The 7th of June, 1944 - D + 1

GIs of the 4th Infantry Division "Ivy Division", resting for few moments outside a cafe in Baudienville, Normandy, France. 7 June 1944.
(Source)

Private Jack Wilson and his buddy PFC Bill Brandt were awakened fairly early on the 7th of June. Their depleted platoon had fought its way inland until they had captured this small farm, the barn of which they had slept in that night. There were still Germans who were contesting their every move, seems they'd already dispatched or captured all the ones who didn't want to fight. Truth be told, SSG Andersen had told them, I've seen a lot of Poles, Russians, and a few Asian looking fellows amongst the prisoners. Very strange. The two young G.I.s had no idea how desperate the Reich was for manpower.

"Alright guys, get your gear together, eat something, be ready to move in 15 minutes!" With that SSG Andersen had the platoon on their feet and getting ready for another day of war.

"At least we ain't riding in no boats today!" one of the fellows muttered. Jack was thankful of that as well.

German prisoners board a Coast Guard transport after being captured in Normandy.

Grenadier Horst Mellanthin and Obergrenadier Jan Kołodziej were shuffling along the beach with a lot of other POWs. Horst looked terrified, the young man didn't know what was going to happen to them. Where were they going? His eyes cast about looking for something that would make sense. When he did, he hesitated, which earned him a harsh shove from one of the Amis herding them onto the transport vessel.

"Move it you goddamned Kraut!"

Jan couldn't help himself, "Easy soldier, he's just a kid, yesterday was his first battle."

That earned Jan a poke in the guts from the American's rifle barrel. Jan grunted, doubled over clutching his stomach, and hissed, "Głupi drań.¹"

Another American heard that and came over, shoving the brutal G.I. out of the way, "Jesus Kramer you're pretty damned tough when they can't fight back aren't you?" The new soldier helped Jan to his feet, as he did so he asked, "Polska?"

Jan was startled but he answered, in Polish. With that he was pulled out of line. He wanted to stick with Horst, he feared for the kid. He was a babe in the woods. An older German captain had seen the two together and knew the older man was keeping an eye on the young German. He looked at Jan and nodded at the kid, his expression seemed to indicate that he'd take care of the lad.

Jan found himself with a group of non-Germans, five of whom were Polish. He had to wonder what came next. He couldn't help thinking that maybe the Americans were going to shoot the non-Germans fighting with the Germans. He knew the Germans did things like that, he didn't think the Americans did, but one couldn't really know.

Fighting in the Bocage
(Source)

There were just 25 guys in their little platoon and only the lieutenant and the sergeant had survived out of the platoon's leadership. Lieutenant Heintzelman nodded at SSG Andersen, who followed the lieutenant outside of the barn.

"It's just you and me Sergeant, any idea if any of those guys in there could lead a squad?"

SSG Andersen rubbed his chin and took his time before answering. He'd watched these kids all through yesterday, most of them were green as Hell, but he'd noticed that Brandt and Wilson seemed to catch on fast. Not to mention that Brandt had proven himself a damn fine hand with that rifle of his. Peavey and Jenkins seemed pretty cool under fire as well.

"If it was up to me L. T., I'd make Brandt and Jenkins squad leaders, they have what it takes to be good sergeants. Peavey and Wilson are a bit green, but both kids pay attention and learn fast. I think they'd be good assistant squad leaders."

The lieutenant watched SSG Andersen for a long moment, then said, "Bring those guys over to that tree, I'll be waiting for them. You, divide the rest of the men into two squads. For what it's worth Sergeant, I'd have picked the same guys."

SSG Andersen headed into the barn chuckling to himself, "Damn, I think we may have a good officer here, I better keep him alive!"

Brandt, Wilson, Peavey, and Jenkins joined up with the lieutenant. Their shared thought was probably along the lines of, "What have I screwed up now?"

The lieutenant was holding a dark marker of the type used to mark up map overlays. When the men were roughly at attention in front of the lieutenant he told them to relax.

"I know you guys probably think you're in trouble, you're not. But you're probably not gonna thank me for this." With that he marked up the men's field jackets with stripes, three each for Brandt and Jenkins, two each for Wilson and Peavey.

"Alright, Sergeant Brandt, Corporal Wilson, you've got first squad. Sergeant Jenkins, Corporal Peavey, you've got second squad. SSG Andersen is making up the squads right now. You men fought well yesterday, you paid attention, you learned, you kept yourselves and the men with you alive. Keep doing that. Dismissed."

"Bill, what the Hell?" Jack asked his buddy as they went to the barn. "Is that even legal?"

"Sure it is, he's a lieutenant right? But I ain't counting my chickens until I see the paycheck!"

With that, the men went back to war.



¹ Polish for "Stupid bastard."

The 6th of June, 1944 - D-Day

Man the landing craft!
(Source)

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
(Source)

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!
(Source)

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
(Source)

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!

(Source)

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.

(Source)

"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.

(Source)

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

The 5th of June, 1944

Bound for Normandy, U.S. Army troops on board a Coast Guard-manned LCI(L), during the night of 5 June 1944.
(Source)

After being aboard the SS Empire Javelin one night and most of the 5th of June, Private Jack Wilson and PFC Bill Brandt were more than ready to be off. Off the damned ship and back to camp, or off the ship and onto the beaches of France. They'd been briefed that morning on where they were going to land. Bill thought that the code name "Omaha" for their destination was a good omen, he had once had a girlfriend from that city, a sweet girl. She'd married some 4F not six months after he'd shipped out. Jack couldn't quite figure out how that was a "good" omen.

When the engines on SS Empire Javelin rumbled to life once more, and stayed on, Jack figured that this had to be it. When he felt the ship begin to move, he knew that they were on the way to France and whatever destiny awaited them there.

MG-42 Bunker at Omaha Beach
(Source)

Grenadier Horst Mellanthin could still see the bloodstains on the concrete floor of their machine gun bunker where Feldwebel Krause and Gefreiter¹ Dietrich had died. No amount of scrubbing would get the stain out, but the sand he and Obergrenadier² Jan Kołodziej had used to sop up the blood did cover the stain to a certain amount. He thought that he would see those two men for the rest of his days. He had never seen a dead person before. 

Horst was now the assistant gunner, his job was to feed the belt to the machine gun which was now Jan's job to fire. Instead of a sergeant, now their position was commanded by a corporal, a nasty little snot named Schmidt from Berlin who constantly reminded the others that he was a Party member. So now they had an actual Nazi in charge. The job which Horst had held the day before, which was to shuttle ammunition cans up from the lower reaches of the bunker to their position, was now held by, of all things, a Russian of some sort. He spoke a little German, understood more that he let on, and was not overly impressed with Schmidt.

When Schmidt had them line up their grenades next to the gun, along the vision slit, Jan had pointed out that they could be hit by incoming fire. Schmidt just looked at Jan and told him to "keep your filthy Polish opinions to yourself." Not a real popular guy was Schmidt.

Horst was hoping either the Amis or the Tommies would come soon and kill the arrogant little shite. Then again, they might kill him too! He wished now, more than ever, that he was back home on his father's little farm.

The stage is set, all that remains is for the participants to arrive. D-Day, the Sixth of June, 1944, the day the Western Allies returned to France. Liberation for the oppressed peoples of Western Europe is at hand.





¹ Gefreiter - corporal
² Obergrenadier - Basically a private first class.

The 4th of June, 1944

Father (Major) Edward J Waters, a US Army Catholic chaplain, conducts a service on the quayside at Weymouth for army and navy personnel about to take part in the invasion of Europe, June 1944. Troops from Weymouth were destined for Omaha assault area.
(Source)

Private Jack Wilson, PFC Bill Brandt, and thousands of other soldiers lined up to board the ships that would take them to Normandy, though they did not know their destinations just yet. After what seemed like hours, they finally made it up onto the ship that would take them to battle. She was SS Empire Javelin. After they boarded, Bill swore softly under his breath. Jack was a little surprised, Bill seldom swore.

"What is it Bill? What's wrong?"

"Never mind Jack, it's just that have you noticed, this is a British ship."

"So?"

"The Brits have been in this war since 1939, their food is nowhere near as good as ours. Shortages ya know, we'll probably get porridge or something equally disgusting. Then again, it ain't like this is a pleasure cruise is it? One night aboard, two tops, then we land."

The men were ushered below to a maze of bunks stacked six high. A lot of the ship's hold was taken up by the landing craft that would actually take the troops ashore. The men were crammed in wherever the Brits could find space for a bunk. At least they weren't sleeping in hammocks!

Around 0100 hours, or 1 AM as Jack still insisted on saying, they felt the engines on the ship start up. After a half hour or so, they were shut down.

"What d'ya think that was all about Bill?"

"I dunno Jack. Hey, there's the Sarge, let's ask him."

"Sarge, what's the deal, are we moving out or what?"

"Settle down Brandt, the landing has been pushed back a day, so we'll try again tomorrow."

At that point Bill had to explain to Jack that the trip across the Channel could take an entire day. So he guessed the landing had been scheduled for Monday, now it looked like Tuesday was the day.

"Damn it Bill, I just want this over with, the waiting is driving me nuts. So will we go back to the camp?"

"I doubt it, we're probably bunking here for the next cuppla nights. Ya know the Army, hurry up and wait."

And wait they would.

Though for people in Canada, a news flash had announced the invasion of France had begun. Though immediately quashed as a false alarm, the news spread throughout the Americas. Like Bill and Jack, the world had to wait for the real thing.

Two Marauders strike a road and rail junction to keep German reinforcements from reaching the battlefront at Normandy.
(Source)

Feldwebel Krause bellowed "ALARM" as he jumped into his machine gun position. Coming in from the sea he had spotted a number of low-flying aircraft. Coming from that direction, he doubted seriously that they were Luftwaffe aircraft.

Dietrich was ready on the gun, Kołodziej was ready to feed the ammunition belt. As their position was high enough off the beach, they were in a fairly good position to engage the enemy aircraft. Dietrich already had his sights on the lead bird, this should be an easy shot, he thought, they're coming straight at me!

"Standby lads, standby, wait for my signal." Feldwebel Krause didn't want to open fire too early.

Grenadier Mellanthin wondered why the nose of the lead aircraft had flickering lights mounted on it. He thought that rather odd.

A flurry of .50 caliber machine gun fire from the lead aircraft walked up the side of the bluff and right into Krause's gun position. Only two or three rounds went into the position, but one had hit Dietrich, another the Feldwebel. Kołodziej and Mellanthin were untouched, physically. It had been a damned lucky burst from the American navigator, unlucky though for Dietrich and Krause.

Dietrich was gasping for air, one round had hit the concrete lip directly to his front then deflected downward into his abdomen. It felt like he had been punched in the stomach. On the other hand, Krause was down and wasn't moving. One round had entered the Widerstandsnest precisely through the firing slit. It had hit Krause in the upper chest, blowing a huge hole in his back. It was obvious that Feldwebel Wolfgang Krause was dead. Heinrich Dietrich was in the process of dying, rather noisily Horst thought.

Jan was trying to bandage Dietrich's wound, but he was bleeding profusely. And desperately trying to draw in air. Jan yelled at Horst to go get a medic, "Mach schnell Junge!" Horst didn't even notice that Jan's horrendous Polish accent was gone.

"Sanitäter!¹ We need a Sanitäter, two of our guys have been hit!" Horst screamed as he ran out the back of the gun position. Though the company medic made it to the Widerstandsnest in record time, he entered to find the Pole, Jan, kneeling next to Heinrich Dietrich's lifeless corpse. Sobbing uncontrollably.

Seems that Jan didn't hate Germans that he knew. Not at all.




¹ Sanitäter - Medic.

The 3rd of June, 1944

Beach obstacles, Normandy
(Source)

Grenadier¹ Horst Mellanthin staggered into the old barn they had been using as a barracks since his unit had moved up to the Normandy coast. He was exhausted, having spent the bulk of the last three days working on the obstacles on the beach in front of their Widerstandsnest². Each day he managed to grab a few hours of sleep before heading to his machine gun post where he would spend four hours in the wee hours of the night. Then an hour or two of sleep, then do it all over again.

He was starting to get to know the men in his unit, at least the ones he saw every day. His sergeant was a tough old bastard (probably no more than 25, but to a 17-year old, that seems ancient) from Heinsberg, not that far from where he grew up. His name was Wolfgang Krause, he'd been in the Army since the age of 18, having enlisted in 1937. He had seen action in Poland, France, and then North Africa. He had been badly wounded there and had spent a long time, nearly two years, in hospital and rehabilitation. They had sent him to Normandy as the Army considered him too frail to serve in a front line infantry unit.

The machine gunner was Heinrich Dietrich, a city boy from Leipzig who had earned his assignment to this static division by virtue of having lost two fingers in Russia to frostbite, then having part of his foot shot away fighting partisans in Yugoslavia. Feldwebel³ Krause said that Dietrich made the perfect machine gunner, he couldn't walk worth a damn, therefore the odds of him running away were slim to none.

Dietrich's assistant gunner was actually a Pole. His name was Obergrenadier Jan Kołodziej, he had been swept up by the draft in Poland, the Wehrmacht was starting to not be overly picky about who they put in the Army. He seemed like a good guy to Horst, though Horst was a bit miffed that he was outranked by a Pole. He was a very hard worker but kept to himself. Probably because his German was heavily accented. Horst had seen him in the local village and he seemed very popular with the ladies.

None of the Germans realized that Kołodziej had attended university and spoke three languages other than Polish. Hus German was actually quite good, he just didn't want his fellow soldiers to know that. As a child he had been raised to hate two groups of people, the Germans and the Russians. As his mother told him, "At least you're still alive Jan!" Besides which, his French was good enough to get him in the good graces of most of the French in the area, when with them, he made no secret of his disdain for the Germans. It was also great for talking with the ladies!

Live fire training before D-Day

Private Jack Wilson and his good buddy PFC Bill Brandt were sitting in their squad's communal tent, sipping coffee and generally playing the "old soldier." They had no details to perform that afternoon and the Sarge had told them to just take it easy.

"Stay in the tent, if I need you for anything, I'll send someone. The rumor mill says we're moving out and soon. I'll believe it when I see it!"

As they sipped their coffee, a loud explosion went off over towards the supply tent. Wondering what the Hell was going on, they dumped their coffee and headed over that way.

When they arrived, the supply tent was shredded, there were at least three guys on the ground, not moving. A couple of others sat nearby, their uniforms shredded and bloody, with a dazed look on their faces.

"What the Hell happened here?" Bill asked a nearby corporal.

"Some rookie was issuing grenades, the pin on one caught on the edge of a crate, so he yanked it. The two guys who are still alive? They heard the spoon release and they ran for it. The others either didn't notice or didn't know what that noise was."

They'd both seen casualties before from training accidents, but damn, with the big day just days or hours away? Damn, killed in training. At that point the Sarge came up and told them to grab their gear. They were marching down to the pier, "right damn now! Move it!"

Marching to the embarkation point
(Source)

"This ain't how I wanted to spend the weekend, Bill. Stuck on a damn boat!"

"It's a ship Jack, the squids call 'em ships. Do you think this is it? Or is it another damned drill?"

"I dunno Bill, the officers all look kind of somber and grim. I think this is it. But dammit, spending the weekend on a boat, er, ship or whatever the Navy calls them. It ain't right."

Jack and Bill and the rest of their unit boarded the ships that would take them to the invasion beaches. Had to be France they all figured, though one guy had a hundred bucks on landing in Holland. "Closer to the Kraut homeland!" he would exclaim.

The weather had been nice all week, Jack noticed dark clouds building up to the west. To him he thought they were in for some rain. He also noticed the water outside the harbor was looking awfully rough. He double checked his pockets, making sure the seasickness bags were still there.

They were.




¹ I had this wrong the other day, the Germans stopped calling infantry privates Schütze in 1942. Thereafter they were called "Grenadier." Still the lowest rank in the infantry.
² Widerstandsnest - Literally "resistance nest," one of the many defensive posts set up by the Germans along the Normandy coast, and elsewhere.
³ Feldwebel - Sergeant, technically this was the lowest grade at which an NCO could wear a sword knot on parade on his sergeant's sword.

The 2nd of June, 1944

German troops placing beach obstacles.
(Source)

The young German Landser¹ took up his position behind the gunner and the assistant gunner. His sergeant jokingly described the young fellow as the assistant to the assistant go-fer. He had one job, fetch ammunition for the tripod mounted MG-42 machine gun which provided flank protection for the 75 mm cannon in the bunker nearby.

The cannon was aimed down a long stretch of beach, the gunners couldn't see out to sea, the benefit was that anything out at sea, like a warship, couldn't see them either. Their machine gun position had a panoramic view out to sea, to both flanks, and (in a pinch) they could re-locate the gun to fire to the rear of their position as well. But, as the sergeant said, "If the Amis or the Tommies get behind us, then we don't need to worry, because we are already dead at that point."

Grenadier Horst Mellanthin, from a small village in the Rheinland, very close to the Dutch border, had been in the Army only three months. He had been drafted shortly after his seventeenth birthday. He came from a long line of draftees! His grandfather had been a farmer until he was drafted in 1913, then killed in action at Verdun in 1916. His father had been a farmer as well. Drafted into the Army in 1943, after the fall of Stalingrad, at the ripe old age of 37, his father had lost an arm outside of Leningrad in late 1943. Now it was Horst's turn to serve Germany, as his grandmother liked to put it. Easy for her to say, she didn't have to put on a uniform.

Though to be fair, his Oma² lived in Aachen, which had already seen a number of bombing raids. She didn't need to wear a uniform to be at risk!

Horst was exhausted, they worked all day planting beach obstacles, laying mines, and digging fighting positions. He hadn't fired his rifle since training back in April, even then they had only fired maybe fifty rounds. The Reich seemed to be running out of everything. He had asked his sergeant about that, he was told that he was lucky to be in France. The alternative, Russia, didn't appeal to him at all. All his father had ever said of the place, when he wasn't drunk, was that the Russians weren't humans and that they lived in the coldest place on Earth. No, papa did not like Russia or the Russians.

Who could blame him?

"Mellanthin, wake up! Go down to the armory and grab two more boxes of ammo!"

Wearily Horst got to his feet and headed for the ammunition storage. It was going to be a long night.

Rehearsing for the invasion, Slapton Sands
U.S. Army Signal Corps Photo

Private Jack Wilson of Tucson, Arizona was in the best shape of his life. They had just completed a twenty mile route march the other day with full field gear. Six months before that the young draftee would have been lucky to get through a five-mile hike in his gym shorts. The Army had toughened him up a lot.

As he cleaned his M-1 Garand, he realized that he had probably put well over a thousand rounds through his rifle in the past couple of months. Seems all they did was march, shoot, and go out on field problems. Now that was ending, they had moved closer to the coast and were now restricted to their camp. Not enough room for long marches, but plenty of room for calisthenics and endless classroom lectures. Though he'd rather be out in the field than in a classroom, he sensed that something big was about to happen.

Maybe they really were going to invade France! While he wasn't looking forward to boarding an LST³ again, he always got seasick, he was looking forward to seeing action for the first time. His sergeant, who had seen action in North Africa and in Sicily, told him that he would soon see all the action he could handle, and then some. "Come see me a week or two into things, if you're still alive, and tell me again how you can't wait to see action. You're just a f**king kid."

Well, I suppose I am, Jack thought, but still, this waiting is getting on my nerves. At least his outfit hadn't been at Slapton Sands back in April. He'd heard that that had been completely FUBAR'ed⁴, German E-Boats charging in, sinking LSTs left and right. Word was that a few thousand GIs had been killed in that mess. What would prevent the Krauts and their E-Boats doing that again when the big day arrived?

"Hey, Jack, let's go get some chow! Someone said they're serving us steak tonight!"

Jack got up and followed his buddy Bill Brandt out of the tent. Truth be told, he was hungry.

And so begins a small fictional interlude here at The Chant. The Sixth of June approaches, the 76th anniversary of the Invasion of Normandy. I thought I'd share a little something to remember those who fought there, especially those who died there. On both sides.



¹ Schütze - Yesterday I had Horst at this rank, the Germans stopped using that in 1942, the switched to Grenadier, same in English as in German, still a private, still the lowest rank in the infantry.
² Oma - Granny
³ LST - Landing Ship Tank
⁴ FUBAR - F**ked Up Beyond All Recognition

Cecil B...I ain't

Been a productive week here in the world of the juvat clan.  On the downside, Little J is still in durance vile and has reached triple digits.  However, Kuwait is dropping its 24 hour quarantine at home requirement, so maybe things will ease up soon to allow travel.

Which would be nice!

On the home front, today MBD officially enters her fourth decade of existence. (Being 30 sounds less "old" now doesn't it, Dear?)

This being Birthday Week around here MBD is not alone in celebration. Little J will turn 36 tomorrow.  Wish the circumstances were different.  Then on Saturday, some really old guy officially goes on Medicare.  Ah well, any day above ground....

On the Technologic front, I discovered what the issue was between my iPhone and my PC being unable to exchange files.  Or at least the photo part.  Seems that one of the recent iPhone upgrades changed the default photograph format from .jpg to .heif (High-Efficiency Image Format).  The good news is this reduces the file size of the photo by about half.  The bad news is....That format is not compatible with Windows devices.

This Site has a good description on how to change the phone back to store it in .jpg format.  It's in the Settings, about 4 layers deep.

Of Course.

Unfortunately, that doesn't appear to work for movies, although they do seem to auto import into the Windows 10 Photos app.  So....

In trying to get the promised video produced and published, I made three trips up to the Nueva Casa de juvat for the express reason of filming a walk through.  The first was last week with my iPhone and the subsequent debacle of trying to download it.  So, last Monday, I borrowed Mrs J's windows phone and refilmed the walk through using it.  Beans and I had discussed this method in comments last week.

Seemed to work like a champ.  Filming was easy, everything looked normal.

However, (you knew there was going to be a "however", didn't ya?), I RTB'd and plugged the phone in to the computer.  It showed up as a device on my PC, and as I navigated through its file system, there was no new video.  Played around with it a bit more, but no joy.

"Never Give Up, Never Surrender" being one of my creeds, I decided to try a different approach.  While rummaging through that kitchen drawer everybody has, you know the one with batteries and cables and all things completely unrelated to cooking, I came across some digital cameras.  You remember those doncha?  Pre-cell phone cameras that hung around your neck, took pretty good pictures and stored them on something that looked like a fat postage stamp?  Remember?

Well, turns out we had a pretty nice Nikon in there.  I knew I had a supply of SD cards (the postage stamp storage thingy's) in my desk...somewhere.  Finding that, I had a Voila' moment and inserted the card and turned the camera on.

Ok, the camera had been sitting in the drawer for a few years, so went back into the kitchen drawer looking for a charging cable.  After charging, I then took a short, but extremely interesting video of the fan rotating in our bedroom (Video is posted under the "for profit" section of my YouTube channel, in case you're really bored self-quarantining) to insure things were working.

Headed back up to the  Nueva Casa de juvat, and refilmed the project.  Came back home, popped out the SD card and reached over to insert it into my PC.  Only to find that it didn't have an SD Card Slot.

Not to worry, I emptied out all the drawers in my desk looking for a reader, finally finding it in my bookshelf, raced back into the kitchen storage drawer to find a compatible USB cable and finally....

Great Success!

I then realized I wanted to edit the video so the viewer could see what was what in the house.  Further research and $40 got me a reasonable editor, so I began the process of "whipping" together a video.

Which I finally completed.  10 days later.

If you're expecting Cecil B. DeMille quality video, well, I hate to disappoint.  But...

Current status of the house is the drywall is in and now taped, I expect the guys will come in today and finish putting up the corner guards and then putting in the texture.

Brick and Mortar guys finished up Friday and man does it look fantastic.

Two weeks ago it looked like this.

Now, this.

Speaking of pictures, roofs and repairs,  I had mentioned that we'd experienced some wild weather this past week.

Pink and purple are NEVER good things

 

Stock pond is about 50 yards by 40 Yards and about 8' deep.  Just mud before the storm and there are 4 stockponds upstream from this one.  A LOT of rain. Update: If I'd taken this Sunday PM instead of the morning, the pond would be full and I'd be standing knee deep in flowing water.

 

This was taken Monday PM. I couldn't get to the position I took the previous picture due to standing water.

The storm was gracious enough to grant us a lot of wind and rain, such that we need a new roof on our existing house as well as repair on our main gate opener. Both processes will commence today. Doing my part to help restore small business solvency in our area. But Mrs J did step outside after the squall blew through and took some awesome pictures.

Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse

Happy to see the new construction is still standing (in the Eye of the Tiger)

 Update Sunday Evening: Another Monsoon came through this afternoon.  Water crossing our road is about a foot deep and running fast. The stock ponds are one big long one.  We'll see what Monday brings, but we're not going anywhere tonight. At least 7" on the juvat rain gauge so far (I dumped it out) or 2" on a bear's. :-)

Now, back to our regularly scheduled broadcast.

Speaking of Mrs J, she happened to stumble across a video while I was cooking dinner a few nights ago.  She started chuckling, then howling in laughter.  Since she was listening to it on her hearing aids, I had no way of knowing what was going on, and dinner was at that crucial stage, so I asked her to send it to me.

This is a funnier "Smarter Every Day" type of video, and no Squirrels were harmed in it's production.  This guy needs to get out from quarantine very, very soon though.

Have a great week everyone.