Descending from the Clouds

by Wurst, Spencer F. ; Wurst, Gayle;

  Yet the longer Elmer and I were together, and the longer we drank, the more I could see he was champing at the bit to get transferred back to the regular infantry, so he could put his leadership and infantry training to use. I begged him not to rush into anything. “Listen, Elmer,” I told him. “Once the war is over, no one will know who’s been in combat and who’s been sitting on his ass in London. Don’t take the risk and get yourself killed.” Under the effect of so much alcohol, I became depressed. I was convinced I’d never see Elmer again, and that I’d never make it through the next combat mission.

  We were talking about something of the sort, sitting in a pub about midnight, when a large group of MPs from several different nations walked in. I remember seeing American, British, and French MPs, but there were others, too, as well as plain-clothes policemen. They blocked all the exits and conducted a person-by-person search; identification, passes, leave papers, and any and all orders were inspected. They asked not only who we were, but why we were there, and by whose authority.

  Now I did have a pass, but it was a pass to my stepbrother’s division location, not a pass to London. I had to do a considerable amount of fast talking, but the MPs finally allowed me to remain free, on the condition that I take the next train out of London for my pass designation. Of course I agreed. I then proceeded to complete my pass in London, got on the train and returned to my unit. I never did see Harry.

  As I found out later, the MPs were looking for AWOLs and deserters. There was also a counter-intelligence aspect to the sweep as part of a mission to catch spies and espionage agents. It was a well-coordinated effort, conducted throughout all of England at exactly the same time. Back in the units, all the commanders had to account for all their men at a specified time. Naturally, as our billets were right in the center of town, any number of troopers were always over the wall for a while without the benefit of a pass, and many were caught out and tagged with extra duty.

  This sweep and subsequent punishment had repercussions for the reputation of our new regimental commander, Col William Ekman, who had taken command of the 505 from Colonel Batcheller in March. The orders came from higher headquarters, but it was mistakenly thought in the ranks that he had personally instigated the check. Right away, he got the reputation as being a very strict, hard-ass SOB. The prejudice against him had a lot to do with the fact that he had taken command without combat experience, and the 505 was a battle-tested unit. It was the same old combat versus non-combat prejudice that got me busted from NCO to private back in Italy. At least Colonel Ekman was given the chance to prove himself. From what I saw, he was a good commander.

  As May 1944 came to an end, the 505 felt increasing pressure. Events made it evident that our upcoming mission was at hand. Complete division maneuvers took place in Nottingham Forest. The camp was sealed and restricted, then reopened a couple of times, as a way to confuse enemy intelligence. We had numerous field inspections, repeatedly laying out all our equipment and weapons. In the midst of all this, my friend Russ Brown, who had been injured in a training accident, showed up, his leg still bandaged from a mortar wound. When he had heard that the 82d was getting ready to go, he managed to talk himself out of the hospital. He jumped in Normandy with his leg still bandaged up, and has the honor of being one of the few troopers in Company F who made all four of the combat jumps with the 505 RCT. Elmer also soon got in on the action. Closely following D-Day, when the Army was short of infantry platoon leaders, he was transferred and assigned to the 83d Infantry Division.

  I refer to these friends because I think their attitudes were exceptional, yet typical, too, of the sentiments almost all of us were feeling on the eve of D-Day. Many soldiers who could have stayed back for any number of legitimate reasons—illnesses, wounds, assignments behind the lines—did not. They were eager to go into combat, and they made it their business to get there. Many of us suffered nightmares, depression, injuries, and fears during our stay in England, but we overcame them through the incredibly strong solidarity we felt for our friends and fellow troopers. Nothing was more crucial than that bond to our individual will to fight and prevail, nothing more essential to our pride in ourselves as a unit. As we packed our B bags, we still didn’t know what our mission would be, but the esprit de corps of the 505 had never been stronger.

  Chapter 15

  D-Day, Normandy: Preparations for the Big Jump

  When you’re in the Army, you spend a lot of time in hurry-up-and-wait mode, where you rush everything up only to sit around for an hour, or even a day, waiting to be deployed or find out more about the situation. This is what happened in the Normandy campaign. We were sealed into Cottesmore Airfield on May 29. Barbed wire fences surrounded the airfield, and no one could leave without a guard. Rear echelon units did all our everyday duties, such as KP. The most important activity was the briefing. For once, everyone got the big and little pictures. Sand tables showed the terrain around Ste. Mère-Eglise, the critical point on the right flank of both invasion beaches.

  Our mission was to help hold the town from the outskirts, where we were to go into the defensive position at Neuville-au-Plain, which was key to protecting the right flank of the invasion beaches. My squad was to operate as an outpost, a delaying and reporting unit for the 2d Battalion. We were especially concerned about attacks from German armor barreling down from the north via Highway N–13, a high-speed approach into Ste. Mère-Eglise. As an exception to the usual practice, even platoon leaders had a period at the sand table so they could brief their platoons.

  Then the invasion was postponed because of weather conditions. General Eisenhower’s decision to change the mission from June 5 to June 6 was undoubtedly the most critical he ever made. A bad weather front was moving down the Channel on the fourth, but a break was predicted for a 24- to 48-hour period. Because the Allied plan depended on amphibious landings, we could only launch the invasion during a lunar period producing favorable tides. It was either go on June 6 or wait an entire month.

  Normandy was one of the few times before a mission that we received the order to sleep or rest for a specified number of hours. For relaxation, we played some softball and did some calisthenics to keep limbered up. There were also church services conducted right in the field. Otherwise, and this was by far the hardest thing, we spent the time thinking about how to do the job and survive. The extra time in limbo was the worst thing we ever had to endure. It was a terrible letdown after we were all hyped up and ready to go into combat.

  It may seem naive now, but at no time did we ever dream that we would not be successful in Normandy. We never even mentioned the possibility of defeat. The commanders may have agreed among themselves that if the beaches were not held successfully, everyone who could get out would head for Ste. Mère-Eglise. But down at my level, absolutely nothing was said about withdrawal or evacuation.

  After our briefings and discussion of the mission, they issued our ammunition and grenades, and we packed our bundles using color-coded red, white and blue chutes. The red chute designated mortars and/or ammunition: mortar ammunition, rocket ammunition, and small arms ammunition. The blue chutes, I believe, indicated our machine gun and its ammunition, and the white were rocket launchers and rockets.

  The bundles were about eight feet by ten feet, made of very heavy canvas material similar to a tarp, with a layer of shock-resistant material to take up the jolt when the bundle hit. We spread them out with the insulation face up and folded the edges in to cover our crew-served weapons—machine guns, mortars, and any other gun that required more than one man to operate. Then we rolled them as tightly as we could. Two caps fit over the ends of the bundles, and pieces of harness on either side of the caps extended and snapped them together.

  Our orders were to jump, open up any equipment bundle we came across, and carry its contents to the battalion assembly place. Here it would be taken to a supply point, where weapons would be distributed. Of course, we all wanted to find our own particular bundles. We marked the out
sides with extra identification and managed to slip in personal items. The crew-served weapons people were familiar with their particular guns, and understandably wanted to use their own weapons.

  As a squad leader, I was issued a map of the area. This was a first for me, because they usually stopped issuing maps at the platoon-leader level. From squad leader on up we also had large ID panels to lay out, so our positions could be identified from the air, and orange smoke grenades to indicate friendly forces. We each carried an M1 rifle, with ammunition clips in pouches on our belt, and two bandoleers, each with five eight-round clips. The extra ammunition alone weighed five pounds. Selected people, squad leaders included, also carried a white phosphorus grenade. This could be thrown to set a fire, and once the phosphorus got on the skin it continued burning. It was a very ugly weapon.

  The most unpopular piece of our standard issue equipment was the gas mask, which was bulky and came in a canvas case. In contrast to the mask, which mainly everyone threw away, the case was a popular item, convenient for carrying rations, ammunition, cigarettes and personal things. We also had gas indicator paint to dab on our helmets. Under certain types of gas attack, the paint would turn colors. All our clothes were chemically impregnated to protect us against gas attacks. They were very, very uncomfortable because no moisture could evaporate through the cloth. In hot weather they acted like a rubber raincoat.

  We didn’t have any blankets or sleeping rolls in Normandy. We went eleven days without anything to give us warmth at night, with the exception of parachutes, which were quite effective. If we could find one while we were in the drop area, we could wrap ourselves up in it. We would also have no change of clothing for many days, until our B bags arrived.

  We carried our personal items plus extra socks and underwear in our musette bag, hooked and snapped for the jump with very heavy webbing. Most of us strapped our trench knife to our right leg, down at the boot. We also had a “jump knife,” a spring-loaded single blade that jumped out with a flick of a button. This was kept in a small “secret pocket” located alongside the zipper on the inside of our jacket, up near the collar. After the first couple paratroopers were captured, the Germans easily found the knife, but it was intriguing to us at the beginning. To the best of my recollection, I only ever used it to cut my way out of suspension lines or open a can of C rations.

  Finally, almost everyone had a pistol. This doesn’t mean we all were issued a pistol; it means we had acquired one in past campaigns and through other means. At this point, a pistol was not an official item of issue, except for crew-served weapons men and maybe the platoon leaders. Most of our platoon leaders carried an M1 rifle as well as a pistol.

  As part of its preparations for D-Day, the Army took special steps so men and equipment would not be misidentified. All the planes participating in the invasion had three huge stripes painted on each wing and on the fuselage, so the Navy or Army anti-aircraft gunners had no excuse to mistake Army Air Corps or any other Allied aircraft as those of the enemy. This policy was a direct result of the tragedy in Sicily in July 1943.

  Another precaution actually turned out to be dangerous. A white stripe was painted on the back of every officer’s and NCO’s helmet. A vertical white stripe indicated an officer, while an NCO’s helmet sported a horizontal white stripe, about one inch wide and three or four inches long. The idea was that these stripes would allow leaders to be easily located, especially at night. It worked: they made an excellent point for taking aim when snipers zeroed in on us. We called them “aiming stakes,” and immediately attempted to get rid of them, darkening them with mud or dirt as quickly as we could after landing.

  Judging from the friendly fire we received on the ground, the steps taken to identify us as U.S. paratroopers were less effective than the identification on the planes. The Army then had a solid olive drab combat uniform, whereas we had two-piece khaki jumpsuits. Our regular leg infantry were either inadequately briefed, or they soon forgot what a paratrooper’s uniform looked like, judging from the shots they took at us. I guess they thought it was safer to eliminate the unknown.

  The Air Corps insisted that airborne commanders make up a list meticulously detailing everything we officially wore or carried. This was an attempt to figure out the total weight on the C-47s. A typewritten sheet was issued to all leaders, listing the items we carried in our jumpsuit pockets, and the different pockets to which they were assigned. It’s valid as far as it goes, but it only takes into consideration the first layer of clothing. Our jumpsuit was our outer garment, but we typically bundled up inside, wearing heavy woolen OD trousers and shirts, for we knew we would be without a change of clothes for many days. When it came right down to it, we loaded what we wanted to load, and put it where we wanted to put it. But the “official” sheet was a stickler for details. Under “1 Meal ‘K’ Ration” and “Pay Card and Immunization Record,” it lists “Prophylactics (2),” for a weight of .03 pounds. As the story goes, the first trooper into the battalion aid station at Ste. Mère-Eglise came in to ask for more condoms.

  For the first few days of almost any airborne operation, we had very little anti-armor capability, and this posed one of the biggest threats to our success in Normandy. While the infantry had weapons carriers to draw their weapons, and could carry large amounts of ammunition, as paratroopers, we were limited by considerations of weight and numbers. True, all of our .30-caliber rifle and machine gun ammunition was armor-piercing, which could penetrate up to an eighth of an inch of steel plate. But even the lightly armored German vehicles had a minimum of a half-inch of armor plate, at least in the critical areas, and the tanks had a minimum of two to four inches. When we went into Normandy, it was my understanding that the regiment would have at least a dozen 57mm antitank guns arriving by glider at or near dawn. This was the heaviest towed gun we had for antitank protection, but even it was inadequate compared to the German 88mm cannon.

  Even if we had had an effective antitank weapon light enough to be dropped, we still would have been limited by the ammunition requirements. Ammunition weighed so much that it was simply impossible to carry a large quantity of shells and mortars. For example, our 60mm mortar was a good little weapon, but we had to carry every round of ammunition on our backs. There were six men in the mortar squad, but it took one and a half to transport the mortar, and the others all carried a limited number of mortar rounds in vests hung over their shoulders. We had to be very careful not to waste ammunition.

  We were issued British gammon grenades, a crude weapon only a super hero would want to use. It had a body like a sock that was packed with a pound or pound and a half of plastic explosives. To use it, we had to unscrew the cap very carefully and use our thumb and forefinger to hold down a tape wrapped around the neck of the grenade while we got into position to lob it. One end of the tape had a lead-shot weight, and the other held a safety pin. When we threw the grenade, the tape unwound, pulling the pin and allowing the grenade to detonate when it hit. Not only did we have to get uncomfortably close to the enemy to throw a gammon grenade, but if the safety pin came out accidentally, the thing would explode on the slightest impact.

  The bottom line was that it was necessary to let the tank or enemy vehicle get within throwing distance. The worse your arm, the closer you had to let the enemy get. Tanks were almost always accompanied by infantry support, which would be firing away at us as we carefully wrapped a finger around the tape, and stood up to lob our gammon grenade. If we were lucky enough not to get killed throwing the thing, when it did hit the enemy armor, the only effect was a large explosion. This would rattle the people in the tank, but it had no penetration capability. It could only damage the track, or bogie wheels that the tank rode on, turning the tank into a stationary pillbox, manned by irascible crewmen with bad headaches.

  As far as antitank mines went, we had both the knowhow and the personnel. The problem was that antitank mines were in very short supply because of their weight and bulk. The American antitank mine weighe
d from six to eight pounds, and laying a deliberate mine field twenty or thirty yards wide required at least a hundred mines. This meant we were limited to using mines for roadblocks on the main roads to stop high-speed tank approaches to our defensive positions. Sometimes we dug them in and buried them. Other times, we just left them on top of the road with a string attached to them. If a friendly vehicle came along, we could run out and pull the mines off the center of the road, but if the enemy showed up, they had to get someone out there to pull the land mines aside or destroy them, and thus expose themselves to our fire.

  We mainly depended on rifle grenades and rocket launchers while waiting for the 57s to arrive. Both the 2.36-inch rocket launcher and the rifle grenade launcher could fire a high explosive (HE) and an antitank (AT) round. But we couldn’t really count on either of these weapons. Even if we had a good, brave rocket-launcher man who was able to get within a hundred yards of a tank, a rocket that hit the turret would glance off without exploding one time in three. To be sure of detonation, a rocket had to squarely strike a vertical surface. This left the rifle grenade launcher. The launcher itself was mounted on the muzzle of the rifle, and the tail of the grenade, which had fins on it, fit onto the steel cylinder of the launcher. After the grenade was mounted, the safety pin was removed and the chamber was loaded with one blank round of ammunition. A soldier had better be sure to have a blank in his rifle chamber rather than a live round if he wanted to avoid a catastrophe.

  Just before we left for Normandy, the Army got a bright idea to help make up for our weak antiarmor capabilities. At the very last moment, maybe a day before the drop, they decided to issue a second rifle grenade launcher to each squad. There was only one problem: grenade launchers were in short supply for the M1. Then someone came up with grenade launchers that would fit the M1903 .30-06 Springfield bolt-action rifle, so they issued each rifle squad an extra ’03 rifle with a grenade launcher on it.