On H-Hour, D-Day, their destination was Normandy, France. They would be jumping behind enemy lines, just as they'd been trained to, in order to take out German guns aimed at Utah Beach to enable easier beach landings. Posey ran through the objective over and over again in her head, repeating it like a mantra to ensure she didn't forget. Then, when she tired of that, she ran through the names of roads and bridges and rivers and every discernible landmark she had picked out from the sand tables. They had all been told to study the sand tables closely to ensure they could navigate Normandy should they miss their drop zone. For her part, Posey had studied them relentlessly, her anxiety gnawing away at her until she was making sure that going to see them was the last thing she did at night and the first thing she did in the morning.
She'd been scared in the Blitz, but she didn't think she'd ever known fear like this.
Where she sat with the rest of the men set to be jumping from the same plane as her, she stared at her hands. She looked up only briefly when Roe handed her her airsickness pills, one to be taken now and one when they were in the air, and then resumed her staring again. She took the pill, swallowed without water, and listened to the noises of the airfield around her. This might be her last time on home soil.
Winters addressed them all briefly, Posey didn't hear a word, and then he was helping them all up from the ground one by one. When it was her turn, Posey finally drew her eyes up from the ground and looked into his. There was something reassuring in his eyes, something hopeful, but still uncertain. She forced a tight-lipped smile and moved along to let him help the next man along up.
When she sat in the plane, waiting for the engine to start, everything seemed much too quiet. No one spoke. Everyone had retreated back into their own minds, some form of self-preservation perhaps, and bore their evils alone. Beside her, Toye seemed to be reckoning something with himself; his lips moved rapidly but no sound came out. Or perhaps Posey simply couldn't hear it. The quiet seemed artificial somehow, as though maybe she was the only one experiencing it. She had only ever known loud when surrounded by all of these men.
Then came the noise.
When the pilot started up the engine, the world roared to life around her. Where there had once been silence there was now uproar. It took a while for the plane to begin moving, and when it did Posey's heart leapt up into her throat, as though trying to make a bid for freedom.
As the plane lifted off of the runway and became airborne, Posey began fiddling. Everything she had on her to fiddle with, she did. She thought briefly of her stowaway teddy bear tucked safely into one of her inside pockets, pressed tight to her underclothes, and wished she could take him out and squeeze his paws as she'd done as a child. It seemed only right that he was sitting that close to her heart, though - everything she'd experienced in her life, she'd experienced with him by her side. Now they would be heading into war together. She worried briefly what would happen to him if she didn't make it home.
They were in the air for a couple of hours, which felt like a couple of weeks. When the red light came on, signalling they were close, Winters clipped his chinstrap closed and rose to his feet, as unceremoniously as if he was leaving church after a service.
Into the rattling cacophony of the cabin, he belted, "Get ready!"
Posey, along with the men surrounding her, held up her clip. She fumbled it for a moment, her hands shaky and slick with sweat, but quickly held it up once more. She wondered how worried she looked, how much her face was betraying.
"Stand up!"
Posey rose unsteadily to her feet and slotted into the line. Staring at the back of Popeye's head, she wondered whether this might be a good time for some famous last words.
"Hook up!"
Nothing came to mind.
"Equipment check!"
She wasn't sure anyone would hear her over the noise anyway.
"Sound off for equipment check!"
A firm pat on the shoulder told her it was her turn.
"Four okay!"
She tapped Popeye on the shoulder and listened until Winters shouted his, "One okay!"
They were all thrown sideways.
Whatever had hit them had hit with a vengeance. Bangs rang out across the metal and light rushed in through the open doorway. Orange light. Posey would recognise that particular light anywhere; the fire of bombs still haunted her nightmares.
She scrambled to her feet, dragging herself up by whatever she could get a grip on. When she stood in the line once more, they were all unsteady on their feet. The plane felt like it was being hit from all directions, throwing them this way and that. A sob ripped its way from Posey's throat but she never heard it hit the air. They were thrown forwards and then wrenched backwards again.
I'm going to die, she thought.
"We get any lower, we ain't gonna need any friggin' parachutes!" Skip cried from behind her. She glanced back only momentarily to see him braced up against one of the windows, staring down at the ground outside.
The glass right by him smashed and he was thrown backwards. Posey gasped and grabbed for him and he shot her a shaky smile.
"Lucky bastard," she shouted, trying for a smile. She didn't know how he could have heard her but he smiled anyway. Maybe he hadn't and simply needed the action as much as she did. Smiling might make it all seem okay.
The sound of glass shattering and the red light turned green. Posey turned back to face the front and let out a redundant sob once more.
"Lets go!" Winters shouted.
This is it, this is it, this is it.
She shut her eyes tight and leaped into the darkness, the air rushing in her ears and slapping her in the face.
The sky was alight all around her, parachutes and planes illuminated by flames and explosions. She wondered how she was ever supposed to make it to the ground. A lot of them, it seemed already, weren't going to.
Had John been this scared when he'd had to bail out of his plane?
When her parachute unfolded she held on tightly to her risers, trying to steer as best as she could in the midst of chaos.
Her heart thumped wildly in her chest, her blood rushed in her ears, and her eyes scanned a dark sky made bright by the worst kind of light - all of these were signs of the life that ran through her, a life she wasn't ready to let go of just yet. Only now did she recognise how truly afraid she was to die. Not afraid of anything, her brother had always said of her. Many a time during her teenage years he'd told her she could do with being a little bit more afraid, reckless as she was. Now she knew that, whilst she wasn't afraid of much, she was afraid of dying.
She hit the ground so slowly she didn't even have to roll. It seemed the sky was making up for its chaos by lowering her down gracefully, offering her safe deliverance. She worked to unclip her parachute with fumbling, shaky hands, her eyes glancing in every direction meanwhile. As soon as she had it off, she bundled it into her arms and ran with it. It was only when she was on her feet that she noticed half the weight she'd carried with her onto the plane was gone.
She should have listened when Guarnere had insisted that the leg bags were a bad idea. Why had she stuffed so many things into it? Things she needed, no less. She knew why, but it seemed so childish now she could hardly bear to admit it.
Because it was a British invention.
With the sky still flashing above her, she ran into the trees nearby and hid her parachute amongst the bushes. Glancing around, she found herself alone, and took inventory of what she had managed to keep on the jump.
No rifle, no compass, no cricket - no nothing, it seemed. She felt around her webbing until she grasped hold of her knife and sighed in relief. It wouldn't do much good outside of close-range combat, something she knew she needed to avoid at all costs if she wanted to stay alive, but it helped to make her feel safer at the very least.
Standing on the edge of the trees, she turned in circles wondering where to start. The sky above was still a world of chaos, gunfire and aeroplane engines and explosions masking the silence she found herself in on the ground. Another pathetic sob wrenched its way out of her mouth and she slammed a hand over it to cover the sound immediately. This was a warzone. She was behind enemy lines. She had to be quiet, invisible. She could not cry.
"Just find someone," she muttered under her breath, so quiet she didn't hear it herself. She turned from the field she'd landed in, having scanned it to find anyone else, and crouched. She made her way through the trees silently, her eyes sweeping from side to side, front to back, and her ears straining for sounds.
"Just find someone," she repeated breathily, feeling more and more vulnerable as the minutes ticked by. The back of her neck prickled with the feeling of runaway eyes. She turned but found no one.
Am I even going the right way?
The forest got denser the deeper into it she pushed. The darkness seemed to swallow her. Even the noise from above seemed to soften. Her footsteps became louder as she pressed onwards.
She lifted a hand to her chest and felt for Teddy, pressed snugly to her chest and holding on for dear life. A loyal friend. At least she wasn't entirely alone.
She kept one hand on him, a way to calm her racing heart, and the other on the dagger she had stretched out in front of her.
Taking one step after another, she allowed the night to swallow her, hoping, praying, she'd come out the other side.