Some D-Day Matt; I headcanon him as a paratrooper with the 1st Canadian Parachute Battalion. Content warnings: Injury, violence, death mention.
6th June, 1944
Through a thick bank of clouds—and then they’re out the other side—into hell.
The brilliant, glowing white streaks of German anti-aircraft fire light up the inky blackness. So much for hoping to sneak in, Matthew thinks. The dark silhouettes of the other C-47 Dakotas flying through this lethal gauntlet, crosses against the blinding, thunderous flashes of light.
Through the open door of the plane, a glimpse of sheer pandemonium and chaos above, behind and below. The fiery outline of a damaged plane in front spiralling down to the ground, its fuselage brilliantly wreathed in fire.
A series of violent lurches, like that of the worst out-of-control rollercoaster ride, a thousand times over. The C-47 is bucking hard, as the pilots took evasive measures, slamming several men to the side of the plane in a tangle of limbs. Loud cursing and groans of pain, as several who were sent careening into one another furiously fought to untangle their static lines, which were clipped to the main anchor line above.
Matthew grits his teeth, braces himself on the door handle as the plane banks violently again, to the right.
