Chapter Two
Narvik, Norway. April-June 1940.
Hauptmann or Captain Arik Wagner and the men under his command - ten men - looked every inch the mountain troops that they were. Nine of his men had been with him since the formation of his little unit and they were all Germans and Austrians. The exception was a tall, ash blond-haired individual with high cheekbones and he was a Finnish captain of equal rank to Wagner but subordinate for the duration of this operation. Captain Juho Vertanen wasn’t just your ordinary soldier, he was also an Olympic champion who had picked up a medal in the 1936 Winter Olympics in Bavaria in Military Patrol, the precursor to the biathlon. It involved two key skills - skiing and shooting. It also involved things like good balance and a steady hand and the men he was teamed up with doubted if he was a slouch with the Kar 98 strung over his broad shoulders. Vertanen was attached to Finnish 111 Corps.
For his part, Wagner had no doubt over the ability of Juho Vertanen because he had lost out on a medal himself in the same games due to the accuracy of the Finnish man and it rankled.
There had been heavy fighting in and around Narvik as the Germans tried to achieve a stranglehold over Norway.
Looking around, Wagner was proud of his men. They certainly looked the part and all wore the edelweiss insignia on their sleeves and caps. Three of them had sniper training including himself - Vertanen and the young lad from Hamburg Hans Koch. Koch had a brother in the U-boat arm and he had nearly gone down that way himself before he discovered that he was claustrophobic in confined areas and he had decided that the Wehrmacht presented a better option for his unique talents.
His second in command was a oberleutnant - Alger Fischer - and was a climber par excellence and an Alps expert. The way this war was going, Wagner guessed that Fischer would have his captain bars before the year was out. War tended to be like that; fast promotions and even faster relationships leading to marriage. Younger men in particular wanted to experience it all in case they fell in battle. The enlisted men, ordinary soldiers, tended to be young, men like Meino Jung, Cort Sommer and Wilda Winkler. Marx Huber was young too but his head was often up with the Heinkels in the clouds and it was acknowledged that he was politically astute and probably a member of the Nazi party to boot. Rodd Hass had a few years on all of the younger troops and he had the stripes on his arm to prove it - a corporal. The hardbitten Renke Pohl was his senior at sergeant rank, and judging all those ranks was Senior Sergeant Rainer Richter. All of the men were dressed in M1936 berghosen trousers, military issue M40 blouses, bergschuhe mountain boots with puttees, skis, neck scarves, gloves, snow goggles, and gebirgsjager rucksacks over their windjackets. They all wore Wehrmacht issue belts that held various things; rations, water bottles and capsules, holstered weapons. Wagner was armed with a Luger P-08, whilst Vertanen had a LI935 semi-automatic Lahti pistol that fired eight rounds from a detachable box. Both Meino Jung and Wilda Winkler had close combat SVT knives. A few of the other men also had Lugers, including Pohl.
Some were equipped with grenades and other equipment included rope, piton hammers, pitons, and ice picks. They all had assault rifles complete with Kar 98 leder pouches for ammunition. Wagner, Koch, and Vertanen also had sniper scope cases, and both Wagner and Vertanen had powerful Zeiss binoculars. Huber carried the radio equipment and also doubled as an emergency medic when needed. His kit included dressings, bandages and various ointments and pills. A walking chemist. They called him Herr Potion sometimes behind his back.
The gebirgsjager or mountain troops consisting mostly of German and Austrian troops had help from fallschirmjager or airborne troops and parachutists and had been pushed hard by Allied forces who were trying to retreat from Norway. The Allied forces were made up of the Norwegian 6th Division, British Divisions, French Divisions including the 13th Demi-Brigade of the French Foreign Legion, and Battalions of the Polish Independent Highland Brigade, and tank assets.
Wagner’s men came under fire as they came off a mountain ridge. Their strength lay in the mountains so they hadn’t advanced as far as the coast where they could be pounded by offshore artillery fire from Allied warships.
"Cover," Wagner screamed as a hail of gunfire rained down on them. His men went to ground but Pohl assessed things faster than anyone else and he ordered Hass to lay down a barrage of fire from a light machine gun. Pohl then charged, and not for the first time Wagner made a mental note to commend the man’s actions for a medal. An iron cross, perhaps?
Pohl’s bravery combined with the covering fire from Hass broke the attack against them. There were no injuries amongst them and no apparent injuries within the Allies either, it seemed. A skirmish, so.
Wagner caught Pohl’s pale blue eyes. "You’ll be the death of me yet, Renke?"
Pohl was unapologetic. "It worked, didn’t it? We broke their attack."
Wagner nodded and turned to Huber. "Marx, radio in. Give them the coordinates of that last attack. Huber set up his radio equipment. "Jager funf to base," he broadcast. "Jager funf to base?"
An acknowledgement was received. Huber reported the coordinates of the last attack and fifteen minutes later two Stukas came in low over their position and dropped a few bombs. Explosions shattered the air and Wagner gave the word to move in. The air attack was just insurance, in case a trap had been set when the Allied unit had pulled out. A sniper, or a few soldiers hellbent on trouble. It paid to be cautious.
A naval battle between the Royal Navy and the Kriegsmarine was taking place out on Ofotfjord. Wagner and his men could see black plumes of smoke hanging over the fjord and they could hear the heavy booms of guns. Despite the fact that it was April, snow still clung to the ground. There was a coldness in the air too that affected troops on all sides. It was hard to tell what was happening out over the water, although Wagner suspected the Royal Navy was winning the day. Ever since the days of Wellington the British had always enjoyed a superior naval force, and Arik knew they were a force to contend with.
He sighed and turned to his men and ordered them to move out.
Eyes alert and weapons close to hand, the mountain corps unit moved off the slope, skiing with an innate confidence down the slope.