September 7, 1942:
I couldn't contain my excitement during the flight to France. I knew it would be dangerous, but I also knew I would get to make a greater contribution to the war effort than I could ever have imagined before I was recruited. What I didn't anticipate was just how quickly it would get dangerous, or in what manner.
With me in the belly of the plane was my fellow SOE trainee, code named Antoine. He was young and bookish, just the sort of person you wouldn't expect to be a secret operative. I had hoped that would protect him once we were on the ground. He had passed the training admirably, scoring better than I had, but he did have a tendency to get nervous. He had never been more nervous than when we approached the drop zone.
"Out you go!" called the RAF airman, opening up the hatch. "Who's first?"
"I...I don't think I can do it," said Antoine, trembling.
"You can do it, mate," I told him, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "It's just like they trained us. Look, I'll go first, okay?" I stood up and strode to the hatch, then stepped into the sky. The feeling of free fall was exhilarating. I was weightless, and glad I hadn't eaten anything beforehand. I slowly counted to ten and then pulled the rip cord. After a delay, the parachute blossomed above me, billowing in the wind, which blew me around as I gradually descended.
I couldn't see above me through the silk, but shortly Antoine began to fall past me, a terrified expression on his face. He pulled his cord too, and he continued to fall past me. "It's not opening!" he cried, clutching in panic at the second cord for his reserve chute.
"No, you have to wait!" I called, but my voice was lost in the wind, and it was too late. He had already pulled it. Then his main chute opened, but before it could expand, so did the reserve chute. The two chutes got tangled together, and he continued to plummet like a rock. I looked away from the ground before he hit.
By the time I landed smoothly on the ground, the wind had caused me to drift some distance away from him. I rushed to his side, but he was already dead. Wiping away tears, I signaled the French Resistance that I knew was waiting to meet us with an electric torch. There was an answering flash, and then a man and a woman materialized out of the trees and shadows.
"I am sorry about your friend," said the woman as she approached. "I am Jeanne Desjardins, and this is Claude Dumas. We must move quickly, before a patrol wanders by. We must dig a hole and bury both him and the parachutes."
"It is too bad," said Claude. "We could have used his help. He shall be missed."
"I am Catherine," I said. "It is good to meet you. I just wish it were under better circumstances. At least he died quickly."