Valor

Today is D-Day.  And I am in love with valor, particularly the valor of my Uncle Bill.  Uncle Bill (2nd Ranger Battalion, Company A) died a few years ago, but today, I am going to turn over the writing of this blog to him.  He wrote a letter to his wife, my Aunt Olive, about what D-Day was like.  My mother typed out his letter, and I am thrilled to have a copy of it.  I revisit his letter every year on this day, and think about what he endured for love of country

How would you like to know what D-Day was really like? I know what little the radio says, so let me tell you the way I saw it. To save us both a lot of boredom, I’ll leave out the months and weeks of training and briefing.

We boarded our landing craft and left the mother ship in the wee hours of the morning and started our long cramped ride to the shore. On the way we could see in the darkness huge flashes and hear terrific reports from big naval guns and bombs. The Air Corps and Navy had been laying tons of explosives along the shore, but as it turned out for some of us it was not as effective as we had expected.

It became lighter. The Channel was very rough and we went in slow. Some of the boys were sick. I, for one, was so sick I thought I’d die. We were cheerful enough – this seemed like so many of the exercises we had run before in Florida and England.

We weaved among the underwater obstacles and were almost ready to touch down when machine gun bullets started to sign over our boat and into the sides. The ramp went down and men spilled out into water chest-high and headed for shore in a rain of lead. My sickness left me in a flash as I reached the bow and saw those deadly little geysers spurting all over the water. By the time I had hit the water, which was a matter of seconds, many of our boys were already dead and wounded. Some just sat where they were hit, and the dull, blank look on their faces is something I’ll never forget. I wanted to drag one boy up to shore, but he said, “No, go on, I’ll make it.” I didn’t think he would, but went my way. If everybody helped each other, nobody would have made it. Ten feet up the beach from that fellow was where I was knocked down. I felt a burn and shock in my left thigh and knew it was a bullet. There was nothing I could do now but crawl and pray and that’s what I did every inch of the way.

Up to now, I was not scared, but lying in the water with bullets smacking all around some inches away made me feel really lost. The first thing that came to my mind was how you folks back home would feel when you received that last telegram. I knew I had to live, so I clamped my teeth and kept going. The tide helped me a lot, but the bullets continued to rake the water and sand. I felt them tear through my pack and prayed harder. I was pretty weak and dazed from the water pouring down my mouth and nose, but my Lieutenant kept urging me on. My eyes wouldn’t focus, and I don’t remember very well what I was doing, when a sergeant pulled me the last few feet to the pebbles. He cut my equipment off and gave me a shot of morphine. A few minutes later, I was smoking a dry cigarette and feeling alive again. There were dead and wounded all over the beach and in the water. They were the boys I had lived and joked with and now they were like this. We still weren’t safe there, so after we rested, we crawled across a narrow road and sat against a stone wall. Snipers were still picking off anybody they could see, but we were safe from all but artillery.

Smitty’s name was carved on the stock of my rifle, which I had managed to keep with me somehow. I cleaned my rifle and one for another wounded sergeant who laid by me and waited. So few of our boys got through that I expected to see the Jerries come back over the ridge. We were prepared to sell out Hollywood style, but they never came.

We laid there till late in the afternoon, when we were driven to better cover by German 88s. Then is when I found out that one of my best friends had been lying dead only fifteen feet from me all that time. That night some of us were evacuated.

I’ve left out a lot, but I don’t feel like writing anymore. I wanted you to know a little better what these boys are doing for those at home. Strikers would work for nothing if they could see with their own eyes what war is really like. I don’t like to think of all those telegrams going home, but if some of the ring-leaders received one, they might come to their senses. I’m finished preaching – there doesn’t seem to be much point to it. Someday I’m coming home, and if I still feel like I do now, I’ll kill a few of those dodgers. Life is cheap, just the cost of a cartridge.

Valor:  boldness or determination in facing great danger, especially in battle; heroic courage; bravery.  My uncle had it in spades.  Love you, Uncle Bill.