The 6th of June, 1944 - D-Day

Man the landing craft!
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The climb down into the Higgins boat had been terrifying. The boat was rising up and down in the swell and even shifting away from the side of SS Empire Javelin. Private Jack Wilson forget just how seasick he was when he saw a fellow trooper mistime his jump into the Higgins boat. The man disappeared below the surface of the water before anyone could react.

The British coxswain bellowed out, "Keep moving lads, there's naught to be done for that one, he's at the bottom of the Channel by now! Let's go now, shake a leg!"

It was then that the man on the net above him stepped on his hand. He'd forgotten to keep both hands on the vertical lines in his shock at seeing the guy miss the boat and fall into the sea. It hurt like a son of a gun, but he could still flex it, so he figured he'd be okay. As the Higgins boat pulled away from the side of SS Empire Javelin he glanced over at his buddy PFC Bill Brandt. Bill looked awfully pale, but he still managed to nod at Jack and give him a quick grin. Damn, Jack thought, Bill's as scared as me!

German soldiers of the 709th Division in Normandy
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Grenadier Horst Mellanthin could barely keep his eyes open as he gazed out of the bunker looking towards the sea, hoping the fresh air off the water would wake him up. It was a hazy, drizzly day, everyone said the enemy wouldn't come for a while now. So he was looking forward to getting off duty. He didn't even care if they got anything to eat or not, he just wanted to sleep.

"Stay awake Junge, we've got another couple of hours to go." Obergrenadier Jan Kołodziej nudged him good-naturedly as he took up his position behind the gun.

"Where's Ivan?"

"Who? Oh, the Russian, he went to get some more ammo. He says he's not comfortable with what we've got. He says he feels that something's coming today."

"Ach, silly old Russian, they grow them superstitious out that way. To think I grew up hating Germans and Russians now my life seems to depend on one of each!" Jan chuckled as he lit a cigarette.

"Who did you grow up hating you stupid Pole?" Gefreiter Schmidt asked with a sneer as he strutted into the bunker.

"Give me one of those cigarettes, now!"

Jan just looked at the man, he'd known the guy for a while, didn't like him at all. He couldn't believe the lieutenant had put him in charge of their gun position. Little bastard had never been to the front before last month, because the little snot's father was some sort of Party official back home. Jan didn't care, this German he hated. The kid wasn't so bad, even the Russian, who's name was actually Vladimir, wasn't a bad sort. He worked his ass off, that was certain.

"Might I suggest that you go..."

At that moment, Horst saw something out to sea, in fact, a number of somethings. He grabbed Jan's shoulder and said, "Jan, are those ships out there? Are those ours?"

Jan shifted his attention from the Nazi corporal and looked out to sea.

"Cholera jasna!¹ Horst get a belt in, you," looking at Schmidt, "go get the Russian and tell him he was right! They're coming!"

When Schmidt looked out to sea, and saw the amazing number of ships materializing out of the morning sea mist, his mouth dropped open and he wet himself.

"Mein Gott! They will kill us all! I'm going to headquarters" And without a further word he ran out of the position.

Vladimir saw the corporal run past him as he went back to the position with four more boxes of belted 7.92 mm ammunition. He shrugged, it wasn't like the little Nazi shit was of any use, better to have him out of the way. As he entered the position, he noticed that the German kid and the Pole were manning the gun. The grenades which the idiot Schmidt had put along the vision slit were now where they belonged. Though he didn't like Poles all that much, and cared less for Germans, these two guys seemed to know their business.

When he saw the ships out to sea, all coming their way, he put the ammo boxes down and muttered in Russian, "Ага, мой внутренний инстинкт был верным!²"

The coast in sight!
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PFC Bill Brandt and Private Jack Wilson were both miserable, their landing craft was pitching, rolling, and yawing like some demented beast. They were both soaked by waves coming in over the side and Jack wasn't worried about needing his seasickness bags, the deck of their Higgins boat was awash with vomit and seawater, damned near everybody was being sick, except the Sarge and their platoon leader, a newly minted Second Lieutenant named Heintzelman from Pennsylvania. He seemed to be enjoying the ride.

"Damn it L. T. put your fool head down before some Kraut blows it off!" Sarge bellowed at the young officer.

The lieutenant just turned around and grinned at his sergeant. Now Staff Sergeant Andersen was an old hand, he'd seen action in North Africa and in Sicily. He'd never lost a platoon leader and he wasn't about to start now. Moving forward he grabbed the lieutenant by his web gear and pulled him down into the boat. As he did so, the first German machine gun rounds snapped over the top of the boat.

Jack heard a soft grunt behind him, when he turned he saw that a guy in Second Squad had taken a round through his helmet. Which didn't do him any good, the MG round had gone through the steel pot, the liner, and Bob Jackson's forehead. An inch higher and he would have had nothing more than a headache.

Then Jack and Bill both felt their Higgins boat come to ground, turning to look at each other, both nodded, then gripped their Garands tighter as the ramp came down.

Omaha Beach, Easy Red sector
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Jack had the impression of running through a red mist as he tried to get off the boat as fast as he could. Machine gun rounds had slaughtered at least ten men to his front. Coming off the ramp he stumbled and fell. As he started to panic, he felt a hand grab his collar and yank him upright.

"Run Jack, run. If we stay on this beach we're dead men. Hustle to that seawall to our front. Looks like half the platoon is down. Good Lord, this is awful."

Pretty strong language from his old buddy Bill, but move they did. Jack felt like he was in one of those dreams he used to have as a kid, where some horrible monster was chasing him and no matter how fast he pumped his legs, it felt like he was running in quicksand.

The seawall was right there, wasn't really a wall at all, just shingle heaped up above the high tide line, but the two buddies saw other G.I.s sheltering there, so it had to be somewhat safe!

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Jan felt a hand on his shoulder as a voice said, "Swing your MG to the left, nail those guys by the shingle. Poor bastards think they're safe there!"

Jan did as he was told, not realizing that their platoon sergeant had joined them in the bunker. But sure enough, it was the moment he had been waiting for, he pulled the trigger...

The men at the shingle were torn to pieces as Jan walked his rounds up the line, then back down. He quickly swung the gun to try and catch a small party of men who were trying to get below their line of fire at the base of the bluff. He just wasn't in time.

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"Move it guys, get under them where they can't depress that gun, move if you wanna live!"

Sarge had got them under the Kraut MG, Jack looked around, Bill was still with them, as was their green lieutenant, and a couple of guys Jack didn't recognize. The lieutenant had his map out and handed it to SSG Andersen, pointing with a remarkably steady hand, the lieutenant said, "I think we're about here, we're not where we're supposed to be!"

SSG Andersen just shook his head, yeah, right, a lieutenant who can read a map. As he studied what he could see of the terrain, and the curve of the coastline, he realized the lieutenant was right. Damn, now I've seen everything, the Sarge chuckled softly.

"Something funny Sergeant?" the lieutenant asked.

"Geez, L. T., what were you, a Boy Scout or something, never seen a butter bar who could read a map. No disrespect intended. Sir."

"Yes, I'm an Eagle Scout, I know how to read a map. Now what's next Sarge? I can read a map, but I've never been in combat. I'm thinking we need to take out that gun."

Still grinning, the Sarge had the lieutenant, Bill, and the two strangers move to the right about ten yards, still outside the beaten zone of the Kraut MG. "Come with me Wilson!"

Jack followed his sergeant to the left a ways, then he saw what looked like a path going up. He pulled out his bayonet and starting probing the ground. The word "Mines" popped into Jack's head. Shit!

Not finding anything, Sarge moved further up, then he saw what he was looking for, the barrel of a Kraut MG, sweeping the beach and killing their guys.

"Gimme your grenades, Wilson. Now I'm gonna hold them, you pull the pins, then I'm gonna toss them into that Kraut vision slit. When I do, put your head down!"

Jack's hands were shaking as he handed the sergeant his grenades. "Easy kid, you're doing great!" the Sarge told him. Jack pulled the pins, then the Sarge waited a second, then threw the grenades, spoons flying off in mid-air, the grenades arching nicely into the bunker's vision slit.

"Scheisse!" was all Oberfeldwebel Gerhard managed to say when he realized that two grenades had just come into the bunker. Before he could say another word, both grenades detonated, one was a bit of a misfire, it made a dull bang and didn't really fragment, but it was enough to damage the MG-42's feed tray, which Horst had opened before loading a new belt.

The other went off with full force behind their platoon sergeant. Fritz Gerhard's body absorbed most of the fragments which would have killed everyone in the bunker. His body also absorbed all of the blast. He looked around, confused. Then he died.

Jan started to shake, wondering why this Widerstandsnest was so jinxed. Vladimir was groaning, he had caught a fragment in his bicep which had done a lot of damage, he was bleeding like a pig. Jan realized that the place was suddenly quiet. The blast overpressure had damaged his ears.

Horst had a couple of deep scratches on his face but seemed alright. He too could not hear a thing from the way he was pulling at his ears and shaking his head. Jan examined the gun, it was wrecked, they couldn't feed a belt through it, that's for sure. Quickly assessing things, he bound up Vladimir's wound as best as he could, he would need a surgeon to keep that arm. But now, we need to get the Hell out of here!

After the grenades had gone off, Jack had waved for the others to join them. They scrambled up as the Sarge headed further up the bluff. There, there's the back door to that damned bunker.

"Sergeant, what the Hell are you doing?" the lieutenant yelled up at SSG Andersen.

"Watch and learn, L. T., watch and learn."

Yelling at Jack and Bill to "get up here and cover my ass boys!" Andersen jumped into the trench leading to the bunker entrance. As he pulled the pin on another grenade, Jack saw a German coming down the trench towards the sergeant. Before he could say a word, PFC Bill Brandt fired two rounds from his M-1 which hit the Kraut right in the chest. He went down like a dropped sack of potatoes, a look of utter surprise on his face.

Nazi Party member Schmidt's war had ended the same day it began.

SSG Andersen released the spoon on his grenade, then tossed it into the bunker. A dull bang was all he heard.

"Damned grenades got soaked coming ashore!" As he pulled another out, he heard screaming from inside the bunker, "Don't shoot, we surrender!" He thought it odd that the Kraut spoke English with a Chicago accent.

"Come out, Hände hoch!³"

Three Krauts stumbled out of the bunker, a couple of older guys and one kid. The kid's ears were bleeding, probably from the grenade blast.

"On your knees you Nazi bastards, hands on your heads." As Andersen yelled this at the Germans he had slapped the helmets from two of the guys. One guy didn't move, he was bleeding from his upper arm. "Cover me." the sergeant yelled out.

He checked the guy on the ground, he was dead. In all of the excitement, Jan hadn't bound Vladimir's wound properly and he had bled to death.

"Sorry Fritz, but your buddy is dead."

"Stop calling me Fritz, I'm not German, I'm Polish. Only he is German," he indicated with a nod of his head in Horst's direction. "The dead guy is Vladimir, a Russian."

"What kinda crazy outfit is this?" SSG Andersen muttered. "You two, from the 29th, get these Krauts down to the beach, alive!"

Before they left, SSG Andersen asked Jan where he'd learned English.

"I learned from a girl from Chicago, visiting her grandparents in Poland before the war. Don't all of you Americans talk this way?"

"Not hardly buddy, now move along."

Jack Wilson and Bill Brandt had survived the Normandy landings. They, and their division, had much hard fighting in the future. But they were ashore, and no Kraut army would ever drive them out.

But too many men, on both sides, would not live to see June 7th.

Say a prayer for them.

Remember them.

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¹ "Damn it," in Polish
² Roughly "Yeah, my gut feeling was right!"
³ Hands up!