I posted an earlier version of this blog last year about this same time. While there are always plenty of remarkable stories and articles about the events of June 6, 1944 (D-Day Invasion), I decided to write about the events a few hours/days after D-Day.
This is the story of Dr. Rufus K. Broadaway, who served with the 82d Airborne and dropped into Normandy behind enemy lines in the early morning hours of June 6, 1944.
I wrote this from his perspective, as he’d relayed events to me when he and I sat down over several sessions to record his oral history in 2010.
It remains one of my top three favorite posts.
La Fiére Causeway, Normandy: June 9, 1944 – 77 Years Ago
We’ve lost hundreds, if not thousands, of men—good-hearted young men, fighting for freedom, helping to rid the world of this tyranny. I knew many of them personally; trained with them all; and led a few through these past horrific days.
It’s hard to believe they died. I hope not in vain. Time will tell.
(Click to enlarge)
This place we’re at today—and have been for the last couple of days… it’s just a bridge across a small river (Merderet River, I believe). I’m not even sure the name of this bridge, if there is one. We’re a few miles west of Sainte Mère-Église. The troops there have had some heavy fighting, too. But our mission today is to capture and hold this bridge.
I know we’ll succeed—we’re Airborne.
We’re next to a French manor. There’s a group of buildings that overlook the east end of the bridge; a half-dozen farm buildings, two or three stories high, and constructed with heavy stone walls. There’s also a five-foot wall surrounding the buildings. It’s probably strong enough to withstand mortar fire, though I see hundreds of small pock marks from bullets.
Today is June 9, 1944. Just a few days ago, we parachuted into Normandy, behind enemy lines. It was pitch black, about one in the morning.
We were supposed to jump the day before and were ready and waiting inside our C-47 for what seemed like hours. Me and 17 other men in my stick. But at the last minute, they called it off.
“Not today.”
Judas Priest. What a bloody letdown. We’d been training for this moment for two years, built up our bodies and our minds, and were strapped in with 100 pounds of gear. 6,000 of us in 830 C-47s, ready for our greatest challenge. Now, we had to wait… again. No sleep tonight for many.
But we’re the 82nd Airborne; we’re paratroopers; we do what we’re told and we don’t—won’t—fail.
We jumped the next day in the early morning hours of June 6th—D-Day. I could’ve died then.
I vividly remember being called up to the front of our C-47 (I was in the rear of the plane). The pilot yelled out to me, “Lieutenant, the plane has been hit, and it’s not responding. I’ve lost formation and I don’t know where I am. We’re going to be over the Channel in a few minutes. If you’re going to get out, you’d better get out now!”
I shouted to the Jumpmaster on my way back to the rear of the plane, “Let’s go!”
While a normal jump would have been about 800 feet off the ground, for some reason, this one was only about 300—my chute opened and immediately, I landed in an apple tree. Fortunately, I was only a few feet off the ground. I cut myself out of the chute and dropped down—nothing broken. I still had my carbine and my pistol—I was ready…
Just when I thought I was safe, I took a few steps and heard a faint, “click.” I searched my pockets, but couldn’t find my “cricket” signal clicker. I heard it again. I know he was one of us, we’d trained for this. But I couldn’t see him. I took another cautious step, crunching a few leaves.
“Halt, or I’ll shoot!”
(Click to enlarge)
“Don’t shoot. I’m Lieutenant Rufus Broadaway of the 507th. I lost my clicker.”
“Who’s our CO?”
“Captain Bob Rae.”
“Damn, Lieutenant! I almost shot you.” It was my platoon sergeant. I breathed a sigh of relief—not too loud, but I know the sergeant heard me.
That was close—one of many close calls to come. Thank the good Lord, I’m still here.
And to think, if I’d listened to my mother, Miss Eva, I’d be a Baptist preacher.
My regiment was scattered all about, not sure where we were, or who else was around. Did anyone else from my stick land nearby? It was still dark, but luck was with us. There was a little moonlight.
Sergeant Hobeck, our platoon sergeant (the one who challenged me earlier), and I cautiously made our way toward our mustering area and we ran into other paratroopers. Some were from our company, others from other units.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but the Germans had flooded the area we were supposed to land (our drop zone). Many of our troopers landed in water over their heads. With all the extra weight, they didn’t have a chance and drowned.
The next day, we ran into Captain Rae, my commanding officer. Instead of heading to Sainte Mère-Église—our original objective—he told us we were needed to help men from the 325th Glider Infantry Regiment at the La Fiére Causeway. It was an important bridge to capture so our landing troops coming from Utah Beach could cross the Merderet River and continue to advance inland.
By the time we got here, the 325th troopers were fighting hard against units of the German Seventh Army, who had taken up defensive positions at the far end of the bridge. Our soldiers were bogged down and not able to get across.
They were planning to mount another assault. Our small group of paratroopers approached from the southeast. Word came down from Brigadier General James Gavin (Assistant Commander, 82nd Airborne Division) to take the bridge, “at all costs.”
The bridge is only a two-lane road, maybe 20-30 feet wide, probably less than 3/4 mile long. The Germans had flooded the Merderet, so the river was actually wider than usual.
There’s a walk way through in the manor fence wall alongside the road. That’s where we’ll head, then out onto the bridge and attack. But there’s a German heavy machine gunner who has zeroed in on that opening. I can tell because there are a lot of dead and dying soldiers nearby.
But we’ve got to go—attack and hold the bridge “at all costs.” We’re Airborne. We will succeed. My heart is pounding as sweat drips from my brow.
The air is full of lead… it’s almost indescribable. The stench of cordite and gunpowder hangs in the air like a heavy fog, burning my nostrils. Mortar fire, heavy machine guns, light machine guns, rifle fire—it’s all around and the smoke and haze have made it nearly impossible to see what lies in front of us.
I know German soldiers are in foxholes on both sides of the river; they are throwing their “potato masher” grenades. Dead men are scattered about—both theirs and ours. It’s a pure bloodbath and there’s only one way out.
I’m in the middle of this. No time to think. If I get hit, then I get hit. I can’t worry about that now. I’ve—we’ve—got a mission. The success of the D-Day invasion is on our shoulders.
The Germans are still firing at us, but we’re making headway. We’re slowly pushing them back and gaining ground. I know it… I can feel it.
There’s a narrow farm road on the left, sunken with hedgerows. I run and jump over a fence at the end of the bridge. Next to me is another young lieutenant; he joined us in England, before the jump. Shorter than I, darker hair, and dark brown eyes. I don’t even know his name.
We both stand on our toes, trying to peek over the embankment to see where the mortar fire is coming from. He falls back into my arms; a shot right through the single lieutenant bar on his helmet.
I’m 23 years old… the war just got serious for me.
That was 77 years ago, today (June 9, 2021).
Dr. Rufus K. Broadway was one of the greatest men I’ve ever known. He was a man of integrity and a man who wasn’t afraid of anything. He’d faced death many times during the war and afterwards on the operating table—he was a top-notch and compassionate surgeon.
After the war, he returned home to his bride, Marion, and their daughter, Judy, whom Rufus had yet to meet. She was born July 2, 1944.
After finishing college (Rufus started at Mississippi College before the war and afterward, ended with a degree from Tufts University, then a medical degree from Harvard Medical School), he, Marion, Judy, Dana, and little Becky moved to Miami, Florida.
Rufus was one of the first faculty members at the then new University of Miami School of Medicine.
I first met Rufus in 1980—I drove down from Gainesville to ask his and Marion’s permission to marry his youngest, Becky. He wasn’t a tall man (I’m 6’4″), but I looked up to him from the start. I knew he’d fought in WWII, like my own father. Both men, to me, were bigger than life.
(Click for YouTube video)
Becky and I married in 1981. Over the years, he and I had several opportunities to talk about the war. It obviously affected him, as it did all combat soldiers. I had the privilege to conduct an Oral History of Rufus in 2010 [Click here]. Amazing man, amazing stories.
Becky and I visited the La Fiére Causeway and the Manoir in 2006 on our trip to “follow our father’s WWII footsteps.” I can’t begin to describe the emotions we both felt, standing in the same location as Rufus had. It was an unbelievable experience. Even as I write this, I still get goose bumps.
Also, here’s a link to a short 6 1/2 minute video of Rufus describing the D-Day jump and the battle for La Fiére Causeway. This was recorded in 2009 by his good friend, Dick Martin, at Oak Hammock, Gainesville, Florida.
We lost Rufus a few years ago at the age of 95. Marion, who turned 100 this past February, is still with us, still vibrant as ever, and hunkering down in quarantine, like the rest of us.
During these current trying and troubling times, we can Never Forget the sacrifices these courageous men made in order to preserve the freedoms we continue to enjoy today.
God Bless all our veterans.
Stay safe, my friends.
Until we meet again,
Andy
Notes:
- “No better place to die”
- Attributed to Captain John J. “Red Dog” Dolan, a paratrooper CO. He wrote to his men, “We hold here. There is no better place to die.”
- The title of a book, written by Robert M. Murphy, 82nd Airborne.
- The name of an upcoming movie (pre-production), directed by Dale Dye.
- The battle to secure the La Fiére Causeway has been described by historians as “the bloodiest small unit struggle in the experience of American arms.”
- More than 250 American troops died in the battle for the La Fiére Causeway.
- More than 830 Douglas C-47 aircraft took part in the Normandy D-Day drop.
- The Manoir de la Fiére, located next to the La Fiére bridge still stands. Becky & I have been there and met the owners. Rufus & Marion had been there a few years before. The family welcomed us all.
Andy Adkins is a US Navy veteran (’73-77) and the author of several books. His newest novel, NEVER FORGET, is the story of A Vietnam Veteran’s Journey for Redemption & Forgiveness. NEVER FORGET is FREE (eBook, PDF) for all veterans. Download your FREE copy HERE.