The sole German survivor was taken from the water, unconscious and out of the fight to come.
The landing ground was quickly cleared of gliders and those who had sustained injury were taken to a facility already established by the Poles, who had prepared the landing zone according to requirements originating from Skorzeny.
The JU-52’s circled until the signal to commence was received, each making a steady approach and landing, careful to touch down sweetly, given that each was carrying fuel drums to get them all home.
The transport aircraft were carefully shepherded to positions off the grass strip, one coming perilously close to dropping a wheel into the Nieszawski Kanal, earning the pilot a black mark from his staffel commander. They were parked up where refuelling could be safely conducted, ready to evacuate the members of the ‘Storch’ Battalion, and, for that matter, anyone else they could lay their hands on.
Impressed with Polish efficiency, some of the Luftwaffe pilots watched as the illuminated strip spread further south, as the efficient Poles marked out a longer landing strip.
All the JU-52’s had engines off now, so the approaching deep droning was clear to everyone, and more than a few who were not in the know raised their heads to view whatever it was that was approaching.
The Messerschmitt-323v16, more commonly known as the Gigant, had left friendly territory before the JU-52s, because of its slow speed.
Its personal fighter escort circled, watching carefully for possible enemy interference.
The huge six-engine aircraft came in on its approach and made a perfect landing, although the length of runway only proved sufficient by about twenty metres.
The prototype 323 had somehow escaped Allied attention in the German War, and was the last Gigant flying. This was probably its last mission, as there were no definite plans to take it home, and it was not to be left for the enemy.
The pilot turned the lumbering giant and positioned it facing back the way it had come, just in case circumstances permitted a return.
The nose opened up and ramps were positioned by the crew, permitting two vehicles to surge out and across the grass.
Both were Schwimmwagens, amphibious cars, and were equally kitted out with extra machine-guns and radios. The rearmost one stopped immediately as men handled a bespoke four-wheeled trailer, manufactured to Skorzeny’s own design, up behind the waiting vehicle, where it was attached.
It contained a Maxson mount, kindly donated by 548th AAA Battalion of the 102nd US Infantry Division, along with enough ammunition to test the carrying capacity of the Gigant.
It was affectionately known as the Porcupine.
The unusual combination drove off at speed, pairing up with the first schwimmwagen and heading off to support the advance elements of ‘Storch’.
Skorzeny was unhappy, the schedule already lagging behind, as the four kilometres from the landing zone took a greater toll on his men than he had anticipated.
Despite splitting into three forces and using all three crossing points available, the modest Nieszawski had slowed them up more than expected.
As promised, the Polish soldiers had kept the occupants of Wielka Nieszawska indoors, so none saw part of the assault group steal around the small hamlet.
First Lieutenant Baron Georg Freiherr von Berlepsch, ‘Storch’s’ Operations officer, another veteran of the Gran Sasso operation, waved his men out into stealthy deployments, as his group drifted through the woods and invested the area around the main operations centre.
Other groups, with different priorities, glided through the modest light cast by a reluctant moon, the trees rustling in the modest breeze, adding to the surreal effect of camouflaged uniforms creeping gently through their moving shadow.
As the force waited for the newly decided time line of 0300 to arrive, they made the most of the extra few minutes and identified every target.
The concrete structure, covered with earth and trees, was almost devoid of any openings, save a few doors for access, and, to the watchers, it stood silent and inviting.
At 0300, the distinctive call of a Hoopoe did not seem out of place to any of the patrolling enemy soldiers, although the origin of the sound was a Polish Major who did not have their best intentions at heart.
At Romaniuk’s signal, men rose from concealed positions and claimed lives in silence, knives mainly accounting for the wandering sentries.
Others fell as silenced weapons clacked and spat deadly metal, or taut wire bit into yielding throats.
In less than ten seconds, over thirty men had died and the way to the headquarters buildings was open.
There was no need for further orders as Mors led the prime assault force forward, the gangly Major Romaniuk by his side, dressed as a Polish Lieutenant General, ready to shout orders at his countrymen inside.
Even though Skorzeny had some Polish blood running in his veins, his language skills would not measure up, so Romaniuk bore the full responsibility of talking his countrymen into not responding with force.
He was immediately brought into action, as a gaunt-looking Colonel in Polish uniform stepped outside for some fresh air.
“We’re friends… we’re friends… don’t resist!”
‘Man shouting something… German soldiers…’ the confused man grabbed for his pistol.
“Don’t shoot, Pulkownik!”
As the weapon emerged from its holster, a knife took the man in the throat.
He sagged against the wall and gently slid down it, before dropping face first onto the concrete.
“Damnit!”
Orders were to keep the Polish contingent alive at all costs, but the Colonel had appeared not to make the passive choice, so the German who had thrown the knife had acted correctly.
Both Mors and Romaniuk stood back to let the five man silent penetration group move forward.
Two men with silenced pistols, one with a silenced Sten gun, and two equipped with PPSh weapons, just in case stealth became a secondary issue.
The two SMG men opened the double doors and the rest moved forward, with Romaniuk and Mors close behind.
The next man they encountered was a Soviet orderly and both pistols took him down in an instant.
The rough diagram that they had received from 1st Polish Army sources had allowed them to plan their assault, and the well-oiled machine went to work.
Covered by a second group, the ‘silent’ group took out the guardroom first, safe in the knowledge that no Polish soldiers would be inside.
Both occupants went down quickly and without resistance.
Elsewhere, another group, similarly equipped, entered the dispatch rider’s office and disposed of the sleeping Soviet motorcyclist they found there.
The final group slipped into the outside hall leading to the kitchen, where, according to their planning, a more difficult issue waited.
Pausing to quickly check the chillers, pantry, and toilets, the killers concentrated on the kitchen door.
They burst in, only to find the room empty, not full of a mix of Polish and Soviet staff busy making coffees and snacks for hungry generals and their staff.
The Oberfeldwebel leading the team considered the empty room with an element of relief.
‘All the better for making things easier.’
The team moved forward, ahead of schedule.
Beyond lay the mess, which, it was professionally considered, could be a difficult clearance.