â
Clear the ship! Clear the ship! Clear the ship!
â
Malley didnât budge from where he stood. After staring downward for an endless moment, he turned to Lieutenant Gordon Rothwell, his jumpmaster and the leader of Pathfinder Team C.
âHold!
â
he shouted, motioning at the bushy treetops. The trees were so close to the belly of the aircraft, Malley almost felt that he could reach down to touch them with his hands.
âHold the men!â
Rothwell understood at once. The plane had dropped too low on its remaining engine. It would be suicidal for the troopers to bail. Their chutes would have no time to deploy before they hit the trees.
He ordered them to wait. Antiaircraft rounds riddled the floor of the fuselage, whizzing through the troop section. Pressed together in its dim, tight confines, their apprehensive faces starkly limned by the tracers, the men mouthed silent prayersâhard, serious prayersâand awaited further orders.
At the controls, Taylor pulled the transportâs nose sharply upward amid the volleys of tracer and AA fire coming from below. Then Sperber appeared from the cockpit. âEverything overboard!â he called out. âWeâre going down!â
His heart pounding in his chest, Lieutenant Taylor had swung hard back toward the Channel. The plane was as good as lost, and if he crashed into the trees, so were the men onboard. Their only chance at survival would be a water landing.
In the troop section, the Pathfinders felt their stomachs flip-flop as the plane reversed course. They were hurriedly shedding ballast, jettisoning everything that wasnât essential or bolted in place. Bringing out their knives, they began cutting themselves free of parachute harnesses, backpacks, leg bags, and gun strapsâthere wasnât a moment to waste undoing buckles or clips. Weapons went out the door, as did ammunition. Fitted with explosive mechanisms to prevent them from falling into enemy hands, the cutting-edge Eureka radar units also suddenly became expendable. Malley would recall pulling the detonator cord on one before he hoisted it through the exitâand moments later accidentally cutting one of his mates through to his rib section while slashing off his harness.
The man winced in pain, blood soaking through his uniform. Although Malley would joke about having earned him a Purple Heart, heâd known it was anything but a laughing matter when it happened. If the wound had hampered his ability swim, he might well have been a goner.
But there had been no time for either of them to think. Blackburn was back in the tumult of the cabin, shouting for everyone to jump, telling them they were going to hit the water.
Jump hell
, Malley thought.
Most of the troopers had already cut themselves out of their chutes and stripped down to their boots and combat uniforms. What was he talking about? How were they supposed to jump?
The plane rattled around them as it accelerated, a shuddering vibration the men could feel deep in their bones. All they could do now was get ready to ditch.
Struggling to control their fear, the soldiers fell back on their training and hastily shrugged into yellow Mae West life vests, pulling the cords to inflate them. Then they got down on the floor of the cabin, facing the rear of the transport, each trooper with his legs bracketing the man in front of him. Rothwell was the only exception; as jumpmaster, he was responsible for trying to inflate the dinghies. If the men survived the landing, they would need them to stay alive.
Their descent gathered speed, a red flare searing the darkness outside the plane. Low above the Channel now, Taylor had released it to illuminate the waterâs roiling surface.
Suddenly he brought up the aircraftâs nose, making every effort to belly into the sea and distribute the force of collision. As the planeâs tail angled downward, the men braced for impact, sweating nervously, their pulses
Charna Halpern, Del Close, Kim Johnson