Michael Thomas - Night of the Nazi Zombies

“Are we ahead of schedule? According to me we shouldn’t be released for another seven minutes,” he shouted.

“No, looks like somebody fucked up Sergeant, we’ve been released early,” answered the pilot.

The pilot turned back to the primitive looking controls, making a few fine adjustments. Smith stumbled as the glider began a narrow turn. He called out to the pilots.

“Have you got a landing zone for this area?”

“Were working on it,” said the co-pilot in a raised and slightly excited voice.

With the glider lacking its own power it could only stay airborne for so long. There was a fine line between staying in the air for as long as possible and going so slowly that the glider would stall. From the tests conducted so far a stall was definitely not something either of the pilots wanted to experiment with. To make matters worse there was no obvious landing zone so the pilots kept the glider in as shallow a dive as possible, to give them the maximum time in the air without dropping to stall speed. One mistake and they could land in a ploughed field or hit a house. Those kinds of landings would mean a plane full of dead soldiers. They followed the course of the river, using it as a navigation aid.

Smith looked back at the centre section, the rest of the men were sat on the bench sits, awaiting his news. He pulled himself back and then rechecked his map. No, the pilots were right, they were way, way too early. The only good thing was that the area leading up to their landing zone was in a relatively sparse part of the country.

“Sergeant, I think we’ve got somewhere!” called one of the pilots.

“If we can stay up for another sixty seconds we can use this area. It’s supposed to be used for later landings but has been checked, it should be ok.”

“It’s not like we have much of a choice,” spoke Smith grimly. He grasped the pilot’s shoulder.

“Good luck, see you on the ground!” Smith shouted.

He then turned and made his way back into the centre section of the glider, first whispering to the sappers and then moving further back into the aircraft to speak to the rest of the men. Leaning closely to the men on one side he spoke loudly.

“We’ve been dropped too early. It looks like we’re going to have a rough landing. Make sure you are strapped in and hold on!” he shouted. Smith turned and repeated himself to the others.

“Make sure your weapons are ready, we are going to hit the ground locked and ready to fight. Remember your training and watch the man next to you. Good luck!”

Dropping back down onto the bench he pulled the straps back on and waited patiently for the landing. One of the pilots turned around, gesturing to the men that they had sixty seconds till landing.

Smith shouted, “Brace yourselves!”

The men were already strapped down onto the bench seating but they still double checked, some retightened the straps just to make sure. Though the gliders were very manoeuvrable they did hit the ground hard and in previous training many of the paratroopers had experienced some pretty hairy landings. Of course this time they had no idea where they were landing or even if they would encounter enemy resistance. Smith looked down, checking his kit and weapons were tied down and ready for use. Previous experience had taught him to always be ready once they hit the ground. No time to rummage about for kit when in a firefight. The pilot signalled again.

“Thirty seconds people, hold on!”

Almost as soon as he finished a line of holes appeared across the flooring of the aircraft, each hole about the size of a finger. Sprays of arterial blood erupted and two of the soldiers slumped forward, both peppered with bullet impacts.

“Shit! Get us down!” shouted one of the men.

“Sarge!” called Humphreys, one of the riflemen, as he pointed to the tail.

Smith looked back to see at least a dozen big holes torn through the tail section. They were taking fire, lots of it. Luckily the aircraft was made of wood and the bullets simply punched through without altering the structural integrity of the glider. Still, if more of the bullets tore through they could easily end up losing something important.

The pilots had obviously seen the incoming fire as the glider dropped into an even steeper angle. From where the pilots were sat their view filled with light as tracer fire tore around them. The landing was going to be hard and fast but the only way they could hope to avoid the bullet impacts was to get on the ground fast. Only then could the soldiers on board do their job. It was only a matter of seconds before touching down that the pilot operated the ‘barn door’ flaps which when lowered, made a steep, high rate of descent landing possible. The sudden operation of the flaps cut the airspeed and was instantly followed by the release of the braking parachute. Anything not tied down rolled across the floor as the rapid deceleration felt as though they had hit something whilst in the air.

Even this wasn’t enough to prevent the jarring crash though. The nose wheel hit the ground first, the impact snapping it clean off and dropping the nose down to the ground. The force of the wheel coming off tore a section three feet wide from the bottom of the aircraft. As the rest of the glider hit the ground the sprung skid under the fuselage took the strain. Luckily this part of the aircraft was almost indestructible and stopped the aircraft suffering any other major damage. Without even bouncing, the glider slid across the field at great speed. More holes appeared in the body of the glider as small arms fire ploughed through the thin covering of the plane, luckily none hitting the passengers. After several seconds the glider bumped into the air, presumably striking something on the ground and then came down with a bump. The right wing struck a tree or bush, tearing off half of the wing and spinning the fuselage around to come to a halt in the tree line.

The final impact folded the glider around the trees, crushing the nose, instantly killing the pilots and the sappers that were positioned close to the front of the aircraft. The remainder were thrown about inside as the middle section came apart disgorging seating and equipment out onto the ground. Without pausing from the crash, Smith unclipped himself, glanced around the glider and shouted his orders, “Out!”

Smith could see that the front of the glider was smashed beyond repair and there was no movement in the front third of the aircraft. It wasn’t a good start but at least they were on the ground and below the elevation of the heavy anti-aircraft guns. Small arms fire was one thing, but those heavy guns could cut down the rest of his unit in seconds if they could get the weapons lowered in some way. Getting out of the glider was their best chance of survival.

The clicking of harnesses echoed through the groaning remains of the glider as the first dozen men clambered out of the side door and into the darkness. Smith was first; brandishing is Sten MkV submachine gun in his right hand whilst hurrying the men from the door and the shredded section where the nose and centre used to be joined. If nothing else the crash had given them additional ways to exit the glider! Smith counted them out. Each man took up positions a short distance form the glider, watching carefully for the enemy whilst also keeping their heads down and in cover. Lieutenant Harvey stepped out, putting his hand on Smith’s shoulder. Smith responded.

“We’ve lost eight. Two shot on the way down, plus the pilots and the sappers bought it in the landing, Sir.”

“Spread out and secure the landing zone, Sergeant.”

Smith nodded in acknowledgement, as he turned he remembered one last thing, “Oh, and Johnson has got framing stuck in his shoulder, he’s pinned inside but stable.”