The ageing Dakota transport lurched and bumped far above the Normandy beach. The Paratroopers inside wished they were already over the Drop Zone It was hot inside and even with the door open not enough air was circulating. At least it had not been a long flight. The dispatchers’ eyes watered as he peered outside the fuselage into the slipstream. Ahead was the town of Merville and to one side the German coastal battery. He pulled himself back into the aircraft and took a deep breath. “Stand up”. “Hook up”. The Port stick struggled to their feet and snapped the hook at the end of their static lines onto the overhead cable. “Check equipment”.

Each man checked his static line, his helmet fastening, his reserve hooks and flap covering the reserve chute handle. Satisfied all was as it should be each man then checked the jumper in front making sure the others static line ran clear and there was nothing visually wrong with the back of the Parachute.” Sound off for equipment check” the dispatcher shouted. “Twelve OK!” shouted the last man and slapped the shoulder of the person in front.

Each jumper repeated this until it reached the lead man. ‘Number One OK! Port stick OK!” The dispatcher put his hand to his headphones and pressed the cup closer to his ear to hear the pilot’s commentary better. “Two minutes” came the call from the pilot. The dispatcher had another quick look outside the aircraft to satisfy himself of the DZ’s location and called “Action stations” at the same time pointing to the door.

The first man stepped smartly into the door frame. It was almost a drill movement. His left hand snapped the static line towards the dispatcher who grasped it firmly. His hand now free was placed on the doorframe to steady himself and his right hand rested on the top of his reserve. He looked out at the horizon and into the clear blue French sky. Behind him the rest of the stick closed up. “Red On!” He tensed his mouth suddenly seemed very dry and it was hard to swallow. “Green On!” “Go!” Number one stepped smartly into the slipstream and was tumbled away into the turbulence below the aircraft followed rapidly by the rest of the stick.

He gasped as the Chute opened above him and the pressure of his reserve threatened to squeeze all the air out of his lungs. The moment passed quickly and allowed him to check his canopy. Turning the chute he satisfied himself he was in no danger of a collision with any other jumper and looked for the DZ. 2000 ft below he could see the battery clearly marked out in the lush green Normandy fields. It was now time to think about his landing. Far below a dirty water filled ditch beckoned uninvitingly as he once again turned into wind and assessed his drift.

No. This was not the Normandy invasion. Neither was it a scene from a film. The Pathfinder parachute group had just jumped onto the Merville gun battery in front of the survivors of the original airborne assault. The 9th Battalion the Parachute Regiment. This was their anniversary and for Pathfinder it was the second time they had jumped here at the personnel invitation of the Veteran battalions committee. 80% of Pathfinder are either serving or retired paratroopers from all over the world and so the honour bestowed on them by the 9th was appreciated.

Pathfinder was the brainchild of Sgt Roy Mobsby and Bdr (retired) Ron Ball ably supported by Ian Marshall himself a serving member of the British Parachute Association Council and a former Paratrooper.