Into Holland ... D-Day continued (Chapter 15)

Continuing Chapter 15 ... flak as the sound of type-writing and sleeping in the air en route ...

In half an hour we were over the Channel. Again, as in the Normandy flight, there was a seemingly endless stream of low-flying planes towing gliders. I do not remember any air support. We either had it and it cleared the sky, or the Luftwaffe was extinct in that area. My determination to keep a running account of my actions fell completely apart. I got interested in the scenery below me. Of course we had no maps, and I knew only vaguely the geography from France to Holland. Below, it all looked much the same: distinct plots of cultivated ground, green and brown; scattered villages; larger towns and distant cities; intersecting lines of crisscrossing rivers, highways, and railroads.

In no time at all I got sleepy. My chin wanted to rest on my chest. I rocked gently to right and left. I looked at Gerry. He was gone. Sound asleep. As we bounced up and down, the queasy feeling in my stomach returned. The constant roar of the prop wash soothed my senses to slumber. My head fell forward and I dozed off to an uneasy sleep.

Either a noise outside the glider or someone shouting inside awakened me. Once conscious, I saw familiar flak bursts out the window to my left. I heard a sound like typewriter letters hitting a loose piece of paper. Slowly it dawned on me that the sound was made by small-arms fire going through the wings and fuselage. I had never heard it before. It did not frighten me. We were over land and being fired upon by both small arms and antiaircraft. We were still in position locked within a long line of planes and gliders. The firing on us increased. I could see it ahead of us and to the right where Gerry pointed it out to me. My concern about the glider landing was so great that I was unaware and therefore unafraid of the danger from flak.

Suddenly the pilot reached up for the release handle. I was immediately tense. My old fears returned. The pilot cut us loose. Our tow plane was hit, disabled, and plunging earthward. Almost instantly stillness descended upon us. I spoke to Gerry. We could hear the pilot talking to Birdwell. We settled into a hush with only a slight rumbling sound of antiaircraft off in the distance below us. Nothing else broke into the quiet save our meager attempts at conversation, the rat-tat-tat of occasional bullets or flak tearing through the glider, and the wind against the wings and snout. Gerry was bracing himself and was already swearing. I heard the pilot tell Birdwell that he'd picked the field. He was pointing it out. There was no sound from the man in the rear seat. He was on his own. Bullets continued through the wings and fuselage. We were flying at 700 feet and banking to the left, gliding down slowly, gradually, losing altitude and speed. The pilot was doing exactly as planned. He continued to slowly and silently circle the ground below. I picked out the field. I saw a C-47 dive in flames into a house. There were no chutes in the sky. Off to our left as we completed one circle I saw the sky-train. The planes and gliders moved in sustained flight through a smattering of flak. I saw a solitary glider head for the earth.

We continued to float gracefully downward, an irresistible target. Since we had no chutes, we had no concern about jumping. All we had to do was sit, sweat, and ride the jeep to the ground. On the second circle I again noticed the sky-train. I had no sense of their danger or my own. I was fascinated by the fact of disengagement from them. We were removed as casually as a car might pull out of traffic.

I was still not frightened of the flak. I was only frightened of the landing, the damned landing at too fast a speed into whatever was below. I looked at Gerry and knew that he shared my feelings. Suddenly we straightened out; we were fifty feet off the ground and heading in over the field. The glider was traveling at a much reduced speed, except that I didn't realize it. Gerry and I gripped the sides of the jeep and braced our feet against the floorboards. I never knew whether to use my arms to push away from the steering wheel or hold the sides of the jeep. We hit the earth with both Gerry and me swearing loudly to ourselves. The ground moved fast underneath us. The glider bounced up and came down on the earth again. I held on, prepared for a series of bounces. Almost before I knew it, the pilot dug the nose of the glider into the ground. We skidded about fifty yards and came to an abrupt halt. The tail of the glider settled down. I realized that we had made a perfect landing. Gerry, Birdwell, and I shouted thanks to the pilot.