Our Life in Combat Begins

Across the English channel in France, the Allies had captured the port of Cherbourg at the end of June but the main battle front was still only a few miles from the original landing beaches. And we still had no inkling of what our assignment was to be, even on July 27 when we got the word to proceed to Southampton to load onto a ship bound for France.

Our impression of England was very fleeting as we drove south in our own jeeps, trucks and half-tracks, detouring around London and on to the marshaling area at the port of Southampton. It soon became apparent that we were not going to be among the first to land at the docks in Cherbourg-our ship was an LST (Landing Ship-Tank) with huge doors in its prow that opened to drop a ramp in shallow water at a beach so that tanks and other vehicles could drive off under their own power.

By mid-afternoon, we were loaded onto LST 328 under the direction of a very competent U.S. Navy crew. After pulling away from the dock, we headed out into the English Channel for a rendezvous with several other LST's and navy ships which were there to protect us from submarines and airplanes. We had a blimp-like balloon attached by a cable to the bow of our ship. It floated several hundred feet in the air and was meant to discourage torpedo bombers and strafing aircraft from flying over our convoy at low altitude.

It was late evening when we began to head for shore. The sun glowed orange-red on our silvery barrage balloon as the LST threaded her way through a tangled breakwater of sunken ships and grounded her flat bottom on the sandy shores of St. Martin de Varreville, now known as Utah Beach.

German bombers were circling in the clouds overhead and we could hear a few not-too-distant explosions as the massive jaws of the LST opened wide and tanks and halftracks began driving onto the beach. It was 11 p.m., July 28th, 1944, and we were in France! I was riding as a radio operator in a jeep with our commanding officer, Captain William Kelly, Jr. that night with his driver, Frank Todesco. Captain Kelly in true military fashion decided not to leave the ship until all his troops were ashore, so we were to be one of the last vehicles off. Todesco and I viewed the situation with some trepidation for two reasons: the tide was coming in so the water was getting deeper at the end of the landing ramp, and the "karump, karump, karump" sound of exploding bombs seemed to be getting closer.

Sitting there in a jeep on the open deck of an LST and watching bright streams of anti-aircraft fire slashing the dark sky to ribbons, I was glad I was not in the Navy. There is no place to dig a foxhole on a ship! The Navy crew understood this very well and were getting anxious to back off the beach and get out of there. Finally it was our turn to exit. We drove down the gangway and the jeep promptly disappeared into the submerged hole dug by the tanks and half-tracks that had preceded us. Fortunately, the jeep was equipped with special exhaust equipment that permitted the motor to run under water.

Todesco floored the gas pedal and, with the four-wheel drive working, we rose up like Neptune emerging from the sea and churned across the sand to an exit marked by beckoning military police who were there to direct us. We drove on in the fading light past shattered pillboxes and rubbled houses to a large area designated as Assembly Area B. It was a large field with pre-dug foxholes, which we immediately dove into since the bombs were now falling close enough so we could hear them whistle. Not a good sign. So I slept in my foxhole until dawn.