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"F" Company was ever moving toward that day in combat, and so the 325 Glider Regiment moved from Ireland to Leicester, England. To be more exact, it was a cow pasture in the little town of Scraptoft. We all made nightly excursions into Leicester. The men got irons and pressed their shirts and trousers to a sharp edge. Then daily we performed some good Ol' Army Infantry Tactics. The men had plenty of time to write home and we officers had to censor the mail. All were content and ready for what was to come. Lt. Herlihy read us aloud in baby talk his wife's letters about a new son he never saw.

At this time, after nine months as company commander of "F" Company as a 1st Lieutenant, I became a brand new Captain. This is one of the highlights of my life.

Around the 1st of June, we were moved into a staging area in South England. Not a man in the 82nd Airborne Division had to second guess the purpose of the move. Each man was involved with his own thoughts as "F" Company's combat time only served to give them the fears of combat, and we had a very vague idea as to our future. Tomorrow was the beginning of an existence that no man can explain to others, and that in a flash can be recalled to reveal all its horrors. It is, and was, an experience that lasts a lifetime. Tomorrow was D-Day... the 6th of June.

D-Day, the 6th of June. After fourty-four years it still sends chills down my spine. I have been a flag-waver all my life, and no man in "F" Company ever thought of burning his draft card. The magnitude was overwhelming and the thrill affected us to the last man. "F" Company was meeting its destiny. All the months of training came down to this landing zone. We were in combat. Our landing was the early morning hours of June 7th.

The gliders we used were Horsa (British), carrying around 29 men and 2 pilots and CG4A (American), carrying approximately 13 men and 2 pilots. "F" Company was in about four Horsa gliders. The Weapons platoon and my company headquarters were in the lead glider. Upon landing, we had too much speed and went through the hedgerow into the next field. However, we went between two large trees on the hedgerow and the wings folded back into the fuselage, cracking the whole glider. My runner was sitting on the floor with his head on my lap. He was instantly killed, as were the next four men sitting down from me - the mortar section leader, Sgt. Joe Dichuccio from Beckley, W. Va., and three of his section. We had a total of ten killed and nine badly injured. We attended to the wounded and turned them over to the medics. A great introduction to what was to follow.

I gathered what was left of our glider load and headed for St. Mere Eglise, where upon arrival we were put into an orchard where the Battalion assembled. In a matter of an hour or so, we were called to put our men on the road and proceed toward Granville. The Battalion was sent to various hot spots and put into action. "F" Company was put in a perimeter defense and sent out on numerous patrols. Lt. Herlihy, who was our Company Executive Officer after Lt. Bloom went to command "G" Company, was killed on one of these patrols. On about June 8 the 2nd Battalion attacked as a whole battalion for the first time, with "E" and "F" Companies abreast. We soon hit heavy hostile forces. the first words of casualties reached us with the death of Captain Irvin Bloom and the severe wounding of Captain Bob Dickerson. Our losses in this operation were devastating. The 2nd Platoon Lt. left with a light wound. We reorganized the company into 3 rifle squads with Lt. Woodruff commanding and the weapons platoon under Lt. Hahn. We combined to attack with "E" and "F" Companies abreast with "G" in reserve with just a few men. I took a phone wire section from Battalion and runners from "E", "F", and "G" Companies and put myself between the two companies, coordinating the attack with phone contact back to Battalion. The radios were of no value.

We were still advancing toward Granville. We were called to halt the advance, and I was advised that the 4th Division was to pass through us. While we were waiting for the artillery to begin its barrage, a lone German soldier decided to join his unit over the crest of the hill. Up the hill he ran next to a fence, and as the men began to notice his plight, they began to take "pot shots" at him as he ran up the slope. No one hit him as he progressed, I began to smell a mouse. They were giving him a severe scare. I was right, for as he went over the crest, a loud cheer went up from our men. It was a gentleman's affair in some sense. The 4th Division passed through us, and to everyone's shock, we realized that our own artillery was falling on them. So severe was it that they could not advance and pulled back through us. I called back to Battalion and told them to suspend all artillery fire. They did, and the 4th Division passed through us again and disappeared over the ridge - mission accomplished at the cost of many men under our own fire. The 4th had months and months of combat training and still confusion haunted them. A soldier asked me how we were winning the war with so much confusion on our part. I told him that the Germans were just more confused.

"F" Company moved on toward its destiny. The 2nd Battalion, on about June 9th, was given the mission to move on to Le Ham. On H-Hour, Colonel Swenson came into our area, and at dawn we moved out and advanced down a slight incline to a small brook. The fire was spasmodic to the brook, but accurate, and upon entering the brook all types of enemy fire broke out and the brook was also mined with anti-personnel mines. Sgt. Forest Nipple, a squad leader from the 2nd Platoon, was hit by such a mine and died on the spot. I advanced up the slope and noticed Sgt. Robert C. McCarty had been hit in the head. He was staggering around, firing his rifle up in the sky. Colonel Swenson had been hit in the stomach, and was trying to get up and move on. He was a man of guts and his war was over. The fire became so severe that we had to move forward by crawling (Good Ol' Army Infantry Tactics). We advanced on a machine gun that was giving us immense problems. Grenades knocked out the gun and its gunners, and one gunner was set afire by a phosphorous grenade. After knocking out the machine gun, we advanced on toward our objective. At a farm barn we captured several Germans, and before I could stop him, an unnamed Sergeant dropped to his knees and killed two of the Germans. I knocked the Sergeant's gun up and ordered him to cease fire. I want to tell you now about this Sergeant. He came to us in Ireland as a replacement. Being a sergeant, we were compelled to give him a sergeant's job - a squad leader. He became a thorn in my side. He was surly, unclean, and always needing a shave - anything but a squad leader. I looked for something to reduce him in rank, but he stayed just on the border. We were ready for combat and I had a bad sergeant whom I should have busted, but I didn't and was I ever glad. This Sergeant, who shall remain unnamed, was a combat holy terror. They brought him by me on a stretcher and he said, "Captain Gault, I'll be back." But he never came back, because in a few hours he was dead - a real combat soldier in the image of the late Captain Woody Woodruff. A real garrison soldier and a fine combat soldier can be the same, but often one is one and not the other. I love both and they are both necessary. It would be nice if all soldier's could be both.