WW2 -- D Day accounts

I saw one of my sergeants there and his left thumb was gone but he didn't look as if he was hurt too badly, so I called his name and told him to get up and come with us, and I rolled him over and he was dead....Just in front of him was another fellow, Butch Blader, who was living there so I hollered at him 'Let's get up and go'...and he kinda looked back over his shoulder at me and didn't say anything and when I got closer I saw that there was blood all over his back and he'd been hit in the stomach and the bullet had passed right through and come out of his spine.... So I started towards the sea wall...and then I was hit by machine-gun fire in the left leg and the pain was terrible....I started out to cross the beach with 35 men and only six got to the top, that's all.....Bodies were spread everywhere, you could hardly walk on the sand for bodies, and I thought, 'This part of the invasion's over, I just hope they're doing better on Utah and the British beaches..."

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Thomas Valence
Omaha Beach
Company A, 116th Infantry Regiment, U.S. 29th Division

We proceeded toward the beach, and many of the fellows got sick. The water was quite rough. It was a choppy ride in and we received a lot of spray.

Our boat was one of six of A Company in the first wave, and when we got to the beach, or close to it, the obstacles erected by the Germans to prevent the landing were fully in view as we were told they would be, which meant the tide was low.

I was the rifle sergeant, and followed Lieutenant Anderson off the boat, and we did what we could rather than what we had practiced doing for so many months in England. There was a rather wide expanse of beach, and the Germans were not to be seen at all, but they were firing at us, rapidly, with a great deal of small arms fire.

As we came down the ramp, we were in water, about knee-high, and we started to do what we were trained to do--move forward, and then crouch and fire. One of the problems was we didn't quite know what to fire at. I saw some tracers coming from a concrete emplacement, which to me looked mammoth. I never anticipated any gun emplacements being that big. I attempted to fire back at that, but I had no concept of what was going on behind me. There was not much to see in front of me, except a few houses, and the water kept coming in so rapidly, and the fellows I was with were being hit and put out of action so quickly, that it became a struggle to stay on one's feet. I abandoned my equipment, which was very heavy.

I floundered in the water and had my hand up in the air, trying to get my balance, when I was first shot. I was shot through the left hand, which broke a knuckle, and then through the palm of the hand. I felt nothing but a little sting at the time, but I was aware that I was shot. Next to me in the water, Private Henry G. Witt was rolling over towards me. "Sergeant, they're leaving us here to die like rats. Just to die like rats." I certainly wasn't thinking the same thing, nor did I share that opinion. I didn't know whether we were being left or not.

I made my way forward as best I could. My rifle jammed so I picked up a carbine and got off a couple of rounds. We were shooting at something that seemed inconsequential. There was no way I was going to knock out a German concrete emplacement with a 30-calibre rifle. I was hit again, once in the left thigh, which broke my hip bone, and a couple of times in my pack, and then my chin strap on my helmet was severed by a bullet. I worked my way up onto the beach and staggered up against a wall, and collapsed there. The bodies of the other guys washed ashore, and I was one live body amongst many of my friends who were dead and, in many cases, blown to pieces.

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George Roach
Omaha Beach
Company A, 116th Infantry Regiment, U.S. 29th Division

The company commander was Captain Taylor N. Fellers and the exec was Lieutenant Ray Nance. Lieutenant Anderson headed up our 30-man boat team, and each boat team had riflemen, wire cutters, bangalore torpedo men, and flamethrower people. I was with flames--the assistant flamethrower. There were also demolition men, to blow the pillboxes. My job was to follow the flame gunner, Sergeant Greenstreet, and when his flame tank ran empty, I'd switch on a fresh five-gallon drum.

As our assault craft came closer to shore, the British crew told us, "We're going to drop this ramp and as soon as we do, we're going to back out, so you guys better be ready." When we hit the sand, the ramp went down and Lieutenant Anderson was the first off the boat with Private Dominguez. In the next few seconds, I went off, and I saw Dominguez had already been shot and was lying in the water and sand. There were 100 yards of open beach in front of us. Casualties were bad. I dropped into the sand and fired at the house and Sergeant Wilkes asked me, "What are you firing at?" I said, "I don't know. I don't know what I'm firing at."

Lieutenant Anderson was 25 to 30 yards in front, waving his hand for us to move forward, and suddenly there was no more sign of life from him. The tide came in rapidly and suddenly I didn't see anyone else except Gil Murdoch, and I asked him how he felt. He said, "I can't see--I lost my glasses."

I didn't see anybody from our company, so Gil and I got back into the water and went out to a knocked-out DUKW. Gil was wounded so I told him to stay until a boat picked him up. I started to swim ashore and a boat picked me up around 10:30. I finally joined up with what was left of A Company. There were only eight of us left for duty.

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The boats were flat bottomed, with a ramp that dropped down in the front, and we had been issued a puke bag for sea sickness and as it turned out, one wasn't enough.

As we approached the beach about 6:30 AM, the shells were dropping in the water and machine gun bullets whizzing over our heads, and Sergeant Robey told the coxswain to run our boat right up on the beach and he did and we got off on dry land. We ran straight for a shale wall and as I ran from the boat, I saw the bullets tearing up the sand on either side of me and I thought this is like a war movie. After we got to the shale wall, I looked back at the boat we had just left when an artillery shell hit it in the engine compartment and it blew up.

I watched another boat come in and as the guys came running to the wall, one got a direct hit with a mortar shell and all I could see of him were three hunks of his body flying through the air. We were all sick and scared from the pounding and the ride in, and the tide was coming in and our beach was getting smaller. We could see the bodies of the dead rolling in the surf. Our company commander took a shrapnel wound to his left leg that was so severe, the medic couldn't stop the bleeding and he bled to death. The company executive officer took over, and he had the company for less than an hour when a sniper got him. We only lost one man in our boat group, who got hit in the shoulder. After what seemed like an eternity, we started up the draw to the top of the cliff overlooking the beach. This was about 10 AM. We had just got a good start up the draw when we were pinned down by a machine gun emplacement built into the side of the cliff.

By radio, the Navy was contacted and a destroyer came in quite close to the beach and stopped dead in the water. A sailor came out of the hatch and went to a forward gun turret, turned the gun towards the machine gun emplacement and let go with a couple of rounds. This silenced the machine gun. On top of the cliff there were minefields with a path through them, but it was laid with barbed wire. We had to crawl through this or else step on a mine.

Out of the eight of us in the squad only four rifles would fire. The others were clogged with sand from the beach. A little farther up the road I saw my first dead German. His helmet was off and I could see the name Schlitz printed in his helmet.

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As the boat made the run for the beach, the lieutenant went to each man and patted them on the back and told them, "Go get them rascals!"

After we jumped into the water, it was every man for himself. I waded parallel to the beach with my squad because the heavy fire was directed towards the boats. As I was going straight towards the beach, I saw Lieutenant Hilscher go down on his knees as a shell exploded. He fell into the hole caused by the explosion. He died there on the beach. Lieutenant Hilscher was from Texas.

When I finally reached the edge of the water, I started to run towards the seawall under a deafening roar of explosions and bullets. I saw a hole about 75 feet away, so I ran and jumped in, landing on top of O.T. Grimes. As soon as I caught my breath, I dashed forward again, but had to stop between the obstacles in order to rest. The weight of wet clothes, sand, and equipment made it difficult to run. One of the South Boston soldiers, Mervin L. Matze, had run straight to the seawall and was motioning for us to come on. At the same time, he was yelling, "Get off the beach!" Our only chance was to get off the beach as quick as possible, because there we were sitting ducks.

While resting in between the obstacles, Private Gillingham fell beside me, white with fear. He seemed to be begging for help with his eyes. His look was that of a child asking what to do. I said, "Gillingham, let's stay separated as much as we can, because the Germans will fire at two quicker than one." He remained silent and then I heard a shell coming and dove into the sand facedown. Shrapnel rose over my head and hit all around me. It took Gillingham's chin off, including the bone, except for a small piece of flesh. He tried to hold his chin in place as he ran towards the seawall. He made it to the wall, where Will Hawks and I gave him his morphine shot. He stayed with me for approximately 30 minutes until he died. The entire time, he remained conscious and aware that he was dying.

We were supposed to wait at the seawall until wire cutters could cut the tremendous web of wire that the Germans had placed on top of it. During this time, Lieutenant Wise of F Company was directing his team behind the seawall when a bullet hit him in the forehead. He continued to instruct his men until he sat down and held his head in the palm of his hand before falling over dead.

We waited at the seawall until time to cross over the path cleared by the wire cutters. As we crossed the seawall, Germans in pillboxes fired up on each man as he dashed forward. After we crossed, the ground provided more protection with small bushes and gullies. We took time to reorganize and planned to knock out the pillbox. First we tried direct attack using TNT on the end of long poles, but this was impossible because the Germans could shoot the men down as soon as they saw them coming through the barbed wire strung in front of the pillboxes.

We then decided to run between the pillboxes and enter the trenches that connected them. These trenches had been dug by the Germans and gave them mobility, and a means of escape. We entered the trenches, slipped behind the pillboxes, and threw grenades into them. After the explosion, we ran into the boxes to kill any that survived the grenade.

Rows of pillboxes stood between us and the top of the cliff. Slowly, one by one, we advanced forward. The bravery and gallantry of the soldiers was beyond belief. Soldiers were determined to do their job, regardless of the cost.

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German Perspective

The alarm call into the bunker woke us from a deep sleep. A comrade stood in the entrance and continued to shout the alarm, to dispel any doubt, and urged us to hurry. We had so often been shaken to our feet by this call in the past weeks that we no longer took the alarms seriously, and some of the men rolled over in their bunks and attempted to sleep. An NCO appeared in the entranceway behind our comrade and brought us to our feet with the words "Guys, this time it's for real. They're coming!"

We sprang to action. With carbines in grasp, we ran to our positions. All weariness evaporated. Machine guns, heavy guns, and mortars were prepared. We stood next to our weapons, ready for action, but the night remained quiet. Soon the first message came from the company. In Sainte-Mère-Eglise, enemy paratroopers had landed. Large numbers of ships had departed southern England and were headed toward Normandy.

Our coastal section remained quiet--nothing moved. Was it once again a false alarm? The minutes slowly ticked by, and we stood at our weapons and shivered in the thin summer uniforms. The cook prepared hot red wine. An NCO appeared and checked our readiness, saying, "When they come don't shoot too soon." Then I was alone at my machine gun.

The silence weighed heavily upon us and the tension continued to build. Soon the sound of bomber squadrons could be detected in the air and faded again in the distance. Like before, they would always fly over our sector. It remained quiet for only a short time and with the morning dawn came more bombers. Dark shadows could be detected on the horizon, and we first believed them to be German patrol craft, but soon the shadows grew and became so numerous that all hope was dispelled. The detectable wake from large and small ships increased in number. More bombers approached the coastline, and at Port-en-Bessin, a few kilometers from us, the first bombs fell.

More bombers approached and I stood behind my heavy machine gun with its sights trained on the sea. Once again I inspected the ammunition belt. I attempted to concentrate on my weapon to take my mind away from the impending events. In the recesses of my gun position stood ignition switches for two flamethrowers which were aimed at the beach and the tank trench.

The bombers were suddenly over us and it was too late to spring into the prepared dugout for cover. I dove under the gun as bombs screamed and hissed into the sand and earth. Two heavy bombs fell on our position, and we held our breath as more explosions fell into the hinterland. Debris and clouds of smoke enveloped us; the earth shook; eyes and nose were filled with dirt, and sand ground between teeth. There was no hope for help. No German aircraft appeared, and this sector had no antiaircraft guns.

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Letters from the front

France
July 22, 1944

Darling:

...Yesterday I had to visit all the units again, to get statements for my report. The regiment is in contact with the enemy, so such trips always have their skin-prickling moments. I got back pretty tired about 7 o'clock, just in time to get a phone call from the CO of one of Sirrine's battalions, also in the line, requesting me to come up to discuss personal problems of his body-guard, a fine young fellow who had simultaneously received word that his sister, an army nurse, and a brother, a flyer, had both been killed in the So. Pacific, and that his remaining brother had been critically wounded with another division here in France.

While up there, I hit the favorite hours for Jerry's activities, and, frankly, pretty nearly had the pants scared off me, with samples of shelling, mortar-fire, and strafing. I got back at midnight, having driven the jeep myself all day (my driver being on guard) slipping and slewing through mud axle deep whenever I got off the surfaced roads, which was frequently. I hate to admit it, but after a day like that, I feel my years. Yeah, man! War is a young man's game!...

News on 90th has been released. Maybe you know something now of what the boys have gone through: constant contact with the enemy since D-Day. They've taken their losses, too. Somebody says "Old Bill got it today." "No!" you say. "Son-of-a-bitch!" And you go on about your business, with a little more emptiness inside, a little more tiredness, a little more hatred of everything concerning war.

There is a certain cemetery where some of my closest friends in the division lie. I saw it grow -- shattered bodies lying there waiting for graves to be dug. Now it is filled. The graves are neat and trim, each with its cross. Occasionally I visit it when passing by. Always there are flowers on the graves: Sometimes a potted geranium has been newly brought in; sometimes there is a handful of daisies. The French people, especially the children, seem to have charged themselves with this little attention. Our bombers are roaring overhead just now, in the hazy afterglow of sunset. In a few seconds I'll hear the crunch of bombs -- a good-night kiss for the Nazis. There they go!

The war news is good; but we're fighting over optimism. I suppose people at home are elated; the boys up front are still in their fox-holes.

I'll try to write at least a note every day or so. Take care of yourself. I'm fine.

Love,
John

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Holland
February 22, 1945

Dear Ms. Troby,

...But the gents that I speak of down here are usually known but to a few -- and ask no publicity. There are some of the officers and NCOs who live down there in hell -- just a few miles from here -- and they stay there days, weeks, and months, until they are killed. There are just a few. They teach men, feed them, protect them, and lead them sooner or later into the jaws of a hell that is the bloodiest, dirtiest, most vicious kind of murder that man, with all his machines, has been able to devise.

These men are loved with a kind of love that exists no place but on the battlefield -- and it is never talked about. These gents go for days without sleep, give away their clothes, go without food, keep going when they are sick, perform miraculous feats when they are wounded, and take the suicidal details rather than ask someone else to do it. They are never afraid, they are never cold, they never complain, and they spend all of their time trying to think of ways to help their men -- and to save them. I don't know if they are happy -- but if it isn't selflessness I never hope to see it.

And I don't mean to leave out the privates -- but the officers and non-coms are the ones I'm thinking of. Remember I said there were just a few like this. The stories come trickling in every once in a while. They usually stay there until they die. Surely they must be God's people. He was like that. I'm sure they swore and drank and did a lot of other things -- but I am sure God got them when they went away...

Bye you,
Whitney

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France
June 10, 1945

Sweetheart,

Went to church tonite. I was delighted again to see colored and white boys worshipping together. I sure hope some of the principles of democracy learned in the army will carry on after the war. -- Boy am I messing this up! -- Poor pen! I don't know if it'll last through this letter or not.

Wish I knew how you're making out, Honey. -- New Pen -- If I'd known I would be here this long, I'd have managed to get an answer somehow. But they keep telling us -- "You have to be out by June first" and such stuff -- However, if the latest rumor develops, I'll be on my way the 13th and in the states by the 20th

I think of you so much, Honey and wonder how you are, what you are doing, etc. It makes it hard to write not knowing a thing about home.

Someone on the radio is singing "Always." -- I will be loving you always, Dearest. And right now, I'm wanting you so much I can hardly stand it. -- Be with you soon though. -- By the way, things change pretty rapidly in the army, but right now the War Dept. says Ex P.W.'s won't be deployed to the Pacific -- and that suits me. -- See you soon, sweets. -- Loads of Love Always. In fact, all my Love always!!
Paul

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