Charles DeGlopper's Last Stand and Medal of Honor at Normandy

Dec 26 , 2025

Charles DeGlopper's Last Stand and Medal of Honor at Normandy

The air choked on smoke and blood. Machine guns cracked like thunder, relentless and unforgiving. Charles N. DeGlopper stood alone on that shattered ridge, a thin line between his brothers and an enemy swallowing ground. Bullets shredded hope all around him. Still, he fired. Still, he fought. Still, he stayed—knowing damn well he’d never walk off that hill alive.

The Boy From New York

Charles was no stranger to grit. Born in Mechanicville, New York, 1921, raised on hard work and humble faith. His roots dug deep into a simple American soil where honor meant showing up and doing what was right, no matter the cost. A Catholic upbringing shaped him—a steady hand in chaos, a soul anchored by scripture and service.

Faith was never just Sunday words. It was the whispered strength behind every step.

“Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” — John 15:13

DeGlopper lived that verse before he ever saw war.

The Battle That Defined Him: Normandy, June 9, 1944

D-Day had cracked open Europe’s defenses two days earlier. The 82nd Airborne Division—DeGlopper’s unit—was slugging its way inland near Sainte-Mère-Église. Their mission was simple: hold the flank, cover the retreat, and buy time for reinforcements. Simple, until the lead elements crumbled under artillery and machine guns.

DeGlopper volunteered for the grim task—to stay behind with a small group and provide covering fire. The German troops surged, hellbent on wiping them out. Outnumbered, outgunned, and bleeding, DeGlopper manned a single .30 caliber machine gun.

One by one, his men fell back. One by one, they vanished from sight. But DeGlopper stayed. He fired in sweeping bursts, feeding ammo into the chokehold, forcing the enemy to focus fire on him... and buying time for his comrades to escape the killing ground.

The magazine ran dry. Time slowed and then snapped. He grabbed more rounds. Fired again.

When the gun jammed, he didn't falter. He dove into a deadly melee, fighting with knife and fists until the final bullet found him.

A single soldier holding an entire line—a sacrifice cut in pure iron and blood.

Honors Etched in Valor

The Medal of Honor came posthumously. To honor a man who refused to leave, who turned the tide with courage and grit.

The citation reads:

"For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity above and beyond the call of duty...he withstood machinegun fire, inflicted heavy casualties on the enemy, and enabled the remainder of his company to withdraw."

Generals and comrades alike remembered him as a last stand, a line drawn where hope would live, forged at his dying breath.

Major General Matthew Ridgway said later of the 82nd Airborne’s fight:

“DeGlopper’s action exemplifies the highest ideals of our airborne forces—unhesitating courage in the face of mortal danger.”

Legacy in the Fires of Sacrifice

Today, a bridge in Normandy carries his name—a permanent reminder that freedom is held at the cost of heroes like DeGlopper.

His story isn’t just about glory or medals. It’s about brotherhood sealed in sacrifice. The debt we owe to those who stood when everyone else fell back. About the scars worn silently and the faith that heels them.

His last stand teaches this: courage is messy. It’s loud, chaotic, and often lonely. But it’s the quiet resolve to protect something bigger than yourself.

To honor him is to acknowledge that freedom rides on the backs of men like Charles DeGlopper—steady, determined, and willing to live and die for others.

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.” — Deuteronomy 31:6

DeGlopper’s legacy lives in that promise. In every veteran who faces the crucible, every family who prays for their safe return, and every citizen who lives free because a man stood his ground—alone against the storm.

May we never forget the cost. May we never forget the man.