The plane rocked from turbulence, causing yet another wave of curses to be spoken from the transport's passengers. Private First Class Robert Goodfield just shook his head. His stomach threatened to jump out of his throat and he felt that if he opened his mouth to release a euphemism of similar curses uttered by his comrades, it would only succeed in making him losing his breakfast and cause the trip to be even more unpleasant. The soldier sitting next to him, Private Conner O'Mally, grinned toothily at Robert and nudged him in the side. "Now why'd you join the Airborne if you get airsick?"
Robert looked up at Conner's freckled face and bright red hair and forced his stomach back down. "Well…I know I can trust the guy next to me in a tight spot."
Conner snorted through his nose. "Which means you don't want to sound like you're in it just for the pay."
Robert smiled softly. His friend always could find something to joke at—a gift that would prove very useful within the next few weeks of blood and death. "Yeah, you're right. Who could trust Conner O'Mally if he was the soldier next to 'im?"
Conner brought his right hand up to his chest, placing it right over his heart and put on a face of mock grief "Now you've gone and hurt my feelings."
The plane rocked again, but this time it was from a continuing roar of explosions. Everybody in the passenger area winced, some covered their ears, others cursed. Robert frowned grimly "You better hope your feelings are the only things that get hurt."
The Anti-Aircraft fire grew worse as the plane moved closer to inland. Lieutenant Bowers stood up at the front of the cabin "Up!" he shouted. All the soldiers stood up, clipping their parachute lines onto the cable over head. After Robert made sure his line was secure, he checked the leg bag that carried his rifle. Losing that in mid-jump would make his job much, much harder. The roar of the plane's engines made it hard to hear, but he could just make out the men behind him going through checks. "Six OK!"
Robert breathed in deeply, his stomach churned faster. "Five OK!"
It was nearly time. Soon they would be dropped in Normandy—he wasn't supposed to know that but on one of their practice jumps he had timed and measured the angle of their flight. Then he used the same flight time and angle from the airbase they were to lift off from on a map in order to discover their drop zone. "Four OK!"
Robert felt Conner's tap on his right shoulder. That meant it was his turn. "Three OK!" he yelled out and tapped the Sergeant Foster in front of him.
"Two OK!"
"One OK!"
Just as the jump light next to the door turned green, bullets pierced the plane's skin, lighting up the passenger area and laying waste to men in the back of the line. The Lieutenant didn't hesitate. "Let's go, let's go!" He jumped out of the plane, and the Sergeant soon after.
It was his turn now, but—Robert glanced out of the doorway—it was such a long way up. "Move your ass!" Someone was yelling at him to go and that was all the encouragement he needed.
He leaped out of the aircraft, and his chute opened up immediately. Robert wondered how many soldiers had been killed so far, before even setting foot on Nazi-held territory. As if to taunt him, the plane he had just been in broke in half with a brilliant explosion.
Both halves began a long arc downward and crashed into the side of another transport plane, raining down fire on soldiers already airborne and lighting their parachutes on fire. He closed his eyes tightly and shook his head, hoping that most of the men in those planes had gotten out alive. Robert opened his eyes again and looked down. The ground was growing rapidly, and that meant that the battle would be starting for him.