Kidnap in Crete Read Online Free PDF

silence and the swish of their bodies falling through the air. The static cords jerked, opening the parachute packs, and deploying the shroud lines. Hundreds of canopies blossomed in the sky – white, yellow, red and green. The sickly smell of aviation fuel was replaced by the rich, luxurious scents of thyme, rosemary and pine as the chutes carrying men and equipment canisters floated down towards the scrubby fields and gentle olive groves of northern Crete.
    On the terrace of his Italianate villa, high above Creforce headquarters at Chania, Bernard Freyberg sat eating his breakfast. He watched as the sky above his head filled with aircraft, descending gliders and paratroopers. Then he looked at his watch, said ‘They’re dead on time,’ and went on to finish his boiled eggs.
     
    See Notes to Chapter 3

4
    The Battle of Crete
    At Maleme airfield, a key German objective on the north coast, gliders swooped through the thick dust cloud thrown up by the bombing earlier in the day. In one glider travelled Major Walter Koch and the battalion staff of 1 Luftlandesturm (Airborne Assault) Regiment. At seven minutes past seven his pilot began the descent, travelling at 240 feet per second, heading for the Tavronitis valley next to a ridge called Hill 107, looking out over Maleme airfield. Blinded by the sun, the pilot could not see the landing area, or accurately judge his height. When he finally saw the objective he realised he was still about 600 feet above the earth: much too high. He put the nose hard down and glided in, unable to slow down. All around the other pilots were doing the same. The speed and chaos made the gliders more widely dispersed than planned.
    As Koch’s transport landed, the barbed-wire-covered skid, designed to slow down the landing, tore off. The violence of the impact knocked him and his men to the floor of the fragile craft, tearing a hole in its side. Some men died on impact, others were injured; many had broken bones. Those who could scrambled out, running for the cover of the stunted gorse bushes that grew all around, or dived into the scrub, blinded by smoke, and immediately came under fire. Koch fell, shot in the head. All around more gliders were plummeting to earth, disappearing into the unexpectedly hilly landscape. Some crash-landed hard, splintering apart, throwing occupants on to the rocks. The air filled with the cries of dying and badly wounded men. To the west and east of Maleme hundreds of paratroopers floated down to earth; some hanging limp in the harnesses. Parachute canopies bobbed across the ground like jellyfish.
    Later, Freyberg ‘stood on a hill watching the attack over Maleme enthralled by the magnitude of the operation’. While watching the bombers he had ‘suddenly became aware of a greater throbbing, or overtone, during the moments of comparative quiet’. Looking to sea he saw hundreds of planes, tier upon tier, coming toward him. They were huge, slow-moving troop carriers with more airborne troops. They circled counter-clockwise over Maleme airdrome and then, only 30 0 feet above the ground, as if by magic white specks suddenly appeared beneath the planes. ‘Coloured clouds of parachutists floated slowly to earth.’
    As far away as Paleochora, on the south coast, the church bells rang a warning, sounded by Father Stylianos, who set about raising a force to march north towards Kandanos. Another priest, Father Frantzeskakis, strode at the head of his band, rifle in hand. At the northern port of Heraklion all was calm. The bombing of the last few days had stopped. Private Reg Spurr was enjoying a beer in a taverna with men from the Royal Engineers and the Black Watch, oblivious to the fact that twenty-five miles to the west the invasion had started. Far off they heard a bugler sounding the alarm, followed by three ‘G’ notes, the signal for paratroopers.
    A swarm of Ju 52s appeared low over Heraklion, and hundreds of parachutes flowered in the sky. Spurr and his mates