Into Hell
Hugo Sim's Story of Normandy, Holland & Bastogne
by
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Lt. Hugo Sims of the 101st Airborne Division on D-Day jumped into the night sky. He positioned himself to avoid landing in the ink-black water. The sound of machine gun fire and the sight of tracers peppered the sky from multiple locations. Random paths of tracers streaked past as he continued the descent, but none followed his path towards the ground. The wind was in his favor. Turning his back to the wind helped him slip-drift past the water and land on soft and spongy, but reasonably dry land. Sims didn’t have time to congratulate himself on avoiding the water. “I had to get the harness off. Then I flipped the mussette bag over my head onto my back. I left my unassembled carbine in the bag at first.” Planes droned in the air above, dipping and turning to dodge the anti-aircraft barrage and drop more paratroopers and Sims looked up, “One C-47 burst into flames and crashed to the ground, about 200 yards away, then burst with a violent explosion. I knew there would be no survivors. I did not see any other paratroopers nearby.” Sims had landed in the lowland marshy area between St. Marie-Du-Mont and the Douve River, southeast of Pouppeville. He had missed his drop zone by miles. The entire lowland area was crisscrossed with canals, ditches and grass that reached higher than his knees. Sims recalled the landscape, “There were shallow ponds and several high plots of land with trees. I could see dark outlines of farmhouses in the flatland. No lights shone at the houses, especially at this hour. French residents knew that any show of lights could be a magnet for machine gun and rifle fire from either side.” Sims did not know where he was. He knew that if he had missed the drop zone, so had most of his stick. Since he was the last man out of the plane, and the airspeed had been faster than it should have been, he knew the entire stick had to be spread over a wide area. Sims frowned, “I knew it would be nearly impossible to locate Major Allen. He had been the first out the door.” Miles, not yards, probably separated the two paratroopers. He could only guess at where the balance of the regimental sticks had dropped. He remembered, “At that time it really didn’t matter. I was alone and needed to orient myself and get moving.” Walking bent at the waist with all the stealth he could gather, Sims headed towards a subdued tree line, visible as a dark and foreboding clump in the faint moonlight. He recalled his next steps, “I stepped into a small canal and sank to my chin. I took a deep gulp of air and held my breath until I was sure I wouldn’t go underwater. My two .45 pistols were in holsters and my carbine, still in the bag, was unassembled.” Sims chose to assemble the rifle later in a more secure environment. The pistols were not military issue, but owned by Sims. “They were both mine. I had purchased them before I left the states.” He cautiously continued towards the trees. “I crossed several more canals nearly covering my head again with water but each time I repeated the breath holding and continued.” As he finally neared the trees he crouched lower to keep a small profile while he crept along silently. “Some five minutes later,” Sims recalled, “I heard a muffled sound like leaves rustling against trouser legs. I froze. I had one .45 pistol in my hand. Something was there in the darkness.” Sims tensed. Easing his .45 up, he crouched lower, eyes straining to see in the darkness. Cautiously and very slowly, “I took the cricket in my other hand and gave the initial one click challenge.” No response came. Sims looked towards the ceiling and continued softly, “I eased back the hammer and cocked the pistol. I didn’t know what was out there.” His thoughts raced, heart surged faster. He held his breath. Another ‘swish’ sound was barely audible. He continued, “Whatever was there moved again.” He stared to one side of the subdued sound of movement in the night, knowing his night vision would perceive movement better that way. “I tried the cricket challenge again thinking that I would shoot first if the proper response didn’t come back.” No response again. Whoever, or whatever, was out there was very close. “I could make out a faint shadow in the darkness. It was strange, but I didn’t feel afraid.” He had never been in combat, so how could he know how he would react. He felt tense more than fearful. Sims spoke again, this time in lower tones, “I raised the cocked pistol, and aimed directly at the shadow, which was less than twenty feet away. I decided to wait until the last second before firing. That way I could shoot as many Germans as possible before they got me.” Slowly and with a steady pull with his trigger finger, Sims took up the trigger slack.
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About the Book
Spring in coastal Normandy along the French beaches was a magical time—unless it was 1944. There were no gleeful noises of vacationers along the Normandy beaches that spring. Hitler had invaded France several years earlier and the French people were then under the tyrannical influence of German troops, who had taken up residence in the nearby towns and villages around Normandy, building gun turrets and fortifications to bolster the coastal region defenses facing the English Channel. Magic times appeared gone forever. French citizens spoke in hushed tones lest a German sympathizer hear or mistake a comment that could lead to arrest. One never knew who was listening or who was a spy for the feared Germans. No one dared refuse the Germans anything, whether it be their home, their food, or their land, and the German soldiers had a tastes for French wines. The outlook was bleak if you were a Frenchman during those dismal times. Anxious eyes cast out over the English Channel searched the waters for any sign that reported Allied help was coming, only to have those reports cascade into rumors that bore no fruit. Days turned into weeks, then months, and then years, with no sign of help. The spring of 1944 appeared to be a repeat of the previous springs. Such was the life in France under Hitler’s reign. But help was coming. And it was to be dramatic. Herein is the story of one man who took part in not only the invasion of Normandy on D-Day (winning the Bronze Star) but also in Holland for Operation Market Garden, where he won the DSC, as well as in the freezing cold December at Bastogne, where the 101st Airborne Division was surrounded and cut off from help. He left there with a Silver Star.
About the Author
Herb Moore resides near Orangeburg, twenty-five miles outside the South Carolina capital city of Columbia. Raised in Charleston, South Carolina, Moore moved to his present home in 1978. His interest in writing came early but was not put to practice until he wrote his first book. Moore served in the US Marine Corps from 1961 to 1968. His military service provided a background for him to write his first book, Rows of Corn, a nonfiction account of Marine Corps basic training Moore endured during the hot summer of 1963. It was while promoting his first book that Moore appeared on numerous television talk shows throughout the country, as well as on South Carolina ETV programs for writer forums. Moore states his feelings as, “I really don’t care to talk about me. I’m not too interesting, but I am thrilled to talk about the people I write about. History is full of exciting people with really amazing pasts.” Moore went on to author nonfiction magazine feature articles about interesting people he has met, such as the well-known artist Jim Harrison and internationally famous knife designer Blackie Collins. Moore also wrote feature articles about places, such as the world’s longest black water river, the Edisto River. Moore attended college at the University of South Carolina and Charleston Southern University. He and his wife, Kathy, were high school sweethearts and have two sons, Jeffrey (married to Inna and has two children, Silas and Addie) and Greg (married to Molly and has two children, Isaac and Elijah). Herb states, “Kathy and I live in the country on thirty acres, with horses, dogs, and cats roaming about freely. There is always a fence to mend and never time to do it all, but it’s home, and we love it in the country.”