The closure hadn’t been well-received by locals already incensed by the eviction of numerous farming families from their land in the interest of the airfield’s expansion, none of which of course had been of any particular interest to Luftwaffe command or the Wehrmacht military units who’d been ordered to force the inhabitants away from their properties, at gunpoint if necessary. On either side of the base’s perimeter fences, Route de Wisques now terminated at guarded gates that allowed access to the western end of the installation for construction and maintenance crews as required.
As a result, St. Omer airfield now consumed a large area of the relatively flat country to the south-west of the town. On the northern perimeter, the Rue de Milou began at the Route de Boulogne to the west-north-west and ran approximately 1,300m before joining the newly-closed Route de Wisques quite close to the guarded gates on that side. On the opposite side of the terminated road, a well-used and hard-packed earthen track ran along the north-west perimeter fence for another 700 metres or so before linking up with the Chemin de Plateau des Bruyères for the rest of its journey east, skirting the southern edges of Longueness before intersecting with Route des Bruyères not too far south of the Longueness cemetery.
A side road branching off the south side of the Chemin de Plateau des Bruyères travelled just a dozen metres or so before reaching the base’s main gates and the large buildings of the main vehicle park directly beyond. To the immediate left heading through the base grounds through those guarded gates were the security barracks and brig with the base infirmary behind them. To the right were a pair of two-storey wooden structures with large windows that were the headquarters and administration offices. Further along on the left were the officer’s mess and quarters, and then two larger buildings housing the NCOs’ and OR’s messes and the main barracks. Beyond them were two wide, tall constructions of galvanised iron that were the main hangars and workshops for ZG26.
On the other side of that main road, ZG26’s 600m grass airstrip ran due east, and parallel with it on its northern side, construction was continuing on the massive new runway that when completed would stretch far off into the distance to the west-north-west; a flat, paved expanse of hardened, reinforced concrete cut through a landscape that had once been French farms. Near the HQ and Admin buildings and between the two runways rose the control tower, standing four storeys high on a thick wooden framework. A pair of newly-constructed circular concrete patches were embedded in the ground nearby with a large, yellow ‘H’ painted at the centre of each.
Beyond the main hangars toward the south-western end of the perimeter was the guarded side gate opening onto the southern section of the Route de Wisques — the very same manned checkpoint Ritter had used earlier — and close to the nearby fence, a collection of tents lay clustered around a fire in a large oil drum on a flattened, grassy. Four P-3C medium panzers sat empty and motionless to one side of those tents, no more than silhouettes in the darkness of late evening and already almost invisible in the failing light because of their dark paintwork.
The Panzer Model III, known by the military designation of P-3, was a relatively light ‘medium’ tank of around 26 tonnes and was armed with a 75mm main gun of moderate power and two machine guns: one 7.92mm mounted co-axially in the turret and one 13mm heavy weapon mounted above the turret for anti-aircraft use. The intermittent illumination of the oil-drum fire was enough to occasionally highlight the Balkankreuz national markings painted on their hulls and the three-figure yellow unit numbers — 321, 322, 323 and 324 — on the sides of their turrets. Also visible ahead of the unit numbers on each turret were the white ‘deaths head’ skull and crossbones insignia of the 3rd SS Shock Division ‘Totenkopf’ to which all belonged. Not visible in that darkness were the large red rectangles painted on each tank’s rear decking above the engine, each sporting the ubiquitous black swastika in a white circle.
Although the Luftwaffe had invariably held air superiority throughout the Polish and Western Campaigns, their own pilots could sometimes make mistakes. It was rare, but SS Lieutenant Berndt Schmidt, the troop’s commander, had lost two personal friends to air attack during his tour in Poland, both times from over-enthusiastic Stukas. ‘Friendly fire’ was a rather terminally ironic term in Schmidt’s opinion, and an apology really wasn’t going to help much once a 250-kilogram bomb had landed on your turret roof. It never hurt to give the Luftwaffe a little help with regard to identification in his opinion.
“You know what the real problem is, Milo,” Schmidt observed out of the blue as usual, lecturing his favourite corporal in his favourite ‘worldly’ but kindly tone. “Our glorious leaders at Headquarters have been too long away from the front lines!”
“Of course, Herr Obersturmführer…” Corporal Milo Wisch replied dutifully, not as awestruck as he affected to appear to the junior officer but nevertheless listening attentively to what Schmidt had to say despite the barely-concealed wry smile on his face.
Both men were dark-haired and of medium height and although Schmidt — in his late-twenties — wasn’t that much older than Wisch, he was career military and carried with him a wealth of useful knowledge and information as a result — information that was likely to keep others alive if they listened and took note. While he was no Nazi and had never displayed any of the fanaticism many usually associated with the Waffen-SS, Schmidt had been with the service since its inception. The troop commander could waffle on a bit here and there — particularly after a few hard-earned beers — but he also often had something of value to say as well and he possessed a wealth of experience gleaned from his service in Spain with the Condor Legion. Milo had only left recruit training six months ago and although the capability was definitely within him to be an excellent soldier, there was still much he had to learn — something he himself was quite openly aware of.
Schmidt’s command — the 2nd Troop of 3rd Company — had been detached from the main body of the 3rd SS Division following the fall of Dunkirk and the cessation of hostilities in France thereafter. His troop of four tanks had been assigned to provide armoured support for the airfield and SS mechanised infantry units stationed at St. Omer, which had up until that point been an uneventful duty considered positively luxurious in comparison to the combat they were more accustomed to. They weren’t on duty that evening however and half of the unit’s sixteen men were off in town somewhere seeking entertainment of one type or another.