June 7, 1944 -- In the air ... then down

June 7, 1944 -- WJ Stigall, Jr.  A Shower of Frogs

Two important thoughts never occurred to me on the flight. The trip was so exciting, the flight so inevitable and irresistible in its search for a target, and it all happened so fast, in so short a time, that I never gave a thought to falling in the water or that there might not be room for all of us on the approaching fields. We crossed safely over the coast (the French coast, I guessed). We continued inland for a minute or two, dutifully following the C-47 as it banked to the right. By now we must have been going 140 miles per hour, at about 800 feet, probably less. I could determine nothing special about the land below us. If we were being fired at, I never heard or saw it. The ground seemed marshy, woody, and green. Small fields suddenly began to appear. Without warning the roar in the glider stopped. We experienced that moment of great beauty, of almost absolute silence. Either w􀄩 were cut off by the C-47 or our pilot cut us from the tow plane. We made a wide silent swoop and dropped quickly. Out of the corner of my eye I could see other gliders moving earthward. I also saw numerous C-47s banking and turning in every direction. Beside me I could hear Gerry cursing, even louder than I, and saying forcefully, "'Get this damn thing on the ground." In seconds we were over a group of trees and racing earthward.

Just beyond the row of trees we touched the earth, immediately bounced up from it, crashed down upon it again, scraping the ground and racing pell-mell without any apparent reduction in speed toward the field's end, two hundred yards ahead, where stood another row of tangled trees and tall bushes. The pilot was trying furiously to either stop the glider, which was surely impossible, or so it seemed at the moment, or force the glider up and over the hedge. Our speed decided this for him. We hit the trees and bushes, ripped through them, bounced over a road with ditches on either side, and tore into another hedgerow. The glider came to a violent, jerky, and abrupt halt. Most of it was through the fence. The tail lingered on the road and over one ditch. The snout of the glider, carrying the two pilots, was unhooked in the crash and hung high out from the fuselage. I have no remembrance of crossing the hedges, the road, and the ditches, save that it was rough. It happened in one second and was supported by the sound of tearing and ripping fabric on the glider. My helmet fell off; my head bashed against the steel tubing. I was certainly in mild shock. The man beside me was still there, still, as was I, cursing. I remember being aware of the two men behind me and thinking how shaken and bruised they must be, having been banged against the rear of the jeep. They, too, must have been expressing themselves.