the city by eight thirty, a full hour before he was meeting Christa. He left the railway station and made his way south, heading for the Tiergarten, enjoying even more of the freedom from the restrictions of barracks and military life as he walked through the green park. They were to meet on the southwest side of the park, at the beginning of the Kurfurstendamm. He got to the outskirts of the park and headed south passed the Zoologischer gartens, hitting the Kurfurstendamm at its most eastern point.

He caught sight of her first, or at least his heart did as it started thumping like an express train. She was as he remembered her, slender, petite, wrapped in a cream, flowery, summer dress, her skin looking soft and lightly tanned. He heard the rhythmic tattoo of her heeled shoes on the pavement, above all the other sounds around him. People passing by, wondering why this tall German soldier, in his splendid paratrooper’s uniform, his medals proudly displayed, was standing there as if mesmerised. She looked up, her auburn hair bouncing on her shoulders; it had grown since he had last seen her. Their eyes met, her eyes dark and mysterious, his hazel and sparkling with delight at seeing her. He came out of his trance and strode powerfully towards her. They met, pedestrians swirling around them, but they were oblivious to their presence. Paul threw his arms around her waist, crushing her slender body to him, the scent of her hair in his face. She looked up at him longingly.

“Oh Paul, I hoped you would come.”

“I’m here now darling, I just had to see you, be with you again. Your letters were not enough.”

She reached up with her right hand, gently touching the scar above his left eye.

“You’re letters were the only thing that kept me going. Oh Paul, I’ve missed you so much.”

Paul bent his head down, and holding her chin gently in his hand he kissed her softly on the lips. The taste of her moist lips, the scent of her skin, made his head swirl with intoxication. They were interrupted abruptly.

“I’m sure you two lovers have a lot of catching up to do,” said a short, stout man in a brown apron, “but you’re blocking the entrance to my shop and customers can neither get in or out.”

They both looked about them, realising they were obstructing the shop doorway and were completely unaware of all that was going on around them. They quickly parted.

“I’m sorry sir,” apologised Paul.

“That’s ok officer, take her somewhere nice eh?”

“I will,” said Paul smiling, gently guiding Christa away from the shop.

She linked her arm into his and within seconds they burst into laughter and joked together as they wandered further down the Kurfurstendamm, no destination in mind. The shopkeeper watched them go, shaking his head. Any nervousness or unfamiliarity had been broken; it was as if they had always been together. They continued to meander down the street, talking about Christa’s work, Paul’s comrades and Max, his parents and pointing in shop windows that caught their eye. They briefly touched on the war. They turned off the main street, exploring one of the smaller side streets. They found themselves outside a bijou cafe situated next to a small, relatively private square; Christa tugged him to a seat next to a small bistro table.

They had ended up in a small square, their cast iron bistro table and chairs situated alongside a dozen others on a raised, fenced wooden platform with huge parasols strategically placed protecting them from the now bright sunlight.

“I need to sit down she said, my legs are shaking.”

“Mine too,” admitted Paul, “they feel worse than when I completed my first parachute jump.”

“You must tell me about that,” she said, touching his face with her fingers. “I want to know all about you and what you’ve done. I’ve never been compared to a parachute jump before,” she added pouting.

A voice coughed close to them, a waitress in a black dress with a white apron was stood next to their table.

“Good morning Oberleutnant, what can I get you?”

Paul looked at Christa. She turned to face the waitress. “One Viennese chocolate please, with extra cream.”

“And I’ll have a white coffee please,” added Paul. The waitress left to get their order.

“So, what plans have you got for us today then Oberleutnant Brand?” she said smiling.

“I have to confess I didn’t think beyond meeting you Christa,” he said embarrassed. She reached across and fingered the medal on his tunic pocket.

“You have had much on your mind my poor man.”

“Well, I shall come up with something then,” he said, determined to make her day enjoyable.

She slipped her slim handbag off her shoulder and after rummaging around for a few moments produced two tickets, which she proceeded to flutter in front of him.

“What about the Staats-theater? Flucht vor der Liebe?” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

“Christa, you never cease to amaze me, that sounds great.”

The waitress returned with their drinks, placed them on the table and then left.

“Where did you go after Maastricht?” asked Paul

“I was asked to go to France, they had converted some of the French hospitals to military hospitals. It was horrible Paul. So many wounded and they were just boys. What about Belgium, tell me what happened.”

He talked about the attack on Fort Eben Emael, occasionally touching his scar reminding him of how close he came to being killed. He mentioned also the exercise they had just completed. She listened attentively, intermittently asking questions, particularly about Max and the junior NCOs who came to the hospital to visit him. Before they knew it they had been there for two hours, their drinks remaining untouched. Realising this brought about another outburst of laughter. And after calling over the waitress they ordered the same drinks again along with some lunch. Paul had smoked ham and cheese on sonnenblumenkenbrot, sunflower seeds in a dark rye bread, his favourite, followed by a slice of black forest gateaux. Christa had a more gentile meal of a German tomato salad.

The tickets were for the 2:30 show, so they finished their meal, paid the waitress and walked the three kilometres to the theatre on the other side of the Tiergarten. The three hour show was enjoyed by both of them and when they left they were buzzing with excitement. Not just because they had enjoyed the performance, but the sharing of it together. They were stood outside the theatre, debating what to do next, when Christa reached up placing her hand round the back of his neck, pulling him down and kissing him full on the lips.

“You go back to your unit tomorrow?” she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“I’m afraid so,” he replied.

“Then tonight you must stay in Berlin, with me.”

Their eyes met.

“Stay overnight?” he said.

“Yes,” she said almost breathlessly.

“I know where.”

He grabbed her hand and they headed off to the hotel Paul often stayed over in with his parents.

He was floating on air. He couldn’t remember ever being this happy. It was almost worth being wounded in order to have met this wonderful woman. Christa was equally happy.

***

Paul’s time with Christa now seemed like a dream. The affection, the intimacy between them was indescribable and their evening of passion during their overnight stay in Berlin was exhausting. They parted the next day, committing their undying love to each other and promising to meet up again as soon as he could get away on leave. When he returned home the next day to collect his gear, ready for the journey back to his unit, he’d had to explain to his mother where he had been overnight, although she had suspected. Although initially worried about him not returning home the previous night, she could see the elation in her sons face and clucked around him like a mother hen. His father was at work, so he didn’t get to say goodbye to him, but left him a short note. He would understand.

On Paul’s return from his leave in Brandenburg he was called immediately to Hauptman Volkman’s office where he had been met with some shocking news that Leutnant Krause had requested a transfer to another unit, which had been immediately accepted by Volkman, who was pleased to get rid of him. Paul was initially displeased.

“He just needed time sir, he lacked confidence.”

“He’s a liability Brand, and we’re best rid of him.”

“But he was my responsibility sir,” anger clearly showing on his face.

Volkman stood up, slapping his stick down on his desk.

“If it was peacetime Brand I would agree with you, but we’re at war, we haven’t got time for complacency.”

“But sir.”

“Drop it Brand, dismissed.”

Paul came to attention, saluted, turned on his heel and left the Raven’s office. One piece of compensatory news though, was Krause’s replacement, newly promoted Leutnant Leeb. One of Paul’s Unteroffizier’s, one of his troop commanders during their time in Poland and Belgium, he had been flagged as potential officer material and he had been accepted for accelerated officer training.

Paul had gathered his men together outside of the canteen. It was too nice to be stuck inside on this warm autumn day. They had dragged the chairs and a couple of tables out of the canteen and placed them on one of the few stretches of grass on the Luftwaffe base. An area often used for BBQs when the base’s occupants put pressure on the mess staff. The Luftwaffe Feldwebel responsible for the day to day running of the canteen had protested vehemently at having the canteen disrupted in this way. But a little persuasion from Max had calmed him down. That’s not to say that Max’s impressive size and sheer presence didn’t help influence the outcome.

The newly appointed Leutnant Leeb stood out with his pristine eagles on his tunic denoting his new rank. Sat either side were his fellow platoon commanders. To his left the Impetuous Roth and to his right the steady Nadel. Max was stood behind them, like a rock, his hands resting on the backs of their chairs, as if watching over his charges. The role reversal between Max and Leutnant Leeb would be interesting, thought Paul, Leeb now being senior to Max, in rank at least. Paul was also coming to terms with the authority he held, not only due to his rank of Oberleutnant, but also the fact that he was one of the now famous ‘Green Devils’. As Max often muttered to himself, “he’s coming out of his shell.” Even so, he was still very protective of his young commander.

“Come on people, sort yourselves out,” shouted Max.

“Grab yourselves a drink on your way to your seats,” added Paul.