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By Root 1641 0

row. There was no mistaking the importance of this show, more brass gathered in one place than Adams had seen since he came to England. He had grown more comfortable around gatherings of officers, more comfortable keeping his mouth closed, knew that Gavin brought him to these assemblies for one reason: to pay attention, particularly to what the air force people had to say, especially the Brits. It had been more than four months since Gavin had come to England, to serve as senior airborne advisor to General Sir Frederick Morgan. Morgan’s COSSAC plan had become the backbone of what was now Overlord, and Gavin’s role, with Adams serving as one of his staff, had been to push forward any plan that would involve the airborne forces, the paratroopers and glider troops that Gavin and the more senior airborne commanders believed would be essential to the Normandy invasion. From the first meetings he had attended, clipboard in hand, a silent witness, Adams had seen the patronizing cloud of superiority that the air commanders had blown toward Gavin—indeed toward anyone who advocated the paratroopers’ mission. Despite their ultimate success during the Sicily invasion, many among the bomber and fighter commands placed no value in the men who jumped out of airplanes. Fortunately for the airborne divisions, Omar Bradley had been one of their primary champions.

Following orders, Sergeant Adams had stayed close to Gavin throughout the endless days of meetings and conferences, map studies and engineering lectures, all those ingredients that now comprised Operation Overlord. Hundreds of officers and specialists were still contributing, defining what it was that Eisenhower would actually command, what would actually occur sometime around the end of May. Adams had witnessed Gavin’s remarkable endurance in arguments, hot disputes with all levels of strategists and tacticians, especially those who had no concept of fighting any war that did not involve enormous numbers of troops marching forward in massed attacks. But it was the air commanders who most infuriated the young sergeant, as they had infuriated General Gavin. Gavin could speak out, but Adams was just one more anonymous aide, silent in front of these colonels and generals spouting their tactics.

Despite the clean uniforms, good food, and close quarters with the high brass, Adams had been frustrated by much of his job. In Sicily and Italy, Adams had toted a Thompson submachine gun. Now his weapon was the pen, his duties involving taking notes and recording appointments, all those jobs that would normally be done by some nameless secretary. But Gavin had made it clear that Sergeant Adams was involved and would accompany him as a silent aide—or silent witness. For reasons Adams still did not completely understand, Gavin trusted him, respected him, and even, on occasion, used him as a sounding board. It was the greatest compliment of Adams’s life.

The men on the viewing platform all stared toward the far horizon, toward the growing hum, the planes hidden by a gray pregnant sky that hovered close overhead. Adams scanned the crowd, more interested in the ranks around him than in the drone of four dozen C-47s. Close in front of Gavin was the Eighty-second Airborne’s commander, Matthew Ridgway, chewing the ever-present cigar, his face a permanent scowl. Ridgway was in his late forties, but his relative youthfulness among the division commanders didn’t prevent every man in his command from referring to him as the old man, though no one would dare let Ridgway hear it. Down that same row was Maxwell Taylor, new in command of the 101st Airborne, the man whose appointment had surprised everyone, especially the officers of the 101st. The 101st had been commanded by Bill Lee, who had been the energetic force behind the creation of America’s first airborne units and Jim Gavin’s first airborne commander. But after a massive heart attack in early February, Lee had been sent home.

Lee’s sudden collapse had devastated the morale of the 101st, and those men had every reason to expect one of their own