Gliders Over Normandy Series Box Set Read online

  Being a young man and being able to tell an older man off, gives such an overwhelming sense of power and jurisdiction that made me feel invincible. I decided there and then that I would go for a commission when I made it home, I could get quite used to bossing people around and telling them what to do.

  The extra money and better food was also a bonus too. Maybe John should consider it, he could buy more chocolate.

  While we were in the air, we were in charge of everyone, including the Captain. As soon as we'd landed on the ground though, we were soldiers, the Captain would resume control of us and probably make us suffer for my outburst. Being in charge of everyone, was not something that sat comfortably with me, it wasn’t a natural position for me to be in. I was not a natural leader, I had the ability to think like an officer, but to lead men was a thought so daunting I rarely entertained the prospect. John on the other hand, would make a fantastic leader one day, I was sure of it.

  As I thought about what lay ahead once we hit the ground, I took a tighter grip on the wooden control with my left hand and pushed my right hand down the side of my seat. I would become a soldier, as soon as the Horsa came to a standstill. My dream of becoming a warrior was about to be realised and I couldn’t have been more terrified.

  I felt comforted as I felt the cold steel of my Sten gun, loaded and ready to fire the second we touched down. I had gone against the recommendations of an older Company Sergeant Major I had met, who claimed that on landing in the glider, it was possible that the Sten would discharge all of its rounds. I discarded the comment as a myth and, even if it was the truth, I thought it would shorten my torment of being in the middle of a war zone. I only hoped we'd make it long enough to use it.

  The fortified silence was interrupted by boots thumping their way back down the aircraft as the Captain skulked back to his seat remorsefully.

  I didn't feel sorry for him, he didn't have to wait long after being released to do his job, all he needed to do was let us do ours, then everything would be over to him, he would resume total control.

  The pin prick of light that illuminated the cockpit in a dull orange suddenly flicked off, subjecting us to the darkness of the night once more. All of a sudden, I felt like I was lost without the light, as if that was what was keeping me sane, it was my only comfort. We were back in the more familiar darkness, but this time it was an uneasy one, one that made me feel like I would never have clear thoughts ever again.

  The stopwatch was packed away hastily and rather noisily before the compass was slotted in gracefully into John's breast pocket. That was it, all of his utensils were gone now, it was just us two, the flimsy controls and the goodwill of the men in the back that would be guiding us down to the drop zone. This was it. Everything we had trained for, everything we had waited for, would come down to the next few seconds.

  He looked across at me, his impossibly soft face almost reflecting the moonlight of it and shining onto mine like a mirror. He was maintaining a calm exterior that I refused believe was being repeated on the inside of his mind, or maybe it was just me, maybe I was the only glider pilot who was almost paralytically fearful of what was about to happen.

  His eyes seemed to glow as he excitedly shifted in his chair, he was really fired up. The quivering in his hand was all but gone and a new bravery had poured over him.

  “Go.”

  I took the controls and sent the plane into a steep dive as John fumbled around strapping on his helmet.

  “You have control.”

  “I have control,” came his acknowledgment.

  I plonked my helmet on my head. It was a standard paratrooper’s helmet, the same as all the men in the back. When we landed, we looked identical to them, we fought the same as them, we just had a little extra responsibility beforehand.

  It was a dark khaki, pretty uncomfortable to wear, and had a mesh netting pulled over the surface of it.

  If I felt like it, I could pull some foliage out of my surroundings and attach it to the mesh, making me blend in a little more and avoid being sniped at.

  That was the theory anyway, but when the foliage growing around the target was moss and mould, I thought I'd pass.

  How a little bit of green would camouflage me against the backdrop of a huge steel bridge was beyond me.

  I pulled the strap on tight, to the point where it had begun pinching the skin. It wasn't comfortable, in fact it couldn't have been more uncomfortable, but at least I knew it would stay on when my head inevitably crashed into the wooden structure around me.

  “Brace for impact!” I didn’t recognise my own voice, in fact, it had barely registered with me that I had even shouted anything, I was completely on autopilot now, the training and retraining taking hold of me so that I barely had to think through what I was doing.

  The sound of boots thudding as they slotted comfortably on the benches in front of them, forming a rather amusing looking tunnel throughout the back of the aircraft thumped its way to my ears.

  Their arms would be linking with one another simultaneously, they would become one body all holding onto each other for safety, and not just for the landing. A wave of jealously took hold of me, a part of me that wished to be able to link arms with the boys in the back. I began to feel isolated, desperately alone, even though I had John by my side.

  Our speed began to pick up as we lost a dramatic amount of height.

  Our invasion was about to begin.

  8

  Our wedding day was amazing. It had been a quick decision really, but I knew it was the right one. We’d been on a few dates after the dance; cinema, walks, that sort of thing and from there everything blossomed.

  That first kiss was everything, it was all I could think about for weeks afterwards, I just wanted to see her again so we could recreate that moment. We’d walked for an hour or two around the fields and hills surrounding the base and sat down on the top of the hill that overlooked the town.

  It was a perfectly blue day, not a single cloud in the sky, a perfect day for flying. The sky was a brilliant shade of blue and we sat, hands behind us, propping ourselves up and marvelled at it.

  The sky was mesmerising as we observed bird after bird, flap by, swooping down into the village. The weather was clear, but still chilly. The February air was biting, biting in particular at Christine’s arms, her light hairs pricking up and catching the breeze.

  I threw my jacket around her shoulders as we walked back down the hill, my arms clamping the jacket down as it flapped in the wind.

  She stopped and turned to face me, and as we kissed my grip loosened on my jacket and it began to slide off.

  “Too cold to not have this on,” she chuckled as she bolted down the hill yanking me along by the hand.

  I proposed at the bottom of that hill.

  I don’t know what made me do it, I felt compelled to. I had no ring, no romantic speech like an American movie, I had nothing but raw emotion. The strange thing was, I hadn’t regretted my decision in the slightest.

  I’d fallen in love in that brief momentary glance at the dance, the smile that she gave me was one that made me dream of a future and now, that future seemed one step closer to reality.

  The wedding was small, in her church in the town. My family made it as well as hers and after introducing themselves to each other, the vows were exchanged.

  My mother sacrificed her wedding ring so Christine was able to have one for the day, we would replace it in a few months’ time, hopefully when the war would be nearing an end.

  I wore my uniform, it was easier that way, and cheaper. The other boys from the regiment provided a guard of honour for us as we ecstatically walked out the church.

  Christine wore a plain white dress, with a small rose attached to her chest, she looked the most beautiful that I had ever seen her.

  She wore a simple veil, one that she preferred to keep swept back, leaving her face uncovered. That veil now sat proudly on the window ledge of our home, making sure that all the passe
rs-by knew that we were newlyweds.

  We had a week-long honeymoon in Bournemouth, a luxury provided by Christine’s father, and we spent the week cooped up in a small chalet on the coast, enjoying the British September rainfall. We didn’t mind though.

  We spent every day outside as if it was unbearably hot, as long as we had each other’s company, it didn’t matter what the rest of the world, including the weather, was doing.

  I was one of the fortunate one’s on base. I had my wife and now my home nearby and so I was able to sneak home to my wife on an evening pass.

  Shortly before Christmas, I cycled my way off the base, bid a cheerio to the sentry, and headed home.

  Christine was sat by the door, fire roaring, waiting for me. I loved our little home, it wasn’t much to look at, but it was ours, our own little safe haven where the war and other people didn’t matter, they wouldn’t disturb us here.

  She occupied the wing backed chair by the door, seemingly just sitting there; no newspaper or book in her hand, no knitting while listening to the wireless churning out overly upbeat music or droning newsreaders. She just sat, in silence. She didn’t even bother to say ‘Hello’ to me, instead opting to launch into whatever she had been bottling up for the whole day.

  “I went out today,” her eyes began filling with tears and she tried breathing in between little sobs. My mind began spinning at an immeasurable speed at what may have happened to make her react in this way. I thought maybe that her brother had been killed or something to do with her mother’s health perhaps, but no words slipped out of her mouth.

  Throwing my beret on to the table, I lurched towards her and gave her a hug. We held our position for what felt like an age and I began to make myself feel sick with worry and in anticipation of what she might eventually say.

  She broke the hug and looked into my eyes, with a wry smile spread across part of her face.

  “We’re having a baby,” she sobbed, and squeezed me tight, burying her head into my chest.

  I stood, open mouthed for a moment, blinking several times, double checking I was still awake.

  I began to wheeze, which turned in to a wheezy sort of laugh. Tears streaming down my face now too, we stood for an hour or two in our front room, giggling and chuckling to each other.

  I was going to be a father, I couldn’t quite get my head around it, a smaller version of me, fused with my favourite person in the world, would be joining us. It was such a crazy thought, an overwhelming prospect, that I could barely think straight, I could hardly imagine what my life would be like when I had a new primary concern in my life.

  I sobbed for days afterwards. In between my sobbing, the boys took me out for a drink, it was a ritual that all the expectant fathers were forced to go through whether they wanted to do it or not. It was a ceremony that was enjoyed by all ranks, and on a few occasions after my happy news, we had taken some of the junior officers out with us, soon after they had received similar news. As we headed home from the evening out, with more than my fair share of alcohol festering in my body I realised something. Something that I knew already but one that in an alcohol enlightened mind, seemed to mean something more than it would have done if I was sober. I had joined the group of men who had wives and girlfriends expecting.

  I couldn’t believe it.

  Then the due date came through.

  The sixth of June 1944.

  9

  Although we were hurtling towards the ground at one hundred miles an hour, the lives of many men in the back, many who were married, some expecting children of their own, I could not get the thought of my own family out of my head.

  All leave was cancelled, even for those whose wives’ were expecting that very week. All communication was restricted, only that was considered of paramount importance to the upcoming mission was granted.

  I wasn’t going to know before we left whether my wife was going to have a little boy or a little girl. She may have already given birth, there was no way of me knowing.

  I thought of Christine, alone in our house, preparing to give birth without her husband. She would be in such pain and I wouldn’t be the first person she would see on the other side of that pain. I felt incredibly depressed at the thought, and for every second that I thought about it, my limbs seemed to get heavier.

  I sighed at the prospect of other people getting to hold my child before their father held them. I longed to be there, waiting till the early hours before being told I was allowed in. I fantasised over it several times in the matter of days I had to stew over my own emotions and frustrations.

  I wanted to be the first man to pick up my baby girl or little boy and cradle them for hours, talking to them, letting them know how lucky they truly were to have such a loving, caring and beautiful person like their mother.

  I needed to see Christine, to tell her how proud I was of her, of how far we’d come together already and tell her how much I loved her. She needed to know that even if I wasn’t coming back, I had our future mapped out already, every little detail and that it was just this war that had paused all of that.

  I always kept my letters from Christine in my inside pocket, but tonight, we had no identification, nothing that could give away who we were, where we were from or what we would go on to do. Hopefully, if all went to plan, we would be sent home in a few weeks in readiness for the next time our services were required.

  I tapped my inside pocket as a gesture, a comfort to me that she was always there with me, my real co-pilot.

  I would explain to my child about their father, how he was an utterly useless man, who forgot birthdays, anniversaries and barely remembered to feed himself. I just wanted an opportunity to explain to them why their father wasn’t there to greet them into the world and that he would try his best to get to see them as quickly as he could.

  I dreamed about being the one to teach them to read and write, I would take hours out of my day to do it, or give up working just to spend extra time with them.

  The future that I had seen in that young girl’s eyes at that dance was happening, but it was all happening in my head. It was going to occur without me.

  The more I thought about my absence at the birth of my child, the more I thought about the possibility of my permanent absence. This was another thing we had been instructed not to do, but it is only natural for a man to think about the things he loves most in life, in the face of death.

  I knew I was in the same situation as every man in this plane, and the other two that flew by our sides, but I couldn’t feel compassion for them, I had my own feelings to worry about.

  I found myself praying again, praying that I would at least do my job to the best of my ability and, if it was God’s plan, to lead me to the other side to watch my child grow up, like a normal father.

  To make totally sure that God would hear my prayer, I would need to play my part. I needed to focus wholeheartedly on what I was about to do, and not place my life, or the lives of those in my plane, in jeopardy.

  I needed to forget about my family.

  I pushed them to the back of my mind.

  10

  I wrestled with my wooden, oversized, overweight bird as it plummeted to the ground. I tried in earnest to keep the plane airborne for as long as possible, preventing gravity from taking its inevitable victim just yet.

  Trees became visible as we raced past, much too quickly for my liking, they were all merged into one great blur as they zipped past my windows, threatening to bring down the whole aircraft with a glancing blow.

  John and I sat in total silence now, struggling and sweating to bring down our craft at the correct landing site.

  I could sense a few pairs of eyes behind us boring into the back of my head as they watched intently as these two men, responsible for all their lives, fought with a force of nature to stop a speeding log from killing them all.

  I swore I could also hear a few prayer beads clicking in between someone’s hands, a few of the lads had had them on the tra
ining flights, as they rasped out the Lord’s Prayer or Hail Mary’s or whatever they wanted as we moved closer to hell.

  Suddenly, our target appeared at our eleven o’clock, as if someone had suddenly plonked it there, John needlessly pointing it out to me as we scurried towards it.

  Its tall, imposing, grey structure looked odd over the rest of the landscape. The futuristic design of the bridge somehow didn’t fit in with the rest of the aesthetics of the village, as it somehow glowed in the moonlight.

  The moon lit up everything that I needed to see. I could see where we were about to pitch down for the night, still coming in way too fast.

  The frame of the plane creaked like I’d never heard it before as it wrestled with the speed and the way in which I was forcing it to stay airborne much longer than it wanted to. This Horsa had been put to work, it had done well, it was my favourite one yet.

  Just a few more seconds Horsey, just give me a few more.

  I willed it to give me more time, as if I was on a marathon, in the last straight, ready to give up. I found myself rocking backwards and forwards trying to give it a physical helping hand, pushing closer and closer to the finishing line.

  It kept going for a few seconds more.

  As I grunted and strained, I felt the nervous faces behind me, darkened by the paint smeared across them, all stare at me, praying for me.

  We still had the speed, but we didn’t have the height, I would start to see the individual grass blades before too long.

  The river was now racing past us on the left, the glistening moonlight bouncing off it and flashing around my eyes. I tilted my head slightly so as to avoid the glare, the thing I needed the least right now was a headache, I already had one of those.