Mission to France a career highlight

  • Published
  • By Master Sgt. Chuck Kramer
  • 732nd Airlift Squadron
LONLAY L'ABBAYE, FRANCE --  Flying to France to retrieve the wreckage of a bomber that was shot down during the invasion of Normandy is a unique privilege, but as the first sergeant of the 732nd Airlift Squadron, I had special responsibilities.

My commander, Lt. Col. Dennis Duffy, asked me to organize a ceremony that would demonstrate our respect for the mission. The ceremony called for two columns of Airmen to march off of the back ramp of our C-17 Globemaster III and to create a pathway while a select group of Airmen carefully hand-carried the national treasures onto the plane.

I had the honor of carrying the squadron's guidon and leading my fellow Airmen in the ceremony's formation. As each part of the B-17 Flying Fortress, known as the Chowhound, was carried between the columns, the formation smartly snapped to attention from its parade rest position.

As the section of a wing that had a faded U.S. Army Air Corps symbol passed by me, it really hit me hard as to what we were doing there. We were repatriating actual pieces of our military heritage, after they spent more than a half century on foreign soil. The nine American Airmen who flew the Chowhound perished in combat while liberating an entire continent from the Nazis.

A first sergeant often has the image of being a more hardened and stoic individual - not the case here. I am glad I was wearing sunglasses.

After the Chowhound was loaded and secured in our aircraft, we jumped on a bus and weaved the narrow roads through the French countryside to the small town of Lonlay L'Abbaye, where the wreckage of the B-17 landed.

We gathered at the edge of a freshly cut field. From the road, the site was actually hidden from view by one of the many hedgerows that are as common in the area now as they were when the Allies were forced to fight through them while liberating France in 1944. Capt. David Rodriquez, a pilot with the 732nd, had the honor of carrying a U.S. Flag that the local French veterans group provided us, while I marched beside him with our guidon. As Capt. Rodriguez and I cleared the hedgerow, a lone flag pole with an American Flag stood in the middle of the field. We marched over and positioned ourselves about 20 feet from the pole and stood at attention as the rest of the Airmen and a dozen or so townspeople joined us.

Through a translator, a member Norman Association of Aerial Memorials recounted the day the Chowhound and her crew made the ultimate sacrifice. He told how the villagers rushed to the site to search for survivors. When they discovered there were none, they respectfully buried the Americans on the edge of the field.

One of the townspeople present had been an 11-year-old on that day in 1944, and had witnessed the events from her nearby farmhouse. I was able to speak with her after the ceremony, and thanked her for the respect she and her fellow villagers showed our Airmen.

After the story of the Chowhound was told, the memorial was covered with 18 roses - a French rose and an American rose for each of the Airmen who perished in the crash.

It was a very moving event, and the day's events had just begun.

On our drive back to the center of town, we stopped as we were greeted on the road by an elderly farmer and his wife, who owned the field and had taken care of the aircraft wreckage for many years. I joined Colonel Duffy and Maj. Jonathan Bradley, who organized the mission, in thanking them for being such great custodians of the Chowhound. We presented them our squadron's coin and patch, which was just small token compared to what they have done for us. It is apparent that they are wonderfully humble and generous people who have not forgotten the American sacrifice in the liberation of France.

Upon returning to the town, we had to park our bus about 300 yards away and around the corner from the town square, where another ceremony was to occur. We wanted to show our gratitude and respect, so Colonel Duffy had me form the Airmen into a three-column flight and march them into the town square for our wreath-laying ceremony.

Now bear in mind, most of us have not marched since basic military training or officer training school, and for many of us, that training occurred more than 10 to 20 years ago. We were worried about how well we could pull this off, but it was too late to practice, so after everyone was sized up, I belted out a Forward Harch!, and off we went.

As we followed the street, past stone buildings and French bakeries, we march over a small bridge where two American Soldiers were killed when their jeep ran over a land mine. The street is narrow and as cars pass us, I can see the look of surprise on the faces of drivers. When I wasn't calling cadence, the only sound was the synchronized heel beats of our marching. Everyone was in step, holding their heads high and looking very sharp. Our military training instructors would have been proud!

About this time, a quick reality check happened.

Here I am, an Air Force first sergeant, marching a flight of my fellow American Airmen into a French village that was liberated by Americans from my grandfather's generation. I could not have been more proud. This moment was the absolute pinnacle of my military career, and I highly doubt I will match the experience while in uniform again. This moment hit home a little harder for me, as my grandfather, a WWII combat veteran, had passed away just three days earlier.

To our surprise, approximately 40 townspeople are on hand to greet us in the square, which is lined by two columns of French Veterans holding their unit's flags. They are all wearing their ribbons on their suit jackets, and some are also wearing their old uniform hats. I issue a Flight Halt! at a spot reserved for us, just between the two French columns.

Colonel Duffy then stepped out of formation, laid the wreath at the base of the town's World War II memorial and rendered an individual salute that was somehow both proud and solemn at the same time.

The Mayor of Lonlay L'Abbaye, a large middle-aged man with a wide red, white and blue sash holding a golden medallion that denotes his position, delivered a speech covering many topics about that day in 1944, as well as the immense gratitude that the townspeople, and all of Normandy, have for the Americans that helped liberate them from their four brutal years of Nazi occupation.

Colonel Duffy followed the Mayor and expressed the pride and honor that we all were feeling standing amongst them. When he finished, they played the U.S. and French national anthems.

At the ceremony's conclusion, we marched back through the town and it hit me that the last time there were this many Americans in uniform walking through this town, they were carrying machine guns and driving the Nazis out. It was surreal.

We get to the bottom of the hill and stop at the base of a 1,100 year-old abbey, the town's namesake. We fall out and head across a small walking bridge to an outdoor patio area where they have prepared a reception for us with glasses of their regional pear-based sparkling wine and h'ors douvers. So much for just a small wreath laying ceremony.

At that point, I was operating on about 4 hours of sleep in the past 48 hours, but due to the uniqueness of the day's events, I am surprisingly wide awake.

We mingled with the 50 or so townspeople and guests and manage to communicate using broken French and English. A young Frenchman of about 20 years helped me translate back and forth. It was good to see a member of the younger generation present at the event. My glass was never empty and the food was delicious. A quick note on the wine. A townsman told me that before any of the pears can be used for the wine, a pear tree must be 70 years old. The trees live for about 300 years, and some have been producing pears for this wine for that long. He pointed to my glass and said that I was drinking wine made from the same pear trees that the American Soldiers who liberated his village drank. He laughed as he recalled how the Soldiers were forbidden to drink and had to hide it from the military police.

We handed out squadron patches and stickers, but I think it was our presence that they appreciated most. We were truly treated like honored guests.

We gave our farewells before loading up the bus for the long drive back to our hotel. During the drive, I tried to fathom everything that we just witnessed. I think Colonel Duffy summed it up best in his speech, by saying that we get the honor to re-write history, by making the Chowhound's final flight a trip back home.