Read Online First to Jump by Jerome Preisler - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jerome Preisler
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The men whoâd been flown here aboard the transport would be left to fend for themselves. To survive in enemy territory, possibly for several weeks, with only the supplies, ammunition, and meager chocolate D rations they carried on their backs.
Gnawed by uncertainty, Dickson went off seeking Ott and Clark. Fortunately theyâd landed in nearby fields, and he was soon able to locate them, aided by the clicking of their signal bugs and the plentiful moonlight. But in spite of his relief at finding the S-2s, he knew the clock was running down on the arrival of the 2nd Battalion. They would have no time for a breather.
Kneeling low in the grass, the intelligence men spread their maps across their knees and studied them carefully by the light of their flashlights.
That was when the loud, rumbling thunder of antiaircraft fire shook the night.
Dickson looked up into the sky.
So much for the invasion being on hold
. Tracers had lit up the western horizon, a brilliant, pulsing glare that left all three men momentarily overwhelmed. But within seconds the rapt, fascinated expressions on their faces would be replaced with naked horror. A stricken C-47 transport had appeared above them, gushing flames, streaking down to earth like a meteor. If there were men aboard, they would be doomed.
Stunned, Dickson realized almost an hour had passed since his jump. The sheer volume of gunfire left him with no doubt that the main wave of airborne troops had arrived and met heavy resistance from German shore defenses. He also acknowledged, with a sinking feeling in his gut, that it was much too late to reconnoiter the battery at Saint-Martin-de-Varreville before the paratroops of the 2nd Battalion hit the ground.
Still, heâd learned to stick with the drill back in Western MDâs ROTC program, and it all started with following orders. Unless those orders changed, they would bear toward their objective. There might yet be useful intelligence that his team could relay to headquarters about the gun emplacements.
Their purpose set, they folded away their maps and moved northward in the quaking, battle-torn night.
17.
Minutes earlier to the northwest, Frank Lillyman and his Pathfinders had started deploying their markers. Having stealthily crossed one field after another, slipping between hedgerows with Wilhelm and Williams leading the way, theyâd found a suitable pasture behind the Saint-Germain church. Jones had virtually carried Smith, who could hardly walk at all and was doing his best not to slow the team up.
Lillyman knew they were still about a mile south of their original target area. But heâd taken into account that one man was hobbled, and that carrying their heavy radar and signaling equipment over enemy-controlled terrain would be difficult in the little time they had left.
All things considered, this field was their best bet. It was slightly larger than the others theyâd passed through and had only a sparse, scattered growth of treesâand the wider and clearer, the better for descending paratroopers. With the Five-Oh-Deuce transports due to come roaring in, heâd decided his team had gone far enough.
Quick to carry out his orders, Jones, Wilhelm, and a couple of the others removed the battery-powered Holophane lights from their cardboard boxes and laid them out in a precise T formationâthree panels for the horizontal top bar and four for the vertical leg, with the leg pointed in the direction of the jump and the crossbar marking the arrival point. The transports were to fly straight up the leg to the crossbar, where the jumpmasters would give the go commands to the paratroopers.
Set twenty-five yards apart and mounted on extendible tripods, the Holophanes had bright frosted-glass panels on their upper surfaces and emitted a low-level radiance in the direction from which the C-47s would approach. By placing them on tripods, the Pathfinders meant for them to be easily seen from overhead
Gnawed by uncertainty, Dickson went off seeking Ott and Clark. Fortunately theyâd landed in nearby fields, and he was soon able to locate them, aided by the clicking of their signal bugs and the plentiful moonlight. But in spite of his relief at finding the S-2s, he knew the clock was running down on the arrival of the 2nd Battalion. They would have no time for a breather.
Kneeling low in the grass, the intelligence men spread their maps across their knees and studied them carefully by the light of their flashlights.
That was when the loud, rumbling thunder of antiaircraft fire shook the night.
Dickson looked up into the sky.
So much for the invasion being on hold
. Tracers had lit up the western horizon, a brilliant, pulsing glare that left all three men momentarily overwhelmed. But within seconds the rapt, fascinated expressions on their faces would be replaced with naked horror. A stricken C-47 transport had appeared above them, gushing flames, streaking down to earth like a meteor. If there were men aboard, they would be doomed.
Stunned, Dickson realized almost an hour had passed since his jump. The sheer volume of gunfire left him with no doubt that the main wave of airborne troops had arrived and met heavy resistance from German shore defenses. He also acknowledged, with a sinking feeling in his gut, that it was much too late to reconnoiter the battery at Saint-Martin-de-Varreville before the paratroops of the 2nd Battalion hit the ground.
Still, heâd learned to stick with the drill back in Western MDâs ROTC program, and it all started with following orders. Unless those orders changed, they would bear toward their objective. There might yet be useful intelligence that his team could relay to headquarters about the gun emplacements.
Their purpose set, they folded away their maps and moved northward in the quaking, battle-torn night.
17.
Minutes earlier to the northwest, Frank Lillyman and his Pathfinders had started deploying their markers. Having stealthily crossed one field after another, slipping between hedgerows with Wilhelm and Williams leading the way, theyâd found a suitable pasture behind the Saint-Germain church. Jones had virtually carried Smith, who could hardly walk at all and was doing his best not to slow the team up.
Lillyman knew they were still about a mile south of their original target area. But heâd taken into account that one man was hobbled, and that carrying their heavy radar and signaling equipment over enemy-controlled terrain would be difficult in the little time they had left.
All things considered, this field was their best bet. It was slightly larger than the others theyâd passed through and had only a sparse, scattered growth of treesâand the wider and clearer, the better for descending paratroopers. With the Five-Oh-Deuce transports due to come roaring in, heâd decided his team had gone far enough.
Quick to carry out his orders, Jones, Wilhelm, and a couple of the others removed the battery-powered Holophane lights from their cardboard boxes and laid them out in a precise T formationâthree panels for the horizontal top bar and four for the vertical leg, with the leg pointed in the direction of the jump and the crossbar marking the arrival point. The transports were to fly straight up the leg to the crossbar, where the jumpmasters would give the go commands to the paratroopers.
Set twenty-five yards apart and mounted on extendible tripods, the Holophanes had bright frosted-glass panels on their upper surfaces and emitted a low-level radiance in the direction from which the C-47s would approach. By placing them on tripods, the Pathfinders meant for them to be easily seen from overhead
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