As I sit looking out the open door of the C-47, I can see the black silhouette of another plane on our left. The exhaust from its engine is a bright blue tongue of flame flickering in the night. A wing lifts a little then dips back as small thermals and downdrafts move it at their will. The flame weaves a pattern through the darkness.

The flight is a solitary experience. It could be a silent one, but for the twin engines pounding their low, throbbing sounds deeper inside my skull. A solitary moment experienced by two rows of paratroopers lining each side of the fuselage. All talking had stopped at takeoff. Conversation is hard when you have to shout to be heard. We all shook hands and pressed our good lucks to one another before takeoff. Now each man sits wrapped up alone in a cocoon of noisy power.

Every man sits with his own fears and last thoughts of wife, family or sweetheart. I think about my fiancée, Minerva, and wonder if I will see her again. Will I ever reach out with my arms to hold her again and tell her I love her?

Death is foremost in everyone’s mind. We are too young to die, but we all know the odds of coming back aren’t good. Many prayers have been said, before this night is over many more prayers will be lifted. I mentally repeat the 23rd Psalm but with one small modification, “Yea though I jump into the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.”

As I look toward the front of the ship I see the glow of cigarette tips, here and there, as some of the troopers have a last smoke. There are twenty-two of us on board; we are headed for the Cherbourg Peninsula with the hope of landing somewhere near the little town of Etienville. We are part of the 508th Regimental combat team attached to the 82nd Airborne Division, just one plane load of a massive airdrop landing behind Hitler’s coastal defenses.

I wonder why I’m here but my Uncle Sam didn’t give me much say in the matter. What made me think I wanted to be a paratrooper? Damned ego I guess. If I had to be in this war then I wanted to serve with the best. With their shiny boots, silver wings and elite status among soldiers, the Airborne seemed to reflect that. And now it was too late to join the motor-pool or become a cook.

With another look out the window I make a last effort to see the approaching coastline. Too dark but then the red light goes on. It is France. It is time to enter combat.