Catch Her If You Can | Band of Brothers

XVI. June 6th, 1944. Cotentin Peninsula, Normandy.

June 6th, 1944. Cotentin Peninsula, Normandy.

Georgia was going to die scared and alone in Normandy.

She could see blurry flashes silhouetting innumerable parachutes against a moonless sky. Orange explosions as planes were hit, green lights in doors, and tracer rounds streaking golden across the sky were all visible. The muggy night air of Normandy was so, so close. Her legs were pinned underneath her own weight and that of her gear. She couldn't kick them free. The paracord risers of her chute dug into her arms as they tangled tighter and tighter. They were pulling taught around her small frame, wrapping her up in preparation for the grave.

That promise to hit dry land when she jumped into Normandy that she'd made to herself about twenty minutes earlier seemed to be going just splendidly.

The water Georgia lay struggling beneath was cool, and it reminded her of going to Virginia Beach as a child. The air by the ocean had been warm and breezy, and it smelled of salt. Georgia could almost taste it. If she could just get one, tiny breath -

She opened her mouth.

Water rushed in. Georgia began to panic. Her throat burned worse than if she'd down a whole glass of Vat 69 in one go, and her vision was starting to spot. Her rifle was digging into her back and her compass was digging into her wrist. She couldn't get either one of her hands free to grab her trench knife. She thrashed more. Every movement took ten times the amount of effort that it normally did. She was moving in slow motion, and then her vision was gone. She remembered seeing snow for the first time in New Jersey with Lew.

Georgia was going to die scared and alone in Normandy.

She tried to breathe again. Georgia choked as silk filled her mouth alongside tepid water. Her parachute was quickly morphing into her burial shroud. One leg kicked free. Georgia's vision was blacker than black, but she threw herself over onto her side. She kicked her leg back and grasped blindly around the laces of her jump boots. Her hand met leather and military issue canvas.

Georgia frantically opened the clasp and ripped her trench knife from its scabbard. She slashed and struck at the parachute covering her face. She slashed and struck at the shroud lines trapping her arms.

Georgia was going to die scared and alone in Normandy.

She couldn't breathe. Her mouth was filled with water and mud. Her knife cut across her forearm, and Georgia let out a muffled cry. Her throat lit on fire anew. She thought she was crying. Was she? There was so much water that she couldn't tell anymore. She was sinking slowly into the mud, it was going to swallow her. She twisted and turned and pivoted and -

One arm jerked free.

She began grasping at her parachute silk like a madman, searching for an edge. The muffled sounds of anti-aircraft fire suddenly seemed closer.

Her other arm ripped free.

She dragged herself through the water, raising her hands every so often.

Georgia was going to die scared and alone in Normandy.

She felt soft blades of grass between her fingertips.

She ripped herself up and felt cool air on her face. Georgia dragged herself up and out of the water until she was on her hands and knees and on solid ground for the first time that day.

Georgia coughed out the water in her lungs. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her red hair was matted down. Her helmet lay beside her on the ground. She could see that same burning building she'd spotted from the plane in the distance.