D-DAY
DAKOTAS
6TH JUNE, 1944
MARTIN W BOWMAN
First published in Great Britain in 2019 by
PEN AND SWORD AVIATION
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Copyright Martin W Bowman, 2019
ISBN 978 1 52674 615 3
ePUB ISBN:9781526746160
Mobi ISBN:9781526746177
The right of Martin W Bowman to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
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In fifty-one they tried to ground the noble DC-3
And some lawyers brought the case before the C.A.B.
The board examined all the facts behind their great oak portal
And pronounced these simple words The Gooney Birds Immortal.
The Army toast their Sky Train in lousy scotch and soda
The Tommies raise their glasses high to cheer their old Dakota.
Some claim the C-47s best, or the gallant R4D
Forget that claim, their all the same, theyre the noble DC-3.
Douglas built the ship to last, but nobody expected
This crazy heap would fly and fly, no matter how they wrecked it.
While nations fall and men retire, and jets go obsolete
The Gooney Bird flies on and on at eleven thousand feet.
No matter what they do to her the Gooney Bird still flies
One crippled plane was fitted out with one wing half the size.
She hunched her shoulders then took off (I know this makes you laugh)
Only wing askew, and yet she flew, the DC-3 and a half.
She had her faults, but after all, whos perfect in every sphere
Her heating system was a gem we loved her for the gear.
Of course the windows leaked a bit when the rain came pouring down
Shed keep you warm, but in a storm, its possible youd drown.
Well now she flies the feeder lines and carries all the freight
She just an airborne office, a flying twelve ton crate.
They patched her up with masking tape, with paper clips and strings
And still she flies, she never dies, Methuselah with wings.
Tribute To The DC-3 ; Anon
Acknowledgements
Much information has been gleaned from Airborne Operations in World War II, European Theater; USAF Historical Studies No.97 , produced by the USAF Historical Division, Research Studies Institute, Air University by Dr. John C. Warren, published at Maxwell Air Force Base, Alabama in September 1956 . Men of D-Day website provided excellent first-hand accounts of troop carrier and glider pilots, 82 nd and 101 st paratroopers.
I am indebted to Mike Bailey; Paul Wilson; Nigel McTeer ; The Pegasus Archive and Silver Wings Museum.
Chapter 1
Devils in Baggy Pants
There are eighteen men in the plane, nine facing nine on the chromium bucket seats. The plane is that valuable dray horse of war, the twin-engined C-47. Scores of other planes, still in formation, fly through the night and the wind and in all of them sit the quiet men, heavy with equipment, rifle or Tommy gun, ammunition, grenades, land mines, first-aid packets, rations and maps, perhaps a radio, a bazooka, or a light machine gun as well one hundred pounds or more to carry to the ground. This is the long last waiting and their faces and their eyes are blank. What concerns each man now is entirely private and his empty face guards him, where he lives alone. The lucky ones sleep. After all there is nothing to do but wait, everything that can be known is known, the mind only uses itself looking backward or forward; it is good to sleep if you can.
No man was forced into these planes. Paratroopers are volunteers. There had been months of preparation for this ride and there was a time, before a man earned and accepted his parachute wings, when he could reconsider and choose some other way to war. In the beginning, at jump school, they were driven through a course of training which was not only intended to harden them and teach them their new trade but was also meant to discourage them if possible. For weeks, from sunup till sundown, they ran until their lungs ached, did push-ups and sit-ups and twirled Indian clubs until their muscles knotted with pain, tumbled from platforms into sawdust pits until they were numb, stumbled and dragged on the ground behind opened chutes, blown by a wind machine, jumped from 35-foot towers and from 250-foot towers and learned to pack their chutes, with the chilling knowledge that they would use these same chutes on their first real jump. Finally, as one of them said, preferring certain death to any more training, they were taken up in C-47s and twice a day they spilled themselves out; having overcome this daylight hazard, they tried it again at night.
After they got their wings, the training was no less rigorous, but at least there was some praise mixed with the punishment. Nothing that could be taught was left untaught; they were also told that one paratrooper was worth five of any other kind of man. Their confidence in themselves and their units and their division grew to be iron hard and they were prepared to pay for this pride.
The time for payment had come. They had been briefed; each man knew what was expected of him and knew the plan that directed them all. They also knew what can go wrong. They knew that a chute can fail to open, a streamer they call it. They knew a man can land and break his legs, his back and his neck for that matter. They knew a man can be shot as he floats to earth, or hang in a tree as a helpless target. They knew there is no guarantee that they will be dropped where they expect. They knew for certain that wherever they dropped the enemy will be all around them, waiting and they can only hope that darkness and surprise will give them that edge of time they need. The moment for thinking and knowing is past; the red warning light has flashed and the jumpmaster gives the command that belongs to them alone: Stand Up and Hook Up!
Seventeen men rise and fasten their static lines to the main cable. Check your Equipment! Sound off for equipment check!