Preparing for and Surviving WWII's Longest Day

Army,  Jun 2004  by Curreri, Joe

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I read somewhere, "Soldier, sailor or airman, it is not what happens in war, but what he thinks may happen which weakens his purpose-thoughts that fester in the mind and bring defeat." But I had hope in my heart and hope is the best preservative in war.

June 5,1944: At the 8 P.M. briefing, we were told, "This is it-D-Day. Invasion point, Cherbourg, France." We were to fly across the English Channel and drop the 101st and 82nd Airborne Divisions near Ste.-Mere-Eglise. We were also told, "Expect up to 75 percent casualties."

Each crewman then received a parachute, trench knife, a standard-issue .45 automatic, carbine rifle, ammunition, flak helmet, flak jacket and a survival kit. Then, our closeknit four-man crew went straight to our aircraft to check it out. In the darkness, I remember kissing clay Pigeon's propeller, saying, "Don't fail me now, baby."

Talking to Harry, we were saying with profound awe that none of our lives would ever be the same and wondering how many of us would survive.

Trucks bearing smudge-faced paratroopers of the 101st Airborne then arrived. Each had strapped himself into almost 100 pounds of gear. Milling around the plane, Harry and I joined them, joking and laughing. One rough and tough guy quipped, "Clay Pigeon? You sure this crate can fly?" Another told us, "Take this English money. Where we're going we won't need it."

Across the field, Gen. Elsenhower came to see us off and told them, "The eyes of the world are upon you tonight."

At 2248 clay Pigeon lumbered down the runway, notoriously reluctant to leave the ground when heavily laden. But that uneasy feeling right after the plane takes off was only apprehension. One by one, we thundered through the air as a massive phalanx heading for the Channel. C-47s seemed to stretch into infinity.

Across the Channel the night thundered with the drone of 1,700 planes. Down below, thousands of ships were ready to plow through dark waters heading for the Normandy beaches. With utter disbelief, I felt a surge of power and certain admiration for an army, navy and air force that could launch an attack of such a monumental size.

0030 june 6: I positioned myself beside the open cargo door and put on my intercom phone. Moonlight revealed the grim, determined faces of 17 paratroopers sitting shoulder to shoulder. A silent code of mutual respect only heightened my tension.

"Pilot to crew chief," I heard over the intercom. "Twenty-minute warning." I relayed the message to the jumpmaster.

Ten nightmarish minutes to go-a lifetime. Minutes dwindled, incredibly long minutes of holding the plane straight and steady. Then, there it was-the black coastline of France! The expected air barrage made my stomach curl into knots. The "Screaming Eagles," now standing, hooked their parachutes to the static line. The 101st was ready to write their rich complex tale of violence, adversity, valor and passion into history.

Flying inland, low and slow at 750 feet, I was surprised that the guns were silent. Had we caught them by complete surprise? all eyes were on the red warning light, waiting for green. Sweat trickled down my face. I got ready to release the para racks.