June 5th

THE DROP

In the eighty eight years I’ve spent on this here earth I’ve heard and read many tales. Like most people, some of the tales I’ve heard were believable, others not so much. I’ve always thought the mark of a good story was whether or not the author believed it to be true. For the last sixty eight years I believe that the events that happened on June 5th 1944 are true.

I was with the 101st Airborne, Charlie Company, 3rd battalion. I was just a kid back then, twenty years old and still wet behind the ears. I was the ninth guy in our plane assigned to jump that night. I remember my guts were churning so much I damn near puked on Wakowski’s boots. Steve Wakowski was the number eight jumper, and our buddy, Walter Chapman, was the number ten. The three of us grew up together and were like brothers. Before we’d left for boot camp we’d sworn to each other that we’d make it through the war. We were boys taking the oaths of men, but still we swore and I imagine that had something to do with what happened that night.

About twenty minutes before our drop the flak started. The anti aircraft rounds were exploding so close that it pushed the plane around like it was a rag doll in the sky. I felt the plane shake violently and I could hear the copilot screaming we’d been hit. That was when all hell broke loose. I remember the sergeant screaming for us to get out and that’s just what we did. I watched helplessly as Wakowski got tangled up in the feet of a dead soldier and he fell. The men behind me were pushing so hard I couldn’t even reach down and try to drag him up; I felt one last shove and found myself at the jump door. I closed my eyes and jumped, the cold air freezing my tears as I felt the jerk of my chute popping open. I quickly scanned the terrain below, settling on a small field for my landing zone.

After landing, I stashed my chute in a haystack and then I knelt trying to get my bearings. I don’t mind telling you I was scared shitless. It had been so loud up in the air, the almost deafening roar of the airplane engines, the concussions from the flak popping my ears with every explosion, and then finally the rushing air as I was drifting back to earth. Now here I was kneeling in this field and it was so quiet that it was as if death himself had covered me with his cloak. Shaking the feeling off I took out my “cricket” and began to click, seeing if anyone was nearby. Not getting a response I trotted to a fence line that was about fifty yards away. I moved along the fence line hoping that I’d come across somebody friendly soon. I had just started thinking I was all alone when I heard the bolt of a weapon slam home.

“Thunder?” I hissed the code word given to us, my finger tensing on the trigger of my own carbine.

“Lightening.” I heard a familiar voice whisper. Just then I saw the dark forms of two soldiers rise. I couldn’t believe it when I saw the faces of my two best friends appear out of the dark. I couldn’t believe they’d made it out of that death trap alive.

We hunkered down and discussed our situation. I was just about to ask them how they got off the plane when we heard some rustling in the brush about twenty yards to our left. Wakowski took out his cricket and sent out a series of clicks. When there wasn’t any returned, we looked at each other and wordlessly crept towards the brush. It was no surprise that when we got closer the muffled voices we heard were speaking in German.

“It sounds like a patrol, small, maybe ten.” Wakowski whispered. Chapman and I nodded our agreement. We began to check ourselves, readying our ammo for the fight ahead. Whispering final orders I watched as Chapman and Wakowski spaced out and then the three of us began to inch forward through the brush.

As I pushed through on the other side I saw about ten men huddled together. I crawled forward a little more and when I was just about ten feet away, I counted to sixty and opened fire. I heard Wakowski and Chapman open up almost at the same time. I watched as our rounds tore through the enemy as if they were made of no more than paper. Within a matter of seconds it was over. We stood over the dead, our faces speaking volumes; we were no longer boys, death had made us men.

A few minutes later we were huddling around our map; “Looks like we’re about a hundred plus miles from our original drop zone,” Chapman said as he lit up cigarettes for us all. Taking mine from his shaking fingers I pulled the hot smoke into my lungs and blew it out; mentally thanking God for Lucky Strikes.

“I guess we head in that direction then.” I said pointing to a road that ran in the general direction of our original drop zone. I nodded to Wakowski to take point, and we set out to find the war.

We had been walking about two hours when we heard the sounds of a firefight off to our right. Moving quickly we soon found ourselves next to a foxhole with two privates inside. Leaning close to the private nearest to me, I asked him what company he was with. The private, who introduced himself as Burke from Iowa, informed me that he was with Baker Company 1st battalion. I nodded and opened fire at the muzzle flashes coming from the tree line nearby. After we had charged the enemy I found Burke again and asked him if he knew anything about my own battalion. He just shook his head and explained that the entire situation was fucked and that no one knew where anyone else was at. I nodded and went back to Wakowski and Chapman, who had strangely taken up a position about ten yards away from the rest of the troops. I hunkered down beside them and explained what Burke had said. We discussed our options, all three of us agreeing we should move on and try to find our own battalion. We headed out just as the sun was cresting on the horizon.

We walked for another few hours when we topped a small hill and hit the dirt as we came into sight of a platoon of Nazis. My heartbeat counted off the seconds as we waited for the first rounds to zing over our heads. When nothing happened we slowly backed away till we were out of sight. We dropped our packs and crawled back the way we’d just come. When we were in position with our ammo laid within easy reach, I prayed to whichever God was listening that we’d make it and then we opened fire.
I remember thinking later that our prayers must have been heard by someone, because there were several times during the fire fight that I thought for sure both Wakowski and Chapman had been hit, but they showed no signs of letting up so we just kept firing. It seemed that years went by in a span of minutes, but in the end the enemy surrendered. Keeping our carbines trained on the survivors, we made our way down the hill towards their position. I caught several looks of amazement as our newly acquired prisoners took the three of us in. I remember chuckling to myself as I thought how amazed I would be if three grunts had just taken out half my platoon.

We rounded up our prisoners, twenty five in all, and began to move them out. About a half hour later we came around a bend and heard the welcoming call of “Thunder?” I hollered out the response and was in tears as two guards came out of the bush on either side of the road. I recognized one as being Atkinson from my company. The other guy, who I didn’t know looked at me and at the prisoners and then asked the question that would forever haunt me; “Jesus Corporal, did you take all these guys yourself?”

I looked at the man as if he was insane. “I had Wakowski and Chapman with me as wel...” The last word trailed off as I turned around and realized my friends weren’t there. I turned back and looked at Atkinson, my face telling him all that I couldn’t say.

“Maybe they just lagged behind.” He said gently as he put his arm around me and began walking me to the camp. “Still, you just walked these guys in all by yourself.” I heard the other soldier say in disbelief.

As we walked the prisoners through the camp I kept looking at the faces of the men I passed. I was hoping that I’d see Wakowski and Chapman there somewhere, but I never saw them again. When I told the Captain about my night he ordered a search party. I led them back the way we’d come, but we didn’t find them. We did come across Burke and his stragglers, but when questioned none of them could swear to seeing anyone but me that night.

No one said anything. They didn’t have to, I could see it in their eyes when they walked by. Some looked at me like I was a hero; others looked at me as if I’d lost it. To this day I’m not sure which was right. Officially when it was all totaled they said I had single handily captured or killed almost forty enemy soldiers that night. General Eisenhower himself gave me a commendation for bravery and I was promoted to sergeant. Not long after that I was assigned to a new company and we got back into the war. I eventually wound up in a little town called Bastogne, but that’s a story for another day.

When the war ended I moved around a lot; drifting from place to place. I never been back home even to this day, too many questions that I’ll never be able to answer I think. Eventually, when I thought I was ready, I went to the Department of Records. It took me half a day, but I found them; they’d both died on that plane. Their dog tags were the only things the Army could use to identify the burnt and twisted corpses of my two dead saviors.

As I said earlier, I’m an old man now and I know I’m not going to be around much longer, maybe that’s the reason I’ve decided to finally breakdown and tell someone about that night. I’ve thought long and hard about June 5th, 1944. Mostly I think about those oaths we took when we were boys trying to be men. I figure vows like that must be the most powerful ones, maybe even powerful enough to cheat death, if just for one night.