"Wie viele haben wir?", muttered a dishevelled Feldwebel as he plucked twigs and foliage from the inside of his smock.

 "Vierunddreißig , Feldwebel. Ohne die Verwundeten," An Unteroffizier said, snapping a Fascist salute.

"Es wird zu tun haben. Was wissen wir von unseren Feind?" The Feldwebel asked, slamming a magazine into his MP40. He stopped to glance at his assembled Fallschirmjager as they hunkered down and looked at him, eagerly awaiting his orders. 

"Sie haben eine Linie von sechs Fliegerabwehrkanonen. Zwei Züge infantnry. Sie haben Männer nach vorne geschickt, aber ich weiß nicht, wie viele," the Unteroffizier replied, shifting uneasily in his boots. "Sie töten uns Feldwebel, die meisten von unseren Jungs noch nicht einmal an ihre Waffen. Wenn wir nicht jetzt etwas tun, werden wir diesen Landezone zu verlieren!

The Feldwebel sighed, and looked up at the strong sunlight shining through the sparse canopy of their hiding place. A Ju-52 roared overhead, its tail ablaze. "Wir werden sie zurückfahren , und tun , was wir können über diese Flak . Auch wenn wir sie ablenken , wird das Leben wir retten unschätzbarem Wert sein. Lassen Sie uns um es zu bekommen."

The Unteroffizier smiled, and nodded vigorously. He was a young man, un-jaded by war and full of vigour. "Ja Feldwebel ! Ich werde den Angriff führen!"

-------------

The Fallschirmjager platoon moved off at once, dividing into four squads of eight men. They were armed with an assortment of MP40s and Kar98s, with the exception of the one MG34 they had managed to salvage. Their ammunition situation wasn't good, but if they could reclaim the landing zone, then they would find all they needed there. 

Breaking from the cover of the trees, and darting from hedge to rock, the four squads sprung themselves forwards into the Commonwealth's counter attack. One squad held back, accompanied by the lone MG34 team, and started to lay down covering fire on any piece of Crete's bleak countryside that looked a likely hiding spot for the enemy. Meanwhile, the three assaulting squads ran across the open ground yelling and jeering, unaware of their enemy's exact position; in the background, through the sparse vegetation and rolling hills, they could see the line of British Bofors and the town of Heraklion behind. 

They would not be enough to break that line, this they knew. But, what they could do was make the landing zone safe enough for their forces to consolidate, and with the air still thick with their helpless comrades, every second they could distract their enemy was invaluable to the assault.