A Glider Pilot's Tale, Part 5
The next morning it was nice and quiet. During the afternoon I was tasked with several others to seek and find a Horsa, which had landed out of the area in an approximately known position, and retrieve its load of a jeep and trailer. I had acquired a Beretta Machine Pistol – something like a very superior Sten. It had 2 triggers, one for single shot and a grooved trigger for rapid fire. A very well made weapon with only one fault – the magazine hung vertically down. This would make crawling and shooting difficult. The model had been acquired following a sweep after the prisoners of yesterday.
(My note: The weapon in question was a Beretta MAB 38A {Moschetto Automatico Beretta Modello 1938A}, a 9mm automatic carbine much favoured by the Waffen SS.)
We set off on our patrol, crossed open land, and entered the woods. Therein we met a Fighting patrol of British Paras. Great interest was shown in my Beretta. In response I thought to demonstrate the weapon. I released the magazine, dropping it perhaps half an inch, but not taking it out of the weapon. Pointing the gun at the ground in front of my feet, I pressed the single shot trigger. Unfortunately I did not know that the sear had been lost off the bolt. The gun fired off nearly half a magazine (some 20 rounds) before I could pull the magazine out. Fortunately no damage was done and nobody shot. The only response was from one Para who turned to me and said: “I suppose you think that’s effing funny Sergeant!”
As we moved on through the woods we came across a stick of Paras, all Brits, hanging in their shrouds in the trees. Obviously they had sustained injuries dropping through the branches. The anger we felt was that they had been bayoneted as they hung injured. Typical German treatment of injured soldiers.
(My note: Whilst not ‘PC’ in this day and age, the last sentence is how my Father felt. In many respects, and as with others who had fought, he remained prejudiced right up until his death.)
We moved on and left the woods for a ditch on the far side of an earthen roadway. We could see the crashed Horsa in the distance near to a farmhouse. Being cautious, 2 glider pilots made their way to the Horsa, whilst we remaining were ready to give covering fire if needed. Our 2 colleagues came back with the news the jeep was not in the glider as expected.
Just then 6 British tanks came up the lane. These had swum across the Rhine as evidenced by a pair of bronze propellers at the rear of each.
(My note: the tanks were ‘Duplex Drive’ Shermans.)
Immediately to our right was a single-track railway embankment. The tanks drove over the embankment in 2 groups, each of 3 tanks. As they did so we heard a German 88mm open up. Three shots and 3 tanks brewed up. We did not go to look!
At this moment a jeep came up the lane. It sported the Airborne ‘Pegasus’ Insignia, but was being driven by a Sgt of the 50th Lowland Div. It was our jeep but the Sgt would not hand it over. He explained that he and his squad had taken the jeep from some German troops. Being short of transport he planned to keep it. He offered to drive us back to Glider Pilot HQ, an offer which was quickly accepted. The jeep was rapidly filled such that the only place for me was lying across the bonnet! We backtracked and turned onto a lane that led to our HQ.
“Hold on,” said the Scottish Sgt as we drove over the 8 or 9 bodies of Germans killed by the Sgt’s squad earlier that day. It was an experience, which still lives in my mind! Again back to our farmhouse. This time to be told to move to another farmhouse some 500 yds away. It transpired that this was the residence of the Mayor of Hamilkeln. We arrived at the house to hear a wounded horse screaming and were asked to put it out of its misery. An RAF NCO glider pilot obliged – and then shot all the other horses and cattle just to make sure!
None of us worried in the slightest.