Today marks the 70th anniversary of D-day, the World War Two invasion of Europe.
On 6 June 1944, British, Canadian, Australian, American and other allied soldiers stormed the shores of northern France in order to secure a foothold in Europe and begin the long hard march to defeat the Axis powers.
Can you imagine witnessing the events surrounding one of the most ambitious military undertakings in modern history? Can you imagine being involved in the operation itself? What was it like to be there?
There are many resources available to help us piece together what happed that day but, unfortunately, most of them are dry and colorless. Devoid of the ‘human condition’ they tell us the facts – what happened, why it happened, how it happened, who made it happen and many other ‘nice to knows’ that put the event into a neat historical package. Few resources or more accurately – not enough – tell us about the plight of the common soldier.
While researching D-Day, I was most impressed with the airborne soldiers. They were the first ones in. The raining of airborne soldiers on the northern countryside of France began at about 1am and marked the beginning of the long anticipated return of the allied armies to French soil. Just over four years earlier the allies were expelled from Europe by the Axis forces at a place called Dunkirk.
The airborne mission was straight forward – deny the enemy access routes by seizing or destroying their bridges and roads, deny them communications by disrupting or destroying their phone lines and deny them the initiative by seizing or destroying their shore batteries. Basically, get in behind them and raise holy hell.
In an effort to reflect on this titanic event and to capture the human condition, I’ve put you, the reader, in a fictional account featuring and airborne soldier of the American 82nd Airborne Division.
These are your final moments before jumping from the aircraft in the early morning hours of 6 June 1944 – D-Day.
A Moment in the Life of an Airborne Soldier
The jumpmaster yells, “Hook up!” So you stand up secure your hook and take your place in the line. It’s not easy to stand up. You’re carrying 90 pounds of equipment including your parachute and of course, your weapon. You don’t go anywhere without your weapon. You’ve been trained well.
A few sensations around you are very distinct. The roar of the C47 aircraft engines is almost deafening; to be heard, you must yell. Darkness is interrupted by the glow of small round flickering lights – cigarettes. The smoking lamp is on and some of the soldiers are chain smoking. Others are flopping their jaws up and down at a rapid clip; the gum chewers. You see the gleam of human flesh peeking through the jumpmaster’s camouflaged face. You feel the forceful breath against your neck from the soldier behind you. A penetrating smell fills the air. It’s the odd combination of cocoa and linseed oil, the two ingredients use for camouflage. You ponder how the smell doesn’t fit the situation. Combat soldiers should smell like sweat and axle grease, not cupcake batter.
Your heart starts pounding almost uncontrollably; all your training and preparation come down to this very moment. With one yell from the jumpmaster, the line will begin to move and you’ll take the leap sending you plunging into the unknown below.
You’ve heard the stories from the guys who jumped in Sicily. They lived through it; they survived; they’ve had their baptism of fire. This is your first combat jump. You missed the Sicily campaign so you’re still a “greenhorn.” The veterans never let you forget it.
The guys who jumped in Sicily are different. They’re composed and self-assured. Their confidence is real, unlike some of the non-combat career soldiers who are more arrogant than confident.
The Sicily guys, you’ll follow them anywhere; you’ll listen to what they tell you; they’ve seen combat; they’re confidence is born of demonstrated experience, not some theory from a book. Yes, you listen to these guys; you follow their lead. Life seems bigger, bolder and generally more exciting when they’re around. They give you a sense of security that’s almost supernatural. You’re anxious to be like them, to win their respect as they have won yours. The thought of death is not nearly as frightening as the thought of losing face with these brave men.
You remember being nervous during training. But, it was a naive and selfish nervous. You were worried about getting injured and not being able to make the jump on D-Day. You wanted everyone back home to see your name included with those who landed first. War is funny like that. Personal glory plays a bigger part than anyone would like to admit.
But, now as you stand in line waiting for the jumpmaster’s command, you experience a different kind of nervous; the kind where you start to have serious doubts. Your latent fears begin to surface. ‘What if the enemy is waiting for us? What if I freeze under fire? What if we miss the drop zone? What if my chute doesn’t open?’ Such thoughts are forbidden in the 82nd. You know it and you’ll never admit to them. But, that’s why your heart is pounding, you’re afraid. In spite of your fear, you’ll carry out your duty just like every one of your fellow soldiers. You’re not a coward. A coward takes the council of his fears. Come hell or high water, when the jumpmaster gives the signal, you’ll jump.
Waiting for the jumpmaster’s call is excruciating. It seems like eternity, like a year’s worth of living compressed into each passing second. Every fiber in your body is tuned to detect the jumpmaster’s voice. You think, ‘It’s always the waiting that kills you.’
Suddenly, your mind and body are no longer yours. It’s as if they’re in the possession of some unknown force that controls your every mechanism. Your mind races, trying to grab hold of evanescent thoughts. Your heart pounds like a jack hammer that’s been turned on inside your chest. Your shallow quick breaths belie your attempts to present a calm cool exterior. Your clammy hands are a perfect match for your profusely sweating body. You feel trapped within the confines of your emotional and physical state. Helpless and powerless, you must somehow subdue this demon or you’ll self-destruct.
The basic instinct of self-preservation, directs all your thoughts and energy to restoring control. Somehow, automatically, your thoughts skip, like a skimming stone, right over the present situation and into a different state of mind. Almost unwittingly, you find yourself praying. You pray for your family and your fellow soldiers. You pray for people, who only a moment ago, you’d long since forgotten. And, finally, you pray for yourself. You’re not selfish. You just ask if it’s your lot to die in battle may it come at the greatest expense to the enemy.
In your state of total concentration you become immune to the thoughts of impending doom which were working to destroy you. You’re ready to accept your fate. Your heart rate slows down. Your breathing becomes normal. Your mind becomes settled. The anxiety is flowing from your being like water gushing from the mountains in early spring, when suddenly, you’re ripped back into reality by the sound of the jumpmaster’s voice – “Let’s go!”
NOTE: This is a revision of an article I wrote back in 1990 while stationed at Woomera, South Australia with the US Air Force. The article appeared in the local newspaper “Gibber Gabber.”