by Frank Felton
This is the Jewel that I must now find, as I prepare to take a leap over the vast darkness of the French countryside.
5. Airborne
These are the men who took the cliffs. These are the champions who helped free a continent. These are the heroes who helped end a war. - President Ronald Reagan at Pointe du Hoc, June 6, 1984
I gave one last tightening tug to my helmet strap, tapped my chest left and right with both fists, to ensure I could touch all my handles. It looked like the Sign of the Cross, which probably was not a bad idea at this time; a two-for-one special. Plenty of the other men were doing it, but I didn’t need it. Salvation is not meant for me. This is a fact I have accepted.
With weapons in hand, a machine gun, bayonet, and a couple of grenades on my waist, I felt lightly armored compared to what may be waiting just 1,500 feet below. Locked into this human body, I was incapable of consuming the enemy with bolts of lightning from my arse. These rudimentary weapons would have to do.
A dim red light came on near the door, the only visible spectrum on this blacked out mission. It was the signal from our pilot that we were over the intended drop zone. Truth is, he knew we were not even close to our waypoint. He wanted to get us off the plane before it became a fireball. It was just a matter of time before one of those flak rounds found its target.
“Go! Go! Go!” yelled the jumpmaster.
I felt another explosion. My hatred of the darkness dissipated as I took one regular upright step with my left foot, and disappeared into the vast emptiness below. Jumping from a plane was a leap of faith, one I had taken before, but never at night. I had a one-way ticket to the ground. Now the only way out of this situation was success, or death, and I really wasn’t in the mood to die today.
I wasn’t all that scared of death, to be honest. I really hadn’t a clue where my spirit would go if it was jarred loose from the flesh. Most of the boys worried about going to heaven or hell. For me, it wasn’t so simple. As cavalier as it sounds, neither one sounded all that great. I was more concerned that I’d come back trapped in the body of a snake, or a toad, and locked in some miserable existence until I died again. I’d rather be set free to glide the air in angelic form. That is what I wished for, but alas, it was just wishful thinking.
My world became silent.
It came roaring back with a vengeance.
When you’re the first to go, you don’t hesitate. I would have been pushed out by the jumpmaster regardless, so I might as well go of my own free will and accord. The force of the wind caught me, dragging me aft of the airplane. I tumbled out of control, the sound of the engines quickly muffled by an onslaught of rushing air. This was the part I hated most; waiting for the parachute to inflate over my head. It normally took only a few seconds, but those seconds never ticked off very quickly, toying with my emotions like a cat that caught a mouse by the tail.
As I tumbled, I felt the static line weasel its way between my legs. It made my heart skip a beat, knowing that a line between the legs was not a good situation. As the line became taught, it pulled the tightly packed parachute from its fabric womb. The chute inflated, and the full weight of my flailing body was transferred to my leg straps, narrowly missing my crotch and flipping me upright.
I reached up to grab hold of the lines. I was just about to breathe a sigh of relief, when my body was suddenly pulled headlong to the right. My legs and equipment bag slung far to the left, into an ever tightening spiral as the parachute dragged me along with it. The lines of the chute had become tangled during the opening sequence, which resulted in several of them being out of place. Over the top of the canopy, they now warped its cylindrical shape and caused a wicked flagellation.
I was now spinning wildly out of control.
This was a treacherous condition. I couldn’t see anything, and knew I was no more than a thousand feet above the ground. I would soon sink through 500 feet, at which point my reserve parachute would be useless. Had the pilots dove the plane too low to avoid the flak, I might well already be there. I knew one thing for certain; I didn’t want to face the Germans with a broken leg. A surge of adrenaline came over me, and the training kicked in. The Sign of the Cross. I reached for my chest with both hands, pulling the cutaway and reserve handles at the same time.
In an instant, I was back in freefall, sliced free of my faulty main to the sound of a bullwhip. The reserve chute is designed to open quickly, but those precious few seconds ticked away like an eternity, once again. I was at one with the beats of my heart, as time slowed to a trickle. My freefall was tempered with a slight turbulence, a speckle of friction as the lines began unraveling above me. Still, I could see nothing. I did something I don’t normally do; “Dear Lord, I don’t ask for much. But if you get me out of this, I promise I will….”
Before I could finish the confessional the chute snapped open. The hurricane-force wind settled to a slight breeze. For the first time in hours, I felt a sense of serenity, caught in the eye of a passing storm. Unlike modern square parachutes, the old round parachutes are not controllable, and simply allow a paratrooper to descend slowly, straight down. This keeps a mass of bodies during large formation airborne drops from flying in to one another. With a little training, one can manipulate the parachute chords to get a nice, smooth flare out just before impact with the ground to soften the landing. I had only 18 jumps under my belt, barely the minimum for airborne duty. I lacked the experience. Even if I had it, well, I couldn’t even see the ground heading up to meet me.
It wouldn’t matter, because I didn’t land on land.
~~~
D-Day was now fully underway. My unit, the Screaming Eagles, was more aptly named for a band of heathens. We jumped in just after midnight on June 6th. Our formations were scattered so severely that some units missed their mark by five miles. Some men landed in the English Channel, such as me. Some of them drowned. Those that made it safely ashore, through the web of anti-aircraft fire, met surprising little resistance on the ground. That light at the end of the tunnel, well, it wasn’t the exit.
It took many hours for the unit to regroup. The Germans were as disjointed in their response as we were in the execution. Such is the nature of battle, but the fog of war gave our unit an advantage. The deception laid deep by General Eisenhower paid dividends. The 101st went about its mission assaulting the west flank of Utah Beach. Our goal was to provide covering support to the amphibious waves coming on the beaches of Normandy in just a few short hours.
Our Skytrain was one of many. While scattered, the men who drop near enough to the rally point proceeded back towards Utah. They secured the two primary supply lines, with a small group moving on to take down artillery bunkers. Most of the objectives of the 101st were cast aside, and in the midst of battle, they took on targets of opportunity. Being inland, they were spared the carnage of the beach assaults, where thousands of our brothers in arms were killed, mowed down by dug-in artillery positions.
Yet, I would only learn of all those accomplishments many weeks later. I took no part in it. I was the first to exit the aircraft. The abrupt maneuver of the Skytrain launched me into a perigee, which combined with our altered course floated me more than five miles from our intended target. You might wonder why some people hate swimming in the ocean. For me, this is why. Try lugging a rucksack full of gear through a veritable ocean while being shot at.
Fortunately, I was a good swimmer. It took me five long hours to reach the shoreline. Most of the time, I just barely kept my head above the water. The day was breaking just as my feet felt the lovely sand soil of the French beach. I was guided by fire from the Battleship Texas. Just off shore, it sent more than 10 kilotons of high explosives screaming into the night with its 14-inch shells. They cascaded directly over my head, exploding on the shoreline. Each impact lit up the sky, and guided me towards my destiny.
This isn’t where I was supposed to be, but my comrades would be landing soon. My world was getting more interesting by the minute. Sure enough,
soon after I was making my boot print on the French soil, my old mentor Lieutenant Colonel James Earl Rudder showed up. He was preparing to assault the cliffs at Pointe du Hoc with his 2nd Ranger battalion. He was behind schedule, but nonetheless was leading his team down the field as both coach and quarterback. He had refused his own superiors’ orders to lead his men from afar.
I'm sorry to have to disobey you, sir, but if I don't take it, it may not go. - Lt Col James Earl Rudder
Or as Admiral David Farragut might have said; Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead. Colonel Rudder was a proud Texan. He was not a man who led from behind. How appropriate that he fell under the protective fire of the Battleship Texas, one of the oldest and most storied dreadnoughts.
I gathered my gear and joined the fight alongside the 2nd Ranger Battalion. Two other 101st Airborne Rangers joined the fight with me, all of us having washed ashore unannounced and uninvited. We were the bastard children of the 2nd Rangers, but they welcomed us regardless. Quite a few others who landed in the Channel never made it ashore. God rest their souls.
Colonel Rudder’s unit was given a treacherous assignment to assault the beach at the Pointe, scaling hundred foot cliffs to take out a German artillery battery. The Pointe tapered out into the English Channel, providing it a perfect vantage with which to spit venom at approaching Allied sea forces. Despite heavy bombing of that precise location, it remained a dug-in position of crucial strategic importance. It would certainly be the cause of many casualties once the main force arrived if Colonel Rudder were to fail.
Or so the Allies thought.
In fact, the Germans had moved the primary guns away from the Pointe just two days earlier on the orders of Rommel himself. Allied reconnaissance flights failed to pick up the anomaly due to overcast weather. Despite movement of the guns, the objective remained paramount, and the Rangers would improvise, adapt, and overcome once they took the beach.
Those guns did not simply vanish; they had to be somewhere.
The battalion lost many men just getting to the shore. Several of the amphibious “ducks” sank in the choppy seas, or had to turn back. The rangers who made it ashore pressed on. They scaled the cliffs and went about their objective to neutralize the guns. Sporadic German gunfire continued throughout, taking down numerous soldiers as they broached the beachhead. The determined Rangers pushed ahead. Launching hooks into the daunting cliffs above, they eventually gained the high ground.
Colonel Rudder would direct naval guns to destroy the recalcitrant machine gun nest that wreaked so much havoc on the beach. He sent Lieutenant Dutch Vermeer to sight it in. The lieutenant grabbed me and two others to take it down. During the fracas, a shell hit near the command post and Colonel Rudder was knocked off his feet. A captain was killed. Several men were wounded. The sight of the Colonel gave us all a charge. He was pissed off, and vehemently darted out to fire his pistol at enemy snipers in his seething rage. He was shot in the leg as a result, and we pulled him back to safety.
The biggest thing that saved our day was seeing Colonel Rudder controlling the operation. It still makes me cringe to recall the pain he must have endured trying to operate with a wound through the leg and the concussive force he must have felt from the close hit by the yellow-colored shell. He was the strength of the whole operation. - Lt Vermeer
We all stepped up our game at the sight, but I’d soon share the other men’s dismay that our primary objective, the main guns of Pointe du Hoc, were not here. Undeterred, Colonel Rudder split the force in two, sending one half to move out, and the other to cover the position of the command post.
He sent a message to Headquarters:
Located Pointe-du-Hoc -- mission accomplished -- need ammunition and reinforcement -- many casualties.
He received this reply:
No reinforcements available -- all rangers have landed at Omaha.
~~~
A scout group was sent to look for the large artillery pieces. We found them inland, just out of range of the Allied bombs. Our thermite grenades would soon ensure those guns were out of commission. The war torn area had grown silent, save for the distant rumblings of a world war. The thermite grenades quickly brought us back to reality, and the objectives of the 2nd Rangers were now officially accomplished. Yet, survival was still a distant horizon.
The thermite grenades stirred up a hornet’s nest, and we found ourselves locked in a two-day fight against increasing German fighters. The initial shock of D-Day had them take cover, but as their flanks were besieged by our brethren, they were squeezed back into the narrowing Pointe. They were being boxed into the sea, and we were the only thing in their path. Now bunched into a steadily decreasing position, we had less than 200 yards of real estate as the enemy closed in.
As German re-enforcements arrived, Colonel Rudder called in naval guns. The mighty dreadnoughts lobbed a much needed respite from the German assault. The accuracy of the shelling was difficult to establish. A shell landed off target, taking out several of Rudder’s men, yet the constant bombardment forced the enemy away from a formidable attack.
We held off the German onslaught for two full days, besieged without food or re-supply. In a fickle turn of fate, the Rangers had landed inside the Pointe’s perimeter, a near impregnable German fort which they’d strategically abandoned. We turned their assets against them. Soon, the 5th Ranger Battalion arrived and the Germans were forced to surrender.
The efforts of Colonel Rudder and the 2nd Ranger Battalion saved countless American lives. In doing so, they suffered nearly 70 percent casualties. Only 90 of his men could still fight on afterwards. I suppose you could add me as well, an adopted member of his corps. We gathered our wounded, readied the dead for burial, and prepared for the even more grudging breakout from the French coast. We would march onward, into the mouth of the cat.
Colonel Rudder would rise to the rank of Major General. He would become one of the most decorated soldiers of World War II. He earned the Distinguished Service Cross, Legion of Merit, Silver Star, French Legion of Honor with Croix de Guerre and palm, and many others. He would return home to become the mayor of his hometown, Texas Land Commissioner, and then president of the Texas A&M University system. Our rendezvous would become pivotal to world events even beyond the coming terror of Fat Man and Little Boy.
6. Eagle’s Nest
My God sent his angel and shut the lions’ mouths, and they have not harmed me, because I was found blameless before him; and also before you, O King, I have done no harm. - Daniel 6:22
Over the next three weeks, our fighting was intermittent around the French countryside. We met German forces holed up in cities and other encampments. As the breakout from Normandy dragged on, I would return to my unit and begin preparation for our next major assault. The first trip to inland Europe would be short lived, but the Five-O-Deuce would be back very soon.
By the end of June we were sent home to England for recovery time. In mid-September we were called in for another air drop to support Operation Market Garden. This new objective was to clear a path to the German border for Allied ground forces. It would be my second combat jump. We went in on September 17th, and this jump would be my last. Luckily, this time it would be in broad daylight, without being under fire. It was much preferred to the first one.
Our objectives entailed the seizure of key roadways and bridges to secure a clear path into Germany over the Rhine. However, the operation was ill-conceived, and during the mission, the Nazis ended up destroying most of those assets before we could get close enough. It was a mission ultimately deemed a failure by historians, and achieving a logistical route over the Rhine would not be achieved fully until six months later.
Some of the toughest fighting our unit experienced was during this operation. During one particular fire fight, I witnessed a truly selfless act of bravery by Private Joe Mann. He jumped onto a grenade as we fought off German soldiers from a foxhole. I hadn’t seen the grenade, but Joe did, and without hesitation, he gave his life t
o protect the rest of us.
That moment haunts me today. It was the first time I’d seen such an act firsthand; human being giving his own life, it doesn’t happen as often as Hollywood might lead us to believe. He knew this action would be his end. I couldn’t fathom why he did it. In a flash, in that brief instant, my head turned and caught a glimpse of his eyes. The mind of Private Mann became clear to me. What his mind conveyed in those eyes was stunning:
He had few regrets, but just a few. He knew his life would end. He was ready. He was confident that he was going to Heaven. He did this because of love. The love for his fellow soldiers. It was written in blood, and sweat, in the grueling heat of Fort Benning. The mutual fear he felt with them, arm-in-arm, from his fear of heights, to the assault of the beaches. Constant gunfire. An aching heart. A girl he’d never again hold. The love of his family. The longing to make them proud. The certainty of his conviction that his sacrifice along with millions of others might bring peace and justice to an unjust world.
In that instant, he made the decision to sacrifice himself. Perhaps that is the essence of what it means to be human. It has been said by those who study Ancient Greece that their gods envied the humans precisely because they could die at any moment, and that is the only thing that made living meaningful. It is a beauty those gods could never know. I was proud to see them give Joe Mann the Medal of Honor, even though it costs him everything.
After Market Garden, there was no more down time for us. The Germans were floundering. They lashed out in one more major offensive; the Battle of the Bulge. The fighting began on December 16th. By Christmas Day, during the Siege of Bastogne, I thought for certain we would be overrun by the German Panzers.