A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my Uncle Mike, who was a Staff Sergeant and Radioman for a C-47 Skytrain with the 316th Troop Carrier Group, dropping paratroopers near St-Mere-Eglise on D-Day. Miss you.
100k words, 46 chapters, and two months of writing later and we've finally invaded Europe. Thanks for coming along for the ride.
Chapter Forty-Six
June 6, 1944
Normandy, France
That Day of Days started out as a terrifically horrifying Night of Nights. The first hour had been calm, with only the racket of the plane making noise. The men around her had stilled. But after that, the Germans made themselves known.
Explosions rocked the plane. Alice felt her heart leap into her throat when she glanced out through the doorway and saw the sky painted in sunset colors of red, yellow, and dark blue. But the colors weren't from a setting sun, they were anti-aircraft weapons, flaming C-47s, and clouds of smoke. They didn't hear screams; the cacophony of war drowned out any human noise from their plane or another's.
The flying became erratic. The pilots and radiomen did admiral jobs dodging weapons fire, but so much of it filled the sky that it became almost impossible to navigate. And even if they dodged the missiles, they had to contend with exploding C-47s ripping apart in flames around them. Alice couldn't keep her eyes off the door to the sky.
Harry nudged her. They locked eyes, looking out from beneath their helmets at the other. She nodded. He nodded back. His smirk calmed her nerves ever so slightly. They'd trained for this. They knew what to do. Nothing could stop her from saving France.
And if she did die before hitting the ground, at least she'd die over her home.
The light came on. Harry and Alice led the way in standing up. But as they stood, hooked up, an explosion clipped the side of the plane. Something scraped across her face. Behind her, they heard a man shout in agony.
Alice couldn't see who it was, but Harry carefully maneuvered back to where Spina and another man stood comforting the wounded soldier. Then without ceremony, the light turned green.
At the front of the line, Alice stood in the doorway. Again, she looked out at the strange horrific beauty of the early morning sky, painted by red and yellow flames. With a deep breath, Alice gripped the metal sides of the doorway. The next step: make it to the ground. She leapt.
One thousand.
Two thousand.
Three thousand.
Four thousand.
The jerk of her chute coming loose did nothing to distract her from taking a moment to look around in the sky. She saw a plane burning below her. Another one cracked in half above. She turned back to the present and began maneuvering the chute to try to avoid a body of water that grew rapidly near her. She missed the water, but she didn't fully miss a tree.
Her chute ripped as it caught in the branches. Falling near the ground, Alice pulled out her trench knife and sawed through her harness. It took a few minutes, but finally she pushed herself free and dropped the remaining foot to the ground. Darkness covered the world around her. She could hear machine gun pulses, but they sounded far enough away not to be trouble. Like a heartbeat, the pounding of 88s rang in the distance.
Looking around her, she realized her leg bag had gone missing. She thanked God that she'd only put a few things in there, as she hadn't wanted weight on anything not directly near her upper body; she was strong, but she didn't want to test her muscles that much. Alice double checked the rest of her equipment while crouched in some bushes. With a readied rifle, she gave a quick nod to herself.
If she did die on the ground, at least she'd die at home.
Creeping to the edge of the small lake she'd avoided, Alice looked across. A small, broken down farmhouse sat about two hundred feet away. She gasped. She knew that farmhouse. The Resistance had used it as a place to leave messages. But did France own it now? Or the Nazis.
She hesitated. In her hesitation, she lost the opportunity to act as footsteps sounded to her left. Alice ducked behind a bush to watch. Rifle up and ready, she waited. She stopped breathing.
Then she saw a spade painted on a helmet. Alice breathed again, and waited until the soldier got closer before speaking. "Flash."
"Thunder," came the low, fast reply.
When Alice moved out of the bushes, she realized it was Johnny Martin. He looked fine, not even a scratch. He'd jumped a bit after her. With a small smile, she moved over to him.
"Hey, Lieutenant." He sounded relieved, a strong emotion for the usually fairly stoic man. With a quick glance around, he stayed quiet. Only when he turned back to her did he speak again. "What the fuck happened to you?"
Alice had no idea what he was talking about. But when he pointed to her face, her hand flew to her cheek. The skin screamed in pain as she touched it. Now aware of the large cut across her face, it burned in pain.
"I think whatever hit the plane caught me," she muttered. "It's fine."
Johnny rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say. Let's get moving."
They started heading inland, leaving the abandoned farmhouse behind. Meeting little resistance, they kept their heads low. Alice smacked away probably two dozen mosquitoes as they traversed the flooded fields past the forest. Neither she nor Johnny talked very much until the day had come and almost gone.
After hours of nearly constant walking, they agreed to stop. Another small forest reared up on their left, so they took cover there. Alice poured a small drink from her canteen into her parched throat. Thank God for Sobel's night marches without water. As the thought passed her mind, she let out a small laugh.
"What's so funny?" Johnny asked.
Alice shrugged, settling down, back against a tree. Johnny sat to her right. "I never thought I'd be thankful for Sobel's dry night marches."
Johnny scoffed as well. "Yeah, that's the truth."
They fell into silence again. She had always appreciated Johnny's no nonsense approach, including how he would stay quiet unless otherwise was needed. So it surprised her a few minutes later when he started up a new conversation.
"So Bill told you what happened," he stated.
Alice nodded. "Yeah."
"You better not repeat this, but I'm worried about him," he admitted. Johnny shuffled where he sat, trying to get in a better position. "I don't want to see him go batshit crazy."
"I know what you mean," she agreed. "I'll keep an eye on him."
"Good. I don't know how you get most of the men to do what you want, but they do, Wild Bill included."
She chuckled quietly. "In most cases."
Johnny hummed in agreement. They fell back into silence, allowing their aching bodies to rest after marching straight through the day. They'd already missed their intended rally time, with the landings beginning a few hours before. So after about half an hour to ease the pain, they started off with the setting sun.
"We better hurry up," Alice muttered as they stood up.
And hurry they did. The two paratroopers pushed on, running into trouble only once. They managed to take out a German scout without too much noise, and continued on quickly. When night fell, they finally reached their rally point.
Alice didn't see anyone she recognized immediately, but knowing that she stood surrounded by allies brought comfort enough. She told Johnny to go find food, while she herself wanted to seek out whoever was in charge. As she moved along the outskirts of the town they'd occupied, she heard shouting. But mixed with the English, she thought she recognized French. Alice hurried towards them. A shot rang out.
Alice saw a man drop to the ground. He wore civilian clothes, some ripped and stained. A beret had fallen from his dark haired head. Alice pushed past a few bystanders and fell to his side.
"Vous etês français?" she asked quickly. Alice grabbed his bloodied hand, taking off her own helmet with her other hand.
He forced his eyes open. "Oui, je suis français. Vive la resistance," he coughed out. "Vive la France combattante."
When his eyes closed again, she shook with anger. Alice turned from the dead resistance fighter and stood up. She faced the paratrooper who held the pistol. Alice took a step towards him. "What the hell did you do, private?"
He looked at her, eyes wide. Then he glanced down at the dead man. "He wouldn't speak English-"
"This is France!" Alice took a step closer. "They don't speak English, they speak French! This is our home, not yours."
When she took another step forward, the private took a step back. With a sneer, she turned away from him. Looking at a couple of soldiers to the right, she ordered them to bury the body. They obeyed. With a last look at the peaceful face of the freedom fighter, Alice turned away.
Alice stormed away. She ran a bloodied hand through her hair. When she felt a hand pull her to the side, Alice nearly punched whoever it was. And then she realized it was Nixon.
"You're alive," she said. Alice grabbed him in a hug. "Thank God."
"What happened to your face," he asked, pulling away a moment later. Nixon pointed to the cut down her cheek.
Alice had forgotten about it again. Like last time, as soon as her mind allowed itself to think about the pain, the pain rushed in full force. "Shrapnel on the plane."
"Come on, they've set up an aid station further in."
Nixon pushed her forward. As they walked side by side, Alice's thoughts drifted back to the dead civilian. Suddenly she realized she'd have to contend with Americans as much as Germans when it came to protecting France. When Nixon finally forced her to sit and wait for a medic, she sighed. Fatigue threatened to crash over her.
"How was your jump?" Nixon asked.
She shrugged. "Not too bad. Found Sergeant Martin soon after I reached the ground. We made our way here." Alice yawned. The movement made her gasp in pain as it reopened her wound. She spit out a few curses.
As a medic cleaned the wound, she bit her tongue to stay quiet. She thought she recognized him from G Company, but couldn't be sure. A sulfa pack and some stitches later, and Alice felt better, if a bit more in pain. At least it had less chance of getting infected.
They moved out of the aid station. Men still moved about despite it being nearly midnight. Light and noise discipline had been ordered, but she could see some lights from under tent flaps or in hidden areas. And the noise discipline was nearly useless given the tanks and trucks moving through.
"Who's made it?" Alice paused beside a building, leaning against the brick wall. "Anyone I would want to know about?"
"Most of them are in that truck," Nixon said. He pointed to the one with the light coming out from under it. "Dick's here too, somewhere. He wandered off. And Liebgott went somewhere I think."
As he spoke, several men jumped out of the truck he'd mentioned. She gave a small smile as she saw Guarnere, Malarkey, Buck, Joe Toye, and Lipton. As much as she wanted to go over and say hello, her body ached for sleep and alone time. The image of the unnamed resistance fighter's pale face wouldn't leave her mind.
"Tell them I'm alive, would you," she asked Nixon, who still stood next to her.
He looked at her in confusion but shrugged. "Sure."
Content to know her friends who had arrived would know she'd made it, Alice wandered off. A small hill nearby looked promising. So with a sigh and several deep breaths, she moved away from the men she loved. Instead she sat beneath a tree, helmet off, watching the flames paint the sky for the second time in twenty four hours.
