Chapter 1: Screaming Eagles
Hundreds of over equipped paratroopers waddled through the cool night air to their awaiting C-47 "Gooney Bird" transport planes. All of the men on the tarmac were members of the 101st Airborne Division's 2nd Battalion, Fox Company. The date was June 6 1944, and every single man climbing into the planes knew he was playing a small role in the overall scheme of events that would unfold that day. Their mission was to land behind enemy lines and secure the exits from the beaches, which included roads, bridges, towns, and villages. It was going to be a tough mission, and an almost certain death. A British Royal Air Force (RAF) bomber crew watched with concern in their eyes as the American, "Screaming Eagles" as the 101st was nicknamed, slowly boarded the C-47's, each man lumbering with over one hundred pounds of equipment. They knew better than anyone else how heavy the anti-aircraft (ack-ack) fire would be, and that there were going to be heavy causalities. After the last man boarded the C-47's the RAF crew saluted the planes as they took off. One by one the planes taxied down the flight line and lifted off into the pitch-black night sky, carrying the young Americans to what could be their finest hour.or their last. Once the last plane reached the circling mass of aircraft above, they spread out and got into several V formations, then turned toward the coast. Inside the lead C-47 almost every paratrooper had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. It was against regulations to smoke aboard an aircraft but the pilots let it slide since the men aboard their plane were about to jump directly into Hitler's "Fortress Europe", "It was like smacking a hornets nest with a baseball bat", as one pilot put it. The copilot turned in his seat to look back into the cabin, and was greeted by a depressing scene. There were eighteen young men with grim camouflaged faces. A layer of cigarette smoke was lingering several inches off the floor, and made it look like a fog had over taken the plane. Most of the men were just staring at the fuselage above the man across from him. A few were fiddling with their weapons, helmet straps, or praying. It was the most disheartening thing the copilot had ever seen, and he was compelled watch the men, until someone started slapping him on the back of the head. He turned around and saw the pilot looking at him, and watched in a stupor as the pilot spoke to him. "Yeah, I'm gonna need you help to get this thing through the ack-ack, so pay attention" "Ok, calm down" the copilot reply snidely as he turned to face the instrument panel. The pilot gave him a quick glare and then looked back out the windshield. In the distance he could barely make out the ocean in the darkness, and the armada of ships bobbing around in it. He pointed to them and spoke again, "Look at all them" "Yeah, quite impressive ain't it?" "Sure the hell is" the pilot responded. The two stopped talking after the short exchange of words and focused on flying the plane. Private First Class Bobby Mitchell was sitting in the very back of the C-47 fiddling with the dime-store cricket he had been issued right before he left to board the plane. Ever man was issued one, they were to be used as a means of identifying other airborne troops in the dark. Once click was to be answered with two clicks. He was clicking it again and again until the man next to him lend over and spoke, "Why don't you put that damn thing away?" Bobby looked over at the man with a shocked face. He didn't respond, instead he stopped clicking the cricket and thrust it into the baggy pocket of his olive drab jump pants. Not knowing what to do after being yelled at by the man he tried to retie his boots to make sure they were extra tight, this would supposedly help prevent his ankle from breaking when he hit the ground. But he was so over weighted with gear, and scrunched so tightly between the man next to him and the fuselage of the plane he could barely move. After several meager attempts at retying his boots Bobby leaned back and ran a list of all his gear through his head to make sure he had it all. In his lapel of his jump jacket he had his pocketknife, to be used if he were to land in a tree. In his baggy pant pockets he had a spoon, razor, socks, cleaning patches, flashlight, maps, three-day supply of K-rations, ammunition, compass, two fragmentation grenades, a smoke grenade, a Gammon bomb (a two-pound plastic explosive for use against tanks), and cigarettes, which he doubted he'd ever use since he didn't smoke. On his web belt he had his canteen, shovel, first aid kit, and bayonet. On his right thigh a huge holster held his folded M1A1 Carbine, paratrooper version, which had a folding metal stock. The M1A1 Carbine was a small lightweight rifle that had a fifteen round clip of .30- caliber ammunition. Normally the Carbines were only issued to officers and sergeants but Bobby had won his in a poker game, and was glad he did, it was a much lighter rifle than the M1-Garand, which was the standard issue rifle for the US Army. The M1-Garand was semi automatic, and fired eight 30- 06 rounds. It was a very effective weapon, and had an advantage over the german Kar-98 that was a bolt-action rifle. Over all of the other tackle was his parachute harness, the main parachute in its backpack, and a reserve parachute hooked to his chest. A gas mask was strapped to his left leg, and a jump knife to his right. Across his chest was slung a musette bag with spare underwear and ammunition, and a bandoleer full of clips for his Carbine. Finally over all of that apparatus he wore a Mae West life jacket. Good he had everything. He patted the Carbine holster and felt the guns cold steel barrel, and liked it. It gave him a sense of security, knowing he had the ability to take a life with the hunk of wood and steel strapped to his thigh. Bobby caught himself spacing out and brought himself back to reality. He turned his head to the right and looked up the cabin of the plane and caught a glimpse of the blackness beyond the windshield in the cabin before the jumpmaster stepped in the way and started talking to the copilot. Bobby noticed the jumpmaster didn't have his epaulets on, and was plagued by the problem of not knowing an officer from a non commissioned officer (NCO). The problem bothered him enough that he leaned to the man who had yelled at him earlier and asked, "How do we tell a non-com from an officer?" The man looked over at Bobby and raised an eyebrow, then spoke in a deep voice, "Your new aren't ya son?" "Yeah.I've only been in country for two weeks" "Well, an officer will have a vertical white stripe painted on the back of his helmet, and an NCO has a horizontal white stripe" "Oh." Bobby answered, sounding a bit embarrassed. "How old are you? Eighteen?" "Yeah, tomorrow's my nineteenth birthday" All of the men with in earshot let out small, barely audible laughs. Bobby almost started to laugh before he was cut off by the man talking again, "Well remind me then and I'll wish you a happy birthday" Bobby didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. The man looked over at him and them struggled to extend his arm toward Bobby. "Name's John Endall, Technical Sergeant" Bobby gripped the mans hand and shook it, then said, "Bobby Mitchell, Private First Class" John held his grip on Bobby's hand for several seconds before releasing it, then studied Bobby's face, and finally turned his head and looked away. Bobby not knowing what had just happened turned his head away, too, and assumed he had done something to displease the Sergeant. Since there was nothing else to do, and feeling a wave of self-pity wash over him, Bobby closed his eyes and started to nod off, within seconds he was asleep. The sound of the jumpmasters booming voice brought Bobby out of his light sleep. "When you hit the ground get your shit together fast, and hook up with anyone you can find from your stick, or any other. If you find yourself alone avoid the krauts and head toward your designated rally point. Just keep your head, and you're shit together, use some common sense, and you should be all right. And may god be with you" Seconds after the jumpmaster finished speaking the pilot leaned back and yelled, "Twenty minutes!" Instantly the jump light turned red, casting an eerie light throughout the cabin. "Get up! Hook up!" the jumpmaster boomed, again. Simultaneously the eighteen paratroopers stood up and hooked the ripcords of their parachutes to a metal wire running the length of the plane on each side. The ripcord would be pulled automatically when the paratrooper stepped out of the plane; it was called a static jump. Bobby started to become mesmerized by the humming of the engines until something that sounded like rocks being rattled around inside a can pierced his calm. It was the sound of anti-aircraft fire hitting the plane. Small stuff, 20, and 40mm, the bigger stuff was yet to come. So, very soon they would be jumping. As the fire increased the crash of bullets on the fuselage became more persistent. Then it stopped. The first thought that jumped into his mind was that the germans had lost sight of them. That hope was quickly crushed when Sergeant John Endall's head exploded off his body, spraying blood and brain matter about the plane, soaking everyone in it. Bobby, standing directly behind John received the brunt of the blast. He was covered from the waste up in blood. His stomach cramped up and he was about to throw up all over John's lifeless body, when the plane jolted. Bobby looked up and saw what was left of the cockpit was covered in blood, and all the instruments were destroyed or completely gone. Both pilots were dead; they had been on the receiving end of a direct hit. "GO!! GO!! GO!!" The jumpmaster screamed seconds before he, too, was cut down by the incessant anti-aircraft fire. The surviving men pushed their way across the sea of dead, toward the door, fighting the forces of gravity as the plane fell, and jumped out the open doors on either side of the plane. Lucky the doors were in the back of the plane, making it easy for Bobby to reach them. Gunfire riddled the hull hundreds of times, more and more men began to fall to the floor in bloody lifeless heaps. Bobby quickly realized that it wasn't ack-ack ripping the plane to shreds when he reached the door. He saw mussel flashes coming from the sky, and heard the whine of a single engine aircraft. It was another plane, a german fighter! He turned around and looked at the men wallowing in the ankle deep blood, and around the comatose bodies of their fallen friends. Out of the eighteen men that had been on the plane when it took off, less than five were still alive. The sound of more bullets piercing the metal skin of the plane compelled Bobby to push himself out the door into the abyss. The plane was much too close to the ground, and going to fast when Bobby Mitchell finally hurled himself out of it. He was tossed about in the air, and when his chute finally open he got blown about, and upwards by the prop blast of another gooney bird. After several seconds of furiously fighting to untangle himself from his parachute, which had wrapped its self around him, Bobby pulled his jump knife out of its sheath and cut the ropes, then instantly pulled the ripcord on his reserve chute. The opening of his chute almost tore his boots of his feet. His hands reached up and he started to work the risers. I'm okay now, just must steer away from trees and shit he thought as he tugged the risers. As he neared the ground a torrent of blue tracers shot up in his direction. At first Bobby thought it was directed at him, but he soon realized that wasn't the case when he heard an explosion over his head. It was an ack-ack crew below him. He could make out three figures moving about below, around a large gun, probably a 40mm; the gun was in the middle of a plowed field, which was surrounded by hedgerows, and a dirt road. They had no idea he was there either. The closer Bobby got the more riotously he yanked at the risers, trying to avoid the gun. But he realized he was going to land directly on top of them It was a huge problem. He would have to get his Carbine out of the bag the instant he hit the ground, or he was dead. "Shit." he mumbled as the last few feet of space between his feet and one of the jerries disappeared. Both boots slammed into the back of the german's helmet clad head. The impact was so great that it instantly snapped all the vertebra in his neck, and helped cushion Bobby's landing. Bobby instantly pulled his KA-BAR knife out again and cut all the ropes holding his parachute to him in one clean swipe, then rolled over using the dead body as a shield. He yanked the Carbine out of the bag, unfolded the stock, cocked it, and pushed the cold steel butt into his right shoulder. Quickly he popped up from behind the body and fired two shots in the direction he'd last seen the other two. Both bullets flew off into the night, not striking anything. The idea of using a grenade popped into his head and seemed like the only logical way to eliminate both of the germans quickly. He heard the shocked voices of the other two germans as they readied their weapons, and moved to get a bead on him. Click, clack, click. Shit! They had ready the bolts on they're Kar-98's and were prepared to fire. As Bobby thrust his hand into his left pant pocket, thunder claps of gunfire ripped into the chaotic Normandy night. Two bullets plowed into the body lying across Bobby, spraying more blood on him, the poor bastards body had saved Bobby's life. There! He had the grenade in his hand. He yanked it out of his pocket, pulled the pin, and held the spoon on, then lifted his head up to spot the other two jerries. They were crouching behind the 40mm anti-aircraft gun, readying their weapons for another volley of fire. He released his grip on the spoon, letting it fly off, giving him five seconds before the grenade would detonate. Bobby sat up, lobbed the grenade at the two men, then dug himself in under the dead german. The grenade landed directly in front of the german on the left side of the gun, who looked down at it and screamed, "Granate!!" Milliseconds later it exploded, sending shards of hot metal careening into the mans chest and face, ripping huge holes in them. Shrapnel flew left, right, up and down. A huge chunk of steel pierced the second germans forehead, and came soaring out the back, making a clank sound as it went through his steel helmet. The lifeless body fell back wards, and hit the ground with a soggy thud. Seconds later a 40mm shell detonated from the intense heat sending more shrapnel flying, completely dismantling the gun, and setting fire to the remaining 40mm shells. Bobby crawled out from under the body and looked in awe at the scene of destruction he had created. "Holy god" he said aloud. Seeing the burning ammo he knew it was only a matter of time before, it too, exploded. He stood up, ripped off his Mae West life jacket, then took off running across the plowed field, toward a hedgerow where he would have some cover. Once he reached the hedgerow he threw himself against it, wiggled out of his parachute harness, and checked himself for wounds. Even though he was covered in blood, he found himself unharmed. He looked down at his trembling has and saw they were covered with blood. Slowly he wiped them off on his pant legs. Once he found the cleansing to be satisfactory he picked up his Carbine. He was full of adrenaline, and he was ready to fight, to take on the whole goddamn german army. Realizing he had to get to the road Bobby slowly, and as quietly as possible Bobby slid through the shrubs, but found they were dense and full of torn bushes. After several minutes he gave up and pulled himself out. It was futile to waste any more energy on it. He would just have to find an opening that would allow him access to the road. Suddenly the 40mm ammo exploded sounding like a huge thunderclap. A huge fireball erupted from the pile of ammunition, and bright light illuminated the field for a split second. While everything was as bright as day he noticed a chunk of brain stuck to his right boot. He felt his stomach tense up, and being to cramp, it felt like he was going to vomit, adding a new stain to his now almost completely red combat jacket. He took his KA-BAR knife and flicked it off his boot. Seeing his quick and sudden reflection in the knives shinny blade, he noticed his face was covered in blood, that wasn't his. Wiping his face with his jacket sleeve wasn't working, as that too was covered in the slick substance. Thrusting his hand into the musette bag, he pulled out his spare pair of underwear, wiped his face with it, then tossed it to the side. He sat staring blankly at the burning mass of metal, which used to be a weapon of war, feeling the adrenalin draining out of his body, until he heard several men bantering in german behind him, then the sound of footsteps. Silently he flicked the safety on his rifle off, then slowly spun around, took a knee, raised his rifle, brought the barrel to bear on the origin of the voices. He was about to fire when he saw two men materialize from the hedgerows on his left. He spun again, lined the sights up on the lead mans chest, and pulled the trigger four times. Two of the rounds hit their mark, and the axis solider fell to the ground gripping his abdomen. The second solider raised his rifle, and pointed it at Bobby. Bobby lost the remaining nine rounds in the direction of the still standing german, who fell to the ground like a bag of bricks. Bobby reached forward and pushed the clip release button, allowing the empty metal box to fall out, and away from the gun, landing silently on the ground. Next he reached into his bandoleer and pulled out a clip of blood-covered ammo and slid it into his rifle, then stood up, and started walking toward the two fallen men, rifle at the ready. When Bobby reached the first body it was lying face down, both hands stuck under the body. So he used his foot to roll the body over, as he did one of the dead mans hands fell away from his stomach and a powerful spurt erupted from a gaping hole in his abdomen. Well he was dead, on to the next one. Slowly, his rifle ready, and his finger on the trigger, Bobby walked to the second man, and rolled him over with his foot, too. Five of the nine rounds he had fired had found their mark on this man. One bullet in neck, one in the heart, and three in the stomach, all of which were fatal shots. Satisfied that they were both dead he walked to the space in the hedgerow in which they had entered the field, and squeezed his way through the narrow gap. All of the equipment he was still carrying made him cumbersome, and also made it quite difficult to move. Finally after struggling he made it through to the muddy road. He squatted down, and swung his rifle from left to right, making sure it was safe for him to move. As he stood up he realized just how heavy his equipment was, and decided he would ditch some of it later, but right now he needed to move. It was a guarantee that more krauts would show up, the explosion made by the gun probably could have been seen, and heard for miles. Gradually he made his way down the road, keeping close to the hedgerows hoping to camouflage himself, and when ever possible walking in irrigation ditches. Occasionally he'd stop to check his rear, and the area that lay in front of him. After what seemed like hours he came to a huge apple orchard. As he stepped into the mass apple trees he heard the sound of a rocket being slid into a bazooka. Fuck! More germans! Bobby threw himself to the ground, and stared down the sights of his Carbine, waiting for the owners of the noise to reveal themselves.
Hundreds of over equipped paratroopers waddled through the cool night air to their awaiting C-47 "Gooney Bird" transport planes. All of the men on the tarmac were members of the 101st Airborne Division's 2nd Battalion, Fox Company. The date was June 6 1944, and every single man climbing into the planes knew he was playing a small role in the overall scheme of events that would unfold that day. Their mission was to land behind enemy lines and secure the exits from the beaches, which included roads, bridges, towns, and villages. It was going to be a tough mission, and an almost certain death. A British Royal Air Force (RAF) bomber crew watched with concern in their eyes as the American, "Screaming Eagles" as the 101st was nicknamed, slowly boarded the C-47's, each man lumbering with over one hundred pounds of equipment. They knew better than anyone else how heavy the anti-aircraft (ack-ack) fire would be, and that there were going to be heavy causalities. After the last man boarded the C-47's the RAF crew saluted the planes as they took off. One by one the planes taxied down the flight line and lifted off into the pitch-black night sky, carrying the young Americans to what could be their finest hour.or their last. Once the last plane reached the circling mass of aircraft above, they spread out and got into several V formations, then turned toward the coast. Inside the lead C-47 almost every paratrooper had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. It was against regulations to smoke aboard an aircraft but the pilots let it slide since the men aboard their plane were about to jump directly into Hitler's "Fortress Europe", "It was like smacking a hornets nest with a baseball bat", as one pilot put it. The copilot turned in his seat to look back into the cabin, and was greeted by a depressing scene. There were eighteen young men with grim camouflaged faces. A layer of cigarette smoke was lingering several inches off the floor, and made it look like a fog had over taken the plane. Most of the men were just staring at the fuselage above the man across from him. A few were fiddling with their weapons, helmet straps, or praying. It was the most disheartening thing the copilot had ever seen, and he was compelled watch the men, until someone started slapping him on the back of the head. He turned around and saw the pilot looking at him, and watched in a stupor as the pilot spoke to him. "Yeah, I'm gonna need you help to get this thing through the ack-ack, so pay attention" "Ok, calm down" the copilot reply snidely as he turned to face the instrument panel. The pilot gave him a quick glare and then looked back out the windshield. In the distance he could barely make out the ocean in the darkness, and the armada of ships bobbing around in it. He pointed to them and spoke again, "Look at all them" "Yeah, quite impressive ain't it?" "Sure the hell is" the pilot responded. The two stopped talking after the short exchange of words and focused on flying the plane. Private First Class Bobby Mitchell was sitting in the very back of the C-47 fiddling with the dime-store cricket he had been issued right before he left to board the plane. Ever man was issued one, they were to be used as a means of identifying other airborne troops in the dark. Once click was to be answered with two clicks. He was clicking it again and again until the man next to him lend over and spoke, "Why don't you put that damn thing away?" Bobby looked over at the man with a shocked face. He didn't respond, instead he stopped clicking the cricket and thrust it into the baggy pocket of his olive drab jump pants. Not knowing what to do after being yelled at by the man he tried to retie his boots to make sure they were extra tight, this would supposedly help prevent his ankle from breaking when he hit the ground. But he was so over weighted with gear, and scrunched so tightly between the man next to him and the fuselage of the plane he could barely move. After several meager attempts at retying his boots Bobby leaned back and ran a list of all his gear through his head to make sure he had it all. In his lapel of his jump jacket he had his pocketknife, to be used if he were to land in a tree. In his baggy pant pockets he had a spoon, razor, socks, cleaning patches, flashlight, maps, three-day supply of K-rations, ammunition, compass, two fragmentation grenades, a smoke grenade, a Gammon bomb (a two-pound plastic explosive for use against tanks), and cigarettes, which he doubted he'd ever use since he didn't smoke. On his web belt he had his canteen, shovel, first aid kit, and bayonet. On his right thigh a huge holster held his folded M1A1 Carbine, paratrooper version, which had a folding metal stock. The M1A1 Carbine was a small lightweight rifle that had a fifteen round clip of .30- caliber ammunition. Normally the Carbines were only issued to officers and sergeants but Bobby had won his in a poker game, and was glad he did, it was a much lighter rifle than the M1-Garand, which was the standard issue rifle for the US Army. The M1-Garand was semi automatic, and fired eight 30- 06 rounds. It was a very effective weapon, and had an advantage over the german Kar-98 that was a bolt-action rifle. Over all of the other tackle was his parachute harness, the main parachute in its backpack, and a reserve parachute hooked to his chest. A gas mask was strapped to his left leg, and a jump knife to his right. Across his chest was slung a musette bag with spare underwear and ammunition, and a bandoleer full of clips for his Carbine. Finally over all of that apparatus he wore a Mae West life jacket. Good he had everything. He patted the Carbine holster and felt the guns cold steel barrel, and liked it. It gave him a sense of security, knowing he had the ability to take a life with the hunk of wood and steel strapped to his thigh. Bobby caught himself spacing out and brought himself back to reality. He turned his head to the right and looked up the cabin of the plane and caught a glimpse of the blackness beyond the windshield in the cabin before the jumpmaster stepped in the way and started talking to the copilot. Bobby noticed the jumpmaster didn't have his epaulets on, and was plagued by the problem of not knowing an officer from a non commissioned officer (NCO). The problem bothered him enough that he leaned to the man who had yelled at him earlier and asked, "How do we tell a non-com from an officer?" The man looked over at Bobby and raised an eyebrow, then spoke in a deep voice, "Your new aren't ya son?" "Yeah.I've only been in country for two weeks" "Well, an officer will have a vertical white stripe painted on the back of his helmet, and an NCO has a horizontal white stripe" "Oh." Bobby answered, sounding a bit embarrassed. "How old are you? Eighteen?" "Yeah, tomorrow's my nineteenth birthday" All of the men with in earshot let out small, barely audible laughs. Bobby almost started to laugh before he was cut off by the man talking again, "Well remind me then and I'll wish you a happy birthday" Bobby didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. The man looked over at him and them struggled to extend his arm toward Bobby. "Name's John Endall, Technical Sergeant" Bobby gripped the mans hand and shook it, then said, "Bobby Mitchell, Private First Class" John held his grip on Bobby's hand for several seconds before releasing it, then studied Bobby's face, and finally turned his head and looked away. Bobby not knowing what had just happened turned his head away, too, and assumed he had done something to displease the Sergeant. Since there was nothing else to do, and feeling a wave of self-pity wash over him, Bobby closed his eyes and started to nod off, within seconds he was asleep. The sound of the jumpmasters booming voice brought Bobby out of his light sleep. "When you hit the ground get your shit together fast, and hook up with anyone you can find from your stick, or any other. If you find yourself alone avoid the krauts and head toward your designated rally point. Just keep your head, and you're shit together, use some common sense, and you should be all right. And may god be with you" Seconds after the jumpmaster finished speaking the pilot leaned back and yelled, "Twenty minutes!" Instantly the jump light turned red, casting an eerie light throughout the cabin. "Get up! Hook up!" the jumpmaster boomed, again. Simultaneously the eighteen paratroopers stood up and hooked the ripcords of their parachutes to a metal wire running the length of the plane on each side. The ripcord would be pulled automatically when the paratrooper stepped out of the plane; it was called a static jump. Bobby started to become mesmerized by the humming of the engines until something that sounded like rocks being rattled around inside a can pierced his calm. It was the sound of anti-aircraft fire hitting the plane. Small stuff, 20, and 40mm, the bigger stuff was yet to come. So, very soon they would be jumping. As the fire increased the crash of bullets on the fuselage became more persistent. Then it stopped. The first thought that jumped into his mind was that the germans had lost sight of them. That hope was quickly crushed when Sergeant John Endall's head exploded off his body, spraying blood and brain matter about the plane, soaking everyone in it. Bobby, standing directly behind John received the brunt of the blast. He was covered from the waste up in blood. His stomach cramped up and he was about to throw up all over John's lifeless body, when the plane jolted. Bobby looked up and saw what was left of the cockpit was covered in blood, and all the instruments were destroyed or completely gone. Both pilots were dead; they had been on the receiving end of a direct hit. "GO!! GO!! GO!!" The jumpmaster screamed seconds before he, too, was cut down by the incessant anti-aircraft fire. The surviving men pushed their way across the sea of dead, toward the door, fighting the forces of gravity as the plane fell, and jumped out the open doors on either side of the plane. Lucky the doors were in the back of the plane, making it easy for Bobby to reach them. Gunfire riddled the hull hundreds of times, more and more men began to fall to the floor in bloody lifeless heaps. Bobby quickly realized that it wasn't ack-ack ripping the plane to shreds when he reached the door. He saw mussel flashes coming from the sky, and heard the whine of a single engine aircraft. It was another plane, a german fighter! He turned around and looked at the men wallowing in the ankle deep blood, and around the comatose bodies of their fallen friends. Out of the eighteen men that had been on the plane when it took off, less than five were still alive. The sound of more bullets piercing the metal skin of the plane compelled Bobby to push himself out the door into the abyss. The plane was much too close to the ground, and going to fast when Bobby Mitchell finally hurled himself out of it. He was tossed about in the air, and when his chute finally open he got blown about, and upwards by the prop blast of another gooney bird. After several seconds of furiously fighting to untangle himself from his parachute, which had wrapped its self around him, Bobby pulled his jump knife out of its sheath and cut the ropes, then instantly pulled the ripcord on his reserve chute. The opening of his chute almost tore his boots of his feet. His hands reached up and he started to work the risers. I'm okay now, just must steer away from trees and shit he thought as he tugged the risers. As he neared the ground a torrent of blue tracers shot up in his direction. At first Bobby thought it was directed at him, but he soon realized that wasn't the case when he heard an explosion over his head. It was an ack-ack crew below him. He could make out three figures moving about below, around a large gun, probably a 40mm; the gun was in the middle of a plowed field, which was surrounded by hedgerows, and a dirt road. They had no idea he was there either. The closer Bobby got the more riotously he yanked at the risers, trying to avoid the gun. But he realized he was going to land directly on top of them It was a huge problem. He would have to get his Carbine out of the bag the instant he hit the ground, or he was dead. "Shit." he mumbled as the last few feet of space between his feet and one of the jerries disappeared. Both boots slammed into the back of the german's helmet clad head. The impact was so great that it instantly snapped all the vertebra in his neck, and helped cushion Bobby's landing. Bobby instantly pulled his KA-BAR knife out again and cut all the ropes holding his parachute to him in one clean swipe, then rolled over using the dead body as a shield. He yanked the Carbine out of the bag, unfolded the stock, cocked it, and pushed the cold steel butt into his right shoulder. Quickly he popped up from behind the body and fired two shots in the direction he'd last seen the other two. Both bullets flew off into the night, not striking anything. The idea of using a grenade popped into his head and seemed like the only logical way to eliminate both of the germans quickly. He heard the shocked voices of the other two germans as they readied their weapons, and moved to get a bead on him. Click, clack, click. Shit! They had ready the bolts on they're Kar-98's and were prepared to fire. As Bobby thrust his hand into his left pant pocket, thunder claps of gunfire ripped into the chaotic Normandy night. Two bullets plowed into the body lying across Bobby, spraying more blood on him, the poor bastards body had saved Bobby's life. There! He had the grenade in his hand. He yanked it out of his pocket, pulled the pin, and held the spoon on, then lifted his head up to spot the other two jerries. They were crouching behind the 40mm anti-aircraft gun, readying their weapons for another volley of fire. He released his grip on the spoon, letting it fly off, giving him five seconds before the grenade would detonate. Bobby sat up, lobbed the grenade at the two men, then dug himself in under the dead german. The grenade landed directly in front of the german on the left side of the gun, who looked down at it and screamed, "Granate!!" Milliseconds later it exploded, sending shards of hot metal careening into the mans chest and face, ripping huge holes in them. Shrapnel flew left, right, up and down. A huge chunk of steel pierced the second germans forehead, and came soaring out the back, making a clank sound as it went through his steel helmet. The lifeless body fell back wards, and hit the ground with a soggy thud. Seconds later a 40mm shell detonated from the intense heat sending more shrapnel flying, completely dismantling the gun, and setting fire to the remaining 40mm shells. Bobby crawled out from under the body and looked in awe at the scene of destruction he had created. "Holy god" he said aloud. Seeing the burning ammo he knew it was only a matter of time before, it too, exploded. He stood up, ripped off his Mae West life jacket, then took off running across the plowed field, toward a hedgerow where he would have some cover. Once he reached the hedgerow he threw himself against it, wiggled out of his parachute harness, and checked himself for wounds. Even though he was covered in blood, he found himself unharmed. He looked down at his trembling has and saw they were covered with blood. Slowly he wiped them off on his pant legs. Once he found the cleansing to be satisfactory he picked up his Carbine. He was full of adrenaline, and he was ready to fight, to take on the whole goddamn german army. Realizing he had to get to the road Bobby slowly, and as quietly as possible Bobby slid through the shrubs, but found they were dense and full of torn bushes. After several minutes he gave up and pulled himself out. It was futile to waste any more energy on it. He would just have to find an opening that would allow him access to the road. Suddenly the 40mm ammo exploded sounding like a huge thunderclap. A huge fireball erupted from the pile of ammunition, and bright light illuminated the field for a split second. While everything was as bright as day he noticed a chunk of brain stuck to his right boot. He felt his stomach tense up, and being to cramp, it felt like he was going to vomit, adding a new stain to his now almost completely red combat jacket. He took his KA-BAR knife and flicked it off his boot. Seeing his quick and sudden reflection in the knives shinny blade, he noticed his face was covered in blood, that wasn't his. Wiping his face with his jacket sleeve wasn't working, as that too was covered in the slick substance. Thrusting his hand into the musette bag, he pulled out his spare pair of underwear, wiped his face with it, then tossed it to the side. He sat staring blankly at the burning mass of metal, which used to be a weapon of war, feeling the adrenalin draining out of his body, until he heard several men bantering in german behind him, then the sound of footsteps. Silently he flicked the safety on his rifle off, then slowly spun around, took a knee, raised his rifle, brought the barrel to bear on the origin of the voices. He was about to fire when he saw two men materialize from the hedgerows on his left. He spun again, lined the sights up on the lead mans chest, and pulled the trigger four times. Two of the rounds hit their mark, and the axis solider fell to the ground gripping his abdomen. The second solider raised his rifle, and pointed it at Bobby. Bobby lost the remaining nine rounds in the direction of the still standing german, who fell to the ground like a bag of bricks. Bobby reached forward and pushed the clip release button, allowing the empty metal box to fall out, and away from the gun, landing silently on the ground. Next he reached into his bandoleer and pulled out a clip of blood-covered ammo and slid it into his rifle, then stood up, and started walking toward the two fallen men, rifle at the ready. When Bobby reached the first body it was lying face down, both hands stuck under the body. So he used his foot to roll the body over, as he did one of the dead mans hands fell away from his stomach and a powerful spurt erupted from a gaping hole in his abdomen. Well he was dead, on to the next one. Slowly, his rifle ready, and his finger on the trigger, Bobby walked to the second man, and rolled him over with his foot, too. Five of the nine rounds he had fired had found their mark on this man. One bullet in neck, one in the heart, and three in the stomach, all of which were fatal shots. Satisfied that they were both dead he walked to the space in the hedgerow in which they had entered the field, and squeezed his way through the narrow gap. All of the equipment he was still carrying made him cumbersome, and also made it quite difficult to move. Finally after struggling he made it through to the muddy road. He squatted down, and swung his rifle from left to right, making sure it was safe for him to move. As he stood up he realized just how heavy his equipment was, and decided he would ditch some of it later, but right now he needed to move. It was a guarantee that more krauts would show up, the explosion made by the gun probably could have been seen, and heard for miles. Gradually he made his way down the road, keeping close to the hedgerows hoping to camouflage himself, and when ever possible walking in irrigation ditches. Occasionally he'd stop to check his rear, and the area that lay in front of him. After what seemed like hours he came to a huge apple orchard. As he stepped into the mass apple trees he heard the sound of a rocket being slid into a bazooka. Fuck! More germans! Bobby threw himself to the ground, and stared down the sights of his Carbine, waiting for the owners of the noise to reveal themselves.