A Fight for Survival

Day of days

As Easy Company prepares to take off, Doc Roe orders the jump masters to hand out air sickness pills. Molly knows they're never going to work—they never have. All she has to do is wait for Dick to tell her to jump out of the plane. The flight across the English Channel is tense and uncomfortable. Molly finds herself double, triple, quadruple-checking her heavy pack. To say she's nervous is an understatement; all she can say to herself is what her father told her as a child, "Not dead, don't quit." It's one of the many things she appreciated about her father.

Dick watches Molly as she sits nervously bouncing her knee next to him. He gently places his hand on her knee to try and calm her down. He glances at his watch—0300, almost there. As they approach the coast of France, the sky erupts with anti-aircraft fire. The peaceful night descends into chaos. Their plane was hit, forcing them to jump early and off-target, Dick thinks to himself, not wanting to alarm the already anxious men and women.

As the last thirty minutes drag by, the 17 men and women in the glider begin to hear anti-aircraft explosions outside the aircraft. Chaos erupts outside the glider windows. Bombs rip through the night sky, painting fiery streaks against the darkness. Planes, engulfed in flames, spiral toward the earth. The sight is beginning to make the young lieutenant nervous. As another explosion goes off next to them, he looks at the crew and then at the pilots. The co-pilot slumps lifelessly in his seat, a crimson stain blossoming on his chest. Dick says a silent prayer for the young man.

As the red light shines, Dick calls out, "Get ready!" Drew glances around and stands up as Dick calls out again to stand up. He tries to think of something funny to say, but nothing is happening. Drew begins to freak out but remembers that he's trained for this; he will be fine if he just remembers his training. Though he is worried for LB, Alex, Lip, and the other Easy Company members. Dick calls out for an equipment check. He begins to check Molly's bag as she quickly checks Dick's. He can hear the chorus of voices yelling out, "Okay!" Malarkey, from behind him, "Three okay." "Two, okay!" Drew calls out, then Molly, "One, okay!" She hollers so loud he thought she was someone else.

"We get any lower, we ain't gonna need any friggin' parachutes!" Molly hears Skip call from a person or two up. A shot rips through a window, hitting someone who was peering out of it, and Molly quickly turns away, unable to watch. As she prepares to jump, all she can think of is the song she'd heard from the 82nd singing. Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die. Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die. Molly looks down at the darkened earth of Normandy, France. Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die. She hears Dick yell into her ear, "Let's go!" as he gives her one last "good luck" squeeze. As Dick jumps out, Molly counts one thousand, two thousand, three thousand, four. She takes a deep breath, exhales, and says to herself, And she ain't gonna jump no more! Molly grips tightly onto the chord that holds her to the glider, before glancing out the window and watching as a plane engulfed in fire quickly falls to its fate. She swallows hard. She watches the chaos unfold quickly outside as flashes, bombs, and planes explode and perish to the ground. She also watches as tiny parachutes begin appearing outside of the windows, signifying that people have jumped, made their jump into the invasion. She wonders if Alexis, or Sarah, or LB have made their jumps. She wonders if they are alive and okay, if they have touched the ground. She hates the thought of the fact that they could be dead. She doesn't want to think about it. She lets her chute expand from its pouch and descends to the ground. As she roughly lands, the smell of gunpowder and mud reaches her nose as she quickly cuts her parachute off, grabs her rifle, and runs.

When Dick jumped out of the plane, he was bombarded by the sight of tracer rounds and burning gliders in the air. The damp chill of the Normandy night pressed against Dick's face as he lay there, concealed in the muddy ditch. He'd lost sight of Molly in the chaos of the drop, his gut twisting with worry. Just moments ago, he'd spotted a silhouette against the flickering light of a distant explosion. Relief had surged through him, only to be replaced by a jolt of terror. A German soldier, a hulking shadow in the darkness, had him at gunpoint.

Dick's hand instinctively went for his Thompson, only to find it gone, lost somewhere in the jump. He cursed under his breath, fear turning his blood to ice. He had to do something, but what? He was unarmed, outmatched. Then, movement. A figure, small, but lightning fast, had somehow disarmed the German. Dick watched, heart hammering against his ribs, as the figure wrestled the man to the ground. He couldn't make out the details, the sounds of their struggle swallowed by the night. But he saw the glint of a blade, a brief flash in the darkness, and then silence.

He waited, holding his breath, until the German lay still. It was Molly who stood over him, her form trembling slightly in the aftermath. He had to reach her, to make sure she was alright. Dick scrambled out of his hiding place, adrenaline urging him forward. "Molly!" he called out, his voice hoarse. She whirled around, a gasp escaping her lips. In a flash, she had him airborne, his body slamming into the mud. A sharp pain shot through his shoulder as he landed, the air knocked from his lungs. He pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing. "Molly, it's me. It's alright." "Dick!" Her voice was filled with panic. "Oh my goodness, Dick, I'm so sorry!" She knelt beside him, her hands shaking as she reached for his face. He could see it now, in the pale moonlight—the shock, the fear, and something else in her eyes, something dark and haunted. Tears streamed down her cheeks, leaving clean streaks through the grime. "I... I killed him, Dick," she whispered, her voice breaking. He pulled her close, feeling the tremors wrack her body. "Shh, it's okay," he murmured, holding her tight. "We're at war. You did what you had to do." But even as he said the words, he knew they were just words. The memory of the blue-eyed German soldier, falling lifeless to the ground, would stay with her. It would stay with him, too.

The moment was cut short when the two are interrupted as they hear a rustling in a bush nearby. Molly grabs her knife once more as Dick picks up her rifle. Dick calls out, "Flash!" A weak voice calls out, "Shit!" A young man walks out. Molly sighs as she puts her knife back in its sheath. "I don't think that's the right call, trooper." Dick turns to the young soldier. "When I say 'flash,' you say 'thunder!'" The young soldier stumbles over his words, "Yes, sir, thunder, sir."

Dick interjects, "What's your name, trooper?" "Private John Hall, sir. I was supposed to be with Easy Company." Molly and Dick exchange a glance. They both know that the drop has scattered their unit across Normandy. They begin to check themselves for what remaining equipment they had after the jump. "Leg bag?" Dick asks. Hall answers, "Prop blast got it, sir. And my radio and batteries." They soon began to swiftly run into the forest near artillery. Dick tells the two, "Wait until they reload." The Germans soon run out of ammo, Dick tells Molly and Hall, "Go" in a whisper.

As they move through the darkness, Molly's senses are on high alert. The sounds of distant gunfire and explosions punctuate the eerie quiet of the Norman countryside. She can't shake the image of the German soldier she killed, his blue eyes still vivid in her mind. They soon come across a hedgerow, and Dick signals for them to take cover. As they crouch in the shadows, Molly whispers, "Dick, any idea where we are?" He shakes his head. "Not exactly. But we need to find the rest of the company and link up with our objectives." Suddenly, they hear voices approaching—German voices. Molly tenses, her hand instinctively moving to her knife. Dick places a steadying hand on her arm, silently communicating to wait. As the German patrol passes by, mere feet from their position, Molly holds her breath. She can see the outline of their helmets in the dim moonlight. Private Hall is visibly trembling next to her, and she places a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

They continue to walk through the forest. Molly asks the young soldier, "Aren't you in D Company?" Hall glances at her, "Able, ma'am. Guess that means one of us is in the wrong drop zone." Dick sighs, "Yeah, or we both are." Hall continues, "Do you have any weapons, sir?" Dick shakes his head, looking back. "Just my knife." Hall nods before asking again, "Do you know where we are, sirs?" Dick and Molly stop, looking at the 82nd trooper. "Some," Dick replies. Dick and Private Hall begin to talk as Molly stays in the rear of the trio to keep a lookout as they only have two rifles. "I wonder if the rest of the men are as lost as we are," Hall says. Molly smiles before walking away from the back, "We're not lost, Private. We're in Normandy."