Beyond the Call: Medal of Honor Stories

Welcome to Beyond the Call, where history, leadership, and heroism come alive.
Today’s episode takes us to the hedgerow country of Normandy in June of nineteen forty-four, where Private First Class Charles Neilans DeGlopper of the Eighty-Second Airborne Division made a choice that would seal his fate and save his comrades. Under withering German fire near La Fiere, he stepped into the open and drew enemy attention, holding his ground despite multiple wounds. His actions gave his platoon the precious time they needed to withdraw, regroup, and counterattack — a moment of selfless courage that earned him the Medal of Honor.
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On the morning of June ninth, nineteen forty-four, in the hedgerow country of Normandy, France, Private First Class Charles Neilans DeGlopper faced a moment that would define his life and cement his place in history. Serving with Company C, Three Hundred Twenty-Fifth Glider Infantry Regiment of the Eighty-Second Airborne Division, he found himself and his platoon cut off and under relentless enemy fire along the banks of the Merderet River near La Fiere. Surrounded by superior German forces armed with machine guns and rifles, his unit’s survival depended on a single, extraordinary act of courage.
DeGlopper’s decision to stand in the open, drawing enemy fire so his comrades could escape, was not made in haste but in the calm resolve of a soldier who understood the price of freedom. Wounded yet undeterred, he continued to fight until his last breath, his rifle bursts keeping the enemy at bay long enough for others to survive. In those final moments, he transformed from a soldier into a symbol — of sacrifice, of steadfast duty, and of the unbreakable spirit that carried the Allies across Europe.
His story is one of both tragedy and triumph, a testament to the enduring power of individual valor in the face of overwhelming odds. As the smoke cleared on that small stretch of French countryside, the legacy of Charles N. DeGlopper had already begun to take root, destined to inspire generations of Americans to come.
Historical Context
By June of nineteen forty-four, the Allies had committed to the largest amphibious invasion in history, Operation Overlord, to break Hitler’s grip on Western Europe. The Normandy landings on June sixth had brought American, British, and Canadian forces ashore, but securing the beachhead was only the beginning. The bocage — a dense, rural landscape of sunken lanes, hedgerows, and small fields — favored the defenders. German forces, well-entrenched and armed with automatic weapons, mortars, and artillery, made every advance costly.
The Eighty-Second Airborne Division, to which DeGlopper’s Three Hundred Twenty-Fifth Glider Infantry Regiment belonged, had landed in the early hours of D-Day. Their mission was to seize and hold critical causeways and bridges west of Utah Beach, preventing German counterattacks from reaching the coast. The Merderet River, flowing through the countryside near the village of La Fiere, became a key obstacle. Holding its crossings meant denying the enemy the ability to move reinforcements and armor into the American flank.
In the days after the landings, German units including elements of the Ninety-First Air Landing Division and the elite Sixth Fallschirmjaeger Regiment counterattacked fiercely. The fighting at La Fiere became one of the most bitterly contested actions of the Normandy campaign. American airborne and glider troops endured constant sniper fire, machine gun bursts from concealed positions, and accurate mortar strikes that rained down without warning.
Company C of the Three Hundred Twenty-Fifth Glider Infantry was tasked with advancing to secure a bridgehead over the Merderet, a move essential to expanding the Allied foothold. The operation required crossing exposed ground under the watchful eyes of German gunners, who had fortified farm buildings, dug in among hedgerows, and sited their weapons to create deadly overlapping fields of fire. Each step forward demanded both tactical precision and raw courage.
The weather offered no reprieve. The early June skies over Normandy were overcast, and a light mist clung to the fields in the morning hours, giving way to damp, heavy air that carried the smells of churned earth, cordite, and smoke. Muddy roads slowed vehicle movement, and the tall hedgerows limited visibility, turning each field into a potential ambush site. Every gain had to be won yard by yard, often at close range.
For soldiers like Charles N. DeGlopper, the Normandy campaign was not defined solely by sweeping maneuvers or strategic maps. It was a soldier’s war — a brutal, intimate fight where survival often came down to the grit and resolve of small units and individuals willing to face impossible odds. It was in this crucible of fire and uncertainty that DeGlopper would perform the act of heroism that would cost him his life and earn him the nation’s highest military honor.
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Personal Background
Charles Neilans DeGlopper was born on November thirtieth, nineteen twenty-one, in Grand Island, New York, a quiet farming community along the Niagara River. Raised in a family that valued hard work, service, and loyalty, Charles grew up surrounded by the rhythms of rural life. The open fields and close-knit neighbors of Grand Island shaped his sense of responsibility and his readiness to help others without hesitation. Those who knew him remembered his tall frame, quiet demeanor, and unwavering reliability — traits that would later define his service in the Army.
He attended local schools, completing his education at Tonawanda High School. Known to his classmates as both dependable and modest, he was not one to seek the spotlight. Yet he had a natural physical presence, standing well over six feet tall, and carried himself with the quiet confidence of someone who could be counted on when it mattered.
When the United States entered World War Two after the attack on Pearl Harbor, DeGlopper answered the call to service. He enlisted in the United States Army in November of nineteen forty-two, beginning a journey that would take him far from the familiar banks of the Niagara. His decision reflected both a personal sense of duty and the shared resolve of his generation to confront the threat posed by Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan.
Following basic training, DeGlopper was assigned to the Three Hundred Twenty-Fifth Glider Infantry Regiment of the Eighty-Second Airborne Division. Glider infantrymen were a unique and specialized force, trained to land by military glider behind enemy lines, often in hazardous conditions. The role demanded not just combat skill but a willingness to endure high-risk insertions with limited support. His training covered infantry tactics, weapons handling, and survival under fire, preparing him for the kind of close-quarter combat that awaited in Europe.
Before the Normandy campaign, DeGlopper and his regiment saw action in Italy, where the Eighty-Second Airborne had been engaged in fierce fighting. These early experiences tested his resilience and sharpened his combat instincts. He learned the value of quick decision-making, precise coordination, and the necessity of selflessness in battle.
Tragically, his military career would be cut short in the fields of Normandy. DeGlopper’s final act of valor on June ninth, nineteen forty-four, left an enduring mark on the history of the Eighty-Second Airborne Division. After the war, his sacrifice was honored with the Medal of Honor, awarded posthumously, and his name was inscribed in the annals of American military history. Today, his legacy lives on in memorials, including a monument in his hometown of Grand Island, ensuring that future generations will remember the young man who gave everything for his comrades and his country.
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Medal of Honor Citation
He was a member of Company C, Three Hundred Twenty-Fifth Glider Infantry, Eighty-Second Airborne Division, in action in the vicinity of La Fiere, France, on ninth June nineteen forty-four. While his platoon was withdrawing under heavy enemy fire, Private First Class DeGlopper volunteered to cover their movement. Standing in the open, he delivered continuous, accurate fire into the enemy ranks, drawing their fire upon himself and thus enabling his comrades to withdraw to a more favorable position. He was wounded but continued firing until he was killed. His gallant deed and self-sacrifice enabled the platoon to reorganize, attack, and destroy the enemy position, and was in keeping with the highest traditions of the military service.
Where Valor Was Forged
What follows is a blend of recorded history and dramatized combat detail, crafted to bring to life the courage of Private First Class Charles N. DeGlopper. While grounded in the historical record, certain details are reconstructed to convey the intensity and atmosphere of the moment.
The dawn of June ninth, nineteen forty-four, broke reluctantly over the Norman countryside. The first light struggled to pierce a stubborn gray overcast. Low mist clung to the ground, pooling in the folds of the bocage country like thin smoke. The Merderet River ran slow and dark nearby, swollen from spring rains and deliberate German flooding. The air carried a damp chill, tinged with the scent of churned earth and cordite that had hung since the fighting of the previous days. Crows circled above the hedgerows, their caws cutting through the stillness between bursts of distant gunfire.
For the men of Company C, Three Hundred Twenty-Fifth Glider Infantry Regiment, Eighty-Second Airborne Division, the morning was already tense. They had been tasked with securing a bridgehead near the hamlet of La Fiere, a critical crossing over the Merderet. The Germans held the far bank with discipline and determination, using every scrap of cover the hedgerows and farm buildings could offer. Snipers were positioned in upper-story windows and barn lofts. Machine gun teams had dug themselves into narrow embrasures cut through the thick vegetation, creating overlapping arcs of fire. Mortar crews waited with their tubes set, range cards marked, and ammunition stacked in neat piles.
The platoon advanced in a staggered file down a narrow sunken lane, the earthen banks on either side high enough to conceal them from direct fire but too constricted to allow for rapid maneuver if they made contact. The hedgerows loomed over them like walls, thick with years of tangled growth. The ground was soft from the flooding, boots sinking with a quiet squelch, but every man knew that once they cleared the lane, they would be exposed.
The point man halted suddenly, raising a clenched fist. The column froze. A faint metallic sound — the unmistakable racking of a machine gun bolt — carried over the hedgerow ahead. The silence was broken a moment later by the deafening rip of an MG forty-two. The opening burst slashed across the lane, striking the embankments and throwing up showers of dirt and splinters. The platoon reacted instantly: men dove into the shallow ditches, rifles and carbines swinging toward the threat, while the Browning Automatic Rifle team brought their weapon up to try to suppress.
The Germans had the range from the outset. Bullets hissed through the hedgerow leaves, cutting twigs and snapping branches. Mortar rounds began to fall, their banshee-like descent ending in sharp concussions that sent earth and fragments whistling overhead. Somewhere beyond the hedgerow, a sniper’s Mauser cracked, the sharp report carrying above the chatter of the machine gun.
The platoon leader, crouched low in the ditch, keyed his hand-held radio. “Red One, this is Charlie Two-Four. We are pinned in the lane, heavy fire from fixed positions, grid four-three-niner. Mortars and machine guns, multiple. We need to break contact, over.” The reply was tinny and faint through the static: “Charlie Two-Four, Red One copies. Fall back to secondary line. Keep your casualties moving.”
The order came quickly down the line: withdraw to a more defensible position. But the men were hemmed in, and any movement back along the lane would draw fire. The Germans had both flanks covered; they were waiting for the Americans to break cover so they could rake them in the open. Someone would have to draw their attention — someone would have to stand in the open and make themselves the target.
Private First Class Charles DeGlopper did not hesitate. The big man from Grand Island, New York, standing six feet six inches, shifted in the ditch and spoke quietly to the men near him. “I will cover you. Get moving when I start firing. Do not stop until you are clear.” They protested, but the look in his eyes made it clear there was no changing his mind. He pulled extra bandoliers of thirty caliber ammunition from the men around him, slinging them across his shoulders. The metal clips clinked faintly as he moved. He checked his M1 Garand, seating a fresh eight-round en bloc clip with the solid metallic ping of readiness.
Without further word, DeGlopper stepped out of the ditch and into the lane. The moment he rose above the embankment, the enemy saw him. A burst from the MG forty-two lashed the air around him, bullets snapping past with the whip-crack of supersonic lead. He brought his rifle to his shoulder and fired, each shot deliberate, aimed at the muzzle flashes ahead. His tall frame was a beacon in the narrow lane — exactly as he intended.
The platoon leader shouted for the men to move. They began peeling back in fire teams, one moving while the other covered, scrambling over the bank into the cover of the hedgerows behind. DeGlopper advanced a few paces into the open, firing steadily, his voice carrying over the din: “Go! Keep going!”
Bullets chewed the dirt at his feet, punched into the hedge beside him, and struck sparks from a stone wall to his right. A round tore through his sleeve, grazing his arm, but he did not flinch. He reloaded smoothly, the empty clip ejecting with a ringing ping before he slammed home another. Each shot was followed by the metallic click of the bolt cycling, the recoil thumping into his shoulder.
Mortar rounds continued to drop, one landing close enough to spray him with dirt and fragments. He coughed, spat, and kept firing. Behind him, the platoon was making ground, dragging the wounded with them. A wounded man cried out as he was pulled over the bank, but the rest of the squad kept moving — DeGlopper’s stand was buying them those precious seconds.
A German voice shouted an order from the far side of the hedgerow. The machine gun shifted its fire, the bursts coming faster now. A round struck DeGlopper in the shoulder, spinning him slightly. He dropped to one knee, steadying himself against the embankment, and worked the bolt again. His rifle barked, the muzzle flash bright in the morning gloom.
Still the men behind him moved, now almost clear of the lane. The platoon sergeant glanced back and saw DeGlopper, bleeding freely, still firing. “We are clear! Get out of there!” he shouted, but the big man ignored him. He knew the Germans were still pressing, and if he moved now, they might overrun his friends.
Another burst hit him, knocking him sideways. He propped himself against the bank, reloaded one-handed, and kept firing. The smell of burnt powder was thick now, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. He could feel his strength ebbing, but the thought of the men behind him drove him on.
The last of the platoon reached the new position. The platoon leader ordered his Browning Automatic Rifle team to open up, their weapon hammering a steady beat into the German positions. Grenadiers readied their M1s with rifle grenades, thumping them over the hedge. From his position in the lane, DeGlopper fired one final clip, each shot slow and measured, aimed not just to wound but to delay — every round a few more seconds for the others.
The final burst came from the MG forty-two, and this time it struck home. DeGlopper fell still, his rifle clattering to the muddy lane beside him. The silence that followed was momentary, broken by the renewed American fire from the re-formed platoon. They surged forward in a counterattack, pushing the Germans back through the hedgerows and securing the position.
When the firing finally stopped, and the smoke hung low over the field, the cost of their survival was clear. Charles N. DeGlopper had made his stand in full view of the enemy, absorbing the full weight of their fire so his platoon could live. In that open lane by the Merderet, amid the mud, smoke, and shattered hedges, he had carved his place in history — not with words, but with the unflinching defiance of a soldier who knew exactly what had to be done, and did it without hesitation.
Reflections and Lessons Learned
The story of Charles N. DeGlopper offers more than an account of courage under fire. It is a lesson in the power of selflessness when the stakes are absolute. In the chaos of the Normandy campaign, when survival often hinged on instinct and quick reaction, his decision was deliberate and rooted in an unshakable sense of responsibility to those around him. By placing himself in the path of certain death, he demonstrated that leadership is not always about giving orders. Sometimes, it is about standing in the place where others cannot.
His final moments also underscore the essential truth that battlefield success often depends on the quiet, unrecorded acts of individuals. The platoon’s survival, and their ability to regroup and take the enemy position, was built on the foundation of those critical seconds he purchased with his life. This is a stark reminder to every leader, military or otherwise, that decisive action taken at the right moment can alter the course of events far beyond the immediate.
There is also an enduring ethical weight to his sacrifice. DeGlopper’s choice compels reflection on the values we hold, the people we are willing to stand for, and the costs we are prepared to bear for them. In an age where personal risk is often minimized, his act remains a timeless benchmark of moral courage — the willingness to give everything so that others might live.
For the modern soldier, professional, or citizen, his example speaks to resilience under pressure, to the discipline of acting with clarity in a crisis, and to the principle that the welfare of others can be worth more than one’s own safety. These are not abstract ideals; they are living truths, proven in the muddy lane by the Merderet, when a young man from Grand Island decided that the mission, and the lives of his comrades, came first.
Closing
Charles N. DeGlopper’s legacy is not confined to the written pages of history or the stone monuments that bear his name. It endures in the living memory of the Eighty-Second Airborne Division, in the stories passed down through the families of the men he saved, and in the values upheld by those who wear the uniform today. His act at La Fiere was more than a moment of bravery — it was a conscious choice to place duty and brotherhood above life itself.
From the quiet fields of Grand Island to the embattled hedgerows of Normandy, his journey reflects the path of an ordinary American transformed by extraordinary circumstances. In the crucible of war, he proved that courage is not the absence of fear, but the mastery of it. The time he bought with his final stand carried his comrades forward to victory, ensuring that his sacrifice was not in vain.
As we reflect on his story, we are reminded that the freedoms we enjoy today were secured by individuals willing to face the most harrowing dangers for the sake of others. To honor Charles N. DeGlopper is to remember that true heroism lies not in seeking glory, but in quietly, steadfastly doing what must be done — even when the cost is everything.